"Tears"

1st Lieutenant Jebidiah Baile,
CO Marine Detachment USS Galaxy

Baile's quarters

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

"You never cry." the blonde woman asked softly while her fingers idly played with his hair. Darkness enveloped the room, bringing with it a stillness the Marine had not felt in a long time.

They rested on top of bed, with Baile wearing nothing but boxers, tattoos and scars on display for the woman to see. Both had increased in numbers since she had... died... been killed by him.

She tilted her head slightly, causing some strands of blonde hair to fall in front of her face. Damn she was beautiful. It was harder and harder to convince himself she wasn't real. All of his senses told him she was real. When he touched her skin, smelled her perfume, saw her move, heard her whisper his name.

A delicate finger gently traced the bayonet scar he had on his right side of the chest.

"Why is it you never cry?"

The question took Baile by complete surprise. Some fucking question to ask after they had humped each other for an hour. Or what ever the hell they had been doing. Not easy getting banged by a ghost. But apparently it was possible. He pushed her hand away and sat up slowly in the darkness.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he asked with some mild irritation, running a hand across his unshaved face.

The creature named Maya propped herself up on one arm and made herself comfortable again. "You didn't cry at my funeral.. why?"

The muscles in Baile's back tensed up a little. It made the tattoos seem alive before he could force himself to relax again. "Don't..." Baile's voice lacked the normal aggressive tone it usually carried with it. "Maya.. don't.."

She pushed aside some runaway hair from her face. "You haven't shed a single tear since then, Killer.. why? I don't understand."

He pushed himself up from the bed and stood up, refusing to look at her, fearing her face would hold the expression he hated the most - pity. ~She's not real... she's not real..~ he reminded himself, over and over again.

Seeing Baile walk over to the marine's chest and retrieve a bottle of vodka made her sigh softly. "Does it matter if I'm real or not, Jeb?"

His hand closed around the neck of the bottle, turning his knuckles white from the sheer force with which he held it with. He waited until the first wave of anger had washed over him, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness inside. He wiped his mouth as the liquid burned its way down his throat. "No.. not really.."

"Then why, Killer? Why don't you cry?"

Why didn't he? He wasn't sure or didn't he want to look at the reasons too close? "Tears solves nothing." Baile finally said to the woman existing only in his head. What the hell was this? Do-it-yourself-shrink-101?

Without fight what was there? Without the thrill and excitement of combat the world was dull and grey. Slow. Mundane. He turned around with the bottle still in his hand and sat down on the chest and looked at her.

"That's the answer, Jeb." Maya replied softly, looking him straight into those strange new eyes of his. "What happened to you, Baile? You used to believe."

Baile had lowered his head, his eyes looking at something far, far away in a distant past. "Why are you doing this, Maya? You already seem to know everything that goes on in my fucked up little mind." His voice was low, pained in a way he would never allow it to be if anyone else had been near.

She stood up and wrapped a blanket around her body and walked over to him. Kneeling down in front of him she ran a hand through his mohican haircut. "Maybe we both need to know why. Just not me, but you as well."

It took him several deep breaths until he felt the tightness in his throat give way. "I don't know Maya.. I just don't. You always looked for the good in me, but dammit Maya.. there is none... "

The words exited him in an even stream, layered in equal parts of truth and denial. Her hand kept caressing his hair as if it could sense the cauldron of anger, bitterness and hatred inside of him. A slight shake of the head, her hand in his. "Still no tears."

What the hell did she want? Angrily he slammed the bottle down on the chest and stood up, every muscle in his body tensing as a reaction to the anger inside. He walked past her and took a few steps away from her.

The ghost of the past just looked at him, her eyes never leaving him. "What the hell do you want to hear, Maya?" The words fought to remain unsaid, to stay inside his mind where no one could hear them. Not even himself. His hands closed into tight balls of barely controlled emotions. Fury? Sorrow? Guilt? He didn't know. Didn't want to know.

"I just want to hear why." she told him softly and truthfully. "I want you to hear as well."

"Damn you, Maya.. " his throat was dry, like sandpaper. Baile's voice could barely be heard, the whisper of a dying man. "Do you want to hear that I see the faces of the dead when I sleep? Or that a day never pass that I don't wish that I had never met you, because then you would still be alive!"

The marine grabbed the bottle to quell the sudden thirst and the coldness imploding in the stomach. Slowly Maya rose from the bed with the bedsheet wrapped around her. The man in front of her was like a loaded gun, ready to go off at any second. Before she could reach him the bottle cracked under the pressure of his hand and several shards cut him deep.

It fascinated her the way he fed on pain, the way it made him more... there. His brain didn't even register the pain. Crimson blood dripped onto the floor, but Baile's glowing eyes never left her. The hurt in them came from a far deeper wound than the one in his hand. "Why the hell can't you leave me alone?" he croaked with a broken voice, but the tears refused to grace him with its presence.

Her hand touched him with great care, her fingers moving up towards his face. His heart pumped furiously, holding his body ready for battle at a moments notice. But there would be no combat, no blood shedding other than the one from his hand. Oh how he wanted to pummel something, someone.

"I see you..." he whispered, his eyes locked onto the slender woman while his brain tried in vain to ignore tingling from her touch. "...you're my purgatory..." Slowly his fist closed tighter, pushing a shard of glass deeper and deeper into the hand until it broke the skin on the back of his hand.

Maya almost winced when Baile raised his hand to the level of his eyes and looked at the pieces of glass stuck in his hand. Blood ran down his arm, dripping from the tip of his elbow and onto the floor. She knew he could smell it, knew what it did to him. His eyes never left hers as the tip of his fingers grabbed the shards and slowly pulled them out. A few tiny drops of sweat formed on his forehead.

Baile felt the glass scrape against flesh and bone as he removed the shards. He felt every drop of blood running down his arm, heard them land on the carpet like drums on a distant horizon. He smelled the blood, felt the warrior inside of him awaken, standing on the bank of a crimson river.

He held the shard with the tip of his fingers in front of his face. A hybrid made of glass and ruby. "You will be my undoing.." the marine whispered to Maya.

At first she said nothing, just looked at him with both sadness and affection in her eyes. Those eyes that bound him to her, that gave him such sweet pleasure and such bitter pain. The silence between them was interrupted as she tore a piece from the bedsheet. Letting the bedsheet fall she took his hand in hers. That hand. She could remember just how gentle it could be, just how careful, but also the strength it held. Waves against rocks.

"I was angry at with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end." she whispered softly and started cleaning the wound.

"I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow."

Bittersweet. He knew those words.

"And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;

And I sunnèd it with smiles,

And soft deceitful wiles."

Her voice cut through the raging turmoil in his mind. Every word caressed him and lashed him.

"And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright;

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,"

His hand remained steady, muscles relaxed. The blood blurred the tattoos on his arm, an unseen danger lurking under the surface of the crimson river. She wrapped his hand carefully while her voice kept him in place.

"And into my garden stole,

When the night had veiled the pole:

In the morning glad I see,

My foe outstretched beneath the tree."

Silence entered the room again, keeping the two company. Tying the bandage in place Maya let go of his hand and gave him an enigmatic smile.

"I know that poem.." he said to her and closed his hand a couple of times. It hurt and yet he couldn't bring himself to care about it. He lived with pain, forever and ever. Even in death it would be there.

The slim blonde woman laid down on the bed again, leaning her head against her arm. She brushed aside a few strands of hair from her face. "Of course you do.. I found it inside your mind." Maya told him. "I didn't know you knew William Blake."

Baile kept his face neutral, but some of the anger inside reflected in his new eyes. A barely noticeable squint, the trapped warrior inside of him testing the strength of the shackles. "Guess you don't know everything then."

"How can a man know such words and not be touched by them?"

"Again you look for what is not there.."

She shook her head. Like trying to wear down rock with a drop of water. "I know you, Jebidah Baile.. I know you better now than I ever did when I was alive.. I asked how you can know such words and not be touched by them. Not if there's good in you."

The marine fell silent, but walked over to the locker and took out another bottle. His head has started pounding again, his pulse threatening to beat him senseless as it rumbled in his ears. Blood rushed, a mad and furious worm of anger racing inside him. "You're not real..." he mumbled to the cool metal locker door.

"Reality is a matter of perception.." she admitted just as soft as she had asked him the first question. "You of all people should know that now."

He fumbled with the cap for a few seconds before managing to tear it off. He drank heavily to melt the ice in the gut, ignoring the burning in his throat. The marine had always been good at drinking, even stuff that most wouldn't even touch. Drinking was one way to silence the nightmares. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he turned around and looked at the woman laying on the bed. The tattoo forming the crow seemed to embrace him, turning him into a truly threatening creature. Muscles rippled just beneath the skin as he moved towards her.

The bottle landed on the floor with a heavy thud, but Baile didn't acknowledge it. "I see.. and hear.. things.. " Baile whispered slowly with a voice filled with confusion and ever so slightly - fear. He slumped down to his knees as he reached the side of the bed, his head bowing down in defeat.

"If I do I'll never stop.. " The darkness around him was the only thing that felt safe. Never before had he felt more naked, more defenceless and fragile than he did now. Fists and feet couldn't help him. Alcohol wouldn't make him forget, at least not long enough. He looked down at his hands, angry and confused at what had been done to him.

Maya made her way over to Baile and sat down on the edge of the bed. With the gracefulness of a ballerina she positioned one leg on either side of him, cupped her hands and raised his head up until she met his eyes. "My poor tormented Killer.." she said without sarcasm or irony. "Tears, idle tear, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair." she quoted in a low whisper. "Tennyson... I still love his works.."

"What the fuck is happening to me?" he asked her in a hoarse voice.

Holding her hands against his face she smiled softly. "To be all that we can be... isn't that what we all want?"

He pressed his cheek against one of her hands, cool against his skin, dry.

"You are afraid of being weak.. " her tone was more compassionate then her choice of words.

Baile's eyes closed. His throat tightened. He felt like he was choking. Jebidiah Baile was not the man to cry. Maybe he had forgotten how. Every muscle in his body tensed as the struggle inside raged on. Afraid to be weak? Was he? He didn't know. He knew one thing - fighting. His whole life had been a constant fight. The only family he had known was a collection of killers, soldiers he had fought alongside with during a very cruel and bloody war. His brothers in arms.

And Maya. She had come into his life and just as suddenly she had left it again.

The wound on Baile's hand bled through the bandage, but the marine was lost in his own thoughts and personal hell. Caileb had once said to a councellor wanting to talk to Baile, that Baile had gone to Hell and stayed there because Heaven was too soft. He had been right. Baile had gone to Hell and stayed there. But now even Hell was about to cast him out. Hell was not made for men like him and Heaven certainly wasn't.

Maya's homeplanet - A few years earlier.

It had been raining the day Maya had been buried. The rain had made the grass smell more than it usually did. Fitting. Even the sky was weeping for innocence lost. He had been surprised over how many people had come. Friends, relatives, collegues and family. Baile himself had been standing next to the family, motionless. Emotionless. The family had learned to appreciate him over the years. Learned to see, of not truly what Maya had seen, but at least glimpses of a man more honorable than he knew himself.

The rain had been dripping down from the edge of his hat but his eyes had remained dry. The ashen taste in his mouth from standing next to the parents of the woman he had killed with his own hands refused to go away.

Empty.

That's how he felt.

Angry. No, furious.

That's what he was.

Irony followed his every step. His unit had been standing on the other side of the hole in the ground. Tall, proud and strong. Starfleet Marines.

Slayne, Beuchamps, Saar, Hendricks, Smith. All of them. Her family had thought it an honor that his unit had been given leave to attend the funeral of their daughter in the middle of the war. If they had only known.

He couldn't remember what the holy man had said. Words had lost their meaning for what seemed like a lifetime. All he could hear was the rain falling down on the coffin covered in flowers, sombre bouquets placed by sombre people.

The smells. Those he remembered. Roses, daisies - Barberton Daisies in particular. Even Flame Lily. It had puzzled him on how Flame lily had gotten to her home planet until he remembered that it was he who had brought it there.

All he had been able to see was Maya's sad eyes looking at him, filled with love and pity for what he had become. What he had turned into. Dry tears burned his eyes, refusing to fall.

Smith had watched him during the funeral, observed his reactions, wondering if his pointman had been pushed too far. Even Smith had allowed himself to shed tears over Maya. She had been a good person, tears was the least he could give her. But Baile hadn't shed a single tear. Not one. It had worried him.

The salute had been crisp, precise and final. His final goodbye to the woman who had found a place in her heart for him.

And he had closed it.

Forever.

Baile had remained behind, standing in the rain as the friends, relatives, collegues and family had left the graveyard. She had been so close. Six feet away. Never had the Universe seemed so large. He had taken off his hat and placed it on the ground on top of her grave.

*Maya Saal*

*Beloved daughter and sister*

Over and over he had read the words, all while the rain soaked him to the skin. The sable on his hip, the medals on his chest. The missions he had done. None of it mattered at that moment.

Smith had seen many men loose hope in front of him. Seen men die, both physically and spiritually. But he had never truly witnessed it. Never seen it happen while he looked.

Maya hadn't been the only one buried that day. Jebidiah Baile had been buried next to her.

He just hadn't known it.

/end

------

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that's real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

What have I become

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns

Upon my liar's chair

Full of broken thoughts

I cannot repair

Beneath the stains of time

The feelings disappear

You are someone else

I am still right here

What have I become

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

If I could start again

A million miles away

I would keep myself

I would find a way

"I hurt myself today"

Johnny Cash.

1932-2003.

RIP.

OOC: Slight backpost with apologies… Robert

“Dead Bodies, Dead Ship!”

Lieutenant Ella Grey
Assistant Chief Engineer

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer

Ensign Artim
Medical Officer

Ensign S'srissa
Intelligence Officer

Ensign Zev Raynor
Intelligence Officer

USS Galaxy – Main Shuttle Bay

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

"Decontamination sequence complete." The computer informed them. "Negative contamination."

Ella checked the results and then ran another scan. The pod still showed no visible life signs, at least that their tech could detect, and so she nodded at Security that it was okay for his team to enter. She assumed that medical would follow after them to look for survivors and Ella would get to enter lastly to try to get information from their flight recorder and save or fix anything else repairable.

Moving forwards, S'srissa drew her phaser and nodded to a security officer, "Ready?"

The man nodded, his own weapon drawn.

Behind the two combat ready officers Kimberly waited with a couple of trauma teams with antigrav gurneys, equipment at the ready she looked at the pod... Hydran in design this was the first time she had ever seen up close and personal something of their design, it was, creepy.

Artim wasn't far behind his boss with pretty much every sensor and tool he could conceive of needing. That included the phaser tucked into his lab coat, not that he needed it with the marines around, but a wise man once said to always be prepared. After staring at the odd ship he merely looked over to Kim and said, "Creepy little devil, huh."

"Kinky is the word I'd use..." Raynor said leaning over the Artim's head. He had seemed to have just popped in from nowhere. He felt people jump, though he wasn't exactly looking at who. He also felt the question of where the hell did you come from/why are you so late... "I was in the washroom. Clogging a toilet. Which is an accomplishment in itself given 24th century toilet technology. The amount of waste required would be-" he stopped mid-sentence looked around, as if noticing how someone with a weaker constitution might throw up if he continued down that line of thought. He should probably stop now.

"I just noticed how someone with a weaker constitution might throw up if I continued down this line of thought... I'm going to stop now," he said.

Sometimes playing the completely clueless idiot was actually fun, but ninety percent of the time it was just repetitive.

"Yeah... please stop," Artim said seemingly randomly.

"Sounds good," Kimberly suggested in reply as she watched Security and the Intell officers move in.

"Well... one of us looks a little green like their about to throw up or something, so you know..." Raynor said looking over at S'srissa, "I'm not that insensitive... Shall we kids?" Raynor asked moving forward, following the Orion and the Lupine. He had something that looked like a type two phaser drawn, but it seemed more streamlined. Also where the butt end of the phaser should of been was a metal blade that extend out of the end. The blade at the other end slightly longer than a dagger length.

In spite of the fact the weapon was drawn and held in a way that indicated combat readiness, the rest of the Raynor's body seemed to be at ease, as if he wasn't particularly worried about what was around the corner. The simple fact of the matter was that even when his body was completely at ease, he knew his ability to switch from calm to tense and ready fight was near instantaneous. This calmness about him did however serve a dual purpose for the group.

First, it emitted a sort of aura which could sometimes keep people from panicking.

Second, it lured an enemy into a false sense of security, if your prey is calm, the general impression is that they don't know your there.

S'srissa gave Raynor the finger before opening the hatch, her weapon ready. Shifting forwards, she did a quick recon check before saying, "Clear."

A small part of Raynor wondered for a second why an Orion was giving him the finger... that was a human expression of hatred... Another small part of his mind wondered for a split second why he wasn't getting an erection at the moment... 'Maybe later' he thought. 'The pheromones might take a while'. He had taken part in transporting Orion slaves around once or twice as a child, back when he was a Ronin mercenary, so it was possible that he had developed a small resistance. This plus a small warning from his alternate persona to stay on his toes, was all going on in a small corner in the back of his mind.

But mostly his concentration was dedicated towards senses his surroundings, and maintaining that calm demeanour. He just hoped it wasn't one stand issue living ships that came with tentacles that tried to rape you through every orifice.

Hearing the ‘Clear’ from inside Kimberly moved up to the hatch, tricorder on and at the ready and wrinkled her nose at the smell, ~ Smells like some Gagh I tried once! ~ she remembered, looking in, but not going in she waved to the trauma team to stand ready.

Raynor followed the other two into the aft section of the 'ship' and saw two headless corspes.

"Anybody have a stick I can poke things with?" He asked... looking around.

"Sorry," Ella said popping in behind them. "Sticks aren't standard issue." She pulled out her tricorder and began to scan, trying her best to look past the two corpses.

“I think poking things with sticks is a little archaic,” Kimberly countered, “not to mention a bad idea, use a tricorder please,” she asked as she ran her own scans, “This pod is partly organic,” she announced, mostly to herself, “and decaying I think I might add!”

Artim watched as the anti-grav stretchers and nurses began to arrive and assemble for their work. The Miran, like his appearance suggested, was waiting with child-like impatience. He knew the first team had to declare things clear, but people might need help too.

"Hey, guys," Artim said loud enough for those inside to hear "What's in there?"

“Good question,” Kimberly added, “can we get updates please!” she asked loudly.

"Well, I see dead people... but if you want to confirm that, Doc please do... and come on in..." Raynor shouted back, while lowering his weapon, but still keeping it in hand...

Tricorder in one hand and hand phaser in the other, Artim walked into the pod and immediately caught the all to familiar smell of decomposing flesh. Not really thinking as he spoke, Artim nonchalantly said, "I see dead people too, all the time".

Continuing the scan Artim added, "But these dead people have been dead awhile, would require an autopsy to get a precise time of death. Cause seems rather evident though."

"Right well, you have fun with the ship's ass Doc, we'll go check out the rest of this craft," Raynor told the little one. Then he turned to the Orion and resisting the urge to stare at her breasts which were placed right at his eye level he looked up and said "Ladies first or what?"

S'Srissa nodded, as she drew her weapon and moved forwards. She wasn't going to take any chances.

Watching the Intel officer move forward Kimberly followed Artim in and looked around, “Let’s record the scene for Security,” she started, waving for a tech with a holocam, “and get tricorder readings of the whole scene,” looking at another tech, “get a scanner on the pod as well, let’s find out why it smells so bad!”

"You mean other than the rotting carcasses and the fact that they probably hadn't showered in days maybe weeks before they went and died?" Raynor asked sarcastically, as he moved forward.

Sighing, this man had a serious sarcasm issue, during his medical she'd just figured it was a defence against nerves, but it looked like it was an actual personality thing, "Just the facts please!" Kimberly called after him. Looking at Raynor’s receding back, “And if there’s any more bodies, try and use your Tricorder, no poking them please!” she called after him, “Artim, let’s do prelims here and then get the bodies in stasis in the morgue,” she ordered, surveying the scene, the aft compartment looked to be a similar size to a standard cargo shuttles aft section, mostly empty there were a few boxes scattered around though, “and get a security officer in here to check these please,” she asked as well.

Raynor waved his hand show that he acknowledged her, though he wasn't about to pull out a tricorder... first of all he hadn't brought one, and secondly it lowers one's physical guard when you had to refer to it all the time...

As the two Intel personnel moved the mid-section proved to be more pleasant than the aft. Two more bodies that were locked in combat, or were... they were dead now but still stiffly making the killing blow to one another... one of them was strangling the other, while that other had apparently stabbed her attacker in the heart... Still a better way to die than having your head cut off...

"You heard the boss lady" Artim said to the waiting nurses "Lets move these bodies."

The Miran went back to scanning the bodies and gasped at the first neurological residue scan. After double checking it against the old readings in the tricorder he walked over to Dr Burton and pointed at the screen.

"This ain't good, this isn't good at all. This is the same signature I found in some of the bodies on DS5... the ones *they* inhabited"

"Doctor whichever, got two more bodies in here... and we might want a engineer in here too..." Raynor shouted, looking at the wall... "I'm pretty sure its not supposed to 'leaking' like that..." Though bleeding might have been a more accurate description... bleeding and rotting away like last week's pot roast dinner he had left out on the table to ward off new roommates.

"This compartment is clear... That leaves the head, any bets on what we find on the other side?" Raynor asked looking around.

“I’d guess more of the same,” Kimberly hazarded a guess quietly as she read the readings on her tricorder, raising her voice “Raynor, if you don’t have a tricorder get back here and collect one before you go any further, that’s an order, there’s no life signs here, everyone’s dead…” she said flatly, “even the ship!”

"Told Ya So"

Lt. Cmdr Brianna O'Shea
Chief Engineer / SCE Liaison

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineer

***Corridors***

"Shut up."

A fellow crewmember in blue was walking opposite of Nara and gave her a strange look as they passed each other in that stride and pace people get when alarms go off. Nara off to Engineering, the blueshirt to sickbay or sciences. Or the bridge. Nara wondered if she would ever get on the bridge rotation.

She had spoken out loud to her inner voice when it said, ~Didn't we know something bad was gonna happen? Things were too normal. Too good.~

Saia had been with Jerik and Saia on the holodeck when the alarms went off. Jerik said he could take Saia to stay with his wife--who was a civilian--while they took off to their stations. Jerik took off to Stellar Cartography and Nara to her Engineering.

Once she got there, it was the typical chaos that occurs when alarms go off. She took the nearest station unoccupied, totally not expecting to have her usual one to use. She quickly logged in and started looking for damage reports.

"Someone for the love of all the gods, shut that klaxon off!" Anna yelled as she looked around at Thomas. "Tom," she said to the enlisted man. "I want you to get down there and tell Luke, he's got one minute to get the crack sealed.. or I'm coming down there." She said saw Nara enter the main engineering hub.

"Nara... check the plasma relays to struts A through D... tell me if they are losing pressure." Anna said, as she leaned over the 'pool table' "I want damage control teams here, here, there and here!" She said, pointing to places on the grid. "I want back up teams placed, here, here, there, there and here!"

"Move out!" She said, looking up at the damage control teams.

Nara nodded, “Aye,” and went about what she was ordered to do.

"I need those reports as soon as you get then, lieutenant." Anna said, speaking in Nara's direction as she turned back to see something another engineer handed her. "Good, get James and Kendal and go.." She said then turned her attention back to the 'pool table'.

“Commander, struts are losing pressure. Already down to 67% and going down pretty fast.” Nara spoke after a few moments.

Anna looked up toward Nara. "Send damage control teams, Theta, Gamma, Sigma and Lambda.." She said. "Just take care of it, Lieutenant." Anna said, showing she was giving Nara a big responsiblity here.

Nara nodded at her, “Aye.” She sent each team to a strut: Theta to A, Gamma to B, Sigma to C, and Lambda to C.

"Nara.. when your finished... I want you to head up to the bridge and main the engineering station until I can get through with this..." she said, then turned. "Your my liaison to the bridge... I need you to keep me informed of what's going on... I should be up there in five to ten minutes..."

Nara was shocked a moment, but decided to be happy about it when she had time, "Aye." Nara made sure the teams made it to where they needed to be and made her way to the bridge.

"The New Reality"

Captain Cassius Henderson,
Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy

Commander Kol
First Officer, USS Galaxy

First Administrator Goran'Agar,
Free Jem`Hadar of the Beta Quadrant

with... Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Councelor/Second Officer (Unauthorized)
Gharashk'mev N'fth'nor, Commanding Officer, RHV Icon of Glory
Riov Hanae t'Vriesu, Commanding Officer, Warbird Iaafvi

****

Main Bridge, Deck 1, USS Galaxy

[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."

Commander Kol sat in silence as his Captain addressed the Jem'Hadar on the viewscreen. Naturally enough, he didn't trust the Jem'Hadar First. Still, such things were not to be said where one's opponents could hear. The Hydran ship's warp trail was tracked to here, after all. And one could hardly trust the Jem'Hadar.

[But of course...] The dark eyes of Goran'Agar betrayed little but a questioning glance as he stretched out the end of the sentence. [What do you wish to know, Captain Henderson? How we came to be here? Why there are two other starships in orbit? Why a Jem`Hadar of all species is open to establishing relations with the Federation?]

~Yes,~ Kol thought, ~That would be an excellent thought.~

"How you came to be here would be a good place to start," Henderson replied, matching the gaze of the Jem'Hadar First. The name Goran'Agar was fairly well known among the intelligence community. During the last war, the First had been freed from his addiction to ketracel-white under mysterious circumstances, and had been prepared to lead a rebellion, had they been able to recreate the cure in his men. According to the reports of Doctor Julian Bashir, who was present, they had almost succeeded when an accident destroyed the research.

According to the same report, Goran'Agar had last been seen preparing to kill his own men in combat, to prevent their painful deaths from white withdrawal. How had he gotten from a planet in the Gamma Quadrant to the Typhon Expanse? Cassius glanced down at his readout, where 8-ball had just sent him initial scans of the planet. Three thousand life forms were on the planet - mostly Jem'Hadar. Perhaps Goran'Agar's cure hadn't been destroyed after all. That hope formed unbidden in Cass's heart.

[How we came to this planet is a long story, and best told over a shared meal. Our other guests, as you've noticed, are part of the story unfolding now, and what the future of the story will reveal in due time.] The viewing apparatus at the First's end panned back to reveal a Rihanha stood to the left of the veteran soldier, and a Hydran to the right.

Cassius immediately recognized both of the First's other guests.

~Better to bombard the entire place from orbit and be done with it.~ Kol thought to himself. Trying to live peacefully with the Jem'Hadar would be foolish. They allowed themselves to be controlled like chattel, a state undeserving to warriors of their skill. Still he had to admit, Jem'Hadar who'd freed themselves from their master's leash... well, those just might be interesting to meet after all.

If nothing else, they knew how to fight. As did the Hydrans, who were apparently... visitors.. here as well.

Henderson had met N'fth'nor in battle on two separate occasions, Rel'kessan and Havras. He had barely managed to best the Hydran each time. However, it seemed that the ambitious alien had been given a promotion of sorts, despite his defeats. His status insignia indicated that though he was no longer favored by his Queen, he was being given a chance to prove his worth on a much larger scale, having been made a Warlord.

From across the Galaxy's expansive viewscreen, the blue-green skinned N'fth'nor glared at him with three stalked eyes, as if willing his destruction. The Hydran's body language was easy to read: "die". Finding his nemesis here was, no doubt, both a great irritant and a great opportunity for N'fth'nor.

In sharp contrast to the physically imposing Hydran, the Rihanha woman was slim, dark and beautiful. Where N'fth'nor's posture was aggressive and looming, the best word to describe Hanae t'Vriesu was serene. Calm radiated from her as if she simply willed it into existence. Cassius remembered his introduction to the Rihannsu Empress' younger sister eight months previous, when he had stayed aboard her warbird for an evening before returning to the USS Galaxy with the cloaking device that Rihannsu Naval Intelligence had loaned them.

[I present to you Gharashk'mev N'fth'nor of the Hydran Sovereignty, and Riov Hanae t'Vriesu of the Rihannsu Star Empire.] Goran'Agar nodded to each of the commanders in turn.

"Jolan'tru, Lady t'Vriesu," Cassius greeted her, and was pleased to see the Riov's eyes light up in recognition. A slight smile played across her lips as they locked eyes.

[Congratulations on your promotion, *Captain* Henderson,] she replied in accented Federation Standard. Hanae t'Vriesu was a consummate diplomat, often serving as an emissary of her sister. When their paths had first crossed a year before, she had just been learning the basics of Standard.

"Thank you," Cassius said, before turning to address the glowering Hydran. Their eyes locked. "N'fth'nor, congratulations on your own promotion."

N'fth'nor double-clicked his beak loudly, but withheld from reciprocating Henderson's casual acknowledgment in any other way.

Kol leaned in to whisper to his Captain, knowing his words would not carry across the audio pickup. "I take it it would be.. inappropriate to suggest the destruction of the Hydran vessel?"

"Yes, it would be," Cassius turned his head to reply. Despite his personal desire to order tactical to burn N'fth'nor's ship out of orbit, he knew that doing so could only end in warfare that the Federation wasn't prepared for. Between that truth and the mystery of the planet they were now orbiting, he ignored the temptation to abuse his new position.

"Pity," the Klingon replied, and turned his attention back to the screen as the Jem'Hadar began to speak again.

[Now that we are all aware of each other, I have a request to make,] Goran'Agar continued, his craggy features inscrutable. [I invite each of you, and your respective seconds, to join me on the surface to see what we have built on this world, and to discuss diplomatic relations. Of course, any other members of your crew are free to explore our settlement and experience our way of living here. Take any precautions you need.]

Both Riov t'Vriesu and Gharashk'mev N'fth'nor inclined their heads toward the First Administrator, acknowledging his request. Cassius suspected that they had been previously invited, and that only he was really expected to give a substantive answer.

"My First Officer and I will join you on the surface as soon as you're prepared to receive us," he affirmed his previous statement. "However, I do have one more question for you."

[Ask, Captain Henderson,] the First Administrator invited.

"We intercepted a Hydran escape pod, and traced it back to this system. It contained a number of dead Starfleet Officers, who we suspect of having been possessed by entities fleeing Deep Space Five. Perhaps you could shed some light on their fate."

[Yes. As you say, they were being controlled by something... non-Human,] Goran'Agar explained, his mouth drawn into a thin line. [They disrupted our peace, but thanks to the intervention of Gharashk'mev N'fth'nor, no lasting damage was done. We sent them back toward Deep Space Five to bring you here, so that we could open relations. I trust that you will be more diplomatic than those who came before?]

"Of course," Cassius said, though he grew cold at the thought of N'fth'nor slaughtering the officers from Deep Space Five, who could have been saved under different circumstances.

[Excellent, Captain. You may beam down as soon as is convenient,] the Jem'Hadar stated, before adopting a warning tone that left no room for interruption. [Before you do, I must offer you the same warning that I did the Riov and the Gharashk'mev. Leave your conflicts outside of this system. I have worked long and hard to create a place for my people to live, free from war. I will not see them made pawns again.]

"Nor will I, First Administrator Goran'Agar. The Federation places a high value on the freedom and equality of all," Cassius replied, ignoring the derisive snort that immediately came from his Hydran counterpart. "I look forward to meeting with you in person."

[Thank you, Captain. I will leave you to your preparations. I will have the coordinates for your beam down transmitted to you,] Goran'Agar finished, stepping back to stand next to the other two officers. [We await your arrival with great anticipation.]

The screen almost immediately returned to the image of the Iaafvi and the Icon of Glory, orbiting the blue-brown world that was home to the Jem'Hadar colony. Cassius considered it for a moment before turning to issue orders.

"Rey'ol, have the Tactical Analysis Group give me complete writeups of both ships. T'Liera, call Major Rex and have his fighters scout the system," he commanded, turning to address each of the officers in turn. "They can take the time to reconfigure for recon duty. Hunter, have your people begin active and passive sensor analysis of the planet, concentrating on the population centers."

Karyn Dallas had just arrived on the bridge when he turned to face Kol. "Number One, you'll be joining me on the planet. We'll meet in the ready room to discuss how we're going to go about this," Cassius rounded out his assignments. Talking to Kol about Federation diplomacy would be a necessity. "Commander Dallas, you're have the bridge until I return. You can go to Green Alert, but keep the shields up unless you're actively using the transporters."

"What about the First's invitation for our crew to look around the planet, Captain?" Karyn asked.

"That's fine, Karyn. You can set up a rotation," he said, turning to leave. Kol instinctively fell in behind him. As Cass reached the doors to the ready room, he turned over his shoulder. "Just be certain that no more than one fifth of our crew is on the planet at any one time."

"Aye, sir," she replied, taking the command chair.

"Very good. We'll beam down in fifteen minutes."

OOC: Apologies for the backpost. This one occurs about a month before current time. Robert, sorry for posting this still slightly incomplete, but I didn't want to wait any longer with the mission beginning now.

"Eggs and Bakey" (Occurs some hours after "Wakey Wakey...")

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy

Lieutenant (J.G.) Tarin Iniara
Operations Chief, USS Galaxy

Sickbay

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

Sat patiently by Iniara's bed Kimberly waited for her to wake up, it was late, and she'd been sat here for over a full shift now, getting her staff to bring her a drink or work while she waited. She wanted to be here when the Lieutenant woke, and not have to make her wait for someone to call her. Yawning softly she scrolled the page on her PADD down and continued reading, glancing occasionally at the biobed readouts once in a while to see if there was any change.

Over halfway into the graveyard shift, with Kimberly now almost asleep herself, precariously perched on a stool, she noticed a bump in Tarin's readings. Sitting up she pulled out a tricorder, muting the audio indicators she scanned the unconscious Lieutenant.

Iniara's eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly. A moment later one side of her face twitched. Slowly, her breathing pattern began to change, all indicating that she was slowly but surely returning to the conscious world.

"Iniara?" Kimberly asked softly so as not to startle her, they were in a semi private side ward that they had to themselves for now, but she'd rather not have her wake up with a scream.

"Hrm? Aristi? Whaddayawant." Iniara mumbled in response, the words slurring together as her brain struggled to catch up. "You won't believe the dream I just had. It was...insane."

Slowly her eyes opened, adjusting to the light after a moment. She blinked. "I don't remember your fake eye being green." She blinked again. "Wait."

She blinked several more times, forehead wrinkling in confusion as she finally focused on the face of Dr. Kimberly Burton, and she realized just where she was. Vague recollections began to return soon after. Memories of screaming, bright lights, paralysis. Things she would just as soon forget.

"I wasn't dreaming, was I?" she asked softly.

"I'm afraid not," Kimberly said quietly, "however, that's the bad news, there is some good news though," holding a glass with a straw in it near her mouth, "water," she offered.

"I like good news." Iniara hadn't realized how thirsty she was until the glass came into view. She cautiously took a few sips of water, clearing her throat as the cool liquid went down. "Much better," she commented after a moment, smiling.

Letting Iniara take as much water as she wanted she set the glass aside once she was done, "Well first thing, just in case you missed it last time, I'm Kimberly, your new CMO, and I don't have a fake eye," she said with a little smile, "before we begin though, can you try and wiggle your fingers or toes for me please?" she asked, watching the extremities in question.

"Alright." Iniara looked down at her body, concentrating. A moment later, the fingers of her left hand began to twitch. Her right thumb joined in soon after. She set her jaw and turned her focus to her toes, willing them to move.

After several seconds she gave up, exhaling sharply. "Damn. I can feel them there, but I can't make them move."

Nodding, "Well you may not believe me now, but that little is encouraging," Kimberly reassured her, "we don't have all the answers yet, but it looks like your encounter with the Dithparu has had some unfortunate side effects."

"Apparently." Iniara grimaced. "Okay, Doc, lay it on me. What have I got?"

"Well, it looks like the large number of Dithparu in your mind has left you in what I can best describe as a state of Psychosomatic Tetraplegia... basically, a form of neural shock," she tried to explain simply.

"That sounds pretty unpleasant." Iniara paused, trying to gather the courage to ask what was really on her mind. "Is it... permanent?"

"I doubt it," Kimberly tried to assure her, "the simple fact that you were able to make your fingers twitch just now says that there's still connections there, we just have to remind your mind and your body how to use them, it's like. the part of your mind that let's you voluntarily control your body has been damaged, we just have to help you rebuild it, how's that sound?" she asked.

"Just tell me what I need to do and I'll do it. Anything at all." The doctor's words gave her hope, but Iniara couldn't help but conjure up the worst-case scenario in her mind. Thoughts of being confined to a grav chair. Enduring the rest of her life trapped in a useless body. Unable to work, unable to live, unable to even move without someone there to help her.

Iniara's expression suddenly became very serious. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life like this."

"Well. I'm not going to lie to you, we can't say for sure exactly how long this'll take, but I can say there doesn't seem to be any physical damage. Though we'll be running a few more in depth scans to make sure of that. Short term we may have to look at a grav chair once you start your recovery, but slightly longer term, I'm hoping we'll have you back to normal and running around on your own, okay," Kimberly said with another reassuring smile.

"Sounds good." Iniara's expression relaxed just a bit. "I'm all yours, Doctor. When can we start?"

"What have you been up to?"

8-ball Hunter
Ella Grey

*backpost*

Between unhappy breakups and one night stands, between long counseling sessions and the Captain being booted off the ship, 8-ball felt the definite need for some fun time.

Usually, she would invite Ella and Indy over, drink a lot of booze, eat a lot of chocolate, talk about boys, giggle, pass out, and snore.

However, with Indy dead now, that plan obviously wasn't going to work out so well. Instead, 8-ball decided to invite Ella over, drink a lot of booze, eat a lot of chocolate, talk about boys, giggle, pass out, and snore. The chocolate and the booze were obviously the most important components.

8-ball was carefully putting Eptgac away (his newly sewn neck had an annoying habit of unstitching itself, and 8-ball was trying to keep him in one piece for as long as possible) when Ella arrived. 8-ball turned to say hi, stopped, looked at her friend closely and said, "You look happy. You look glowy. Like you just got laid. Certainly like you've been doing SOMETHING besides mourning over Victor. . .again."

8-ball offered Romulan ale and a brownie silently, and then bounced backwards onto her bed. "What have you been up to, Miss Ella Grey?"

Ella smiled, going for the ale first. "Nothing much."

"Yeah, THAT's believable," 8-ball said. "Try again."

"Well, I've been working a lot." The engineer said.

"Ella."

"And I'm so near the next level on my fighting program."

8-ball stalked over to the other side of the room, snatched the relatively limp Eptgac in one hand, and made as if she was going to torpedo it at Ella.

"Don't throw him!" Ella shrieked, blocking her head with a brownie and a glass of Romulan ale. "His head will come off!"

"Come clean," 8-ball said, still holding her beloved teddy bear menacingly in one hand. "Or Eptgac gets it." She paused. "Again."

Ella laughed and nodded her okay. She waited for 8-ball to sit down on the bed again which gave her enough time for some of the guilt to kick in. But she shrugged it off. "I slept with Corran"

8-ball's jaw dropped. She closed it, and then decided to let it drop again. This news was worthy of two jaw-drops. "Oh. My. God. Oh wow. Oh, really, really wow." She bounced back off the bed again and gave Ella a huge hug. When she finally let go, 8-ball sat down on the floor and grinned at Ella. "You broke your vow of chastity! This is awesome! This is worthy of a toast! To Ella, who finally acted on her sexual impulses. Way to go! So, I want details. Gimme details."

"We went dancing." Ella said with a smile. She explained the setting and how hot Rex had looked.

"Okay," 8-ball said, less interesting in the scenery and costuming than in the wild monkey sex. "And then. . ."

"And then one thing led to another... well, you know."

"Ella, you're killing me here. This is, like, your first sexual encounter in DECADES. Come on, tell me the good stuff. Don't fade to black on me here."

"8-ball, I'm not going to do a play by play." Ella said with a smirk. "Although, he does has this neat trick with his tongue..."

8-ball raised an eyebrow as she drank. "I remember," 8-ball said dryly. She briefly wondered in which life Corran learned that particular, little trick.

Ella choked a bit on her champagne.

8-ball's other eyebrow rose. "What? Oh, you didn't know? I thought you knew. I was sure you knew. You must have known. I didn't tell you?"

"NO!"

"Oh," 8-ball said nonchalantly. "Guess I forgot." She ate a good chunk of brownie and nearly spit it out as she looked at Ella's face. "Oh, come on, Ella," 8-ball said, trying to giggle, chew, and breathe all at the same time. "It's not that big of a deal. Corran and I only did it once, and it was hardly such a glorious, romantic occasion." She pursed her lips at the memory. "Fun, though. Very fun. The astrometrics lab was never so interesting."

Well, it wasn't as if she didn't know the man's routines. And it wasn't as if they were dating. We're they? "When did this all take place? You never brought it up on one of our Mondays."

"I thought I did," 8-ball said. "I don't know why I forgot. . .he wasn't mediocre or anything. In fact, he was several levels above mediocre. Not that I was surprised by that. He's had, like, fifty bajillion lives before this one to get this shit straight." She smiled to herself. "Very fun."

Then, realizing she hadn't answered Ella's other question, 8-ball added, "This was a little while ago. Right before I hooked up with Baile. Maybe that's why I forget. Baile was pretty good himself. Different than Corran. . .very, very different. . .but good." She glanced at Ella, who wasn't drinking or eating anything. "What's wrong? You look all frowny. Wait. . .was this just a one-time thing with Rex, or are you guys actually dating now?"

"I, er, don't know." She said. "I'm not sure."

"Ah, it's like that, is it?" 8-ball said. "Well, I think you should date him. I mean, you can't wait around forever for Victor to sort out his wacky, wacky mind. I mean, there's a lot of freaky ass stuff in there---he's probably going to be awhile. And you have your life to live. Corran's cute. . .very very cute. . .and is funny and he likes you. Obviously, you like him a little too. I can always tell these things. So what's not to go for? Get your ass out of my quarters and go smooch him a little."

8-ball paused for a second, frowning. "Of course," she said, "that means I can't go back to Corran for some frisky fun in the astrometrics lab. I had been thinking about it too." She continued to frown for a minute and then shrugged it off. "You need a boyfriend. It's more important. I can always go back to Baile and see if he wants a rematch."

Ella looked relieved. She didn't know where she stood with Corran but she could admit that she would have had a hard time sharing him with 8-ball.

And then she choked again.

"BAILE????"

"No Rest for the Wicked"

(Occurs in the hours before Galaxy arrives at its destination.)

Lt. JG Tarin Iniara, Operations Chief

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

Delta Shift.

Normally she'd be standing on the Bridge right now, serving as the shift's First Officer.

Most everyone assigned to that particular shift found it to be extremely boring. But, it was good training for junior officers like herself. Delta Shift wasn't much, but it was what it was.

And normally, she'd be standing on the Bridge right now.

She'd been on Delta Shift for a while now, in addition to her regular Alpha Shift duties. Truth be told, she enjoyed it. Not much happened on Delta Shift, but it was good practice. Some days they ran drills: command scenarios and the like. Some days the ship actually encountered interesting things in the middle of its night. And when all else failed, there was always paperwork to catch up on.

But really, the important thing was that normally, she'd be on the Bridge right now. And if she felt like it, she'd be standing.

Grumbling to herself in the dark, Iniara slid her hand forward onto her thigh. She made a fist, then thumped the leg. Hard.

A moment later, she swore to herself. That had hurt. But that was a good thing, she thought as she repeated the process with the other leg. It meant that her arms were getting strong again. More importantly, it meant that her legs were someday going to do the same.

At least, she hoped so.

Iniara hadn't slept much in the month since she had come out of the coma. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. In a normal day she'd get by on four or so hours of sleep, with power naps and Raktajino to carry her through the day. And after spending over three months passed out on a biobed in Sickbay, she just couldn't justify resting, or taking it easy, even if that's what the Medical staff had told her to do.

She'd pissed away three months of her life resting. And now, she wasn't using one tenth of the energy she had used before the Dithparu attack. Rest be damned.

"Computer, time," she called out, interrupting the stillness of the room.

"The time is 0357 hours."

Iniara grumbled to herself again. Her actual workday would have started about thirty minutes ago. She'd work through Delta Shift, then on to Alpha Shift at the Ops station, and then after a quick break she'd retreat to the Ops Center on Deck 9 for most of Beta. Somewhere around the change to Gamma she'd give up, stop working, and maybe find something interesting to do outside of Decks One and Nine.

But ever since she'd been cleared for "light duty", she spent Alpha Shift in the Ops Center and that was it. After that she'd be in physical therapy for a few hours. Relearning how to use her limbs was surprisingly difficult, and shaking off the muscle atrophy from the coma was taking much longer than she'd originally imagined. And then, once her daily therapy was over, she still had at least half the day left over.

It was probably a minor miracle that she hadn't yet gone stir crazy.

"Computer, time."

"The time is 0358 hours."

"Sonofa..." She sighed loudly, smacking the surface of her bed in frustration. Alpha Shift wouldn't start for another five hours. It was highly unlikely that she'd get any sleep in that time. And if she spent the time doing nothing but staring at the ceiling and occasionally thumping her legs, Iniara was fairly certain that she would go insane.

"Computer. List current number of occupants of gymnasiums one through three," she said after another minute or two had passed.

The computer chirruped pleasantly. "Gymnasium One has three occupants. Gymnasiums Two and Three are currently empty."

That settled it, she thought. The gyms tended to be emptier in the middle of the ship's night. Most of the people still conscious at this hour were either on duty or more interested in activities other than working out. And that meant that anyone who wanted to could probably get some exercise alone.

Which was exactly what Iniara wanted to do. Her body wasn't going to get stronger on its own, after all, and a little extra exercise should quicken the process. She just didn't want to do it in full view of everyone.

After all, being stuck in a grav chair was twice as embarrassing when your reputation on ship tended to include words like 'cut', 'buff', and sometimes even 'beefy'.

"Computer, raise lighting to one third illumination." As the dim light filled the room, Iniara looked down at her body, her pajama-clad limbs arranged neatly under the sheets. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the layers back, then pulled herself into a sitting position just as carefully.

Grimacing, she grasped a thigh and began moving the leg to the edge of the bed. A moment later the other leg followed. She grinned morbidly, then reached for her gravchair. "Hard part's over."

"Because I love to drink"

2nd Lt. Steven Jonas
CO, 2nd Platoon

With: Erin Friel, Ten-Forward Manager
Juleanis Elias, Engineer, Scavenger's Revenge

Jonas drained the last mouthful of the beverage. It had been a long, long day and he needed to relax. This was the quickest way he knew. Pushing the vessel forward on the bar, he motioned for the bartender for a refill.

It had been a month since he had joined the crew of the Galaxy and it had been long enough for him to realise that it was something he was fairly close to regretting. The corridors were narrow; the ceilings too low; there was no open space; no gentle breeze or glaring sun. No snow covered valleys to see; nothing, except dull grey halls, walls and ceilings. Most people would probably have said he was claustrophobic, but in reality, he just prefered to be on a planet with open pastures, and hills, valleys, lakes and the plethora of other natural phenomenon that you find planetside.

Taking a sip from the now full cup, he sighed. ~Man was this stuff is good. Wakes you right up.~

"Hey, how come you're here when everyone else is on duty?" The bartender asked as she looked up from wiping one of the nearby tables.

Steven turned. "I've just finished a double shift and am trying to relax before my next shift. And that will likely also be a double shift."

The woman before him had the most firey red hair, reminding him briefly of Isobella. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. ~It's not the time to start thinking about her Steven. Not now.~

"And when does that start?" She asked, taking a half-eaten plate of food, that she had picked up from the table, and depositing it in the replicator.

"In about 5 minutes." Steven responded.

"Why so soon?" She enquired.

Steven smiled at the young bartender. "Because in 20 minutes we will have reached our destination and we may be called upon to head down to the planet."

Steven drank some more before pushing the cup towrds the Firey haired woman. "Thanks for the drink, but I've gotta go."

"Oh, I'm Steven by the way." He said cheerfully.

"Erin, Erin Friel. Manager of this Establishment. I hope your shift goes alright."

Steven smiled. "I hope so too. You'll probably see a lot more of me in the next few months."

"Why's that?" She asked.

"Because I love to drink." He said with a wink, before turning for the door. It was time to be on duty again and the Marine HQ was a few floors below.

Leaving Erin and her bar behind, he failed to hear her say to the now empty room, "But you only drank Coffee."

(OCC: There doesn't seem to be anything in the Ship's Tour page for the Marines except Messhall, Crew Quarters and Gym. What deck(s) is the majority of the Marine offices/training halls etc. located?)

The turbolift doors closed behind him. "Marine HQ" He said to the expectant Computer.

As the turbolift lurched into motion, Steven thought back to the trip to Deep Space 5 and thanked his lucky stars that it was well and truly over.

****

Crew Quarters, Scavenger's Revenge

****

Here he was, on a dirty, stinky old cargo ship hauling god knows what to Deep Space 5. Someone must have not liked Steven to give him this sort of transportation to his new posting. ~No doubt a Navy boy that did it.~

Here he was, sharing small cramped quarters with a man who it seemed hadn't washed himself for days, who was now probably in the engine room pouring grease and who knows what on himself as he tries to keep this bucket of bolts together enough to get us all to DS5 alive and in one piece.

"Personal Log" Steven held a standard starfleet PADD in his hands.

"It's been almost 4 weeks in this rust bucket and hopefully not much longer. The place smells like they haven't cleaned the place in several months and it looks worse. I should have been there yesterday but 2 days ago the right nacelle started failing and couldn't be fixed while enroute, so Juleanis told me. Meant that it had to be shut down, making the journey that little bit longer."

Steven sighed.

"I hope that..."

The door to the cabin opened startling Jonas. Juleanis poked his head round the corner. He had one of those faces, the ones that looked like they had been passed through a meat grinder several times before being passed through one more time for luck. Old and wrinkly, with scars and grease marks all over it. His toothless grin made me smile inside. He looked so funny with the missing front upper teeth. Result of a skirmish with a boarding party he had said. I had asked if it was someone boarding them or them boarding someone else but he didn't answer.

"Cap'in wants ta see ya. Says we're nearly there" He said before turning back towards the Engineering area at the back of the ship.

"Resume Personal Log"

"Apparently the captain wants to see me. Looks like I'm finally out of here and onto a real ship. It will be good to have room to move about rather than live in this... well the Brig cells on Starbase 357 were bigger than this. It has been hard to keep fit in this dump, and the food in the messhall is barely edible. Can't wait to get to the Galaxy."

Steven stood up. "End Personal Log".

~Time to go see what Captain Sprumte wants~

****

Turbolift, USS Galaxy

****

Steven felt the turbolift slow to a stop and readjusted his uniform, and ran a hand through his hair. The doors opened and Steven stepped out. It was time to get back to work.

(OCC: Hi all. Good to be here. Hope to get to write with you all at some point. - Stuart)

Ens. Artim - Medical Officer
Ens. Kiel - Counselor

"Boys Will Be Boys"

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

The trip from the counseling officer to the infirmary on Deck 12 was one that the adolescent El Aurian could have made blind-folded and hung over. A prospect that didn't sound all that bad, depending on what would have occured to get him in such a condition. There were a few Vulcan crewmembers of the female variety that were certainly welcome to tie him up anytime. Unfortunately, such wishful thinking would have to wait for later, as there was a four-letter word he needed to tackle first. Work

As the doors to the Sickbay brushed open, Kiel's hazel eyes cut across the room. It wouldn't be hard to pick out the person he was looking for. Aside from himself, the good doctor was the only other brat in uniform. Not that Kiel ever wore his. Even now, the young counselor was dressed in a smoke gray banded collar shirt and black trousers, with a loose black jacket over it.

Artim was sitting at the shift supervisor's station staring idlely at the PADD some red shirt had just handed him. Apparantly they'd found a planet full of "free" Jem'hadar and they were sending away teams down to say hi...and figure out how the hell they got this way. From the looks of the team he was put on it looked like they were tasked more with the latter. Swell, right after dealing with mind controlling aliens he had to go shake hands and make nice with the same people that had kicked the crap out of him simply for fun. For the first time he actually considered shelving the Hippocratic oath and beaming down with a phaser rifle or two and taking as many of the brutes down as he could. But that would be a bad thing, especially with the Romulans and Hydrans around to watch.

Almost on cue the other member of the team in his height range sauntered into sickbay. Even though he had heard interesting things about the El-Aurian youth, it would still be nice to at least have one person on the team he didn't have to stare up at all the time. With them had been assigned the ship's historian, who Artim still found a bit creepy, and the GELF science officer whom he'd only seen once in passing. Should be an intresting bunch.

"So" Artim said to the approaching Kiel holding up the PADD "I assume you got one of these as well."

"Yes, we're about to impress the Jem'Hadar with Starfleet's kid power," KIel deadpanned with a dazzling, lop-sided smirk even as he held out his arms in a 'what are you gonna do' kind of gesture. Letting his arms drop by his side, the youth strolled around to the other side the Miran. An odd race to say the least. Kiel couldn't fathom living centuries without being able to get a nut off, but then the Galaxy's apprentice counselor had issues with his hormones. Issues which he freely acknowledged. Life would be rather boring without them.

Well, if nothing else, it's a chance tostudy Kaya up close," the young El Aurian murmured to himself, as he read the padd from over Artim's shoulder. "I'm curious if those skin patterns alternate all the way down."

"Somehow I doubt she'd be interested in what you have in mind. Last I checked they can't...you know" Artim said grinning widely. "Neither will the Jem'hadar I'm afraid. Though I heard there are Hydrans down there too, might try them."

Artim couldn't get over how the El-Arurian, who appeared physically to be about the same in his development as Artim was already having pubescent fantasies. Would be another couple centuries for Artim and, to be quite honest, he wasn't looking forward to it.

"That just gives them more incentive for being... creative," Kiel replied flippantly, a second smile spreading across his face as he spoke, straightening back up and giving a shrug. "Besides, an assignment like this one we need frivolous distractions to keep our brains active and working. Cultural studies arn't exactly riveting, unless it's a Risan society. But then, cultures like those take take the work out of field studies"

"Oh, I find them fascinating, then again, I was a microbiologist by trade. Anyone who can stay awake at a three day symposium on microbial physiology has a pretty whacked view on what's interesting. Besides, I'm going to be watching my back so there's no time for women." Artim replied while stifling laughter.

"Well, as you said, microbiologists have whacked perspectives," Kiel answered, giving another shrug before looking back over at Artim. "If it makes you feel better, you could always look at the back of the women," the youth remarked, his head turning as a slender, Bolian nurse walked past. "If nothing else, the view is nice," he added wistfully, before turning back to the Miran doctor.

"Anything you want to talk about, doc," Kiel inquired casually. "Between the look on your face when I walked in and your tone just then, I'd almost think you have a few opinions about the Jem'Hadar."

Artim got up out of his chair and pulled his shirt up enough for Kiel to see the rather large scars on his back. Sitting back down he said, "Those are my opinions of the Jem'hadar. Yeah, I'll keep an open mind down there, but I'll also be keeping a phaser within reach and both eyes open."

"The war," Kiel prompted quietly, moving to take a seat across from the Miran.

"Before actually, just before. I wasn't in the fleet during the war. I was part of a Gamma Quadrant expidition sponsored by a neutral party. Apparantly the Jem'hadar didn't take to kindly to us being there and we were captured and held for awhile. Apparantly they didn't like my...attitude...and...well...lets just leave it at that."

Nodding silently for a moment, Kiel folded his hands in his lap. "Have you dealt with them since," he asked. It was rather direct, but he doubted Artm was in the mood for much subtlety and dancing around the issues could get annoying anyway.

Artim saw where this was headed and he really wasn't in the mood for a headshrinking right now. Yeah, he had issues with the Jem'hadar but he could get over them...hopefully.

"Nice try, but I've gotten enough counseling on this matter. I know its your job, but as a doctor its mine to respect all life, no matter how much it irritates me.I'll be fine"

"Some things we do out of obligation and others we do out of something more genuine," Kiel replied simply, giving his shoulders a shrug as he stood up. "The latter is usually a lot more rewarding, I find. Generally doesn't feel like its actual work. And sometimes we use our responsibilities in life like a shield to protect ourselves or to fend off irritating counselors," Kiel added. "I'll see you in the transporter room, doc," the boy added as he began to stroll toward the exit.

"Yeah, see ya there", Artim replied just mulling things over.

"On The Firing Line, Part 1"

(Occurs 24 hours before 'The New Reality")

Principal Characters

Lt. Commander James Corgan
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 4
Main Phaser Range

Victor doubted that the Commander actually *wanted* to see him - no one did, no matter what they said, not if they really understood what he was - but Corgan was too good an officer to let that get in the way of doing his job. Though why he'd selected this location as opposed to his office was a mystery. Perhaps he felt more secure here? Or possibly he was trying to make Victor more at ease?

If it was the former, then Victor saw no reason to not go along with it. If it was the latter, then it was, like most things, pointless; he wouldn't, however, dissuade the Commander from trying. If it made Corgan feel better, then there was no harm in it. He had no desire to see the Commander harmed, or to harm him himself - despite the fears that he was aware Lieutenant O'Rourke harbored after his announcement that he was prepared to kill Corgan during the Diparthu incident. If he'd felt the need to do so, he would have done it then. Since he hadn't, his previous promise was still in effect. That the Lieutenant didn't understand that was not his problem. It seemed obvious enough to him.

He paused for a moment, waited for a passing group of ratings to veer away and take a side corridor to avoid contact with him, and tapped his combadge. It seemed only polite to warn the Commander first. =/\= "Krieghoff to Corgan. I'm here, sir." =/\=

Phaser fire crackled in well timed, sporadic bursts from Corgan's background area to Victor's comm-badge, =/\="Don't be shy, Lieutenant. Come on in. I look forward to speaking with you."=/\=

****

Red phaser fire ribboned through the target range, vaporizing imaginary Jem'Hadar troopers, bursting apart near apathetic Borg drones, and turning Cardassian soldiers into holographic shimmers, then nothing. The fire lancing into the holographic targets was professional; timed perfectly to synchronize between optimal charging in the batteries and the proper alignment and cooling of the focusing crystals to the tracking of the target and the smooth readjustments to the phaser's settings for optimal kill efficiency.

The art of phaser wielding was more than point and click. To James, it was mastery of so many intricacies of the weapon, his body, and his emotion. Discipline, knowledge, and control had to be melded with equal parts of reckless abandon, instinct, and speed, contradictory forces had to be forged into complimentary parts, and in the end when it became the most functionary tool for dispatching lives, it then had to not only do all that, but be beautiful in its execution and its grace.

With a phaser, James could almost dance with it while maintaining a withering hail of fire. The holograms knew this first hand in the hardest setting, and even with multiadaptive AI, could not keep up.

James needed the exercise, more than anything, to keep himself from being rash with Victor. Krieghoff did nothing wrong. If anything, Krieghoff was perfect.

And yet Victor always bothered him without a proper reason why.

"Come in, Victor." He heard the officer walk in, "Take a phaser. Join me in practice. I just got my mail order parts for my Type II and I'm giving the phaser a new try."

Victor nodded once, wordlessly, and selected a phaser from the rack near the door. Keying in the addition of a second shooter, he waited for the targets to cycle over, and then stepped up to join Corgan on the range.

Though James was aware of Victor stopping beside him, he kept his attention completely on the targets. The phaser he employed was a jet black beauty, a Type II modified until it was foreign; a bastard half brother of the standard phaser employed by security officers all over Starfleet. The casings were replaced and finished in a matte black color, the handles redone and molded specifically to James' hand. The phaser gave off no strange lights from the buttons and indication screens; ingeniously the displays were still there while not shedding excess light. There were engravings, an old fashioned and very elaborate design of perfectly spiraled vines with leaves electroplated with brass or gold. Alien to the Type II design was a loop that extended from one end of the handle to the other, split two ways; a segment for an old fashioned 'trigger finger', and a larger segment for the rest of the hand. The new handle keenly demonstrated its worth when James sent a holographic soldier back to the pattern buffer; a flick of the wrist and the phaser twirled in its hand, then snapped back into his grip to snap off another shot.

In gold, the gun clearly had armory markings. Springfield Armory, Springfield, Mass. Type IIe.

"Trying out the new phaser. Not bad, eh?" James demonstrated its efficiency by taking out another target, "By the way, the new latency reducing phaser control co-processor your family's munitions business makes... f**king awesome. You guys outdid yourselves. I can snap off proper shots faster than with a standard."

"Springfield has done good work for centuries," the lieutenant noted. "And strictly speaking, sir," Victor replied as he snapped off a series of shots, "it isn't a munitions business. We supply custom weapons and parts for them, and not actual weapons themselves in a mass-produced fashion." He paused to eliminate a pair of opponents. "But I'll pass your recommendation along to my father - I haven't used the co-processor myself."

"Alright. Thanks. Maybe I'll see my quote in Phasers and Disruptors Monthly in their advertisement." James wryly smiled. Without looking he killed another imaginary soldier, then looked on to the next one, "I find it odd though. You're not part of the family business? With your experience in Starfleet, you would do well there."

"I'm not retired yet, sir - that's how we transition control of the business. But I grew up with it, and I keep up with what it does and what we're receiving orders for. Phasers are just not where my interests lie." Victor disintegrated an opponent wearing oddly-designed white armor. "Phasers are good tools, and they make good weapons. Most energy-based weapons systems do, or they wouldn't be used. But it isn't a *gun* - and that's where my own interests lie."

"Old school," James quipped. The white armored trooper charging at him fired wildly, missing with every shot. He killed the target blind hologram and his platoon buddy next to him. "I like that. Saw an officer who had one of those old fashioned leadshooters on duty once. We thought he was nuts... until he demonstrated a .45 duranium/tungsten alloy round on a class three force field. Borg Drone's can't adapt to solid rounds either, so I like them."

"There are plenty of defenses that will stop them, but the Borg don't face them often enough to make defense against them a priority," Victor agreed. "I prefer rifles myself, but that's just a personal choice."

The next white armored target appeared, charging haphazardly and firing its primitive energy weapon without any fire discipline, "Alright... who cranked down the difficulty on the shooter sim? Gawd, it's like they are green storm troopers or something....." Adjusting the difficulty settings, the 'storm trooper' started to hunch low, and aim better. James still killed the opponent with ease. "Victor, I have to ask you something. Do you mind?"

"No sir," Victor replied tonelessly as he eliminated another opponent. He'd doubted that Corgan really wanted company on the range when he received the call - the Commander was too good to need a partner for anything but the most extreme settings.

James awkwardly asked, "I've been bothered by it as of late, and I have to know. Did you take it easy on me? Did you take that hit at the photon launcher room? Or did I really get you?"

Not what Victor had expected in the way of questions, but understandable. "I did not expect you to be where you were, sir. I thought you at least a Deck away when I exited the Magazine. You surprised me and had the drop on me, I had no weapon in hand and knew that I could not reach one in time - so I took a chance. If you were so thoroughly controlled that you'd kill me, then the torpedoes would have detonated... but if you had enough control to only stun me - as you did - then there was still a chance to save the ship. Even if you'd turned me over to the parasite inside Lieutenant T'lan after I awoke, the odds were that I could kill her when she invaded my mind, as I did to an earlier Diparthu." He paused and looked at James. "Does that answer your question, sir?"

"Oh..... ok." James nodded. The explanation seemed reasonable enough to him, "I had to know. First time I dealt with an issue of my own personal pride, so I had to know." Three troopers went down by his phaser, "I'm not the most dangerous man on this ship. You are taking that position that I once took for granted. I feel it is undermining my authority. It was almost flaunted there, in the torpedo room. You looking dangerous, me not being in control of my opponent, not having that psychological edge by saying I was the most dangerous. In the torpedo room, I had something to prove, but at the same time I couldn't kill you. That's why I asked if my capture of you was legitimate."

"Of course it was, sir. That was why I tried to goad you into killing me - to make certain that you wouldn't. If you were in control of yourself enough to recognize that fact, then you wouldn't do it." Victor shot another opponent, his beam passing behind James' back, and then turned to look at him. "You might shoot me for any number of reasons, but calling you a living dildo isn't one of them, sir," he added with a tone of absolute conviction.

"T'lan almost made me kill you. I know it. If she said kill, I would have done so. I could only resist so much, and if she pushed I may have done it." With precision, James double handed his phaser and gunned down three troopers with one phaser sweep, "But my real problem is, I feared you. You didn't fear me. Respect... that I don't know. Where we stand with each other is still unclear. Tell me Victor... I think of you as a valuable member of my team. But sometimes you feel like a threat. Even when you tell me I can take you down, I still don't feel that conviction. Oh no, I still don't feel that I can do it. It's how you act, how you talk, how you treat others as if you are the prime predator of the jungle that makes me uneasy. I can't have that doubt dogging me. What am I to do with that?"

"I feel like a threat because I am a threat, sir," Victor offered quietly, the words delivered with no sense of personal connection to them. "I treat others like they're sheep, and I'm a tiger prowling the fringes of their campfire because they *are* sheep, and I *am* a tiger." He shrugged. "I can't change what I am, sir, just like you can't change what you are." He fired twice, eliminating a mugato that dropped from the ceiling with a roar. "You're the best immediate superior that I've served under, likely the best that I will serve under, sir. You're enough like me that you can understand - a little - and make the allowances you do for what I am, and what I do to the people around me simply by being in the room with them. The difference, the thing that makes you who you are, and me what I am is simple: you can set it aside because it's only a part of you. I can't, because if I do that, there's nothing left - this is what I am, nothing more."

James nodded. Oddly enough, Krieghoff was making sense, "A tiger. Solitary hunter. Loyal to its mate if it is bunched with someone. Otherwise a good autonomous predator. I was going to compare you to a wolf, but that fits better. Myself...." Civilians started appearing on the target range alongside Cardassian soldiers. James shot the Cardies without endangering the civilians, "I'm a good watchdog. Maybe with part wolf in him. I am a predator, but I protect the sheep. I keep the predators away. Maybe that's why you raise my red alert so."

He tilted his head to the side to look at James. "If you ever feel the need to kill me, Commander, you need to do it close-in. Not hand-to-hand, but the way you did it at the Magazine, with a phaser. Too many things can go wrong in a physical fight, and the longer the range, the greater the chance that I can offset your dexterity and speed advantage." He studied James for a moment. "If I have to kill you, I will do it from the greatest distance possible to ensure a single-shot kill, and I will do it from ambush, without warning. You are far too dangerous, far too skilled to allow you the slightest chance. As long as you can see me - and I haven't told Lieutenant O'Rourke that I'm going to kill you - you're in no danger."

"Hey, no fair!" James Corgan sliced down a Cardassian holding a civilian hostage. The holocivvie wiped at the needle thin blood gash on her cheek from James shot, which hit the spoonhead in the centre of the head, then ran off screaming. "You can't just spout out your weaknesses right there and then." He looked at Victor wryly, "Not without hearing a few of mine. To tell you the truth, your long distance kill idea is ok, but remember that before my eye injury I was a highly rated sniper. I know what signs to look for in an ambush. In a phaser fight, I'm probably the best on the ship, and if not I'm one of the best." The phaser danced in his hand, twirling thrice before locking into his hand and killing a Jem'Hadar, "I had to work on that when I lost the ability to snipe... can't be a one trick pony." His expert hand slew another hologram; he barely noticed, "Close in is my weakness. I'm getting better, though. I'm taking Kendo classes with Lieutenant Barnes, and I'm working on my Anbo Jytsu. However, I'm not at black belt class yet. In fact, you've advanced farther than I have in martial arts. You would be able to get me there. And if you did so... try to go for my right side. The eye again... a Hirogen knife with anti-coagulant gave me reduced sight and light sensitivity there."

"I know," Victor replied, tonelessly as he shot two hostage-takers in the legs, dropping them away from their hostages so he could finish them off as they fell. "I read your file."

"So, are we even?" James asked.

"You would be the one to answer that, sir, not me. You had the issues that needed to be dealt with," Victor observed as he confronted a set of Breen soldiers and began to exchange fire with them. "Do you feel that things are resolved?"

James had his own Breen heavy weapons squad to deal with, and he started with the disruptor cannoneer, "I think we have a good understanding of each other." His swath of destruction then went to the squad leader, then the grenadier, "We're both really, really good at what we do, and that is scary enough. To know that we can both cancel each other out not only protects this crew, but ourselves, from unnecessary action. Besides, I do consider you a friend and confidant, because only you would understand these things. Nobody else but a person who's seen and became a dealer of death, has seen mud and trench, has smelled flesh burnt and rotted. The things we do are morbid, my good man, the experiences foul. Nobody but guys like us could talk about something like this, to freely contemplate and discuss whether or not they would be driven to kill each other for pride or fear. I do feel better. Thank you."

"Then they're resolved," Victor said with a look to his left to line up his next opponent. He fired, scored a hit, and then fired again as a second opponent appeared immediately on the heels of the first. "I have that material for you, sir."

Corgan nodded, the reactions to his hostiles automatic and second thought due to his conversation, "Oh?"

"Smells Like Suicide, Part I"

Command Master Sergeant Carl Johnson
Command NCO

With...

Officers and Ratings of the SFMC Furies 188th TSS Detachment

== DECK 6: "Marine Country" Central Commons ==

To say that the men, women, and neuters of the 188th Furies Tactical Strategic Specialists Detachment were the most fucked-up collection of Marines ever assembled in the Lord Almighty's great universe was an immense understatement. Still, it was *because* of their peculiarities that they worked so well together. It had taken time, training, and ass-kicking, but they were quickly becoming one of the most agile, versatile, and mobile (Carl's three favorite training words) Special Combat forces in the fleet. Word was, if they could truly prove themselves, the TSS template would be implemented into all space-going expeditionary Marine forces.

But that was a big 'if'. Highly trained, they were. *Battle-tested*, they were not. And now this monkey-business about the planet of Jem'Hadar below. Just the thought of them made Carl's stomach lurch and his nose scrunch up in an ugly scowl. He had lost three whole units of some of his finest men to those drugged-up bastards, and now Captain Henderson was bending over forward with 'peaceful overtures'. And to make matters worse, the Hydrans and the Romulans--'Rihanna,' he mentally corrected himself--were here as well. The Rihannans he could respect, if begrudgingly. The Hydrans, however...

He shook his head to clear the negative thoughts as he rounded the corner into the Furies' well-appointed Central Commons, careful not to be seen yet. Instead, he watched the different groups of non-coms as they relaxed off-shift. His gaze fell upon the group of Grif, Donut, Caboose and Shaav playing Sabacc on a holotable--Donut and Caboose jovially joking away as usual, Grif trying to remain stoic, and the Andorian--Shaav--silently biding his turn while shuffling his hand of sabacc'a.

Carl had to laugh at himself. Donut and Caboose. Johnson had nicknamed the inseparable pair "Lucy" and "Ethel", after his favorite comedy duo of the mid-twentieth century. No one seemed to get the joke, however. Donut had come a long way, though. Ever since Jeb had--quite literally--knocked some sense into him.

Carl's attention was quickly drawn away from the Sabacc group to a small crowd clapping enthusiastically around one of the tri-dee chess tables. Silently, he walked up, shaking his head in the negative when some of the junior rating's stood to call the room to attention.

As immediately as the crowd had burst into applause, they silenced, not a word or whisper spoken among them. All Carl could here was a faint *BEEP* as he gained a glimpse of the blue and green-scaled "hand" of the Basik gunner, Raaza, depressing his timer on the chess pedestal. Though Carl knew that the Basik--like a Gorn or other reptiloid--couldn't smile, he saw the telltale sign of amusement in the ruffle of Tokka's iridescent blue neck-crest. It was the Basik's way of... chuckling at his opponent.

"Check," he hissed across the table.

His opponent, however, was *not* laughing. But then again, "Chuckles" Sorak (The ironic name bestowed upon him by none other than the unendingly-effervescent Betazoid technologist Allyia Yhwalyan) was the most stalwart and stoic Vulcan that Johnson had ever met. Once, during covert training maneuvers, Johnson had made the offhand remark to the Vulcan sniper that, were Surak alive today, he'd be hard-pressed to best Sorak's stoicism. Sorak had merely quirked an eyebrow and said, "That would be logical."

Carl hovered at the edge of the crowd, watching as Sorak's deep brown eyes rapidly scanned the multiple tiers of the chess table. Tokka had him in a good bind though, using the often overlooked but very effective Knight's Hold technique on the second and third quaternary boards. Briefly, Carl wondered what was going on in the Vulcan's head. No doubt, he had anticipated the hold, and was even thinking several *dozen* plays ahead. That didn't mean Tokka didn't stand a chance, however. Basiks were known for their... creative ingenuity.

Just as Chuckles began to make his move, though, Carl's attention was once again diverted by a loud... *barking* sound from the bar in the lounge-end of the Commons. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight there at the bar: Vox and Mena'NoS were actually "talking" to each other. He had to give Lia credit, the diminutive Deltan was always the first to greet new members of the Detachment, no matter how strange or fearsome they might seem.

Johnson watched for a few more moments, amazed as they actually began *laughing* about something: the small Deltan woman's high, melodic tinkle of laughter accentuating the Lupin's deep, growling churr. Though Johnson wouldn't admit it to *anyone*, that sunuvabitch Vox scared the daylights out of him. Sure, Carl had gone toe-toe with Klingons, Naausicans, Jem'Hadar and even a Brikar, once. But he had never seen something as carnally *fierce* as Falkor "Fang" Vox. The caniloid's muscle-sculpted body was bred for one thing: killing.

Another round of applause brought Carl back to the chess table, where the Basik's black king laid on its side at the bottom tier. Whatever had happened, it must have been quite a finish, as several of the NCOs were vigorously congratulating Chuckles. Allyia even bent down and gave the Vulcan a quick peck on the cheek--something that surprised Carl, but didn't seem to bother Sorak. 'Interesting...' Carl thought, watching the odd couple more closely now. He'd have to remember that for later.

"Eckssselent game, kolvar'i," Tokka said through his sibilant hisses, using the Vulcan word for "Master". He bobbed his head low, while fanning his crest forward and changed color from his normal blue to a bright green. Carl knew what that meant: a sign of deep respect for his adversary. Sorak stood and neatly dipped his own head in acknowledgment, then turned to Johnson.

"Sergeant, thank you for not interrupting the match between Corporal Raaza and I. Would you like for me to call the room to order, sir?"

Carl couldn't help but smile, his wide bayou-born grin spreading across his face. 'Impressive,' he thought. Not only had Sorak kept concentration on the game at hand, but he had taken due note of the Sergeant's presence (as well as everyone else's, Carl supposed). Carl simply nodded once in the affirmative.

"Attention on deck!" the Vulcan's strong, smooth basso voice shot through the commons. Immediately, everything was dropped and all the Marines stood at attention.

Strolling through the room, looking at each of the kids--no, Marines--in the room, Carl raised his voice so that all could hear him. "Stand at ease, girl-scouts!" he ordered. Everyone in the room assumed the at-ease posture.

"Ladies! Look behind you!" he bellowed while shooting a finger toward the wall of two-meter-high transluminum windows. Turning to the rating next to him, he boomed in her face, "Private Keinosayr! Tell me just *what* your little eyes behold!"

The perpetually-nervous maintenance technician, Kelly Keinosayr, stumbled over her words as she tried to succinctly answer the Master Gun's order. "S-sir! I see a planet and two st-st-starships, sir!" Silently, she cursed herself; whenever she was thrown off-balance, she began to unconsciously stutter.

"St-st-starships?" Johnson growled in her face. He didn't have it in for the kid. In fact, he liked her. She was one of the best battlemech technicians on the team. But he was constantly riding her ass to do better.

"Let's try this again, shall we!" He yelled out, while walking straight toward Vox. "Corporal!"

"Yes, Master Sergeant!" the caniloid literally barked out, causing some of the other Marines to flinch.

"What *kind* of *starships* are out there, Fang?!"

"Sir!" he raised his snout and lowered his optics directly at Carl. Although the optical implants over Fang's eyes protected the Lupin's sensitive vision, they were... surreal. You never quite knew what was going on behind them.

"I see the Hydran Royal Vessel 'Icon of Glory' and the Imperial Romulan Warbird 'Iaafvi', sir!" he finished.

Carl was speechless for a brief moment, he had expected something like "a Hydran and Romulan vessel", not the actual vessel names. But then again, Carl reminded himself, Vox had had alot of Covert Ops service with Red Division. No doubt, he had seen both of these ships at some classified 'somewhere else'.

Regaining his composure, Carl continued. "Very *good* Mister Vox! Did you all hear that?!" Carl turned back to the rest of the assembled Marines, cupping his left ear to exaggerate the point. "Give me a 'Huu-ah' if you all heard that!"

The whole room responded as one: "HUU-AH, MASTER SERGEANT!!"

"Alrighty, ladies. Very good. I'm glad to know that Starfleet's ship recognition training actually has some use for you!" he said with a smile, allowing for a few discreet chuckles from the crowd. Continuing, he made his way up to the rostrum near the ports, several steps above the main Commons' gallery. He could feel *it* in the air. That palpable neon-electric energy that any battle-team felt right before getting their orders. From his vantage point, he addressed them all.

"Down there, on that planet behind me, is a colony of *free* Jem'Hadar."

Several murmurs rose from the crowd, along with a few shocked gasps and growls. "Let me say that *again*, Meatballs!" he raised his voice in assertion over the din, "These are *free* Jem'Hadar. No Ketrecel-white. No clone-chambers. No Vorta. We, along with the other... *guests*," he motioned to the ships hanging in space behind him, "have been invited down for diplomatic discussions." Though he tried not to bely his feelings, a tinge of disgust traced his last two words. He moved quickly to recover, however.

"Since Lieutenant Baile is off playing Secret Agent Man with Sci-Fi," Johnson said, using the SFMC's derisive nickname for Starfleet Intelligence, "Lieutenant London--our CO for the time being--will brief you on the specifics."

From the corner of his eye, Johnson watched as Baile's (now London's) aide, Valentine, called out, "Officer on Deck! Uh-ten HUT!"

Following the precise snapping of boot heels, Second Lieutenant Branwen London stepped out onto the rostrum, next to Johnson.

With barely a whisper, Lucy leaned over to Ethel: "Smells like suicide, huh, Caboose?"

"Yep."

“On The Firing Line, Part 2” [Backpost]

(Occurs 24 hours before “The New Reality”)

Principal Characters

Lt. Commander James Corgan

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 4
Main Phaser Range

“The material that I said I would ask my aunts for,” he replied. “For non-Andorians that find themselves in a relationship with Andorians.”

"Oh!" James blushed. His momentary lapse in concentration stopped his hand from reacting to the phaser on time. The squad of Breen opened up on him and holographic tracers thumped through his chest. Red alert crimson shone in his face and all over his target booth. The test was over.

He looked balefully a moment at the offending hologram, but cheered up and laughed off his faux pas. "I almost forgot that I asked for it. Thank you Victor. By the way... it's not like some alien Karma Sutra, is it?"

Victor eliminated the last of his squad of opponents before he replied, “I believe that there is some discussion of that sort of thing included, sir. It appeared to only be a small section of the material, though. Most of it appeared to deal with psychological and social issues that might arise and how to deal with them.” He phasered a series of guard-targs that bounded towards them in a pack, followed by their Klingon handlers, and added, “I assumed that you required information more like that than a manual of sexual techniques. I can request that as well if you want, sir?”

"Oh god no!" James waved off the suggestion, panicked, "It's bad enough that I have my counselor thinking I need to get my shaft realigned, but you offering me a manual? Christ... how dire has things become?" James reflected on his question, "Since... Tekri, and after that it was the academy... ok, I need more nookie in my life that doesn't involve a sixsome with the knuckle sisters, but I don't need instruction."

“Very well.” Victor frowned for a second as he dealt with the last of his Klingon opponents and had to turn to shoot a gelatinous glob that approached Corgan’s back from the air. “I took the liberty of making sure my Aunts understood that they were not the targets of your research, sir. I trust that was all right?”

James arched an eyebrow, and then said with relief, "I appreciate that. Don't get me wrong, your aunts are very nice people, but I’m just not ready to be pawed at like a piece of meat." An oncoming Mugato took eight shots to bring down; all eight went into the beast by James' rapid trigger handling. "Now I need a manual on traumatic experiences and extra planar possession and the aftereffects thereof on the Vulcan psychology... and I’m set to deal with all the people that seem to transfix themselves into my life." The Mugato staggered forth, and James’ phaser cruelly lanced into its kneecap, collapsing its bulk on the floor, "Counselor wants me to visit Lieutenant T'lan. Got anything you'd like to say to her before I go? I already have enough get well soon cards to deforest Bajor..."

Victor frowned. “Should I, sir?” He missed a shot at another flying parasite, hit it on the third, and then nailed a third as it swooped into view.

"Victor..." James clucked, finishing off his now twitching Mugato, "One of these days you too are going to lead men and women in your own security detachment. If I move up some day, and the powers that be will make it one slow transition, you are next in line. You should get used to the idea that you'll have to pay attention to the morale and well being of your fellow officers. The lone tiger thing is all good, and I went that way as well, but eventually you'll have to step out of your comfort zone. Consider this practice. Do you have anything to say to Lieutenant T'lan?"

“Very well, sir. Tell her that I know it wasn’t her, sir. I saw that in Lieutenant Hunter’s mind when the parasites inside of her used the Lieutenant’s mind to invade mine. The individuals possessed by the Diparthu were as much their victims as the rest of the crew.”

"Very matter of fact, Lieutenant," James complimented. "I'll let her know. Counselor’s orders, after all."

“You might also tell Lieutenant O’Rourke that I currently see no need to kill you, sir, and that the promise that I made her is still in effect. She doesn’t return my calls.”

"No wonder. Stop scaring her." James chuckled. "She's not a hardened combatant like us. She's a lawyer. Try to level with her on a more intellectual level."

Victor frowned and mechanically turned and took down three more parasites before they could latch onto the Commander. “I’m not trying to scare her, sir,” he said quietly. As he turned back his presence shoved at James abruptly, as if something inside the junior officer were trying to force its way out into the room, and something else looked out from inside his eyes like the man James had been talking to was only a mask that it wore, something that James knew intimately. “If I were trying to make her afraid, to make anyone afraid,” Death whispered with a terrible finality, “they would know.”

"Like you are trying with me?" Corgan cocked an eyebrow at Death. Somehow, the feeling James got was recognition of Victor's other half, "Even if you tried, I’ve been around you too long to be intimidated by a show of force. It is what you could do to others that set me on edge. With O'Rourke, she doesn't understand like I do. You'll just have to try to understand that. It is all you or she can do."

With a slow, deliberate movement, Victor blinked, the thing inside him withdrawing until it was gone and he was only Victor again when his eyes opened. “I believe that all she sees when she looks at me is that, sir.”

James shrugged, "Hey, can't be helped. I wouldn't try to go out of your way to make her feel better or even make her less skittish. That's something she'll have to do herself. The best you can do is to make yourself less of a mystery. Much like death, you are mysterious. People are afraid of the mysterious. Some confront it, like I have. Some explore it and try to fit it into something explainable, like O'Rourke is capable of doing. Others revile it and push it back, like what O'Rourke does now. Does that help?"

“She isn’t afraid of me, sir. Not like she was. She merely believes me to be so dangerous as to be unsafe in the presence of others. Like yourself, for example.” He shrugged. “I told her that I would tell her first if I felt the need to kill you, but she does not appear to believe that I will, in truth, do that. It makes some situations difficult.”

"Oh, you will. She doesn't need me to confirm that." James snidely remarked, "And hey, I still like our talks. I like you. Set me on edge as you might... I know you're a decent man. I'm sure she knows that too. I'll tell her, and also tell her that we have a really f**ked up mutually assured destruction kind of relationship going on here."

Victor snapped off several shots at a suddenly appearing image of a squad of reptilian Gorn troopers, taking two of them down. “I’m sure that will ease her mind, sir. Two coming up on your left.”

"I'm on it!" Corgan spun the phaser in his hand, and tucking it under his other arm, snapped off a burst of fire that felled two Breen troopers, knocking them both off their feet.

With a frown, Victor stared own at the holographic marker of a wound that briefly marked his chest, and then gunned down the Ferengi that had delivered it from behind a Gorn corpse. “Something that you said earlier, sir, about my being next in line for command if something happens to you. You know, of course that there are several officers that outrank me within the department, they’d take precedence. I appreciate the thought,” he added tonelessly, “but you also know that no commanding officer is going to place me in a position of command over a department, it wouldn’t be… wise.” He shrugged. “I accepted that I was never going to command years ago, and that I wouldn’t rise past my current rank, certainly no higher than full Lieutenant. Lieutenant Commander and beyond are simply dreams.” He fired again before adding, “I don’t waste time on dreams.”

"Yeah... I’ve been blacklisted too." Corgan shrugged his shoulders. He fired a shot at the Ferengi, but his companion snuck up from a rock and lashed James with his power whip. The simulator lights turned red, and the holograms shifted out of reality. Two scores started to tick off, one, two, ten, twelve, twenty five, fifty, then rattled to the stratosphere. "I've been told I’d never get past ensign because I had a death wish. Then they told me I’d never get past Lieutenant because I work alone. Then I was told I’d never make commander because I was impulsive. Now they're telling me I won't make it to Command School, even with my new full pip, because I stuck my trouser snake into a spymistress's f**kpouch. Considering their track record for predictions, it's safe to say they're full of sh*t. Never say die, boyo."

Uncertain why he’d want to say ‘die’ without some reason, Victor contented himself with a nod and a final pair of shots at his last opponents.

The scoreboard made a final, exhausted ding! The score was settled. "Oh look, you're getting better. Good game. But seriously, you still think that you'll be typecast as some lone wolf security grunt for the rest of his life? Bullsh*t, my good man. You are a good officer. You have potential. A lot to learn about yourself and about others, but you have it in you. And besides, you have more experience than most of those higher ranking officers. I can't explain it, and if I did you wouldn't believe me, and god knows any advice I give would be as useful as pissing into a black hole. So don't sweat it! I've stepped out of my role, and you'll have to too when the time comes. You've made it this far with me, I’m sure things will work out. Hell, it did with me." Then James added with a wry smile, "And I’m going to piss off the brass and apply for Command School. F**k em if they say I can't. My pips and my balls say otherwise."

Victor cleared his phaser and set it in the recharge stand before answering – it’d always been bandied about in department scuttlebutt that the Commander thought with his manhood, but he’d never thought to hear Corgan actually confirm it. “Whatever your testicles might think, sir, if you’ll check the new regulations from Fleet Tradoc you’ll see that the brass have little to say about it. Under the new program, the Captain has the authority to assign you to the remote-learning version of Command School at his discretion. It’s only 14 weeks long, as opposed to the year at the Academy, and designed for more experienced officers. It’s part of the new Fleet Readiness Program.” At Corgan’s odd look, he added tonelessly, “I keep track of all the holo-classes offered by Fleet Tradoc, sir – I take many of them.”

James had a wild-eyed, zany, mirthful look to him. "I know. Isn't that a royal piss-off? Fleet readiness takes out what years of patronage tried to develop, and that's elitism. Gotta love the new Starfleet..."

James released the phaser clip from its internal housing. Slipping it into a far charger on the wall, he holstered the weapon, and then removed his target range glasses and ear protection. "It was nice chatting with you, Victor. We should do it more often. And while I’m at it... thanks for the more serious bits."

“I can discuss how I plan to kill you at any time, sir,” Victor offered. “All you have to do is ask."

"Can do," James smirked, "Remember, mutually assured destruction. We are our own failsafe systems."

“One more thing, sir.”

Corgan cocked an eyebrow, "Oh? What is it?"

Victor tapped himself on the chest. “The lung.”

"Ahhh..." James remembered; the lung that was giving the anti-eugenicists an ulcer every night, "Any word about that yet? I haven't heard about any legal action yet."

“No, sir, I haven’t. I’ve left seventeen messages in different places with different people over the last four months. I believe that the Attendant is on assignment again, possibly undercover, and that she has not surfaced to discover any of them yet.”

"Well... it sounds like the heat is dead from that. But still take care of it. You don't want someone bringing that up years later to blackmail you or something. That's my advice."

“Blackmail would be pointless in my case, sir, but I have no desire to see myself ejected from Starfleet over this. Before that happens, I will consent to voluntary removal by Starfleet doctors – or handle it myself.”

James had the last of his gear packed, and was ready to leave. "The fact that it was there in the first place already marks you, Victor. Be careful. And see you on duty!"

Victor nodded. “I’m always careful, sir – except when I can’t be.” He paused a moment, decided that mentioning that he’d simply kill anyone who tried to blackmail him was information that the Commander hadn’t asked for, and exited the range. He had a long day ahead of him, long enough that h thought he might try another session with the dancing tutorial that he’d begun working through to relax. Idly, as the thought slipped into the void inside him, he wondered if the Flight Officer would appear on cue as she had the last three times.

"The Silent Service" - Interlude: "Drawing Attention"

Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Team Combat Specialist -- "Roger Mueller"
Lieutenant JG Miramon Terrik, Team Flight Specialist -- "Danar"
Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Team Infiltration Specialist -- "Raheem"
2nd Lieutenant Jebediah Baile, Team Recon Specialist -- "Savage"

with...
Krell, son of Valkris, House of Toral
Lieutenant JG Chase Remur, Team XO & Computer Specialist -- "Brechyn Troyer"

****

'The Launch Pad' Bar & Lounge, Lammergeir Spaceport, Gryphon Coalition

Naussicans...Andorians....Gorns, Klingons, everything you'd expect to see on such a dismal, forsaken rat hole. It reminded Michael of home, his lost home. He had forgotten how he used to hang and play around with these races as a child.

The Lammergeir Spaceport's seediest hangout was a dive, but for Michael Jamson it was closer to home than any of his fellow officers would have expected. While they waited for Chase to finish scouting out their goal, the others were trying to relax at the bar. Though he didn't like working for intelligence, being able to return to places like this was almost worth it.

Distracted by the large lounge's windows, which observed the traffic around the station, he moved away from the bar. So many ships, so many species, and so many stars. Crossing his hands, and tilting his head, he unsuccessfully tried to locate the freighter among all the others. It wasn't scheduled to be there for a few more minutes, so no surprise there.

Standing and observing the ships outside the station, Jamson tried to 'keep his ears open' as Jayce suggested earlier. The pleasant Klingon music made it a bit difficult, but Michael was certain something would come up. On a station like this, news traveled fast and no one could roam freely around unnoticed.

"Lovely sight...isn't it?" a voice interrupted Jamsons' deep reflections. Looking to his right, was a Klingon figure. At first, the familiar ridges on his forehead appeared to be intimidating, but on closer examination, this one wasn't as impressive as the rest of his species.

"A famous writer of my world once said, 'Space is the breath of art'", Jamson said after returning to gaze as the stars. This Klingon wasn't tall, or well built like you would expect from a warrior. His hair turned gray, his clothing resembled the rags of a Yridian vermin, nothing close to a traditional outfit.

"Human, I presume?" The Klingon smiled and extended his hand.

"I don't make a habit of discussing my origins with strangers" Michael shot back. As Saul told the team on the Galaxy before they departed, 'don't trust anyone'.

"Oh, come on. Your appearance gives you in, don't be frightened by my looks. Here, on this station, we're all brothers" the Klingon giggled and padded Jamson on his left shoulder. This was odd, Klingons never giggled. "May I buy you a drink?" the Klingon showed Jamson the way to the bar.

"I can pay for my own drinks," Jamson raised an eyebrow but followed the gesture. He'd have to play the game if he didn't want to attract any unwanted attention.

"Bartender!!!!" The Klingon yelled, "Romulan ale to me and my new friend!!!"

"A Klingon, drinking Romulan ale?" the surprised undercover officer asked.

"Don't worry about it. Like I've said before...on this station, there are no rules" finishing an earlier drink with one sip, the Klingon spilled half of it on his clothes and body. He moved to wipe his hands, and extended his hand once again "I am Qel, son of Valqrs, from the house of Toral".

That mean, Krell, son of Valkris. Qel spoke in Klingon, Jamson understood him well. "Nice name you have there, but I don't speak Klingon", Michael shook his hand, "Roger Mueller". Refusing to shake his hand or drink for the second time would offend a Klingon greatly, and could mean provocation, exactly what Michael wanted to avoid.

The sounds around Baile muted as the seconds passed. A familiar thundering sound echoed in Baile's mind. The dual heartbeats of a Klingon. Newly acquired instinct awoke in the marine. Instinct he didn't fully understand, but still trusted utterly and completely.

The now bald marine watched the scene between the Klingon and his fellow team-member. Nodding to the bartender he ordered another drink and tossed it back in one go. He had begun to build up resistance against it. It pissed him off. Someone had stolen his eyes, pushed him down the evolutionary path to see what would come out on the other side of the woods and apparently that included making it real hard to drink himself into a stupor.

Drink arrived as the two finished shaking hands. "Qa'pla! Roger Mueller" he raised his glass up high, waiting for Jamson to pick his.

"Yeah, Cheers" Michael kept to himself. Inside, he wanted to join this Klingon and drink senselessly, but knew he couldn't.

After the loud toast, the Klingon slapped Jamson's back strongly while he was still drinking. That irritated Michael who almost choke on his own ale. "My friend. Now that we are past introductions. May I ask what is your profession?" he roared.

"I tend to change profession all the time", Jamson evaded.

"Ahhh!" The Klingon let out a brief hard laugh "A man of all trades. Good. A man of your position must own a vessel."

Michael hesitated for a few second before answering. "For the right price, I might have more than one".

"You are quite funny for a Terran."

"I've never said I was Terran," Jamson emphasized.

"I have a proposal that might interest you my friend. I've been watching you from the other side of the bar for quite some time now. It seems that you do have a vessel at your disposal, as well as crew".

Jamson slowly started to estimate the situation. This was no ordinary Klingon. He couldn't have been a warrior due to his sizes, but seemed to be closer to the trading side than the killing one. Klingon traders, dressed like that, so far away from their homeworld, giggling and smiling. Something wasn't right. Was he a dishonorable member of his house? What did he want? Michael could find out, by simply beating the crap out of him like a true Klingon would do. He wanted to straightened him out and put him in place. "What is it to you?" Jamson said in a slight contempt.

Baile got up from the chair at the bar and positioned himself closer to Jamson, hands itching to get to work. Death was an art form and he was the Picasso of killing.

It wasn't difficult to hear the Klingon from where Miramon and Saul were standing, awaiting their drinks. The Bajoran was watching the whole episode with Jamson and the Klingon, and silently cursed beneath his breath. Wasn't the idea to not attract attention? He glanced over at Saul, the flesh around his eyes tightening momentarily, with a slight nod in the direction of the Klingon to indicate that they should step in and try to remove the Lieutenant from the situation. Besides, with a Klingon around, you never could have too many people to back you up.

Saul firmly placed his hand on Miramon's shoulder. "Let's wait for our drinks, habibi. Roger is tied to us by contract, and he won't break it. Hancock will have his head decorate her quarters if he does."

Saul's words were mostly intended to the audience's ears, but the hidden meaning was clear. Jamson was a big boy, and could fend for himself.

He should do it quickly though, Saul reckoned. Chase was due to arrive any moment now, probably with news of the REAL crew of the freighter. There was no time to play with Klingons.

As if fate had been listening in on Saul's thoughts, Chase immediately melted out of the crowd and made a beeline for Jamson, Baile, and the Klingon fringer. Even in this dirty and poorly lit dive bar, the nearly fluorescent pink hair she'd adopted as part of her costume stuck out like a sore thumb. However, few of the patrons paid it much mind. Either they were so used to the unusual as to not care, or the young scion of House Troyer that she was impersonating was a regular.

Baile saw her coming and backed down, heading back to the table. Let little miss gadget spy sort things out.

"Mueller!" she shouted over the din of the Klingon death metal that was projected on one wall of the bar. Irritation gave her voice a high pitched edge that cut through, causing both her fellow operative and the Klingon to start.

"What?" Jamson turned over his shoulder.

"What did I tell you?" she asked, cocking her head to stare up at Jamson. "I think my exact words were 'Wait with Hancock', weren't they Mueller?"

"Ah, quit bustin' my balls, Brech," Jamson played his role the hilt. Though he was still curious what the Klingon had been getting at, he was grateful for the out she'd given him.

"Quit nothing. Are you with Hancock?" she asked, gesturing with her jaw in the direction of the booth where CMC Jayce and Lieutenant Commander Elessidil were waiting, decked out in their spacer gear.

Jamson made a show of gritting his teeth, "No. I'm not."

"Then get there," Chase snapped. She glared daggers into his back as he left, before an unfamiliar voice interrupted her show. "And tell Cadence that the cargo has arrived. I'll be back in a few minutes. Have to talk to the dockmaster."

"Hey, we were enjoying a drink. You've got no right..." Krell shouted, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder to spin her around to face him. He was going to continue, but a sudden jab to the throat left him coughing blood and gasping for air.

Chase took a step back from him, waiting for the inevitable explosion of violence, the reprecussion of an instinctual attack. When he didn't respond, she decided to press her advantage, lest it dissappear. Pointing to her left breast pocket, where the symbol of the dominant mining family, House Troyer, was embroidered. "Do you see this, scum? This gives me the right to do whatever the hell I please. This gives me the right to order *my* crew."

Pulling back her jacket, she exposed a pulse phaser pistol in a quickdraw holster. "And this gives me the right to tell you to piss off. You're not welcome here anymore. Get out."

Krell's eyes spelled murder, but there was something in the stance of the young woman, the way her hand hovered over the weapon, that made him reconsider. Wordlessly, he slunk out of the bar.

Chase frowned. That had been dangerously close. Their disguises were good, but if they strayed too far from the planned path, things could get dicey very easily... like if she was seen by real member of House Troyer.

Running a hand across her spiky pink hair, she turned and left the bar, heading for the dockmaster computer, where she could determine where the Backbroken's Reward would be arriving... and what codes she'd need to get them aboard.

"The Silent Service" - Part 3: "Spacer's Paradise"

Master Chief Petty Officer Madden Jayce, Team CO -- "Cadence Hancock"
Lieutenant JG Chase Remur, Team XO & Computer Specialist -- "Brechyn Troyer"
Lt. Commander Brian Elessidil, Team Psionic and Diplomatic Specialist
- "Radu Prett"
Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Team Combat Specialist -- "Roger Mueller"
Lieutenant JG Miramon Terrik, Team Flight Specialist -- "Danar"
Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Team Infiltration Specialist -- "Raheem"
2nd Lieutenant Jebediah Baile, Team Recon Specialist -- "Savage"

****

'The Launch Pad' Bar & Lounge, Lammergeir Spaceport, Gryphon Coalition

Chase Remur handed her forged identification card to the Tellarite bouncer, who slid it through the reader on the wall, recording her return to 'The Launch Pad'. As he handed it back to her, she snatched it from his grubby fingers and favored him with a venomously sweet smile. The Tellarite didn't give her affected attitude any special reaction. He was used to the self entitled spacers that belonged to the Gryphonite mining families - especially the younger ones.

Brushing her hand through her recently spiked and dyed hot pink hair, Chase stepped forward as the door slid aside to admit her into what was probably the dingiest spaceport lounge she'd ever seen. There was even a holographic recording of a Klingon death metal concert playing on one wall. The shrieking of the lead singer drowned out any conversations that might have been overheard in the crowded room. Chase had never been able to fathom the appeal of death metal, but for now it worked to her advantage.

She slid into the booth next to the other members of the team, all of whom were dressed to give the impression of the freighter crew that they were impersonating. Chase had taken on the identity of Brechyn Troyer, a young member of the now dominant Troyer Compact. In the years since the destabilization of the Gryphonite government (during the Galaxy's last visit to Gryphon), the mining-oriented Troyer had filled the power vacuum that the terraform-friendly Drayson Institute had vacated.

"What'd you come up with, Brech?" Brian Elessidil asked.

"Our ship just put in for inspection about five minutes ago, so we're right on time," Chase replied. They'd all gotten in the habit of addressing each other by their assumed names during the shuttle ride out to Lammergeir. "The real me just rented a room in the Spacer's Quarter. If her profile's right, she'll take her crew and go boozing and clubbing tonight."

"I hope my... parallel won't decide to become religious overnight. Religious Muslims don't drink alcohol, if I recall correctly," said Saul.

The Dutchman slanted his eyes toward 'Brechyn'. It was strange to trade places with Remur. Just a couple of weeks ago, he was her department head; now, he was her subordinate. However, there was no place for such petty thoughts at a time and a place like this, so Saul dismissed them.

He also didn't like the idea of portraying a Muslim. Even though centuries passed since Earth was a war-torn world, with many factions, some old grudges still remained beneath the surface. Still, Saul had been assigned the identity - of all the freighter's personnel, Raheem was the most similar to him physically (So the surgical alterations were minor), and Raheem's position and personality as a salty Dilithium trader were exactly what Saul needed to fill his own job as infiltration specialist.

Just like on the old days back at SOC #074.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Madden said, looking toward the other man with a cocked eyebrow before casting a glance toward Chase/Brech. It made her nervous, discussing anything mission-related out loud. While she understood only she and Elessidil had telepathic ability, she'd have preferred to relay information.

As a Bajoran, it was a little more difficult for Miramon to change his identity than it was for the humans in the group, given the nose ridges and the slightly calloused right earlobe, where his earcuff was usually clipped. Fortunately, Doctor Burton had a solution for that, and right now it was all that Miramon could do from scratching his nose, now that the doctor had done some work on it to make him look as human as she could. It was probably fortunate that, outwardly, there wasn't much of a difference between Bajorans and Humans. Still, his physiology was much different internally, so he had to hope that nobody subjected them to any scans while they were away.

If that happened, they'd have some real explaining to do and that was likely to get more uncomfortable than the surgery.

He was currently operating under the name of someone called 'Danar', although he'd only taken to using the man's surname, since he wasn't comfortable with the idea of being addressed by someone else's birth name. Indeed, it was Bajoran custom that nobody ever call them by their birth name unless otherwise given permission, so he preferred this. Besides, of all the crew assigned to the operation, he was the one with the most experience traveling merchant freight, and certainly it was never unusual to hear others refer to their crewmates by surname alone.

Baile had shaved off the mohican before leaving the Galaxy. It had definitely not made him look any friendlier. He wore a pair of worn leatherpants with enough straps and buckles to set off every metal detector within two light-years. Most of the tattoos were hidden underneath a not so clean looking black sleeveless tank top. He had been given a thick long leather trench coat as well and the first thing he had done had been to remove the sleeves.

For now he remained silent and observant. Henderson had given him the profile of a man known only as Savage, another of the self styled toughs that made up Troyer and Hancock's crew.

Jamson stared at the some of the Tellarite security guards in the lounge. He couldn't stand the sight of them, their snouts to be precise. Moreover, they were rude, impatient, characterized by their strong emotions, rich insult skills and ability to argue and complain on almost anything, anytime, anywhere. Kind of like the Klingons when thinking of it, but then again, Klingons couldn't be compared to such an inferior life form like the Tellarites.

Jamson listened closely to Remur's report while sitting at ease in their booth. The place was filthy, but that didn't seem to bother any of the locals. The death metal concert was music to his ears. He used to love it when he was young, and haven't heard it for years. Looking at his colleagues, he was suddenly struck by the lack of formal uniforms and space cowboy appearance. He couldn't get used it, and should have, by now. Unlike some of the others, he chose the most foreseen, boring, yet personally suitable, identity any of them could take from the original freighter's crew. A smuggler by the name of Roger Mueller, Terran Colonist, an ex-Federation Marine Merchant quartermaster who was thrown out of the organization for trading in illegal and forbidden goods in the name of profit. Turning to what he did best, he became a mercenary for hire. So it happens, Michael's own parents were "retired" Federation Marine Merchants, and resembled Mueller's life in every way. Michael's own life up until the Academy revolved around the family 'business' near the Vaela Expanse. When joining his parents on their 'working' trips, he became quite familiar with the trade. It would be all too easy for him to play that part.

"Anyone want anything to drink while we wait?" Jamson asked softly, stretching up and yawning. They were not on duty and had to blend in. Jamson couldn't believe himself for actually wanting some blood wine.

"We shouldn't drink too much," Madden said, shifting her eyes toward the man without so much as a flicker in her general appearance.

It was fortunate the way things worked out: her position was similar in the team as was her 'doppelganger's'. Cadence Hancock. Leader. Of sorts. In as much as a group like this had a leader. She was dressed quite differently than she was used to: dark brown leather pants, knee-high flack brown boots, a dark red shirt with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a tight fitting light-brown leather vest over it. Two blasters were strapped visibly to her upper thighs while a knife was seethed inside a boot and another, smaller gun was in a shoulder holster. Her eyes had been altered from their Betazoid black to a bright emerald green. She actually kind of liked it; it went well with the thick locks of flame red hair, and now she rather liked the different look. She kept her feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles, her arms folded in her best I-dare-you-to-give-me-shit manner.

"Give the appearance, but we need our wits about us."

The others all looked set to go - so far the confidence levels seemed high, but then they'd all just gotten started, as far as things went, and Chase's declaration a moment ago set things up nicely. So far so good, he supposed.

Madden turned her head, looking over her shoulder toward Brian sitting next to her.

*I'm too old for this shit,* she said, telepathically. *This death metal is going to make my brain drain from my ears.*

*You're right, but not before turning it to mush first,* her fellow telepath silently replied, nursing a greenish concoction of some sort for affect. With a good three years on the chief, Brian understood where she was coming from. While he wasn't a complete stranger to the music's harsh sounds, it wasn't very high on his list of preferred genres. *Be glad that at least we can communicate without shouting ourselves hoarse in the attempt.*

Of the assorted cast of identities the team had been required to assume, Elessidil's was perhaps the most complex. Radu Prett, Gryphonite by adoption but of unknown genetic heritage, was apparently himself working among the crew of The Backbroken's Reward for some time as an operative for a small but growing syndicate of nonaligned mercenary and ambitious "Intelligentsia gone bad".

Tall, intelligent and quiet, the man had apparently lived a life of constant movement and shifting allegiances since uttering his first sentence. After navigating past the "mysterious circumstances" surrounding the death of his adoptive parents, Prett -- if that even was, in fact, his real name -- had learned to become shrewd and self-reliant at an early age. More anamorphic than reclusive, he trusted no one, and no one who knew him on anything but the most superficial of levels trusted him. He was sophisticated and dangerous, and had no compunction in removing whatever and whomever got in his way by any means necessary. The few alliances he had had arisen out of necessity, and he affiliated himself with others, such as this crew, only insofar as it served his own purposes. What those purposes were in this case were unclear.

Brian marveled not only at the man himself, but that Starfleet had gathered as much information on him as they had. Had Prett gotten sloppy? Had he been "ratted out" by a disgruntled associate? Almost anything was possible, the counselor thought, wondering even if anyone had considered the possibility that Intel had in fact misidentified the man, and that Prett was still somewhere at large, already moved on to a new identity and life himself.

*Is it me or do you also find it a little unsettling how well we seem to fit in here already?* he humorously sent to Jayce while generally keeping his back to "Hancock" and the rest of the group as was apparently typical for Prett. She with her now more colorful features, and he reduced to a monochrome of black leathers and jet black hair, formed a study in contrasts that yet seemed no more out of place here than the pounding rhythms of the Klingon death metal that surged on around them.

*It's amazing what a change of clothes and a little make-up can do.*

She muffled a sigh and finished the rest of her drink with a quick gulp, finally satisfied her anti-intoxicant injection had time to kick in. She knew most of her compatriots hadn't thought of it. She picked the closest brain for the time.

*Twenty minutes,* she thought, broadcasting to the rest of them. There was no way in hell she was going to be able to shout this. *Danar, go get drinks and see if anyone's paying too much attention to us. Mueller, go to the head and take a listen. It's time for our contact to check in. The rest of you, let's gradually get loud. Troyer, I'm sure you have a joke somewhere in that head of yours.*

Chase smirked, "You have no idea."

Michael had been patiently tolerating the telepathic messages his received from Jayce. He wasn't fond of voices echoing through his primitive mind except his own. But it looked like a necessity, and Madden was the team leader. Struggling to rise from the comfortable booth, he made his way towards the bathroom, stuffing both hands in his pockets to prepare the listening equipment that Remur had rigged up for him.

No one asked him for his name. The look he sported discouraged any social interaction. Even the bartender seemed uncomfortable when he ordered a new drink. Baile looked at Madden in the mirror by the bar and shot her an angry frown. Telepaths had no business in his head. None what so ever. He tossed back the drink and nodded at the bartender to pour him one more.

Miramon shook his head in irritation. He was *not* used to telepaths, at least not when they were busy saying things to him using that particular talent that he felt inclined to reply to verbally. It was a really disorientating thing. He wondered if maybe that particular point was just overlooked by the majority of telepaths.

Still, that had been an order, hadn't it? He eyed 'Raheem' with a slightly amused expression, then headed off for the nearest bar. He knew exactly what to order on this occasion. The thing about spacers (at least, those that didn't have something like Ten Forward aboard their ships) is that they tended to make up for the deprivations of their work by having a lot of fun in their off-duty time. He'd never understood it, but apparently 'fun' consisted of drinking the most lethal beverages, eating the most exotic foods and generally going out of your way to release all that pent-up aggression by starting the mother-of-all-bar-fights.

Not that such a thing was what he had in mind, of course.

Miramon stood at the bar and waited for service, which might have taken a while had he not glared balefully at the bartender as though he had an extremely large credit chip that was just waiting to be transferred, but also had the patience of a Klingon in a room full of chatting Ferengi, and thus *might* be inclined to walk out at any moment. Sufficed to say, that got the necessary attention from the server.

"Seven Rigellian Chasers."

He'd been tempted to add 'please', but he had to remember that 'Danar' would never say please or thank you if he could get away with it. As far as he was concerned, the drinks should have been served 10 minutes ago, and now the barkeep was coming woefully close to taking his time.

"Make it six, ya habibi.", Came a throaty voice behind him. It was amazing how quickly Saul adapted the 'oriental' accent. He stood behind 'Danar', slanting his eyes toward the lounge's entrance.

Stealthily observing the actions and interactions of the people around, Brian waited for an opportunity to interject himself into something as an active participant or interested bystander. The circumstances of this mission dictated that he be acutely aware of what was going on around him, and for that reason he suspended his usual self-restraint in telepathically tuning in on others without their permission. Thus far, he found the reactions of his fellow team members the most interesting.

*Well you're not going to win any popularity contests today,* he sent to Jayce. He fought the urge to start doing deep knee-bends to help loosen up the pants that felt and looked like they'd been plastered to him. He'd never been a fan of leather clothing and always wondered how people wore it without chafing. Similarly to Baile, a long black leather trench coat hung from the tall Betazoid's shoulders, but his still had sleeves. It was hot, in both the good and bad senses.

Between his leather apparel and the relentless "music", Elessidil found himself becoming more irritable by the minute. It was well enough, as far as he was concerned, as it would probably serve to help him stay in character. There wasn't much he could do about the clothing at this moment, but he decided to take the opportunity to let Radu Prett do something about the music.

With silent focus and self-assurance, the counselor moved to the bar and with a subtle head gesture summoned the bartender after he'd supplied Saul and Miramon with their drinks.

"Change the music."

There was nothing of a request in his tone. His "suggestion" to the bartender was delivered as if it were a foregone conclusion that his demand would be met unequivocally.

For a moment, the bartender just looked at him with uncertainty. To his pleasure, Brian could sense the other man's concern. It seemed Radu Prett was someone he knew at least by reputation if not by sight. He decided to play up the role.

"Change the Goddamn music or I'll slit your throat and fry every chip in the projection equipment," Brian added. His voice remained calm and low, but his eyes bore through the bartender like phaser beams.

Without a word, the bartender pulled a remote controller from a pocket in his apron and pushed a button. A moment later, the Klingon death metal concert scene shimmered out of existence, replaced by a Terran group playing its own version of metal, one that was somewhat more palatable to the Betazoid's ears.

"Prett" simply nodded, then walked back to where he stood earlier, dissolving wraithlike into the cluster of people in between.

The Bajoran Pilot came within half a second of rolling his eyes. The idea was for them to stay undercover and under no circumstances were they to do anything to overtly attract attention to themselves, lest someone take a closer look. When they'd been handed these roles, he'd had something of a considerable problem with them after reading them through, since these were not the type of freight crew he was used to. But then, there were always two types: the fastidious ones and the greed-driven.

The latter tended simply to want to make a living or, as Miramon had found aboard the K'Lyn, simply a way to exist beyond the problems and burdens they might have found had they been on-world traders. Most of the time, they were the easy-going types, hardworking but civilized. The other type were the less reputable ones, more inclined to seek a quick profit in any way possible, and not particularly caring about how they got it. Starfleet had done a good job in finding them a suitable group with the latter traits.

Why they'd done that, he wasn't certain. Surely Starfleet officers were better suited to playing more civilized traders, a crew that would operate more with discipline and aplomb than one that was made up of people just out for themselves. Trying to keep in the roles they'd been given wasn't something he personally found easy - Saul was likely to have the easier time of it, and from what he knew of Lieutenant Baile, the rough-and-ready approach was more in keeping with his personality.

Still, surely there was a better approach than this? If they kept acting like they were supposed to, they were going to come under some pretty close scrutiny.

****

Bathroom, 'The Launch Pad' Bar & Lounge, Lammergeir Spaceport, Gryphon Coalition

Jamson planted himself on the head and activated the listening device, placing the headset in one ear and placing the receiving end against the wall behind the toilet. At first only static filtered through, and he had to bite back a curse. ~If Remur put these damned intelligence toys together wrong...~

He never finished the thought, as he pushed the device firmly against the wall, resolving the static into silence. He wasn't sure, but if the device was working properly, he could now hear what was going on in the alleyway outside. It was a strange way to have somebody drop information... but it was better than an open meeting.

Footsteps entered the alleyway, and Jamson increased the pressure against the wall. The footsteps grew louder, before stopping on the other side of the wall. The contact had known the exact point he'd be at because of a small rock left at the base of the wall. He'd had to give Remur credit for that one - simple solutions left less chance for interference.

Next he heard the sound of a cigarette lighter being flicked open. Since the repair of the domed city, an artificial breeze swept through, a fault in the environmental controls. Stepping into an alleyway to use a lighter served as a functional excuse.

[The crew have been taken care of,] a woman's voice said, in smooth, clipped words. [Meet me in the Spacer's Quarter in an hour. 147 Nova Street, room R11. Don't be seen.]

The footsteps receded, and Jamson quickly packed in the listener before going back to the table.

"The Aftermath"

By: Pilot Ayden O'Connor
& Pilot Ember Lansky

Ember had almost half-convinced herself that the person she saw back there, during the Vanguard meeting was a mirage. It didn't make sense how someone halfway across the galaxy could suddenly show up here, feet away from her on the same ship. The odds were so incredible that her mind was straining just to grasp the concept alone. It was so ludicrous, so unbelievable that she must have seen wrongly. Heard wrongly too.

Still her footsteps were carrying her so swiftly away from the meeting room that she was just one metre per second short of a mad dash. She needed desperately to clear her head, straighten her mind. It must have been the excess of synthehol she had consumed the night before wrecking havoc with her mental state. She needed air, now, this very instant.

Ayden wasn't as fortunate of being so close to the doors when the meeting came to an end, and before he knew it the woman that he believed to be the Ember Lansky had disappeared between them. He didn't want to make a scene, but he made his way through the others as quickly as he could so that he had a chance of catching up with her.

Exiting the briefing room in haste, he barely caught a glimpse of her dark brown hair passing around a corner. Pivoting on his feet, he walked briskly to pursue her. As much as he wanted to be, now was not the time to get too excited. It's not like they had ended on a good note, and he was pretty sure she noticed him considering his late arrival so this meant she was deliberately trying to avoid him now.

Ember stopped at the turbolift. Inhaling deeply, she bent her head and let her eyes close for a few brief seconds, silently counting forward in her head. That was the miserable remnants of order she could cling to with the crazy tailspin that had thrown her completely and totally off-course. Reopening her eyes when the lift arrived, she quickly entered, stating the floor for her quarters then leaned back against the wall.

It was her! Ayden quickened his pace into a near mad-dash for the turbolift, passing by several unsuspecting crewmen as he watched the doors begin to slide to a close. As he drew closer he could see her face, her attention away from the door. He could make it, but barely.

The doors slide to a close, and Ayden found himself sealed in two complicated places. First of all, he was now alone with a woman who had beaten him more often than not during their sparing sessions back when they were on good terms. Secondly, at this very moment it was very... very likely they weren't on good terms.

For a split second he hoped that it wasn't her, that the woman he believed to be Ember was simply somebody else. There was something about an awkward situation such as this that didn't seem like it could have a good ending. Nevertheless, he had to try.

"Hello Ember..." He said gently, leaning against the opposite end of the turbolift. His eyes weren't on her, but were directed towards the small console adjacent to the doors. He could feel his breathing quicken, and not because of the run. He was nervous, especially when he glanced her way for a moment. "Deck eleven." He ordered the computer, trying not to make a big deal of this.

There it was, in front of her, clear as day. Even if she wanted to delude herself, there was no way to do it with the specter standing over there in full flesh and blood. The confined space of the turbolift was suddenly suffocatingly small. She looked up, willing the doors to open. Fast. It felt hot and her heart was racing with a riot of emotions that tore through her in a flash - uncertainty mingled with anger, desire mixed with terror. But just as quickly, she buried them, seizing upon the one emotion that was truly safe.

"What are you doing here?" She snapped, cutting aside the pleasantries. Her eyes, like shards of molten fire, were narrowed, directed at him.

Ayden didn't look towards her, he maintained his focus on a small console which indicated their general location on board the ship. There was a tug of what his heart wanted him to say, but it certainly wouldn't do either of them any good as long as she was on the offensive. ~Time to keep the focus off the problem~ he thought, at least for now. "Haven't you heard? I've been stuck in my quarters for the last month, so I thought I'd enjoy the holodeck for a bit."

His hypocritical façade of calm was like a douse of cold water. But it only made her more indignant, more determined to rile him. She moved closer towards him so that she was facing him, their faces mere inches away from each other, making it impossible for his gaze to avoid hers. "Really? And what is it you think you'd enjoy in the holodeck?" Her tone was sarcastic.

Ayden heaved an internal sigh, realizing how exciting it was to have this woman so close again. He looked down into her eyes with a soft touch, and smiled. "You know I've always thought you were cute when you were playing the bitch role." His words weren't as intense as hers, and and paved more towards complimentary.

"Yea? Keep this up and we'll see how cute you think I am when you're flat on your face," She threatened, not amused by his flippancy. There was a lot of anger in her, which was uncanny, because when he wasn't around, he occupied a lot of her thoughts. Now that he was, she acted as though she couldn't wait till he was out of her sight again. Bottom line -- she was infuriated, but whether she was angry at him or at herself was a mystery.

"Claws out today, huh?" Ayden rolled his eyes with a jovial grin, "If you must know, I've been cooped up in my quarters for over a month... so I was thinking about taking a trip to the Elysium region on Mars."

There was a litany of comebacks on her lips. Curt, terse words that would verbalize just how much she hated the way he had stepped into her life and messed it up. Through the distance that had separated them before, he had only been a mirage, forever a figment of a dream no matter how often they had interacted 'virtually' on the holodecks. Now he was here for real… to screw over her life for real.

How dare he?

She didn't think. She only reacted. And at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to wipe that silly, but adorable grin off his face, wanted him to taste just half of the conflict that she was feeling.

Ember pushed him against the wall, hard, and the very next instant, her mouth had captured his, kissing him fiercely.

Ayden was starting to think that he would never be able to predict the sheer ferocity of this woman. He had expected her to force her way onto the holodeck with him, not upon him in the turbolift. There, he might have managed to rekindle a softer tone of the romance they had just begin to recognize. It wasn't long until his previous intentions slipped away however, replaced by an exhausting hunger to be with her.

All he could think about at this moment though was how great her lips felt, her how body felt. As they kissed, he started by cradling her neck in his palms, rolling her into the wall. Bending down slightly, he grabbed her by the thighs, lifting her up against his hips before heaving her into the turbolift wall.

There was no telling when the turbolift doors would open up, which could potentially reveal the two's humility. Those thoughts were far from his mind though, as he anticipated were the same of hers.

The reaction she unleashed in him only fanned her desire. Momentarily clouded by how much she wanted him, her fingers dug into his back gripping for hold even as her tongue thrust into his mouth, drinking in the taste of him.

Her breathing was hard as her hand swept down swiftly and exploringly, driven by a craving need. When she had found what she was passionately seeking, what should have been an explosion of mutual intensity turned into a stark anti-climax. Abruptly, she pulled back her head, leaning it against the wall of the turbolift, and putting as much distance as she could between them. Her hair was slightly disheveled and her breaths were coming in short gasps. Desire still burned in her gaze. But she only smiled, silently lifting a brow, then callously shoving him back so she could stand.

As though timed, the doors of the turbolift opened at her level not a second later. She moved towards the doors, but just before stepping out, paused, and whispered with her back to him. "I'm afraid you're just not good enough, Ayden."

Ayden was completely struck for the next course of action, and it was obvious. His jaw hung right open, his arms held out with a shrug, and his breathing still rapid. It was like he had just been kicked in the groin, and it hurt just as much. "What the..." he began, catching his breath. "...hell? Ember?"

There wasn't a chance for her to answer, as the doors came to a disheartening close. He rushed towards them but it was too late, she was gone... again. That's when he caught his reflection in the console, a complete mess. His uniform was crossing in a flare of upheaval. It wouldn't take a sharp eye to see what had just happened.

"Damnit..." he snapped, thrusting his fist into the wall next to him. In the best case, it was definately time for a cold shower.

When she heard the doors close, her legs seemed to collapse beneath her as she sank down, hunkered on the ground. Her body was shaking and her insides were so badly twisted up she felt she had been landed a punch in the gut. Or worse. She hugged herself, a small whimper of unsated desire and agony escaping involuntarily from her throat.

It was a brief moment of weakness. Ten seconds later, she was up, her composure forced back into her place as she began the slow trudge towards her quarters...where she would be, thankfully, peacefully and almost regrettably, alone.

(backpost in all likelyhood)

"Stories"

Ensign Zev Raynor
'Intelligence' Officer

Ensign Artim MD
Medical Officer

Raynor was currently listening to Thriller by Michael Jackson, and doing a fair imitation of the long dead pop singer, from his voice to his right down to his dance moves as he moonwalked into ten forward... all in a femine voice... he was about to engage in one of his favourite past times... or rather one of the past times he did because it caused people to underestimate him, which he liked just fine because it meant he didn't have to do TOO much work during a regular day...

Raynor saw a child sitting by the bar, drinking what appeared to be blood wine... he began his approach, with an intent look in his eye, which definetly made him look like a craven beast.

But he only got halfway before he was stopped by a man of the cloth. His gaze intimidiating, his tone of voice, fear inspiring... the words that passed into Raynor's ears were these... "If you take sexual advantage of him, you're going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters and people who talk at the theater."

Raynor raise his hands in self defense and manuveured around the priest and sat down next to the kid, and ordered himself a keg of beer... he had a feeling that this kid had a story to tell, and it would take about that much achohol to make him last through it...

Artim just swirled his blood wine and grinned as Raynor came over with his usual idotic flare. Oh,he'd met many like Raynor in his life, complete idiots looking for a way to express themselves through the veil of competence they are sometimes forced to wear. He never knew whether he should feel sorry for the man or laugh hysterically at him. Wait, those aren't mutually exclusive.

Laughing hysterically as the chaplain he'd been talking to, quite an interesting man as it turned out, went to defend him from the infamous intellegence officer, Artim turned around and said, "It's ok Father, if he tries anything I'll send him to his maker personally, but I don't think I'm his type even though he dances kinda odd. Oh, and another one of these barkeep."

"Are you sure...I mean...you're...small." the bartender replied

"I've drunken a Nausicaan under the table before, a big one too. I'm sure I can handle a second bloodwine, especially this watered down stuff you serve. Best stow this when Commander Kol comes in", the Miran replied with an even bigger grin

The bartender scowled and walked off leaving him to turn his attention to Raynor.

"So, in for a long night or do you just need a workout?"

"Neither really," Raynor said in response. "Just wandering around to see what I find... beer... people... stories... beer... women... men... real beer..." his voice trailed off... his mind wandering on a thousand different topics, but his body maintaining the facade of what had become Zev Raynor for the rest of the ship...

"Well, the real beer may be a problem based on the state of this stuff. Women, well, I'm sure they'll come in time. Stories , well, I got a few centuries worth of those. And I'm sure you have a few of your own that don't involve torturing the waste disposal systems."

"Yes, there is one where I torture a captain's chair instead... suffice to say that the CO wasn't too pleased afterward," Raynor said sarcastically, while at the same time, remembering the event in great detail... he was reduced to writing out a 500 lines a day for 3 weeks about how he would never shit in the captain's seat again... regardless of how shitty a Captain he was...

"Hmm...sounds like fun, but I must say most of my stories don't involve excrement unforunately. Well, there was the one time I had to... well... I mean we did all sorts of thing to survive back then. Only had to do it once, but, well, it wasn't as bad as it sounds, really."

*But I ain't about to do it again* Artim thought to himself, getting a bad taste in his mouth just talking about it.

"The question is do you have a real story to tell?" Raynor asked. "And are you willing to share it?"

"Sure, which one do you want to hear? There's the time I hunted a grass squirrel for three days. There's the barfight with the Nausicaan on Thelgor II. There was those two Coven fellows at Saladin IV. Got a few more too."

"Coven? What species is that?" Raynor asked, his interest had shot up a little, but he didn't want to give away that he was once in the Coven. But Raynor's attention turned as his keg of beer arrived... Raynor simply got out a very long straw and began to suck.

"Humans actually" Artim said as he started on his second bloodwine "But not your usual humans. Found out they were decended from a group that left Earth 300 years ago. Have some interesting religious beleifs but they didn't really go into it much. Didn't fit in with the Federation well so they left.

Religious beliefs? Well close enough... "Weird..." and then Raynor applied the formula... insert next standard question here. "So what happened with these Coven guys..."

"Well" Artim said, "They ended up needing a pilot that could fly the Saladin Nebula. Apparantly they were hired to find some pirates that had been raiding mining freighters in the area. Considering I was piloting one of the frieghters that got hit and was out of a job while it was being repaired I decided to take the job. Were one odd bunch, though they didn't have any problems using kids, or those who looked like them, in dangerous jobs on their ships. Kept the gravity up and the rations low, especially for the kids. Treated me a bit better then their own children, but it still kinda fealt like home. They were either interested in me or they avoided me completely, apparantly they still didn't like the Federation much. Kinda kept me in the dark about their methods and such. Wasn't surprising as it was only a one time deal. Anyway, we spent a couple months in the nebula trying to find these pirates. Eventually we smoked them out and disabled their ship. Was quite a chase though, its one nasty nebula and I could see why they needed a hand flying in there. Was one of the more interesting jobs I've done."

"I'll bet..." Raynor said, now losing interest... he had run a risk assessment, based on that information that he had given Raynor... no probelm about as much as anyone in criminal underworld knew of Ronin... no reason to try and silence the little one. Unless... "That it?"

"Yup. Wasn't much other than that." Of course there was alot more, but these guys were a very secretive bunch. That and he had a feeling Zev knew exactly who these guys were and knew a hell of alot more then he was letting on about them. After taking a big swig of bloodwine, he looked to Zev and said "Your turn"

Raynor silently cursed within his own mind, though his face did not alter... he had sensed that he had let on he knew more than he was telling. Mark of a bad spy. But he began to rack his brains together... "I have many stories, some are mine, some aren't... but all of them are true... what kind you like to hear?"

"Well lets see, what's the most unusual assignment you've been on, and I mean you, not one of...well...its an odd ability you have," Artim said.

"Off the top of my head, be the father figure a Jem Hadar," Raynor said thinking back to a weird 'assignment' that wasn't classified. Raynor waited for the approirate response from Artim.

"That's...different. Better then my experience with the Jem'hadar, though I'm not sure I'd want to raise one. But please, go on. " Artim's reaction to the mention of the Jem'hadar was subdued a little bit by the idea of thinking of Raynor as a father figure to anything.

"It was a standard sort of mission for the Strife though, when it started out anyways. That's the ship I was assigned to last. Officially I was an Intelligence Officer and the Ships Executive Officer to the Hazard team, because of the Ragtag nature and my 'ability' as you put it of it, I did pretty much every job at least once or twice," Raynor explained.

"Anyways the Strife's assignment is to basically prevent any elements that did not accept or hear about the surrender of the Dominion, from doing damage to either side. Mop up in other words. But anyways... we we're sent to investigate a cloning facality that was shut down after the war, to find a Federation traitor producing his own army of Jem'Hadar, who weren't genetically loyal to the Founders and didn't need the white to survive... but they were raised to follow his commands, not through genetic memory, but just training...we had to cut through the poor bastards to get the Traitor, who commited suicide as we closed in. We were in the middle of mop up when we come across the Jem'hadar kid fresh out of the cloning chamber. Blank slate. And the Dominion didn't want him. Damaged goods and all. So I got stuck with him."

Raynor stopped to take a drink.

"Interesting." Artim replied taking a long slow sip from the tankard of blood wine. "I mean, one wouldn't think of you as the fathering type, especially to something that's been engineered to kill. What happened to him."

"Humans are genetically engineered to kill to survive," Raynor said in response. "Though we call it evolution, and it wasn't so much father, as I was mentor. I gave him a bit of attention, taught him philiosophy, and technique... he ended up joining the enlisted marines on board the Strife." Raynor heard someone spit out their drink right that moment... it seemed the whole room was eavesdropping. "There's an irony for you," he continued. "He's not the same as other Jem'hadar. All the other guys, get strength from worship of their gods, or from the dream of freedom, both warlike. Ender on the other hand gets strength from to ideals he holds dear to his heart. Love and Peace." No doubt the whole bar was listening as the reaction was drinks either smashing against the floor, or spraying on other people's faces.

"Love and Peace aren't words I'd associate with a Jem'hadar." Artim said as he finished his tankard and in a non-verbal way ordered another one. "But, I suppose nature can sometimes be overcome by nurture." Artim received his beverage and chugged it down like a Klingon would. He smiled at Raynor and said, "Well, I'm on duty in an hour and it will take that long for the detoxifier to work. Was most interesting talking to you Mr. Raynor."

Raynor sipped on the straw that was connected to the keg... he lifted to check how much was left. 24%... they really needed to get stronger beer on board. He continued to drink oddly aware that many eyes were focused on him... his mind conjured up these words from an anicent song that nearly no one knew...

if you are lost in your way deep in an awesome story don't be in doubt and stray cling to your lonesome folly

now you're too close to the pain let all the rain go further come back and kiss me in vain mother oh do not bother

hear the chorus of pain taking you back to proper ways it's so easy to find if you could remind me

now you are lost in your way deep in an awesome story so I will find you again kiss you for lonesome folly

For some reason in Raynor's random mind... it fit.

"Expectations"

Lt. Com. Brianna "Anna" O'Shea
Chief Engineer / S.C.E. Liaison USS Galaxy

~~

Just over forty-five minutes ago Anna had gotten word from Henderson she had made his away team to go down to the planet they now orbited. Anna wasn't sure if she wanted go, but then realized it wasn't an invitation she was picked for a reason. Telling Henderson she would have to catch up with him, due to making sure the struts were alright and then time to clean up, even in this modern day an engineer could find dirt and grim in even the cleanest of places. So, after a stop at her quarters and change into a fresh uniform she headed for transporter room VI. Once she entered the transporter room she looked over at the chief and then pulled one of the spare engineering kits from storage compartment and then a spare tricorder, an engineer after all never leaves home with these items.

Taking a place on the pad, front center, Anna looked at the woman behind the consoles. "Energize." Anna said then watched as the white stasis of the transporter field enveloped her body and began to instantly beam her down to the planet below.

When her slender form began to solidify the first thing that struck her was the pleasant scent. Perhaps it surprised her cause in her mind she knew this place was full of Jem'Hadar, she half expected dark gray clouds, vicious plant life and a looking sun that gave Jem'Hadar that scaly reptilian look. To her dismay and surprise, it was a lovely settlement, if one could call it that. Flowing lines, damn, someone really show some grace when they formed the outer walls of this city. Standing there, only a true engineer could appreciate the style and layout, especially when it was built by a species that was made to fight and kill.

Flipping her tricorder open, the second that that surprised her was there was over three thousand Jem'Hadar lifesigns, ranging from newborn to prolonged life. The modern way of saying, a senior citizen. "No, Jem'Hadar can't have children.." Anna scolded herself and went about telling herself to check the reading. Just as she did to little Jem'Hadar children came walking up to her carrying a cluster of flowers in their hand. Both looked to be about the same age, possible twins even. One was defiantly girl, while the other looked more boyish.

"Hello..." Anna said, amazed she was here, and knew she should be finding Henderson but she couldn't help but grin and kneel down as they approached.

"Hello." The two children said in unison. "Welcome to our city.." They said, handing her the flowers.

Anna looked at them and smiled. "Are these for me?" Anna asked.

They nodded and then waved and quickly ran off, giggling, much like any other child would do. Anna grinned and then took in the fragrance the blossoms were releasing. Standing back up she stood there. She then looked down at her tricorder and began to walk, taking her time, after all this would be the first time a Starfleet engineer would have seen any of this...

"Necessary Risk"

Major Corran Rex
Flight Officer Xiaz Padma

"Allright, stand down people." Corran called out to the rest of the squadron as the indicator lights on the fighter bay's walls switched from Red Alert to Yellow. "Looks like we're not going to be scrambled this time after all. Bridge says they've got a handle on things."

The Trill pilot tossed his helmet haphazardly back into his cockpit, along with his gloves, and slid down the railing that his flight crew had pulled back up to his fighter.

Strange to find out that there were Jem Hadar living here, in the Beta Quadrant, apparently free and clear. And with wives and children, no less. Hell, Corran had thought they didn't even have wives. Still, that was the sort of thing it was up to the 'Fleeties to figure out.

Figured,though, that an alert like this would have spoiled what had been a rather good afternoon for him and Ella. Murphy really was a bastard sometimes.

"You're a bastard, you know that?" Xiaz Padma's low voice said as she sauntered up behind him, smacking him hard on the back as she matched his strides. "What the hell ever happened to this, 'I don't want to settle down in this life' line? Now you're totting the monogamous line. Or trying to. With a crazy engineer type, no less. Wouldn't think that little mouse would really be your type."

"Man, word spreads fast on this ship." he muttered. "Where in the world did you hear about that?"

"From someone who knows someone who saw something and... I don't know. So I'm a little irritated with you."

"Well, to tell the truth, it's not really something I saw coming, Pad." he shrugged.

"Oh peh!" she said, angling her gaze over to look at him. "Everyone saw it coming. The amount of time you spent with her? You had intentions, regardless of how deep they might have been buried in that squishy little head of yours. I mean -- everyone knows she's hung up on Victor I'm-the-Devil What's-his-face. So you wanted to pursue her because you never thought you'd be able to have her. The thrill of the conquest, perhaps. It's not going to last very long, you know. This relationship."

Corran just rolled his eyes and leaned on the wing of his fighter. "Oh ye of little faith." he said, and stabbed a finger at her. "And if you, Ms. Observant, knew all this already, then why're you surprised by it?"

"Because I was having faith, Rex. I was having faith that you wouldn't be dumb enough to actually get involved."

"Pad, come on. I thought that we were beyond this." he said, fixing an even stare on her. "There's no reason for you to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous," she denied, standing straighter and visibly bristling. She was clearly annoyed. "Have you ever known me to be jealous?"

"Yeah, right now."

"This is not jealous. This is concern," she stated. "If I was jealous I would be at a loss for words and going out to try to make you as jealous as possible. If I was jealous, that would mean that I wanted to be in Ella's position. And I don't. I reaaalllllyyyy don't."

"Sure you don't." he grinned.

Her cat-like grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly. Her jaw tensed. "In case you don't recall, I have been there, and more, thank you. It wasn't that great then and now you're barely more than a mediocre shag. I don't want to be in Ella's position. I just don't want Ella to be in Ella's position." Her bee-stung lips pouted. "That. Is me jealous. I'll see you later Rex, try not to trip over that giant ego hanging from that itty bitty little tool of yours." She turned away, shaking her head as she walked away toward her fighter.

"Ouch," he muttered, and then hurried to catch up to the other Trill. "Pad, hey, wait up."

She whipped around, long dark curls flying through the air and settling over her shoulders as she folded her arms tightly over her chest.

"What."

It wasn't a question, more a statement. He hadn't seen her that angry in a long time. Not since they were married a long, long time ago. It was prettier on this host.

"Look," he admitted quietly. "I know you're not jealous. And I know that Grey and I are probably all sorts of wrong for each other. We're both a bit.. touched in the head, let's say. but maybe that's where wrong becomes right? I don't know. i don't have any answers for you, Pad. I don't have any answers for myself. And, old as I am.. not knowing how something will turn out is kind of... refreshing. Ella is.. something new."

"It's not as though you've never had that before, Corran," she said softly. "I only bring it up because in the twisted way that only our species can understand, I care for you, and to a degree I wouldn't admit to most people. I don't want to see you get hurt, in any way. She's a complicated person, Rex, with complicated baggage, who doesn't love you, she couldn't possibly. You're a fill-in and what's more, you know that. Dealing with all that for something new is ridiculous and stupid. I know you. You play it cool, you plan it hard and disconnected, but in the end when you do fall? You fall hard. You always have. And it always. Always fucks you up. And Rex," she lowered her voice even further, moving closer, touching his elbow as she leaned in, "for you, this life is fucked up enough as it is."

"Maybe." he said quietly. "And maybe this is just another risk that I need to take."

"Maybe," Pad murmured. She drew a deep breath. "Just remember that nothing's change; I'm here, when it all falls to pieces, just like I've always been. You know. Except for the times when I wasn't."

He just chuckled and whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the beep of his commbadge.

["Ops to Major Rex. Report to briefing lounge for away team instructions."] came the voice of an officer he didn't recognize.

"Away team?" he muttered after acknowledging the hail, and locked gazes with Pad. "Since when do we get sent on away teams?"

"You've got to be kidding me," she replied, making a face. "They must really be getting desperate. Can you just tell them to shove it up their collective asses and let us stick to the black?"

"Guess we'll see after i go have a chat." he shrugged, and headed for the corridor. As he neared it he stopped, and looked at his old friend once more. "Pad.."

"Rex. Forget I said anything."

"I won't." he smiled, and went on his way.

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