"An ode to nature"

By Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Operations Officer
USS Galaxy-A

The gazing sun, the vivid light, the clear blue skies, and the remote white puffy clouds. The rich singing of a mockingbird, alongside the hum of a beautiful yellow bee hovering unworried over a lovely daisy. And a man - sitting on the edge of a vast and ancient forest. He's staring at the open planes, absorbing the gentle patting breeze, coming from up north, joined by some tender bell sounds. It was a remarkable spring day, announcing the forthcoming summer. Everything has turned green by now, from the tallest trees to the wild grass and moss. Blooming and blossoming produced pollen, which by now filled the air with colors, sweet smells and odors. How marvelous it was, to be surrounded by these 'perfect' lifeforms, to fee nothing but pure joy and happiness. No responsibilities, duties or tasks, not a care in this world. How this nature loving individual desired to stay, to lay on the ground for as long as he could, to feel the earth and dirt, the touch of bare rock, the roughness of wood.

"Ouch!" a slight cry alarmed some pigeons, sending them sky high, as they ran for their lives. "Something bit me!!!" a voice echoed through the open land. Rising from the tall grass, the man, now appeared to be wearing outdoor clothing, tried inevitably to clear the messy powder in the air, all around him. Searching for a bite, or some sort of evidence of the brutal attack, he suddenly noticed a big green demonic beetle looking straight at him. It was practically a fearless monster, but a striking one, to stare upon. 'How dare you....little devil' he thought and raised his foot in intimidation, threatening to crush the pale green bug. However, the beetle didn't budge, nor move any of it's 6 legs. "You feisty little creature...." the man whispered fascinated, quickly grabbing a bag pack, pulling out an instrument. After several seconds of pressing some buttons, a satisfying sigh approved the finding. "A tiger beetle...". Picking a dry leaf that remained on the ground for several days, he approached it closely to the bug who in return, without hesitating, stormed forward, launching a swift deadly second attack and giving the intruder what he deserved, "OUCH!!!".

Finally, understanding the hint, the beaten Michael Jamson, took his back, wore his old terran style barmah hat and moved backwards, towards the forest sending an enraged look at the victorious tiger beetle. 'This isn't over...' he thought and turned away.

Entering the lush woodland, Jamson wandered around astounded. This place was so beautiful, how could this be? how could this happen? he reacted the same way every single time, experiencing such beauty. He adored nature so much, that at times he could spent hours, taking long journeys into the wild all by himself. Walking slowly, he moved his hands around, touching plants around him. "We Are Made One with What We Touch and See" Jamson mumbled the words of Oscar Wild. He felt one with the environment, like he belonged here. This was odd, coming from a man, who grew up on an abandoned rocky outpost, not knowing what was a real living planet until the age of 12. All he knew prior to traveling Earth for the first time as a juvenile, was the rough feeling of icy rocks and stones, the cold sensation of metal, and the foul smell of recycled oxygen or methane. Not even the holosuites could prepare him for the stunning experience he had when visiting Yosemite Park for the first time. How he treasured that memory, and he fell in love with nature that day, vowing to spend time, as much as he could, in the great outdoors.

Of course, that wasn't easy, being a Starfleet officer. In cold deep space, there was no similar life. Just vacuum and emptiness. Of course there were space creatures, like those who dwelled in anomalies, dark matter, ripples and alternate realities, but they didn't require sun light or water to survive. A plant here and there onboard a vessel, could brighten a room, bring some life into it. Instead of artificial glass, plastic and metal, you've had a living, breathing lifeform! the arboretum, the ship's greenhouse and conservatory, were his escape, a place to find refuge from the daily chores and people. Plants, like people, were needy and dependant, exposed to diseases and parasites, and at times, fragile and weak. They were survivors in the purest form, reproducing and trying to keep their race alive. Unlike people, they never talked back, asked questions, showed emotions or performed illogical actions. Kind of like Vulcans when you think of it. But how strong they were, showing their might, growing up high, presenting their prettiness...offering their fruits, with a hidden agenda. The words of Frank Lloyd Wright couldn't have described Jamson's feelings any better, "Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you".

Those who didn't know Michael, never knew of his passion for things that grow. He never shared it either. Mostly plants, but also animals and other living organisms. He would never harm a fly, or a flower, but on the other hand, would kill a foe in battle without giving it a second thought. He was a puzzle, since not many took the time to solve it. Only several have taken that road in the past, but they were gone now. Botany, always his favorite, yet, he never took time to master this profession. Back at the academy, he tried to take several classes, but eventually, it would overlap with his other studies, so he had to let it go. Thinking of it further, he decided to leave it aside, since it was a hobby. Mastering it, would only diminish it's splendor and respect, in his eyes.

Holding a guide to plants, the stimulated man lingered for minutes at a time, studying and identifying organisms carefully. Yet, he quickly moved from one plant to another, from tree to flower, weed to branch, with the excitement of a little child. How Aristotle was correct, "In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous". Evolution had a big role here, for thousands of years it has shaped and molded the surroundings and creatures around him. Deserts turned to forests, and the latter to oceans. Rocks to dust, water to life. And where was man in all of this? such a tiny grain of sand. The universe had long managed without the presence of humanoid lifeforms. How significant they felt, when in reality, they were nothing. The average tree on Earth had the lifespan of several humans.

Resting on an old rigid black, Michael took a sip of water, meditating. This deep part of the woods was rather quiet, and allowed him to listen around for more distinct sounds. A familiar rattling noise caught his attention, and raised a smile on his face. Closing his 24th century, shiny metal canteen, his quickly moved around the dense terrain, following the growing sound. Struggling to clear his pathway, Jamson was eventually confronted with a striking sight. It was another slice of heaven, a remarkable waterfall, connected to a beautiful small pond. The clear blue sparkling water, pierced by the rays of the sun, made it hard to notice the underwater life.

Crouching on the bank of the lake, the tired man washed his face, with the local water. A large dragonfly, captured his eyesight, leaning on the edge of a flower. It was standing still, like a sculpture. 'What an extraordinary creature' Jamson murmured to himself, aiming the electronic padd towards the blue dragon, taking quick snapshots. A splash of water interrupted the quiet magical moment. It was a flying fish, targeting the dragonfly and making it's debut. Michael was so impressed he had recorded the moment, "A flying fish!", 'Who would have thought of that.............'. It was these moments that were worth it all, it was a privilege to such sights. "Nature is, above all, profligate…Extravagance! Nature will try anything once. This is what the sign of the insects says. No form is too gruesome, no behavior too grotesque. If you're dealing with organic compounds, then let them combine. If it works, if it quickens, set it clacking in the grass: there's always room for one more; you ain't so handsome yourself." Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.

Continuing his journey, Michael had walked and strayed for hours. Not knowing where he was heading, without any maps of instruments of navigation, he eventually made it to one of the edges of this vast woodland. A long forgotten scent draw him here. He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but none the less, it was known to him. Curiosity was replaced with satisfaction, as the man cried out "Citrus!!!". He was now out of the forest, walking towards a plantation in an open field. This was bizarre....how could an orchard be so close to a forest? Yet he was dazzled by the incredible aroma. If there was some smell in the whole universe that could blow his mind away, it was the smell of blossoming citrus flowers. Oh, how intoxicating and addictive it was! although there were no fruits to be visible, Jamson embraced the air, and closed his eyes. What wouldn't he give for some oranges right now. Even lemons would do. And not the replicated piece of crap, the real ones! the computer generated fruits tasted like concrete. They've had no taste whatsoever, the juices were mere water with some chemicals. It simply wasn't the same.

Sitting down, under one of the citrus trees, he opened his bag and took out a Vulcan Hirat. It was a famous Vulcan delicacy, known throughout the Galaxy. Taking a bite from the grey unattractive fruit, he pulled his personal padd and began writing "An ode to nature....where was I? mmm....". He pondered and looked at the edible plant "What's in a fruit?". Inspired by great writers, mostly Terran, he tried to find the exact words, to continue his work of art. "Ah...maybe if I..." he continued, amusing himself with some ideas. He was on a roll, and just as he was about to finish his grand creation....

"Warning.....program will terminate in 30 seconds".

"Whhhaaa----t?" Jamson almost choked on a whole piece of Hirat.

"Program will terminate in 25 seconds".

"Computer!" Jamson angrily shouted "Explain".

"Holodeck session has reached it's limit", the computer replied.

"I thought I've reserved two sessions in a row" He said painfully, "Computer. Display session reservations and owners as of today". The computer responded by materializing an arch on one of the citrus trees. "What a waste..." Michael approached the view screen. "Who cancelled my second session???". Who had the tenacity and daring to change his schedule without even notifying him?

"Unable to comply. A level 1 clearance is required to view system permissions".

Only several crew members had such clearance onboard, to change personal leisure time on the holosuites. This was unthinkable! and rude. "Computer...the next session was set by...?".

"Crewman Rosalles".

"Great..." Jamson muttered as usual, while the holographic emitters changed the beautiful nature scenery to the regular yellow brick appearance. The doors slid open, and in came crewman Rosalles, an engineer. "Lieutenant!" She greeted him, a lovely grin on her face. "Did you have a good time?"

"You could say that..." he replied with some impudence in his voice.

"I've been waiting for this for several days" She glanced around, "It's been some time since I've visited here. I have this extraordinary program on some. Found it in the archives. You should try it sometime" She giggled. "Have you tried anything interesting? an adventure? holonovel?".

"I...was...hunting......................Targs" he blabbered.

"Ok...." she noticed the Australian Barmah and adventure clothing.

"Yes. Hunting is a way of life. Infect...I was on my way out to hunt some more" He growled, and turned away. Several steps away, he suddenly stopped. "Crewman...do you like fruit?".

"Same as anyone, I guess" she said.

"Enjoy" he said sarcastically and threw her what was left of his Hiran. Tossing her his bag pack too, leaving her stunned, he added "There's plenty where that came from. And I won't be needing it where I'm going".

"The Chief and the Counselor" Part One

Lt. Tarin Iniara
Chief of Operations

with Counselor V'Lot (NPC)

-------------------
Counseling Offices
Deck 14
-------------------

The first thing Iniara noticed about V'Lot was that the counselor was probably the most unconventional Vulcan she had ever seen.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Counselor."

Rather than the typical unisex Vulcan hairstyle, the counselor wore her hair wavy and long, with subtle auburn highlights. She was also out of uniform, choosing instead to wear a loose tunic of some rose-colored fabric that complemented her olive skin rather well. But what was the strangest thing of all, Iniara realized, was that V'Lot was actually smiling. She wondered if the counselor might not be a full Vulcan after all.

"Regardless of the time of day, the mental well-being of my patients is my primary concern. Your gratitude is not required."

Iniara sighed inwardly. Vulcan through and through.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but you're not...not quite..."

"Not quite what you expected?" the Vulcan countered.

Iniara simply nodded.

"Good." V'Lot smiled again. Iniara couldn't tell whether she was trying to be friendly or condescending. "Now, if you could please come in; sessions like these are usually easier when the patient is not still in the hallway."

Confused, Iniara looked down at herself. Sure enough, she was only halfway in the office. Pushing gently on the control stick of her hoverchair she eased herself forward just far enough for the door to close. Looking around the office, she realized it was just as unconventional as its owner, at least where appearance was concerned. The desk had been pushed against one wall, and instead of guest chairs there was a comfortable-looking sofa. V'Lot herself occupied a rather ergonomic chair that was made in the same style and fabric as the sofa.

But for all the differences between this place and a typical Starfleet-style office, she knew the purpose was the same. And as much as she needed to be here, needed to be fixed, it was still difficult to know where to begin. "So."

"Ensign T'Val has provided me with the files regarding your diagnosis and treatment. I must say, the progression of your condition is quite unusual. Even with physical therapy and the personal regimen you follow, the fact that your body refuses to improve past a certain plateau points to only one conclusion."

"Psychosomatic." The Chief's tone of voice suggested that she was growing very tired of that word.

"Yes." V'Lot swiveled her chair away from her desk, rolling it forward until she was facing Iniara. She folded her hands, placing them delicately in her lap. "Can you tell me what you remember of the mission to Deep Space Five?"

Iniara sighed, tapping one finger against the arm of her chair. "Let me see. As a member of the Hazard Team, I was one of the first people aboard the station. From the moment we touched down, we knew something was wrong. Something...intangible. Evil. Heavy. Choking."

Iniara's eyes unfocused, her vision blurring as she went deeper into the memories. Her mind's eye was taking over, replaying the events over and over in her head. "At that point we should have stopped, should have withdrawn, should have turned around and never looked back. But we didn't...our orders were to get the station up and running again, and we did. I was never so happy as I was when we returned to the ship. We had all made it back. We were safe..."

V'Lot watched her patient's movements carefully as she told the story, paying attention to each little movement that Iniara made. She wondered if Iniara even knew she was still tapping a finger against the chair, her movements gradually increasing in speed as she continued.

"And then, instead of leaving...we sent more teams. I went back. In my mind I was screaming the entire way...but I didn't stop. We were supposed to find Main Ops...get the station running again. We did. But while we were there, we found....logs. Video logs. One of them showed crews towing the...the asteroid...docking it with the station..." The muscles in Iniara's face tightened, the remembered pain showing clearly on her features. Her finger tapping had by now reached a near frenetic pace. "Their prison...we let them out...oh, Prophets..."

"Take your time," V'Lot soothed. "Tell me what happened next."

Without warning Iniara slapped her hand down, the sound of her palm on the smooth surface shattering the relative calm of the office. "Next?" Her eyes refocused, their hardened gaze settling once more on the counselor. "I don't know. I collapsed, and the next thing I remember was waking up in Sickbay three months later. Completely paralyzed."

"So you remember nothing after you collapsed?"

"Other than a few vague images," Iniara shook her head, subconsciously scratching at her throat. "Lights, dizziness, flashes of color, and this...heavy feeling in my head. That's it."

V'Lot nodded slowly. "Try and focus on the visuals...tell me what you see."

Iniara closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. After several seconds she opened them again. "I can't see anything. This isn't going to work. Can't you just, you know, tell me what's wrong with me and how to fix it?"

"Lieutenant, my purpose here is not to tell you how to 'fix yourself'. You already possess that knowledge; my purpose is merely to make you realize that fact."

"Um. Okay." The Chief rubbed at the side of her neck again.

"Which is why, with your permission, I would like to try a mind meld."

"Why?"

The counselor raised an eyebrow, a half-smile creeping onto her face. "As a half-Betazoid, you of all people should know the usefulness of telepathic contact in certain situations."

Iniara frowned. "Well yes..."

"Then, do I have your permission?" When Iniara nodded her assent, V'Lot slid her chair farther forward. Reaching out with one hand, she began. "My mind to your mind...my thoughts to your thoughts..."

"Sparing with Air"

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

Marine Gym
Deck 16
USS Galaxy

****

A gloved fist bypassed his defenses and impacted into his ribcage, winding him. With a sharp intake of breath, and the accompanying pain in his chest, Steven swung his right glove in a sweeping arc towards the opponents head.

His opponent fell for his feint and reacted exactly as he had hoped; putting his left hand up to block the punch and moving to the right, straight into the left fist as it leapt forwards towards his face. The connection to his jaw forced him back a few paces, and against the ropes of the ring.

~ It's been two days since that night, and she hasn't tried to contact me. She obviously just wanted sex, plain old 'no strings attached' sex. Get over it buddy. But what if she has been too busy to contact me... Na, she probably just wanted sex. ~

Steven stepped back and waited for his opponent to recover from the uppercut.

~ It's not like the sex was bad... far from it, it had been pretty damn good, so why am I agonizing over it so much? ~

Steven dodged as his giant opponent took a swing at him, exposing his ribs in the process, much to the delight of Steven's right glove.

The huge Klingon roared in anger and charged at Jonas with his fists swinging. Jonas sidestepped him, but wasn't quick enough to evade him, allowing him to plant some fists to the stomach and kidney area.

~ She's hot, that's for sure, and very spunky. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm starting to fall for her. ~

The large brute came on, not letting Steven recover from the hits. He jabbed at Steven, repeatedly. His large reach allowing him to keep his smaller human opponent at bay while waiting for his opening. And it was grating on Jonas no end.

~ It has been over three years now, and 'Bella would want me to move on with my life. Wouldn't she? ~

Jonas ducked as another shot whistled overhead, barely a few inches from the top of his head. He swung forward, hoping to catch the Klingon off guard, but failed as he quickly set his defenses and blocked the shot.

Steven stepped back to gain some distance between them. He needed the time to review his situation; to determine the next course of action; to find a weakness in his opponent. The Klingon however, had other ideas and closed the gap with a giant stride. Smiling broadly, he lunged forward with and unexpected swiftness that belied his large frame and landed a gloved fist against Jonas' chest sending him flying into the ropes.

Following on, the Klingon came and Steven ducked under the approaching fist and scampered to the other side of the ring.

~Perhaps I should call her. See if she wants to go at it again. That wouldn't seem too pushy would it? Would I sound cheap? God you sound like a retard Jonas... Either call her or get over it! ~

The big Klingon roared and in two mighty strides had reached his human opponent, eager to finish him off quickly. Steven lashed out with a quick one-two, which his opponent easily blocked before connecting with a shot of his own to the chest.

****

"The Lieutenant will win this fight!" Tokka proclaimed to his companion. Here to workout in preparation for his upcoming training evaluation, the large Basik had been lifting weights in the corner as the boxing match between Jonas and the Klingon had started.

Chuckles shook his head. "It is illogical to propose that the smaller human will prevail against the huge Klingon warrior." He replied.

"Ssssssoo you want to make a bet?" Tokka's raspy voice echoed throughout the gym loudly.

"What are your terms?"

"Half of your cornbread at chow tonight."

The Vulcan nodded. "And when the Klingon wins, you give me a rematch at Tri-Dee."

"Agreed!"

They both turned to watch the match unfold.

****

The gloves came at him fast forcing him to duck and weave, avoiding the searching arms of the large Klingon as he tried to find a hole in his smaller human opponent's defense.

~Damn, he's fast.~

They traded blows, blocking those that they could, wincing at those that made it past for what seemed to Steven like hours, but was really only a couple of minutes. Neither was getting any real significant blows in and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he would lack the energy to counter a shot, and then it would be over.

Jonas stumbled as he threw his fist towards the Klingon. Roaring with what could only be assumed as glee, he stepped in to finish off the human. He only noticed that it was a work when Jonas' right fist slammed into his jaw knocking him back. A quick one-two pushed the Klingon to his knees and another right knocked him to the canvas, dazed.

And the match was over!

****

Jonas' Quarters
Deck 16

****

The water dripped over his body, soothing the aching muscles. It rolled down the back of his neck, over the shoulders and down amongst the scars that littered his back; momentos from the Obsidian Order operative that ran the detention camp he had been held in. Few people had seen the scars and that number had increased a couple of days ago.

And now he couldn't get her out of his head. Her beautiful deep eyes; her sexy smile; those lips. Man she was hot.

Steven had to see her, to talk to her, to find out how she felt. It was something he needed to do. Shutting off the water, he grabbed his towel and started drying off. Yes, he was going to go and see her now. He had to know the truth.

"The Chief and the Counselor" Part Two

Lt. Tarin Iniara
Chief of Operations

with Counselor V'Lot (NPC)

-------------------
Counseling Offices
Deck 14
-------------------

"My mind to your mind..."

Iniara blinked several times as she felt V'Lot's smooth fingers take their places against her cheek, then her temples. She had never done this before, and wasn't quite sure what to expect.

"My thoughts to your thoughts..."

She blinked again. Her vision was changing. The image of herself, seen through V'Lot's dark eyes, began to superimpose itself over the image of V'Lot herself.

"My mind to your mind..."

They were becoming one, Iniara realized. Soon, she felt the weight of the counselor's consciousness within her own mind, expanding, enveloping her. She let her shields drop, opening her mind, intertwining her own consciousness with the Vulcan's.

When V'Lot spoke again, it was with Iniara's voice. "My thoughts to your thoughts..."

**********

The surface underneath her hands was cold, smooth. She slid her hands forward, feeling it. Flawless.

It all started with that image, that tiny little piece of memory. Lights came next, flashing periodically in front of her. She spread her fingers, flattening her palms against the surface. The lights danced about, flashing between her fingers.

"Danger, danger..."

Her body tensed reflexively as the voice continued on. "Danger, Will Robinson...danger, danger..."

"Why...why this?" she heard herself asking. The voice sounded tiny in her ears. "Why now?"

"Two by two, hands of blue..." it replied, oblivious. "Tarin...Tarin are you there..."

"No. No, this isn't right." She tried to back away from the memory, but then she heard another voice.

"It is written..." Iniara gasped; the voice was her own...it was echoing through her mind, but she wasn't the one speaking. "...if the evil spirit arms the tiger with claws..."

"What is this?" the real Iniara asked. "Why am I here?"

And much deeper in her mind, a measured Vulcan contralto echoed. "Remember...remember..."

Darkness consumed her.

**********

Sweat dripped into her eyes, clouding her vision. It was hot in the room, so hot.

"I shall enjoy watching you die." The raspy voice made her jump. "Or worse."

A face came into focus before her. Cold grey skin, sharp bony features, jet black hair. Beady black eyes dancing with humor, mocking her.

She growled, which only had the effect of making the man laugh. "Pitiful." But before he could say anything more she dashed forward, fists flying, aiming for all the vulnerable spots she knew on the Cardassian body.

She felt the wind being knocked out of her as he tackled her, tossing her effortlessly to the ground. She tried to roll away but then he was on her, pinning her to the ground, his fists slamming repeatedly into the soft flesh of her abdomen. "You'll pay for that, whore," he spat.

Terror filled her then and she reacted. Pressing her hands to the sides of the man's head she pulled him closer, until their noses were nearly touching. Startled, he tried to pull back, but before he could escape she was in his mind, forcing her way through his thoughts. Their eyes locked and he froze, unable to move, unable to even contemplate escape.

"Now who is the pitiful one!" she hissed at him, pushing herself farther into his mind. After a moment his eyelids began to flutter, blood trickling from his nose as he struggled to remain conscious. Her fingers pressed deeper and deeper into his temples, until even they too began to draw blood. Dimly she became aware of the sound of screaming; her screaming she realized, the body's involuntary reaction to the stress of carrying out such an attack. A lower-pitched wail joined the screaming; breaking, faltering, then fading as she continued to push deeper and deeper into the man's mind, eradicating all traces of what once could have been considered consciousness, personality, life.

Even when the wailing died out she pressed on, working until she could no longer feel a trace of activity in his mind. She withdrew from his mind as his body went limp, and he fell lifelessly on top of her, blood from his ears and mouth beginning to soak into her shirt. It wasn't until she let go of his head that she realized she was still screaming. Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths she let her arms drop to the floor.

Before long her ragged breaths had given way to sobbing. And then, the darkness rushed forward to meet her once more.

**********

The clapping sound was the first thing she noticed, the short, off-tempo noises of a child's fleshy hands smacking together to an imaginary beat.

A woman's voice joined the clapping. "Pretty-plain, loony-sane, all the ways we know will change..."

And all the ways remain the same, she thought. Where had she heard that before? Why was she hearing it now, coming from the beautiful mouth of the beautiful spotted woman? Why couldn't she turn away?

"...and all the ways remain the same. But be you mad or only sane, the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain." The woman began to clap along with her son, oblivious to the one--or ones-- standing behind them.

"We walk in love but fly in chains," she could her herself telling the woman with at least a dozen voices, "and the planes in Spain fall mainly in the rain."

That had caught the woman's attention, and she had spun around in her chair towards the voice, fear marring the perfect features of her beautiful face. Her lips moved-- soundlessly, Iniara noted-- it seemed all sound but the child's incessant clapping had ceased.

Her lips moved again. 'Who are you?' it seemed she was trying to say. 'What do you want?'

Iniara felt herself step closer, watching as the woman struggled with the decision to stand her ground or flee. Her thought processes were projected clearly enough for any telepath in range to sense: protect her child, stop the intruder...

No, not an intruder. It was the uniform that did it; that convinced her. They both wore the same uniform...there was no way the gold-collared Bajoran could be a hostile.

Or so the Trill woman thought. And so she would continue thinking, right up until the moment when Iniara's hands grabbed at her face, fingers pressing deep into her temples. When the owners of the dozen voices tore their way into her mind.

After that, all she could do was scream.

**********

She became dimly aware of a pair of hands removing themselves from her temples, and the sound of a body shifting in its seat. She blinked several times, the soothing beige walls of the Counseling Center coming back into view. The sensation of seeing herself through V'Lot's eyes slowly faded.

Iniara looked down at her hands, draped across the arms of her chair. She lifted them to her face, examining the deep lines and calluses that covered the palms. She looked past the hands, watching V'Lot watching her.

And then, like a wave crashing against an earthen wall the memories came flooding back, crashing through her consciousness, demanding an audience with the one who had been responsible for their genesis.

Without warning, a cacophony of voices joined the jumble of memories, flooding Iniara's mind once more with long-forgotten sensations. Her face contorted with anger, sadness, worry, rage. Soon after her lip began to tremble, and a pricking feeling formed behind her eyes. "What have I done?" she asked her hands. "Oh, Prophets..."

The sobbing followed quickly thereafter. Iniara slumped forward, burying her face in her hands just as her whole body began to shake uncontrollably. Hot tears flowed down her hands, ending their short lives silently on her trouser legs, soaking the fabric there.

She was tired of hiding, tired of forgetting about all the terrible things she had done in her past. It was time to give those memories new light; somehow she knew that was the only way to heal, to move on.

Across from her, as composed as ever, the counselor smiled.

“Bloodcurdling”

Ensign Keldan, Operations Officer

It took a moment before Keldan realized he had fallen asleep. He was surrounded by sick bay personnel, all making plenty of noise, but that hadn’t seemed to keep it from happening. Oddly enough, part of his consciousness was still very much awake, it seemed, as he could still hear the steady humming and cadence of the biobed monitors and could occasionally make out a voice of some nurse or doctor speaking to someone else. But the majority of his consciousness seemed to slowly be drifting toward something that was definitely not what most people would call reality.

Of course, he’d had this experience once before…or at least, one very similar to it. He had been near death then, so that was at the very least, understandable. But he wasn’t near death now. At least, he didn’t think he was. Temporarily blinded by a plasma explosion? Probably. Bored out of his mind at the wait for some medical assistance? More than likely. Was he hallucinating? No, this was different than merely seeing things. Dreaming, then. It must be dreaming. Yeah, let’s go with that.

He normally didn’t remember his dreams, so to be actively conscious in the middle of one was a bit disconcerting. He also felt a tinge of annoyance over the fact that he hadn’t intended to fall asleep in the first place. He’d been in extended combat enough times to know that being able to catch sleep whenever and wherever you can on cue is vital to staying alert the rest of the time. But the middle of a busy sick bay didn’t exactly qualify. He relaxed as best he could as the images and forms around him coalesced and came into focus. He smirked, wondering how many weeks with the staff psychotherapist this little personal light show was going to warrant later. Hopefully not as many as the last one.

“What are you doing Lieutenant?”

The stern voice came from somewhere behind him, but it didn’t immediately concern him. Keldan’s focus rest on the hard marble surface barely half a meter in front of his crouched form. The surface was glossy, affording a somewhat muddled reflection of his features in the strong light. It was his own face he saw in the reflection. Well. At least he wasn’t dreaming about being someone else. Like a Starfleet Admiral. He allowed himself some mirth. How about a female Starfleet Admiral. His brothers would love that.

His mirth was short-lived, however, as he reached up to test the hard reality of his dream. He had gotten halfway to the cool stone when he noticed…more with fascination than shock…that the back of his hand was coated in a green liquid. When he turned his hand over and saw it also smeared across his palm and fingers, it took only a quick second of rubbing thumb and forefingers together to know what the substance was.

Blood. Green blood. Which meant it could be from any number of races, most notably Vulcan and Romul… er…Rihannsu. How had he gotten blood on his hands? Looking down, he realized it was not just his hands. Forearms, legs, chest, all were splattered and dripping. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as he realized that his face, hair and beard were damp with the liquid as well.

“Lieutenant, I asked you a question.”

This time the voice seemed directed solely at him, so Keldan turned to face his inquisitor. The first thought he had was to bluntly correct the interloper such that his current tour of service had not yet afforded him that rank, but he was stopped short by a new turn in his dream. He could feel his mouth hanging open, unable to make words. His tongue had suddenly become rather heavy and dry.

A Federation officer he could not recall having seen before stood with a detail of security personnel, their weapons raised and focused.

But it was what was behind them that was by far more interesting. A domed corridor of marble arches and tilework stretched beyond the group. The architecture must be Rihannsu in origin, Keldan surmised, judging from the dozen or so Rihannsu guards that lay sprawled throughout. The awkward positions of their bodies spoke to their permanence and finality. He didn’t immediately see any non-Rihannsu among the slain, so whoever had done this had been most efficient in their task.

“Lieutenant, what have you done?”

Well, well. How cheery. A nice walk in the park this had turned out to be. Thank the gods that it *was* just a dream, after all. A premonition, perhaps? It was rumored the Galaxy would be heading into Rihannsu space soon. But he looked again at the bodies. Even from this distance he could see that some of the slain had had their throats slashed, while others looked as though their entire bodies were ripped in two and tossed aside like a child’s broken doll. Still others had no identifiable features, merely clattery piles of ripped clothing, muscle, sinew, and bone. There was no way he could have done this. Or could he? This was savagery he had not dreamt possible.

Well, until now, that is.

He looked over at the officer addressing him. A captain. But it was certainly not Captain Henderson. And he didn’t recognize any of the men holding phaser rifles. Pointed at his head, no less. Without thinking he brought his hand up to his own collar. Two pips. Why in all the blazing hells was he dreaming about being a Lieutenant?

“Drop your weapon, Lieutenant, now. That’s an order.”

This just keeps getting better and better. A phaser had just warped in to his dream from who knows where, and now Keldan stood with it aimed at the good Captain’s head. He tried to drop his arm, but it didn’t seem to want to go down, and instead just hovered there with the power indicator devilishly grinning “kill setting” at him. Keldan futilely tried to take control of what was happening, mentally attempting to will the phaser into something a little less innocuous…but for some reason all he could come up with was a bouquet of daisies. However, the phaser repeatedly refused his instructions to sprout petals; his adversaries had already grown impatient with his refusal to obey orders.

Keldan didn’t have much time to mull over his failure. In a flash of searing light his phaser discharged. He hadn’t even felt himself pushing the button. The captain’s expression never even registered surprise as the beam punch a hole right between his eyes, thought his head and out the other side. A millisecond later his head exploded in streams of grey and red, with bits of vaporizing blood and brain material leaving little trails like fireworks in the night sky.

There wasn’t much to remember after that. Keldan’s sight went a lovely shade of blue as he caught half a dozen phaser blasts in the face.

He could feel himself, laying there on the ground. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The lovely blue was shifting toward grey and soon it would be black. He didn’t feel panicked, though. Quite the contrary, he felt quite relaxed for the first time in a long while. He could hear the soft sounds of sick bay growing even as the light faded.

He seriously wondered whether or not he would remember any of this when he woke up. Gods, he hoped not.

"Inverted Helix – Uracil"

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental

Her eyelashes fluttered, and the universe revealed itself to her.

It was more colorless than ever. Chava suffered from color blindness, one of the many side effects of her unique origins, but even so the universe wasn't usually this grey.

As memories and thoughts flooded her mind with the stream of consciousness, she curled into a protective stance on the floor, then gently moved her hand into her pants.

She pulled it back out. It wasn't covered with blood, but the cut was there.

Filthy dogs.

And then she saw him, sitting on the floor among the grey bulkheads and the exposed conduits.

"I knew you would come.", was all she could say.

"Hi.", Saul said simply. He was wearing an odd, off-white rob, and something in his face changed. Through the haze in her mind, a realization came – they were surgically altered. But the voice was the same voice she knew.

"Where are we?"

"We are no longer on Vaden.", He stated simply. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible.", She twitched as she thought of the unseen hand, stripping her of her cloths, and the chill of the knife's blade as it sketched a bloody line up her thigh and crotch. "Why, how… did you see who they were?"

"Who?"

"I don't know. Where did you find me?"

"We're not going to talk about it.", He stated. "Let's just say that I wasn't supposed to be on Vaden, and neither were you."

"Of all the people in the universe, you had to run into me, Shaul.", She didn't giggle, though she wanted to. "So what did you do on Vaden?"

"What did YOU do on Vaden?"

She almost told him, but then she held herself. "I didn't tell those who tormented me, you don't expect me to tell you, do you?"

Saul shrugged. It seemed to her odd that he kept sitting on the other side of the room, so she stood up, closed the distance between them, and sat next to him. "Anyway, I knew you'll be back."

"Stay away from my pockets, Chava. And I'm not back anywhere."

"I stalked you when you left Napoli. I was a silly girl. Wanted to tell you that you're a coward, and that you'll return home like a homesick puppy."

"Home to where?" Saul didn't look at her. "The pile of trash at the end of the universe? You probably traveled a little since I saw you last. You know that the universe has much more to offer than a backwater colony ran by corrupted government officials and abandoned by the Federation."

"Wow, quite a speech there, Commander."

"I'm not a Commander… yet."

"So if he knew that I'm stalking you, why didn't you say goodbye?"

"I would've missed the shuttle.", Saul lied. "Besides, I wasn't sure that it was you, I realized it only after stepping aboard the shuttle, and then it was too late."

"Excuses.", Chava commented, and reached for her would thoughtlessly reached for her wound. It was still there.

"Listen carefully now.", Saul turned to face her. "We're on a very delicate situation here, and you'll need to do what I say in order to avoid being imprisoned. I told my superiors that you are an acquaintance of mine, and that I pulled you out in order to get some information from you. None of it is a lie, of course, and if they choose to believe that you're an agent of mine…"

"… that's their problem. Elohim yshmor, Saul, you haven't changed a bit."

"Be thankful that I care enough to watch your ass."

"Oh, you'd love to, wouldn't you?", She teased.

"I won't see anything I haven't seen before.", Saul indicated, and suppressed a shudder.

"OK, I'm willing to play game. Plus I have seen some things that will intrigue your 'superiors'. As if you'll ever let anyone tell you what to do."

"Good. And talk to nobody without me being there. It's very risky. A Federation citizen visiting an enemy planet is an immediate suspect of treason. Remember that."

"Don't be so heavy.", She pouted.

There was a long silence, as both inspected each other. Chava with amused curiosity, Saul with a heavy shadow of concern.

"One thing still haunts me, you know? Back at Vaden, when they tortured me-"

"I don't won't to hear about it.", Saul chimed in.

"- they used the fact that I want to have kids against me. They wanted to cut open my…"

"I DON'T want to hear about it.", Saul insisted.

Chava rolled her eyes. "Jeez, it's not like they wanted to cut YOUR 'Hershale', Saul. Jeez.". She remained silent for a moment, then threw the question again into the recycled air. "How did they know?"

* * * Utrecht III, 2374 * * *

The constant din of the air recycler mixed with the noise of the street outside. Inside, in the back room of the cramped Bental apartment, two teens lay naked on the narrow, untidy bed, clutching each other.

Saul's mother was still at the shop, five floors below, and the apartment was empty, and hormones raged, and cloths were thrown on the floor and on the fake wooden cabinet, knocking down a paper book.

And now they lay, silent, sweaty because of the heat of the high noon and their passion. It wasn't love, they knew. Just an experiment. A stage on the road to adolescence. Innocence and virginity were lost early on the streets of Utrecht III, and the fact that it was the first time for both of them was, if anything, surprising.

"Shaul?", Chava's voice sounded high pitched and tiny.

"Yea?", His hand moved over her bare breast, exploiting the new freedom to touch them without being slapped.

"One day, when I grow, I'll lie on a bed like this with my husband, after we make our firstborn.", She told him.

"Is that a threat?", He joked.

"And… and we'll have beautiful children! And I'll get enough money to send them to private school."

Young Saul raised his head slightly, and looked very skeptic. "I don't see the point, you know? In having kids. Children take time, money and effort. If you want I can get you a cat. Besides, jeez, Chava, you're only fucking sixteen!"

She smiled broadly, and pulled the pillow beneath his head. The pillow then hit him square in the face.

"That's right, mister, I'm fucking and sixteen!"

Saul murmured something about bloody Bolians, then tensed as Chava neared him once more, and her hand began to explore his stomach and downwards. "You don't understand because you're a stupid boy. I think I'll call my firstborn Lanna if it'll be a she. Or maybe Inna."

Saul back arched as Chava's fingers closed on him. "You can call her however you want..."

"The voices that didn't care"

Lt. Commander Brianna O'Shea
Chief Engineer / S.C.E. Liaison

::: (HELL PLANET) :::

Anna had to keep moving after she had sent the coded message. She couldn't risk the Hydrans finding her, nor could she risk their clones to find her. This clones looked human but they were smart, strong and vicious when it came to finding their prey. As time went on, Anna began to find she was fighting within herself. Part of her was so tried she just wanted to sit down on the smolder rock and wait for them to find her or to die. "No... I won't let you give up." She told herself as she walked along ledge of a rock face. "I'm not giving up on you and you aren't giving up on yourself, suck it up!" She snapped at herself as she suddenly paused and heard something.

Her back was tightly against the rock face. Her skin was so dark with dirt and dried blood she blended in fairly well against the rock face. Only thing really noticeable was her green eyes. Glancing down below her on the ground there was a one of the skilled clone attackers. He was dressed dark clothing, his hair was neatly trimmed and looked as if he was lost. Anna held her breath and just watched him. She'd seen ones like him before, hell she'd killed one and ate part of him in a fit of hunger. She didn't have the strength to fight another strong clone. So she hid and waited until he left. Staying there for a bit she then began to move again.

Anna priority right now was to find water, her mouth and throat was so drive that felt as if sand was in her mouth. If she didn't get water soon she wouldn't have to worry about if The Crows got the message, cause she'd be dead. ~I can't go any more.~ She thought in her head. ~I have to stop.~ She thought.

~Get your ass moving... do you want them to find you again... you can't let them then in! They will hurt you... they all will hurt us!~ She thought as she continued to walk. ~You sicken me, you are weak! You are pathetic, no wonder you couldn't survive on the jungle planet... you are such a child!~ Anna scolded herself as she walked on.

"No... I'm tried... I'm worn out. I'm tried of fighting an endless battle."

~No... you are weak. You like them hurting us!~ Anna snapped inside her mind.

"NO"

~Admit it.. you like it... otherwise you wouldn't complain about walking, or the fact that we are hungry and thirsty! Admit it... admit it, Brianna!~

"NOOO!!!!!!!" Anna cried out and fell off the ledge where she was walking. Her body hit the ground haired with a thud that would make hair stand up. She laid here for a moment, then she began to groan and pick herself up.

~that's right... get up... prove to me you can do it.~

Picking herself up she wiped the blood that was coming now from the side of her head. Began to limp again looking for water or a place where she could lay down and die in peace.

[BACKPOST] - Just after the Jem`Hadar were beginning to be beamed aboard. Kyalr had just been beamed up from Tru'Haran after brokering the deal to transport the pacifist Jem`Hadar off the planet.

"Tough Love" - Part 1

Robert Joseph Mathieson
Medical Officer

Kylar Curran
Chief Liaison Officer

Eytan
Security Officer

Kio
Medical Officer

An controlled chaos swelled Galaxy's normally tranquil sickbay, the cries of wounded were only just overwhelmed by the commands and of the medical staff. Nurses and orderlies performed a graceful ballet between the wounded, shuttling instruments and medicines to those who needed them most. The loudest voice, however, came from the smallest crewman.

"McMorris! Deanna - where's that protoplaser, luv?

"Lorna - fire up the genetronic replicator and cook this lad a new spleen right away."

"Kelly - hold 'im down! I can't seal the wound with 'im movin around."

Robert Mathieson had performed battlefield surgery many times in his career, but the weapons of the Jem`Hadar were by far, the wost. The anti-coagulants made the normally relatively clean wound of an energy weapon all the more deadly - those who weren't killed outright usually bled out from their wounds. Those lucky enough to survive to sickbay were always very weak from the loss of blood. Blood was now everywhere - more than Mathieson had seen since the Dominion War. Too damn much.

"Johnny - I need this man hooked up with fluid NOW! Don't dawdle, lad."

"Heather - scan the Vulcan then the Andorian then the redhead."

"Calm down son! Don't look at his leg and don't scream - you'll make it harder on yer mates."

Curran materialized in Sickbay just as the first of the Jem`Hadar pacifists were trickling in down in the Bulk Cargo Bays, with the most grievous casualties coming to the main medical locale where he was situated himself.

Instead of seeking treatment though, he immediately decided to locate Captain Henderson and round up Goran`Agar wherever he may be and debrief the senior staff on the situation on the planet.

Though, with his lack of Federation issue clothing, he was unable to leave Sickbay, what with the lockdowns in effect with the Jem'Hadar coming aboard after he'd ordered the opening in the security net upon accepting the refugees. Security had been apprised of the dangers of the rogue Jem`Hadar on board the ship that were prepared to take action in key areas that would debilitate or even potentially destroy the ship. No one would be allowed to leave without proper authorization.

"You lad! YOU! Who are ye and wot're ye doin 'ere"?

The Kelvan turned sharply to his left at the cry of low growl of a voice. He couldn't be sure he was the one being targeted, but hearing a sentence that sounded very much UNlike a Jem~hadar, it was the instinct of his form to face the accuser involuntarily.

As he opened his mouth to retort, he blinked, suddenly losing all mobility that he had, and tumbled to the floor. Everything went hazy, sounds reduced to a thrum, and the lights dimmed.

"Aw, Fuck! Kelly! He's goin' down. Grab 'im!"

The rugged features of a balding man with beady eyes swam into focus. His mouth was moving, he felt something hit his face, then a hiss of a hypo that brought things very much into focus. Sounds rushed back like a wave of water roaring over coral reefs, and instinctively, the Kelvan cupped his ears and crushed his eyes closed as the lights threatened to burn out his corneas.

"Easy, lad. Easy", Mathieson murmered. "Let's take a look at that 'noggin of yers. Kelly - we move him on the biobed on three."

"One, two, three." Curran's world swam sickly as the medical officers placed him gently on a vacant biobed.

"Alright lad. See - wasn't so hard! Thank Christ you're not a big 'un."

The doctor looked at the younger man assisting him. "Kelly, run a scan on his spine and skull." Returning to Kylar, Mathieson took another hypospray and readied at the Kelvan's neck. "Lad - before we go any further, any allergies I need to know about? I've just given you some netinaline to get you off the floor and this is something called terakine to keep you off said floor. Unless you're Andorian, you shouldn't be experiencing anything too unusual."

Kylar swung his opposite arm up and grasped the doctor's hand, preventing him from injecting the hypo's contents into him.

"I don't know you. Don't touch me. Where is Goran`Agar?" He struggled to rise, feeling his head swim, but that was of little consequence.

"South of Thailand, east of Malaysia, 'aint it?", the doctor growled. Mathieson took a quick look at the readings from the biobed's sensors, then at the hand scanner from the younger medical offer and grunted. "Tissue damage to the back of your neck and a concussion. Nothin' too serious. Yer' in Sickbay, to answer yer cheeky question, and I'm the attendin'-bleedin'-physician wots givin' you a painkiller." The hypospray was jammed into the Kelvan's thigh and hissed as it was activated. "You need that concussion seen to mate, an' that's a fact. Untended, you'll be back kissin' deck plates in a minute."

Sickbay was overflowing with injured now. Many more needed tending to other than Curran, so he forced himself to rise against the wave of nausea and slide off the bed. "My health is of little consequence to those beaming off the surface, Doctor, or do you have an ulterior motive for keeping me here against my will? I must leave and find Goran`Agar. Your wishes are inconsequential to the larger picture."

"Quite the opposite, my son. The quicker yer mended the quicker that bed's bloody free and the quicker you're outta my face. Now shut up, lie down and shut up in that bleedin' order, savvy?", Mathieson barked at his attendant.

"Kelly - osteotractor first then protoplaster and keep an eye on the scanner. If his higher functions dip, apply the type 5 cortical stimulant." The short physician then growled at Curran. "And if the toff gives ye any shit, ye've get me permission to apply it rectally." A final scowl and Mathieson was off to deal with a belly wound and amputation.

He looked around, allowing the travesties to pass so that he could leave as quickly as possible. When the doctor was out of earshot, or tending to some other poor soul, the so-called 'patient' struggled back up to a sitting position and shoved aside 'Kelly' as he was being shouted at by him.

"Shove it up your own rectum, I won't suffer any more indignities! I need to get out of here, it's urgent Federation business, and I cannot delay it any longer. I can take care of myself just fine. I've been through worse."

He reached out with both arms to steady himself, grasping and pulling aside any body appendages that interfered with his quick passage out of here.

Mathieson heard the commotion from the other side of Sickbay, but could only grumble to himself as he sealed the lower bowel of an Andorian casualty. The medical staff was excellent - very well trained, but many lacked battlefield experience. ~Sodding bastard. Spooking a perfectly good Physician's Mate. I'll give 'im 'indignities'~ Kelly Merchant was a good PM, but green - and was allowing the unruly patient to manhandle him. He finished repairing the bowel and sealed the incision with a dermal regenerator. Done with the Andoran, he went to treat a Vulcan crewman with a 2" hole through his left lung.

Curran's struggles with the Physician's Mate were getting more intense, and threatened to spill onto another biobed thereby endangering the patient being worked on by other staff. The bald doctor began treating the Vulcan's wound, but the struggle was knocking instruments onto the deck plating. The camel's back broke. "ENOUGH! Kelvan, listen to me. LISTEN TO ME!", Curran and PM Merchant froze, looking at Mathieson through the moving crowd of medical staff. "You want out of here and yer wrecking my ward, so I need you out too. We do it my way - quick with no fuss. Two minutes and you can go back to Federation-bleedin'-business as ye like. Deal?"

Mathieson's outburst was more than enough to catch the attention of Eytan, who had been assisting a nurse with the wounded Vulcan. Even after all this time, it was hard for him not to want to lend a hand when he was in sickbay, especially at a time like this when the medical staff could use as much help as it could get.

The Brenari left the nurse with her patient and hurried over to Mathieson, a look of surprise and a little stress on his face. "What the hell is going on over here, Doctor?" the security officer demanded, agitation evident in his voice. Suddenly his eyes closed, a pained expression crossing his face; the rampant stress, fear, and pain throughout sickbay was getting to him, even in his weakened state.

Finally he opened his eyes again, a gloved hand waving off a nurse who'd started to approach. His gaze focused on Curran, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Legate Curran, do you need to be restrained, or are you going to let these people do their job?"

"I have every intention of letting these people do their job. On others who require it more. I hardly think I require the services of two medical technicians and a security officer when you've got arteries ejecting blood throughout the Sickbay. Now, I have a job to do myself, and that is to locate the leader of the Jem`Hadar." He stopped struggling, trying to peer past the blunt shoulder of the Physician's Mate who tried to tend to him. There was simply too much going on, too many personnel. "He was with me on the surface. Did he not beam up with me?"

Mathieson, huddled over the wounded Vulcan's shoulder, grunted. "No - ye're by yerself. Hmph. Makes sense. Had the same problem on the Cheyenne - we always had problems beaming up Jem'Hadar or our people too near 'em. Wot's the medical situiation down there? Any of our people there fer first line triage?" More medical staff entered sickbay, and the short physician quickly assigned them to patients needing the most attention.

There was too much blood on the floor and too much of it adhering to Kio's uniform for her to feel that she could work efficiently. None of the blood was her own of course, although given the mixed races in sickbay the red, green and blue had mixed to an unpleasant brown on the floor. But there was no time to wash her-self down or clean the sickbay for however quickly she administered a treatment there were three more patients to take the place of her last. But her stamina was far from depleted and she worked on in a fluid mechanical manner that any Vulcan would have been proud of. Until she reached the pregnant woman.

The pregnancy was not far in advance, approximately 12 weeks and she was having some trouble accessing her medical records. But the real issue surrounded her injuries which were extensive, most particularly to her abdomen. The baby was dying, the woman was dying and Kio did not believe it would be possible to save them both. Decisions such as these were not something she wished to broach without another's opinion, especially given the past experiences she had in the clash between her Vulcan logic and human ethics. She did her best to stabilise both mother and child and then she cast about her for another medical officer.

Before Curran could explain to the medical buffoon that he couldn't reach a medical evaluation of dozens of colonists in the span of seconds before he was beamed here, a scream pierced the rising din of patients filling the 'bay, quickly followed by a call for another medical technician.

His attention diverted, he pushed on the bald man's shoulder, spinning him around in the direction of the shout. "There, doctor! Someone who actually is in need of your skills. Go!"

Mathieson, mumbling something else incoherent, shifted his attention away from Kylar and Eytan. Just as he was leaving, he called back over his shoulder, "Yer no' te lea jus' yet! Git yerself o'er te triage an' do som'thin' useful, wod ye'?"

“The Trip Thus Far“

Lt. Ella Grey

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

It was a slow trip to Ki Baratan as the ship had gone awhile without getting attacked which she thought had to be some kind of a record, especially considering they were moving closer everyday towards Romulan territory.

She kept busy in Engineering, using the anger she still felt from Padma’s words to fuel long work hours that were dangerously close to disobeying Federation labor laws. They had barely begun to scratch the surface in the investigation for anything O’Shea might have left behind and still she knew that such a search could take months if the woman had done the job correctly. The morale of her department was pretty low and Ella was no cheerleader since her mother had found the skirts that they wore trashy and Ella had never been able to do the splits. She had entertained the thought of calling that Widdlestein child once or twice as a morale booster but then decided that the girl would probably be more trouble than she was worth.

Ella hadn’t made much contact with the group of Jem’Hadar onboard and the few she had met had seemed put off by her mechanical voice, which didn’t really bother her much because their presence reminded her of operating tables and breathing apparatus.’ She figured that they both were better off ignoring each other’s existence.

Her relationship with Corran was still good although she couldn’t help but ask herself every now and again whether Padma was right. This doubt was causing her to tense slightly around Rex more and more and he was okay with it for now but Ella could tell that a real winner of a fight was going to happen between them soon. She wasn’t at all sure what she wanted to say other than she hated Pad and wished the woman to gain all manner of unpleasantness, starting with death by firing squad.

Victor was still not speaking to her other than to remind Ella that she was a lieutenant. Ella had been tempted to inform him that he should be happy now that there was a whole herd of Jem’Hadar sheep to lord it over but knew the words would only bounce off of him or sink into the black, as all her other words had seemed to do. Plus, Ella knew that the least possible way of getting Victor’s forgiveness was to act like a screeching harpy. Again.

So she left him alone and practiced her Andorian instead or met with Indy to have long debates over everything from found object art and its purpose in the universe to regrets and whether you ever really got over them. And there were the weekly Macho Man Mondays with 8-ball that she looked forward to.

All in all, Ella was doing pretty well, which made her slightly worried about what was to come. But not enough to not pass out about nine seconds after her head hit the pillow.

"Contact" P1

Various NPCs

Bennett groaned loudly and tried to stand up. He doubted he had ever felt more hungover than he did now. Saar and Hendricks had been on leave and the three had gone on a three day bender like there was no tomorrow.

Apparently there was a tomorrow and it was today. Today's special was hungover with a side-order of heavy metal. The only bright light at the end of the tunnel was that both Saar and Hendricks had been drinking twice as much as him. Scratching his belly he walked over to the desk and sat down with a heavy sigh. Moving from the bed to the desk was just about the only physical exercise Bennett had planned on doing today. Part from the occasional dash to the bathroom to talk to Ralph.

The desk was littered with paper print-outs, padds, empty drinking glasses, food containers and an array of other almost identifiable objects. It was also the center of his domain. His kingdom.

Cyberspace.

SI searched for him. Tal'Shiar had searched for him, the only thing those guys searched for these days was a budget. Klingons searched for him. Two dozen large corporations searched for him. Hell, half the galaxy searched for him in one way or the other. Or rather his tag - Chunky.

Bennett was the king of cyberspace, a hacker of unprecedented skill, a skill he used to snoop around just about everywhere. He had thought he had been untraceable until the enigmatic Caileb Smith had knocked on his door a lifetime ago. He still didn't understand how The Man had tracked him down when SI with their considerable resources still tried to find their way out the barn. It didn't matter now though. Smith trusted him and with men like Saar, Hendricks, Baile and Beauchamps under Smith's command there was simply no way in hell he'd even entertain the idea of selling Smith out.

If he did then Saar would break his head, Hendricks would probably shoot him, one joint at a time, Beauchamps would literally tear one of his arms off and beat him to death with it and Baile, well, he didn't even want to think of what that lunatic would do. A shudder raised through his body and he pushed the thoughts aside.

Yawning deeply until his jaw popped he gave the computer on his desk the order to go online. It was a really nifty thing his computer. He had built most of it himself, including the circuitry. Custom made in the true sense of the word. About ten years ago Bennett had gotten himself a neural link, which had been upgraded a couple of times over the years, a decision he had never regretted since. In the field it was rare to find a computer with a neural interface. It was like asking for intrusions, but his job had never been to run next to the jarheads. No, his job had been to find as much Intel as possible, break codes, hack systems with at least two Crows keeping his six safe.

He knew how to shoot of course. He was after all a spec-ops, but compared to the others a fairly shitty one. On the other hand the others were mindless zombies compared to his computer skills. The right tool for the job as Smith phrased it.

His computer, Plunk, notified him roughly three seconds later that it had gone through the self and was ready for use. Had he wanted to then he could have gotten a far more precise report on how much time it had taken, but he didn't really have the Vulcans fetish with precise time. He had others.

Idly he called up the interface in his mind and qued the programs he needed. Today he had no real agenda. Maybe dig for some juicy scandals or simply chat with some of his online comrades-in-arms. It was so much fun pouring fuel on their conspiracy theories, watch how they did everything they could to remain in anonymous and even believing they were. Bennett knew everything about them, down to the color of the underwear they wore on a specific day.

To Bennett there was no better cure to a hangover than cold takeaway and a gallon of water. So while devouring these two ingredients the spec-ops hacker started the daily routine of checking public message boards, logs from bots scanning hundreds of networks and nodes.

As he always did he let the computer run a number of analysis on the data to find cross-references and keywords selected from a pre-defined list. The job wasn't boring. No, it was border line to mental meltdown. That and a hangover from the dark side of the moon was a perfect mix for a really bad day.

The data raced by in the screen too fast to read, but he never read it on the screen. Bennett read it through the neural interface, a much faster input method than using the eyes. He was almost asleep when he noticed something out of the ordinary.

"Well well... what do we have here?" the text on the screen came to a halt and the computer decoded the message within a few seconds after Bennett had executed the software needed. He didn't really need to use a program to decode it. The code used was after all his own creation. He had designed all the encryptions and codes used by the Crows. Smith didn't trust the codes used by SI and rightfully so.

As usual he decoded the message faster than the computer and it didn't make him any wiser. It was basically a POW message using Baile's signature. But as far as Bennett knew Baile was on some Intel mission. Smith kept an eye on his boys even if the team had been disbanded. There was too much at stake not to.

It took him a while to track the message down. It had been sent using an open shortburst DataStream. It had been waiting at the board for nearly a week, but the beauty of data was that information never got tired, never complained. It just waited. He checked the headers and backtracked the message until he could find the first point of contact. From there the message had been routed to the board. From there on it was a simple process of elimination to find a potential source.

Once he decided on the most probable one then it definitely made no sense.

A few minutes later he was on the horn with The Man.

"Yes sir.. I can't make heads or tails of it." Bennett was something of an anarchist. He really believed in the old cliché that the natural state of information is free and that it was in some ways his duty to make it so. But he had been a spec-ops operative for nearly ten years now. Although he didn't consider himself a veteran he knew he was. Caileb Smith was and always would be his commanding officer no matter what SI tried to tell him. He knew it was the same for every member of the Crows. They didn't believe in Starfleet and the Federation any more. They believed in Smith.

"It's a standard POW flash, but we dropped that particular code years ago."

The man on the screen wore a standard Marine uniform. They still called him Captain although he had been at a Colonels rank for five years now. That was as far as he intended to get promoted. Any higher up in the ranks than that and it would be difficult to still go on field missions. "Any ID-tags?" he asked calmly. There was no need to ask Bennett if the line was secure. Bennett didn't take a dumb without a secure line. The lad had a streak of paranoia as wide as the Andromeda Galaxy. It was probably the main reason he still hadn't gotten caught.

"That's the strange thing, sir. It's tagged by Flea."

Smith raised an eyebrow. "By Flea? I thought he assigned to a covert mission by Commander Henderson?"

Bennett nodded. "He is, sir. That's the strange thing. This signal is more than one month old. Flea was on the Galaxy when this signal was broadcasted."

Smith's fingertips met in a thoughtful gesture. "Why did we scrap the code?"

The hacker thought about it for a second. "I don't remember the details. I probably have it in a log somewhere, but if I remember it correctly we scraped the code cause Flea had to give a non-com an emergency signal in case something happened."

"A non-com?" the former commanding officer of the Crows thought about it for a few seconds. "Ah. That's right. SI sent us an engineer for a sabotage mission. I can't remember her name though."

Bennett was already ahead of Smith. He had called up the mission logs when Smith had reminded him of the engineer. "I got it here, sir. "A el-tee Brianna O'Shea. Presently assigned as the Chief Engineer onboard... you're going to like this, sir... She's the Chief Engineer onboard the Galaxy."

"It is a small universe indeed." Smith nodded. That was.. interesting. "What sort of message is it?"

"Standard POW, sir. No markings other than that."

"A Flea is still on that mission, right?" he asked but shook his head. "Never mind, Bennett. We would have known if someone had managed to catch Flea."

Bennett skimmed through the information in O´Shea's file. Nice legs. "There's something else, sir. It seems this O'Shea has been labeled a traitor by the commanding officer of the Galaxy. It's not official yet I think."

"A traitor? When?"

"Just a few days ago. The information is a bit sketchy. I'm going to look into it. I'm not sure where the Galaxy is at the moment, so hacking in is going to take a bit of time, sir."

The Colonel nodded, evaluating the information he had just been given. Branded a traitor just weeks after having sent a message saying she was a POW. Coincidence? Maybe. But Smith didn't believe in those. Everything had a natural explanation for those willing to find it.

"Do you want us to go in a check it, sir?" with 'us' he meant the Crows. It didn't matter that SI had disbanded the unit. They would forever be the Crows.

Smith thought about it for a few seconds then shook his head. "No. Too much at stake for too little of a gain. Relay the message to Flea and tell him to track down the sender and if that isn't this O'Shea woman, then I want him to find out how a third party could learn about our old code and then erase all traces of it. I mean ALL."

Bennett nodded. "Yes sir."

"It's his mess, Bennett. He'll have to sort it out on his own."

"Yes sir." The screen went blank as Smith closed the connection. That left only one thing to do. Track down a man who's specialty it was to remain hidden.

It was going to be a long day, but at least the hangover was gone.

"Contact" P2

1st Lt. Jebidiah Baile
Various NPCs

It had been raining when he had exited the tunnels. He had looked up towards the sky, watching a dark sky cry above him. He had no idea how long he had been out, but he doubted it was for as long as he had first believed. Two days at the most.

Exiting the tunnels he had stopped just outside and removed the goggles, turned his face up towards the sky and felt the rain fall on his face. At first his face had been expressionless, a face void of emotions, carved in stone. Then, after a few seconds a feeling of euphoria broke through the stern look on his face and his face split up in a grin. He leaned back, and raised his arms up towards the sky and laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, more a loud chuckle. A truly unpleasant chuckle.

Removing the goggles the darkness surrounding him vanished. He could see the raindrops fall from a dark sky instead of suddenly appearing a few inches from his face. The water raced down his arms, down the sleeveless and worn leather coat, down the black tank-top. The marine sniffed the air, smelling the leather from the coat. He ran a hand over his face, over his unshaved chin. It rasped in his palm, again confirming his suspicions on how long he had been gone. He had shaved the same day he had gone to the bar.

He made his way through the alien starport, pushing his way through the crowded streets. Most tried to cover themselves from the rain, but Baile hardly noticed it. He felt supercharged, ready to take on anyone and anything. The pain from the interrogation had already faded into the background, hardly even noticeable. The noises around him created a harmony he had never heard before. People talking, hands grabbing object up for sale on worn tables, raindrops falling down on roofs, hats, umbrellas, puddles and anything in between. The city spoke and he was learning how to listen.

The marine wasn't sure if the team was still waiting for him. A lot could change in two days, hell it could change in two minutes. Pushing aside a handful of people standing in his way he decided to head over to the ship. It was after all his ticket out of there. Or rather a ticket. Not THE ticket. But keeping a moderately low profile would be wise until he knew what was happening and had happened during the time he had been gone.

He felt a hand slipping down inside a pocket on his coat and caught it easily. It belonged to a man in his late twenties. Baile twisted the man's hand to the side and pressed his thumb down on the wrist he had grabbed. The man's mouth opened and he winced in pain. Slowly the hand opened and revealed Baile's communicator. Slowly he retrieved it, taking his time while he kept the pressure on the wrist. He could feel the bones in the man's wrist start to bend under the pressure. "Slow and dumb... attractive package you got going.."

The man's face twisted in pain as Baile applied more pressure, snapping the bones in the wrist. Baile pushed the man aside, ignoring the man's painful cries. He tossed the communicator up and down in his hand for a few seconds before shoving it down the pocket again. Two steps later it beeped. He shoved a hand down into the pocket again and activated it. "What?" he growled with enough irritation to make people around him take a small step away from him.

The voice he heard from communicator was probably the last one Baile had expected to hear taken his current location into consideration.

"Morning Flea.. or should I say evening since that's the local time on Vaden.." Bennett's disembodied voice said to him.

"Bennett?" Baile returned in sheer surprise.

"That's the one. Man you were hard to track down. Good thing SI never changes certain MO's or I would never have found the frequency to your comm." the hacker said with a fair amount of pride in his voice.

Baile looked around, searching for a less open area which in a starport was as easy as go fish with dynamitesticks. A few seconds later he stood safely in the shadows with a good view over the surrounding area.

"Flea?" Bennett asked, not sure if the connection had been closed.

He didn't have to wait long. Baile's voice cut through the silence with it's usual finesse and tact. "What the fuck do you want, Bennett?"

Quite some distance away Bennett grinned. Some things never changed. "What? No hello? No ´how are you Bennett? Good to hear from you. What can I help you with?'. I'm hurt, Flea."

"Hello. How are you Bennett. Good to hear from you. What the fuck do you want?" the marine replied his former team-mate from his days as a spec-ops.

"I missed you too asshole."

"Bennett...." Baile warned him. The hacker had always had a problem getting to the point.

"Alright.. jeez. Keep your pants on, big guy." Bennett replied and tried to keep the amused tone out of his voice. "They are on, aren't they? The pants I mean."

"Bennett... unless you tell me what the hell you want I'll track you down and hit you so hard your dog will bleed."

"Alright Flea. Time to talk shop then." the hacker leaned back in his chair. "Roughly one month ago you sent a message using a code we scraped nearly five years ago."

Baile raised an eyebrow at the device. "A message? You been smoking again? I haven't sent any damn messages and even if I had I certainly wouldn't use an old code, Sparky."

"I know. I just wanted to say it. Anyhow - the message was sent using your set of codes. But that's not as interesting as to what type of message it was."

"Bennett. I'm in the middle of a starport. I'm sure there's punks searching for me in one way or the other to kill me. There usually is. Do you think you can get to the point before I fall asleep and one of them finds me and stabs me to death with a number two pencil while I sleep?" the marine growled but without the usual aggressiveness. He respected Bennett, had seen him go through hell in places men of his physique should never go to.

"Basically," Bennett continued, ignoring Baile's words. It was always like that no matter which Crow he tried to brief. " - it was a POW message. I did some background checks on old missions to see if we had been compromised anywhere and I found one instance that seems to fit the profile."

The answer came to Baile the same second Bennett had finished his sentence. There was only one person he had shown a Crow code to. A POW code to be precise. "O'Shea."

"Ding ding. Now the story gets interesting so stay with me. I checked O'Shea's records and it turns out she's the Chief Engineer onboard the Galaxy which I'm assuming you know. The message got sent about a month ago when both you and her were listed as onboard the ship and here's my favorite part - after you went on this.. vacation of yours.. she seems to have lost it. She's been charged with treason and is now missing."

"What?"

"Yeah, weird isn't it? It's like an episode of the Twilight Zone."

"What?"

"A telvision series that.. never mind.. " Bennett sighed. "It seems a bit hard to send a message from one corner of the Universe when stuck in the other. The code matches to the letter but I've also confirmed that she was on the ship when it was sent. Praise the Lord for Federation paperwork.."

"So who sent it?"

"Honestly? No idea. It could be Santa fucking Claus for all I know. But it's the real deal. Call me smug, call me Dolly, but there's no way that code has been cracked. Trust me on that one. Besides if it has been cracked then sending a POW message isn't exactly the brightest thing to send."

Baile shrugged even though the hacker couldn't see him. "Depends. The Ketracel-heads might. They still want us dead."

"Believe me, the only jems where that signal got sent from would be glad to see you. I think."

A heavy sigh escaped the marine. "I take it you know where it comes from then?"

"Fuck yes!" And so he told Baile.

"What?"

"I know."

"What?"

"I know!"

"What?"

"You stuck?"

"What the fuck is O'Shea doing there?! Who charged her with treason?" Baile's voice dropped a couple of notes.

"The usual brass. The point is, my sneaky cutthroat friend, that there's two possible explanations. One - She really did betray everyone and whoever she works for knows that particular piece of code. What use it will be off beats me though. Second - she's innocent and she really did send that code. Don't ask me how, but stranger things have happened. Not by much, but still."

Baile fell silent for a few seconds. It was a lot to absorb and definitely not what he had expected to hear only a few minutes ago. Anna. A traitor or a prisoner. Or dead. The message was after all a month old.

"What does Smith think about all of this?"

He could hear the hacker pause, heard the slight hesitation in Bennett's voice. Games. Everyone played games. "Well.. he's... interested in knowing where the signal came from and who sent it. It wouldn't be a good thing if our codes came into enemy hands."

~I bet he is~ Baile thought darkly. "So he wants me to go there." It wasn't a question. He was stating facts. Before Bennett could answer Baile informed him of his decision. "Tell him I'll do it." he fell silent for a few seconds while his brain worked on a way to get there.

Bennett grinned as Baile explained to him what he wanted the hacker to do.

end for now..

"Carry On"

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

A starship was, in the final analysis, a means of transport, a tool . . . a thing. And like the billions of other "things" in the universe, it shared common traits that usually said more about each thing's purpose than its value. Certainly, there were precious things -- precious gems, for example -- but there was something not only subjective about that, but very personal as well. One person's "precious" gem might simply be another person's means to whatever useful form of currency that was in vogue in any particular place or time; in the end, just another thing.

But when his feet had actually touched the Galaxy's deck plating again, Brian realized that even for someone as generally rational as he, this ship was something more. For him, at that moment, it was familiarity, it was security. What it was not was something he could contain and merely make useful to himself and to his own purposes. If anything, it could be argued that he, as part of the crew of men and women who devoted their daily lives to the ship's mission and maintenance, was the one who was useful to *it* and *its* purposes. And even while there were limits to what this or any starship could be for him -- it was not another sentient being, despite the rather quaint habit many people had of referring to ships as "she", nor was it quite "home" in any permanent sense -- after the experience from which he and the others had just returned, it more than sufficiently filled regions of his mind and soul where comfort and security had been stip-mined away over the stretch of time since he'd left.

Apart from the people here he knew and cared about, he already found himself treating the ship itself like a long-absent friend or companion, wanting to know how it was, what experiences it had undergone . . . whether his absence made any difference. It was a reaction he would have expected from a commanding officer but was surprised to see in himself. And it seemed his friend had experienced a lot.

After the usual debriefing formalities prior to and after arriving onboard, Elessidil had of course sat down to talk to Karyn. She'd filled him in on what had been going on in his absence, both from a personal and professional perspective. There was a lot, not the least of which was the presence of a sizable contingent of Jem'Hadar refugees and all the issues that one would expect to go with the meeting of two cultures that rarely met. Her thoughts on the situation were pretty much in line with what Brian thought himself: there was a lot of understandable distrust and discomfort on both sides, and it was their duty -- all the ship's crew, but the counseling staff in particular -- to do what they could to keep things from getting out of hand. It was a tall order, especially with so many people involved, but he knew that the right things said to the right people in the right way at the right time could go far in helping keep things as stable and comfortable as possible for everyone -- just all the "wrongs" could have the exact opposite effect.

Yeah, simple as that.

Despite being a generally informal person, the counselor had to admit he liked seeing himself in a Starfleet uniform again. (Not to mention his own light brown hair.) Not only did it enhance the sense of familiarity he'd missed, but it almost helped erase the memory of what had happened back on Vaden.

Almost.

With a sigh, Brian took one final look in the mirror, then decided to get started with the day. As it had following the experience with the Dithparu, duty would step in and save the day, providing a way to pass as smoothly as possible from the realm of chaos and fear to one of order, purpose and stability.

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