"Corn on the cob"

Turan Trelar - Quentite ambassador, engineering trainee and farmer

Experience - that's something you won't gain from reading essays or books.

According to the books raising cereals was a rather simple task of seeding, watering, giving some fertilizer and otherwise spending plenty of time waiting. Obviously this kind of cereal the farmer team christened 'killer-corn' never found time to read a book. No wonder it didn't behave like the books told.

This attempt to raise it finally seemed to work. Which one was it? The fifth one? No. In that one the killer corn committed suicide by breaking under the weight of its almost ripe cobs. This one was the sixth attempt. Time had come to bring in the harvest.

The experimental field in the rear edge of the hydroponic garden was much too small to use harvesting machines - not to mention there weren't any harvesting machines at hand. Turan managed to get his hands on well run-in rose scissors and an old linen bag which hung over his shoulder.

Carefully he cut the cobs off the plants which now as their life cycles came to an end had changed into sand-brown colored straw. The color of the soil had changed, too. Compared to the color it had when the experiment started it became much brighter - much like the color of sand. The giant Quentite farm boy peeled away the leafs protecting the cob. There were hundreds of almost finger-thick golden corns. This harvest was as nobody could deny a success. Carefully, Turan put the large cob into his bag.

In less than an hour any of the cobs found its way into Turan's bag. Turan looked contend. Just another few checks and analysises and he was ready to return to his usual engineering shift.

"Patience is a Virtue"

Ensign Eve
Intelligence Officer (Technical Operations)

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

ch'Rihan. Planet "of the Declared," as the literal translation went. A pleasant enough place, once you got used to the weather, learned the language, and made certain to keep one's photoreceptors and aural enhancements in high sensitivity mode; growing eyes in the back of one's head was currently biologically impossible.

Which was precisely what "young" Ens. Eve was doing. She had been "attached" to the diplomatic team currently on planet, with orders to link up with the USS Galaxy, currently en route. It was no secret that she was intelligence, everyone expected that someone on any team sent out would be from Intel, or at least would be reporting any juicy tidbits. The Rihannsu, as they called themselves, were simply to much of an unknown NOT to take advantage of such a situation. The only problem was Eve wasn't covert ops, analytical, or any of the rest of them. Sure, she had a decent field rating, ONLY a 5; her violet eyes were always the biggest giveaway, and she hated contact lenses. No, it was the fact that, though she was to take advantage of any information she happened upon, Eve wasn't to go looking for it.

Her standing orders were to assist the diplomatic embassy, such that it was, until the arrival of the USS Galaxy. At that point, she would beam aboard and assume her duties on her first official posting.

However, it was taking the Galaxy some length of time to arrive. Eve put it down to the Rihannsu. The Galaxy may be carrying someone important aboard, but that didn't mean the local owners of this region of space couldn't screw with their flight path for whatever reason, make them work for their clearance to orbit ch'Rihan.

Patience .... Patience is a virtue, so say some. If such is true, Eve could be remarked to be a very virtuous woman.

"Tigerland" I

1st Lt. Jebidiah Baile

Élevée Prison Warden (wrote by Trey)

:: 'Vaden' ::

Warden Élevée was not going to miss this arrival, usually he would let his underlings handle the tedious tasks, but he had been waiting on the arrival of Baile for so very long. Élevée was a over weight man of average height for his species. His form was humanoid if design, but his skin was pigmented with brown patches making him have dark colored markings on his limbs, body and face. The two markings on his face made him look slightly sinister as he stood there flanked with five guards on each side and another five guards circling the platform over the prison. When the whine of the transporter began to sound and the sight of baile's form began to take shape Élevée began to salivate at the sensation he was back in his grasp. "Seize him!" Élevée yelled as soon as the transporter released Baile.

The guards trained their rifles on the newly arrived prisoner while two other guards, dressed in full combat gear approached him. Baile ignored the guards and looked directly at the Warden. "Hello you bloated fuck... missed me?"

"Like a five cent whore." Élevée snapped back. "How does it feel to know you will never be leaving this plant?" He said then motioned for the guards to bring him.

"I'm just here for the desserts.. I'll leave when I get bored." Baile replied and let the guards shackle him. They searched him but found no weapons. His belongings had been beamed down separately into a secured area. All according to standard procedure. "Who knows.. I might blow this place up as well.." He knew full and well the Warden hated being reminded of the past. Especially THAT past.

Élevée turned and punched Baile hard in the face, then grabbed his head. "For that, I will make your death very painful." Élevée said coldly. "Best part of your life Baile is no one cares about if your living or dead." Élevée said chuckling. "Bring him to the room so we might have our fun." Élevée stated and started hobbling since he was over weight toward the torture room.

Élevée's aid walked next to his huffing boss. "Are you sure this is wise, sir?" the lizard asked. "The Jem'Hadar tried to catch this man for several years without success and now he falls into your hands just like that?" It would be like talking to a wall. Endless times he had heard the Warden curse the Crows, curse them for the loss they caused him. The loss of prestige. Most of it was in the head of the Warden, but that didn't make it less painful.

"Look at him! He's weak, broken... I have won!" Élevée snapped. "Now be off with your survey ass, I no longer want to look at it today." He said then looked around. "Yes yes, bring him... inside!" He snapped as he took in some air.

"Yes, sir." his aid sighed. Perhaps this was for the better. Maybe now he would shut up about it and focus on what he did best - ran the best penal colony on the galaxy. He motioned to the guards by the magnificent wooden door to bring the prisoner inside. Well, the five inch thick reinforce blast door hidden behind wooden panel that was. He looked at the prisoner when he passed by. That was no broken man. He hoped the Warden would see that.

Élevée was consumed though with revenge, he saw nothing but that. Walking little ways from the prison he moved toward the small building where he would torture Baile. Using his hand to unlock the door, he stood to the side. "Take him inside, strap him to the table." Élevée ordered as he watched.

"Torture, huh, Buckaroo.. glad to see you're still single-minded.." Baile chuckled. As much as he hated the idea of Élevée getting a hold of him it was unfortunately necessary. He counted on the Warden to want to punish him for as long as possible, to throw him in the deepest and worst mine there was.

"I'm so glad you are happy." Élevée stated as he moved to watch as they strapped Baile down on the table. "See, I've been honing my skills... I'm going to make you wish you were dead, then I'm going to bring you back in here, start it all over again." Élevée said as he picked hypo and took a DNA sample. "Get this to our friends... tell them for this one, they owe me three times what they normally pay." Élevée said about his Hydrans friends. "Really two bad you can't be controlled... got a bitch I could really use you on." He said. He then picked up a searing hot tip and began to write, 'Property of Warden Élevée' into Baile's arm. "Just so you always remember."

Baile kept his eyes on the Warden while he carved his name on Baile's arm. It was strange the way he could detach the pain from himself. Almost like a flip of a switch. It frightened him. What the hell had the Hydrans turned him into? Not a single drop of sweat escaped Baile's skin. "You spelled your own name right... you been taking classes or did you have a note?"

"You talk very brave for someone who in a day or so is going to loose his nuts." Élevée stated as he finished branding the words into Baile's skin. He then turned to look over his tools to see which he wanted to use next. "Limb removal... no... ah.. electricity." He said as he picked up some patches and then began to place them on Baile. Once he finished he then turned back to his table to pick up the his little device that controlled the electrodes.

Baile looked at him calmly, the sort of calm before the storm. "Hydrans don't pay for damaged goods. They'll want me intact.. trust me.."

Élevée chuckled. "Don't you get it... oh no I bet you don't... see the DNA I took from you already they can clone you, only this time they can make something they can control. So I get to keep you and do what I wish." Élevée said joyfully. He leaned down and looked at Baile's face. "Welcome home." He said then hit baile with a jolt of energy several times before he heard the dinner chime. Removing the electrodes he then looked at the two guards. "Take him to the holding pit... I'm going to eat dinner then we'll continue." Élevée said as he headed out of the room.

He felt groggy, but that was to be expected. Yet still he could feel the injuries heal at a frightening rate. The ultimate proof on how far the Hydran.. gods.. had removed him from humanity. He felt the guards drag him along, relaxing in their grip to make their job as heavy as possible. The trio stopped inside a massive chamber where they stopped in the middle and dropped him to the ground. Taking a few steps back one of them grinned as the floor underneath Baile opened up and he fell down a slide. He wasn't sure how far down he had fallen, but suddenly the slide stopped and he tumbled down on what felt like volcanic sand. End of the line.

"Tigerland" II

1st Lt. Jebidiah Baile

Élevée Prison Warden
and Raschek Chief of Security (wrote by Trey)

:: 'Vaden' ::

Élevée came back into the room where Baile was thrown down into the pit. Looking down he motioned to a couple guards. "Bring him up to me... ready to play with the toy some more!" He said as his round body began to limp toward the room where he had tortured Baile earlier.

The fat man's words echoed throughout the prison area where Baile sat on the ground. It had been two interesting days watching and observing the prisoners, finding out who was the top dogs. Everyone was a member of a gang. The few, the handful that weren't, possessed some sort of knowledge or skill that made the others leave them alone. Neutral suppliers of drugs, information, food - anything that made the stay easier. They had, atleast in the beginning, approached Baile trying to figure out who and what he was and how he fit into the delicate equation. Would he upset the balance? Yes. But the question was how much?

Baile was shoot with a neuro paralyzing dart, weather it worked on him or he was just acting was another thing altogether. Taking Baile from the pen, they began to drag him toward the room where Élevée was waiting with his ever faithful devices to hurt Baile even more. "Goodie... there on the table if you please."

He felt himself being placed on the table. Guess the fat fuck just couldn't keep his greasy hands of him. A Crow went as far as needed. Pain and humiliation was just a part of the deal. One that Élevée would have to settle when it was all over. He forced his heart to slow down, to relax or else it would all be over before it began. The burn on his arm had almost completely healed. Yet one more proof to what the Hydran.. gods.. no, not gods, had done. Baile had changed his opinions about the idea of Hydran gods changing him. It had just been another pair of fucked up creatures with too much knowledge and too little brains.

"Saying nothing today... are you?" Élevée asked as he remained with his back to Baile. "Not that it matters to me, I grow tried of your little barbs." Élevée said as if he was the only important thing in the room. Picking up a hypo he walked over and pressed it into Baile's stomach and pressed the trigger sending the nano byte into his body. "I want the information... were are the other members of your inbreed family?" Élevée asked as he picked up a remote device and began to guide the nano probe to a pain nerve.

The marine kept silent knowing that would infuriate his opponent even more. He knew what it was that the fat man had injected into his body. Baile had used it himself on prisoners and it was.... effective. It was going to be a long afternoon. He could almost feel how the nanobot moved through his body until it settled on a nerve, clamping down like a hawk on its prey.

Élevée punched the button, the byte sent a electro charge into the nerve to make baile's body spasm. "ooo, did I hit a nerve?" Élevée taunted as he hit the button again.

A sarcastic smile formed on Baile's face. The pain faded almost instantly. Whatever the nutjobs had done to his body it worked. The charge flowed through Baile's body again, causing it to spasm. When it faded Baile looked at the fat man. "No need to stop... I was beginning to like it, Fatty..."

He was not going to let this man get to him, not again. Élevée punched in a series of commands into the device, telling the byte to do a series of pulses and then a hard spike into Baile's nerve system. "Hope you enjoy this ride..." He said, then hit the button for the byte to began.

The smile was the only thing Baile concentrated on. A sarcastic and demeaning smile. Unless he could figure out a way out, which he believed he had, then Élevée would break him. Too bad the rest of the team wasn't here. "That the best you can do, Fatty?"

"I don't want to kill you... at least not that quickly." Élevée stated as he then picked up a couple weights. Tied them to the big toe on each of baile's feet and let the weights hang off the table pulling on Baile's big toes. Moving up he did the same thing, but this time clamped the weights to baile's nipples. "Tell me their location?" Élevée said as he hit the button and the byte did the series of electro shock to Baile's nervous system.

Inside his body the defenses placed there by the same creatures that had altered the Marine began working to disable the intruder. Thousands of nanobots began isolating the offending nerve and simply shut it down. Just as quickly they turned to the nanobot injected by Élevée and began attacking it en masse. Baile had no idea what was going on. All he felt was a lot of pain, more pain and then - nothing. It came as a shock to Baile and for a quick second he tried to determine whether he had been knocked out or not. But seeing the fat man standing next to him quickly confirmed to him that he was still awake. "Same old tricks, eh, Fatty?... Guess how much it takes to blow up this... rat-hole of yours.." That was the same line that Caileb had said to Élevée before the entire installation had been turned into scrap-metal.

Élevée punched at the device in his hand, wondering why it wasn't working. Slamming it down he picked up a hammer. "I'll make sure you never walk again then you'll be here for the rest of your life or mine!" He said as he moved to break Baile's leg or hip, which ever came first.

Baile chuckled. It was driving the Warden insane. He could hear the heartbeats race like a sledgehammer inside the man's chest. There was a price at the end of the line unless the fat bastard slowed down and that was a heart-attack. "Temper, temper, Slick.."

Just as Élevée was about to break Baile's hip's, Élevée's assistant voice came over the speaker. "Warden, the Hydrans are about to dispatch a garrison to retrieve the prisoner Baile."

"WHAT?!" Warden yelled. "Tell them I'm not done!"

The marine kept the sarcastic grin on his face. But it was certainly news that changed things. Something stirred inside of him at the thought of getting caught by the Hydrans. "Guess my fan club is coming.."

"Tell them I'm not done!" Élevée yelled at the speaker.

"I've done so, Sir, but they are non-responsive."

"Fine! I'll do it myself!" Élevée said as he looked back to Baile and give him punch with the hammer in his side as he then looked to the guards. "Take him to holding cell."

"Don't miss me too much, Slick.. " Baile replied as the guards ushered him towards the door. They had seen the prisoner take more pain than what they believed to be possible for a human and it unnerved them. Raschek, the man responsible for the prison security readied the cattle-prod hanging from his belt. One false move and the prisoner, no matter how much pain he had just taken would wish he hadn't been born. The inmates feared Raschek and rightfully so. Even the most rudimentary psych-eval would have labeled him a psychopath.Several guards trained their rifles while others shackled Baile. The Warden had told Raschek to be careful around the prisoner, but careful didn't even come close to the truth.

Raschek looked at the prisoner and said nothing, it wasn't his style. He was a man of action. Had this been interrogation under his charge things would have been done. This was nothing but Élevée play time, one he found no joy in at all. When everything was in place and not a second before he made a sweeping gesture and two men shoved Baile toward the door while the riflemen were trained on him. Raschek hoped, prayed, Baile would try something just so he could have his head served up for dinner. He walked a few feet behind Baile, while flanking baile were two of the biggest and strongest guardsmen Raschek had in service, he called them Godsmen, cause they were so strong.

Baile stayed silent during the walk back to the cell or rather detention area. The place had no real cells. It wasn't needed. The prisoners lived in blocks, two and two in each cell with none of the comforts of home. The Warden didn't believe in making the prison comfortable unless it involved his own spacious and luxurious quarters.

"End of the line, maggot.." Raschek grinned and watched the Godsmen remove Baile's shackles. He walked up behind Baile and ordered the first gate to be opened. He stood behind the prisoner, as always flanked by the two gargantuan guards. "Move away from the gate, worms or I'll knock your last teeth down your throats!"

The electric charge from the cattle-prod danced up and down the bars on the gate as the first gate closed and the second opened. When the second door had opened fully he leaned close to Baile. "Welcome to hell.." He pressed the cattle-prod on Baile's neck and let the electric charge leap into Baile's body. The heavily tattooed man when down on his knees and was kicked inside the block by Rascheks massive combatboot.

"A conversation at Angel's Moon"

By Ember Lansky and Michael Ayers

===---

Ember Lansky had created quite a stir on the ship with the little stunt she pulled. But it didn't mean she was going to hide away in her quarters on a beautiful night like this one, just to avoid the hot gossip and finger-pointing. In fact, the backlash hadn't nearly been as bad as she anticipated, considering that she had even received a thumbs up or two from those who thought what she did absolutely rocked. She smiled to herself as she entered the new bar, giving a low whistle under her breath as she took a moment to admire the décor.

It looked good, and if the rest of the evening was as smashing as the first impression, it looked like she was going to have a new hangout place. Initially, she had made plans with Ayden to check this bar out, but he was called away by a last-minute reshuffle in duty shifts. Ember didn't see why she couldn't have fun without him though, and decided to come here for a 'once over' before bringing her beau here.

Her beau. With that particular naked sprint, she had not only succeeded in damaging what few scraps her reputation remained in, but she had also practically announced her relationship with Ayden out loud to the whole world. She couldn't deny that it was something she *still* needed to get used to… this feeling of suddenly being attached, for real, for perhaps the first time in her life. And public broadcasting of this only made it more irrevocable, but she had to admit, Ayden didn't make it difficult at all.

"Hey," She greeted as she sidled up the bar stool, giving the man behind the counter a friendly smile.

Michael turned around after wiping down a fresh glass, enjoying the busy environment as well as anybody else during the grand opening of his new place. He had only been on board the Galaxy for about a week, and yet despite the mounted tensions from recent events, he already found the crew to be exciting and pleasurable to be with. Many had even devoted their off duty time and effort to help him set up the "Angel's Moon" Bar/Diner.

Placing the glass into a small open storage space in front of the bar, he rested both hands on the edge of the table and smiled at the newcomer. Once again, he had only been on board since last week, and he was immediately recognized her. "So you're the one everybody's talking about." He grinned with a wink, "What can I get you? Most of my inventory is real, but I can replicate some synthehol if you'd prefer."

She gave a wrinkle of a nose, expressing her distaste at the mention of synthehol. "When there's the real thing, why would I take the fake?" She asked blatantly, teasing him for even daring to think of making that suggestion. "I'll have your house drink, whichever's your special mix," She answered readily, not seeming particularly bothered at the possibility that it might be a strong, potent concoction. She was pretty much up for anything.

Leaning slightly against the counter as he turned to get her the drink, Ember gave an amused laugh. "Should I be ashamed that even the new guy in town's heard about my daredevil antics?"

Michael chuckled a bit, turning his head to Ember while simultaniously pouring an interesting concoction of blue and green mixtures of alcohol into a tall glass, with a small splash of something white. "I've had a few characters around here try posting a holo-pic of you're *daredevil antics* up on that wall over there."

"I have so many fervent admirers, huh?" Ember grinned. "Good to know." There was no trace of smugness in her; if anything, her smile appeared more as a smirk, half-amazed at the inanity and the great amount of free time some of these people had.

He reflected on her amusement for a second before setting the glass in front of her, which carried an intense purple tone that seemed to glow with a cloudy sway. "Drink up, first one's on the house for pilots, although this might be you're last if you're a lightweight." He teased. "Quantum Rift."

"Well then, I guess if that happens, you're gonna carry me back to my quarters?" She asked coyly, lightly holding the stem of the glass and giving it a gentle swirl as she met his gaze. She first took a small sip of the mix, as though for taste. If he wondered whether she would 'drink up' though, he had her answer nearly immediately. On the next tip of the glass, she didn't look up till the last drop was gone. The warm but refreshing rush of the alcohol down her throat was giddying and good.

"There you go," She winked, sliding the glass back to him. "Sorry to disappoint you, if you were looking to send me home."

Michael had seen enough people *try* to take down that beverage just like she did, often proclaiming victory even before they realized what was about to hit them. Even though the "Quantum Rift" was relatively well known amongst the stars, very few people knew how to make them properly. Michael did. If Lansky had ever had one before, it was painfully obvious that she had never had one that was made the right way.

"Guess not," he replied softly, standing there as he silently counted down the seconds until the inevitable expression of surprise and delight crossed her lips.

And it did. The sudden explosion of taste in her mouth was not like anything she had tasted before, all the more incredible because it was so unexpected, and so stimulating. She gave a laugh, immediately turning back to him with eyes playfully narrowed. "You knew that was coming," She accused jokingly, as though he could have done better by issuing an advance warning.

Michael laughed with a very sly grin, almost embaressingly sly. "Absolutely." He joked as he retrieved her glass and washed it out. Taking a quick glance around the bar to make sure that there wasn't anybody else looking for attention, he returned his attention to the attractive brunette. "So do you want another or is there something else you have in mind?"

"I'll take another," She said, returning his grin. The drink was deceptively mild, but it carried a punch, and she liked that element of surprise, even if it was no longer a surprise. When he turned to prepare the mixture yet again, she asked curiously, "So, what's your story?" Her eyes widened for a moment, like she just remembered, shaking her head with a tinge of amusement. "And I don't even know your name yet."

Michael tilted his head to the side with a cocky grin, once again pouring thet beverage to perfection even though he wasn't giving it his full attention. "It's Michael, and my story is pretty easy. I'm a bartender, I work here. Any questions?" He finished with another amused smirk on his face, handing to the drink to her with the full knowledge that she was probably going to take this down a little more slowly. One was enough to give anybody a buzz, two was asking for trouble.

He wiped his hands with his towel before leaning against the bar table again, maybe closer to her than he would pay the usual customer. "Besides it's really not the bartender's job to talk about himself, he's supposed to listen to all the sad drama and boring tales from young folk like yourself. So on that note, how about you? What's your story miss..." He lingered, waiting for her name.

She laughed. That he turned the topic away – albeit skillfully so – only made her more curious to find out. "I'm sure you already heard my name and entire background before I even sat down on this stool," She said with a raised brow, mirth in her eyes. "The rumour mill on the ship is frankly pretty damn efficient, if I do say so myself. And you already know I'm a pilot... among other things." She gave a chuckle, the implication underlying the words. "So what else is there to know?" Two could play at this game, apparently.

Michael mused for a second, leaning the weight of his body against his arms as he stared into Ember's eyes, gazing upon the soul behind the woman. In truth the two were probably no more than a few inches apart, and yet she didn't seem to retreat in the slightest, it even emboldened her own amusement. "Alright," he began, pushing himself off the bar and pulling a thin object out of his pocket. "What's with you and this guy?" He asked, passing her a picture taken yesterday, displaying Ember and one other in the unmodest pride of their strides. "There's a lot of word going around about you two, but nobody seems to be able to put their finger on it."

Ember's lips quirked slightly as she looked at the picture, delaying the moment to answer as she took a few sips of alcohol. The truth was, that Michael had caught her off-guard. No one had put the question to her quite so blatantly; almost everyone had just naturally assumed that Ayden was her current 'fling'. "We're together," She answered with a half-hearted shrug. "For now anyway." It was the understatement of the century. She just didn't see why she should explain or even convey the depth of the feelings that she felt for the man in the picture, to an utter stranger. Because in all honesty, words failed her. There was nothing she could say to describe what she felt.

"For now?" Michael replied. He picked up on the dissatisifaction of her answer, as if there were so much more that she wanted to say. From his perspective it was impossible to judge whether the terms of her relationship with this Ayden were better or worse than she described. All he could say was that her demenaor had certainly changed.

She laughed, but it was almost a telltale sign that she was pretending he had misread the gravity in her earlier admittance. "Of course. None of us know what's going to happen tomorrow. Unless you happen to be clairvoyant, Michael?" She teased, falling into the familiar routine of using humor to deflect issues that might strike too close to the heart. She suspected the man before her had a habit of doing the same, himself.

She couldn't have been more right. Even if it was self defeating and utterly destructive, Michael had practiced this art with near perfection throughout his whole life. The truth was harder to shroud now than ever before, and yet he had managed to keep his own past from the entire crew on board this ship.

There was a certain pause before he responded to her question though, as he considered how much Ember Lansky reminded him of himself. Her shroud had failed her almost as soon as he read the spirit behind her eyes, the hesitation of her remark invisible to possibly everybody save him. He figured that it was in his own eyes that this observation was ever so apparent.

"So you're definately not an optimist then," he regarded as he pulled his legs in together a bit from the broad lean he had against the bar table. "How'd you two meet?" He decided to start from the beginning, keeping himself busy as he took a second to grab a few empty glasses on the table, pulling them down in order to sanitize them for further use.

If Michael was preparing for her to tell a long, drawn out story, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Her reply was again, offhand and brief, as her other replies had been the moment they stepped too close into dangerous conversation territory. "Nothing too dramatic. One of those online dating things," She said, finishing the second glass, and indicating her desire for a refill. "So, tell me, exactly how did you end up being a bartender?"

A soft chuckle slipped between Michael's lips while he poured her a third glass before she even had a chance to ask for it, knowing that she wouldn't refuse the offer since they were having too much fun dancing around the past and present. "Nothing too dramatic," he lied effortlessly, "How'd you end up getting posted on the same ship?"

Before Ember could reply, a soft chirp escaped a device that was set in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing to Ember as if it wasn't much of a big deal. "Excuse me for a second."

Ember watched intrigued as he walked over to a quiet corner and pulled something else out of his pocket. She tried to see what he was doing, but he had his back turned to her, and all she could see were vague movements. "So, what was that all about?" She asked with a raised brow when he returned barely a minute later.

"Nothing important" Michael replied with a shrug as he pulled out two seperate shot glasses. There was a noticable change in his own demeanor, he was sweating lightly and almost looked as though he was just getting over a punch to the gut. He shrugged it off, and forced a smile. "So, same question. You two getting assigned together, how'd that happen?"

The look Ember returned him was one of skepticism. It was obviously not 'nothing'. She wondered if he was on drugs, but if he had just taken a shot, he wouldn't be looking worse than the way he did previously. But since he didn't seem keen on talking about it - in fact, his mouth was closely shut when it came to *anything* about him, she let it go, for the moment. She chuckled softly. "The gods wanted to screw my life over. That's how."

Michael chuckled, "So you and him being together is what... a bad thing?" He asked, pouring a slight green liquid into the small

glasses, handing one to her. "You seem to be on my good side

tonight, another one on the house."

"So that's how you bribe your customers into coming back," She teased, sliding the third empty glass of 'Quantum Rift' back to the bartender and accepting the new drink. She was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol - some slight lightheadedness. Her tolerance was usually pretty good, but considering how fast she was keeping the drinks going and that she hadn't eaten before this...

Not that it was making her tongue any looser. "I lost my singlehood. That usually is a bad thing, isn't it?" Ember said rhetorically, in an amused manner. It somehow seemed like she was throwing out more questions than she was answering them. "What about you? Have any girlfriend?"

"I guess that's a matter of perspective," Michael began, raising his glass in sychronization with Ember before dropping its contents down the back of his throat. It was a stronger mix than the "Quantum Rifts" he had given Ember, a much more bold taste that offered quite a reaction. Michael knew at least, that it would help to dull out the pain, even though it had long been suggested to him that he not consume any alcohol in order for the meds to achieve the full affect. So what if it was cutting him a few hours shorter han normal.

Michael returned his gaze to Ember, who was also recovering from the gag reflex. "Like that huh?" He answered her, taking the two glasses and moving it into the sanitization compartment. "And that's all of your free drinks for the night," he continued with a chuckle, feeling the immediate buzz of alcohol mix itself amongst his neurons. "Unless you want to start working for me, that is. Then you get 50% off." He joked.

She laughed. "I suppose if you have a girlfriend, she might take objection to that..." Ember quipped, not failing to notice of course, that he had deftly sidestepped the question she had asked, yet again.

Wondering if there was something bothering him beyond mere thirst or alcohol craving, she couldn't resist adding, "And there I thought, bartenders weren't supposed to drink on the job."

"My place, my rules." Michael replied as he finished cleaning the set of shot glasses, setting them into a small cage where they were to wait until being called upon to serve more customers.

Once he was done he leaned back against the bar table, again until there was only a little distance between him and Ember. It wasn't so close as to where she might presume that he was making a move on her, but it certainly left enough room to be curious about his own intentions. "If I had a girlfriend, I'd hope she could trust me to be around other women, just as I'd expect myself to trust her with other men. So if she took objection to you working for me, there'd obviously be a problem."

His statement inadvertently made Ember wonder... Did she trust Ayden? She couldn't answer it; part of her still felt that the relationship she shared with Ayden was unreal... pure fantasy. There was that nagging doubt that she would one day wake up in the morning, to find that it had all been a dream, that she had lost Ayden and she was destined to be alone, again. That part of her didn't even dare to think about trust.

"If?" Ember gave a small laugh. "So is there a woman in your life, or is there not?" She asked directly.

Michael grinned again, seeing how much the mystery of it all was nagging at her intensely. Most of it had been unintended, yet when he started to view her increased curiosity and persistence he felt that it might be fun to amuse himself for a bit. "Why, are you putting up an application?" He replied, once again dodging her question.

"Are you open for an application?" She shot right back at him with a grin. She was curious, that she couldn't deny. She could sense the secrets behind the bartender, and it only drew her intrigue.

Michael allowed himself to lean in a bit closer, the mind games working both sides of the table. The amusement streaking across his face was all too obvious as much as it was with her, like a couple of kids playing hide and seek. He could see how easily the crew could confuse her playfulness and adventerous behavior to get the wrong impression. But Michael was smarter than that, he could see deeper into the whole scheme. "Probably not," he replied.

More than aware of the folds of secrecy Michael kept around himself, Ember didn't think that answer was meant definitively to indicate whether he was attached, or not. She didn't pull away when he leaned in, but propped her chin on an upturned palm and looked at him, letting her puzzlement show. "Why not?"

Michael could almost anticipate how much attention his conversation with Ember was drawing from the others, over the corner of his senses he noticed a shift in various topics. He smiled, knowing that he had barely been on board a week and yet he was probably going to find himself a topic of many rumors. He didn't care. Turning his attention back to Ember, he grinned. "I just got here."

"Fair enough," She nodded with a small smile, tipping the glass to her lips for another sip. She respected the fact that the rumours he would be generating didn't seem to bother him. That was almost enough to make him a friend already in her book. Lifting her eyes so she looked directly into his, she asked, "So.. what are the chances of me catching you off-hours, when you're not working behind the bar?" It was his choice to interpret it as a blatant proposition - or not. Either way, she wasn't shy about wanting to know him better.

Michael grinned further more, incredibly entertained at her enticing sense of conversation. Whoever else had been in the picture with her was obviously a very patient, very lucky guy. Part of him figured that Ember was equally fortunate to have such an understanding guy who wouldn't jump to conclusions like most others. It almost made him interested in meeting him. "I'm either here or in my quarters, take your pick." He replied softly, a stint of him reluctant to offer her an invitation to come by his quarters when he would likely be less... mobile.

His quarters? Ember chuckled inwardly, not sure who was being the bold one here now. But if he meant to put her off by sounding forward, she wasn't in the least daunted. "Alright, your quarters then," She agreed readily. "I'll swing by tomorrow, but I'm expecting you to prepare the drinks." For a moment, she did wonder if Ayden might be displeased if he knew about this. But... what was there to be upset over? Her interest in Michael went only as far as friendship.. and curiosity, not anything more.

[BACKPOST] - Occurs shortly after the the Jem`Hadar start getting beamed up. I'll post something later to get us to Romulus so we can start doing stuff on-planet.

-----

"Tough Love" - Part 2

Robert Joseph Mathieson
Medical Officer

Kylar Curran
Chief Liaison Officer

Eytan
Security Officer

Kio
Medical Officer

The Kelvan, acknowledging only that the irritating doctor left, hurried to the closest un-manned terminal that would be more advantageous and he less disturbed at than any other more populous location in the area. The Brenari, having decided it was in his best interests to stay with the Kelvan rather than the chaos of numerous cases of injured being treated on the fly by other more qualified personnel, stayed close behind, watching carefully. Curran noted this, and did not really care at the moment. So long as the guard stood out of his way.

Having arrived at the remote terminal, he keyed in his personal sequence, activating the dark screen.

"Computer, identify the location of the Jem`Hadar in their largest congregations."

[Access denied. You are not authorized to retrieve this information]

"Why am I denied access?" The rising tide of noise in the area was becoming a distraction. A phaser on widespread eradication would be appealing right about now. Or his disintegration belt. At the very least, it would alleviate the medical personnel by placing them all in stasis for a while he got around to performing his more important business.

[Security clearance for Curran, Kylar, has been downgraded to Delta One]

"Re-activate Alpha Two clearance. My authorization code." He keyed in his sequence by hand, being in a very public location with Jem`Hadar, and mayhap not the good ones around.

[Request denied]

"Why? I have entered my codes properly." He'd double-checked them as he keyed them in.

"Sorry, Legate," came Eytan's voice from behind him. "Access to that kind of information is restricted for the time being, with all these Jem'Hadar coming into sickbay." He offered the Kelvan a shrug that was somehow both sympathetic and indifferent. "For all we know, there could be more of them sneaking about here with a cloak."

Curran clenched his fists in annoyance. He understood the protocol, and should have known. He'd signed off on them with Commander Corgan. He was allowing too many distractions to set in.

"Then we need to leave Sickbay, Ensign."

Eytan shook his head at that. "I hate to sound like a drone, but I've got orders to remain here and ensure that nobody leaves unless they're cleared to. Plus I'm still not certain that you're fit to walk out of here anyway--I used to work in here, sir, so I know what I'm talking about."

Kylar was growing more and more perturbed. Sickbay was becoming a scratch he couldn't itch. He'd already had a deep dislike for the location, and came to loathe it more for its limitations in being able to commit to his duties with any kind of efficiency. He tried to key in a secure channel to Captain Henderson, but was met with no response, which came as little surprise. The new Captain likely had his hands very much full. He knew Kol wouldn't help either.

Another keystroke off to Lt. Tarin was met with the standard terminal message record request, and so forth down the chain of command. Something must be occupying business on the bridge. It didn't occur to him that communications were broken down or overloaded.

~This isn't a sickbay, it's a fekkin' three ring circus complete with jugglers an' clowns!~ As the thought of clowns came to Mathieson's mind, he cast a quick glimps at the unruly Kelvan patient at the other end of sickbay. ~Well, at least he's not floppin' on the deck like a fish anymore - plus the lad from security seems to be mindin' him OK. Here's hopin' he continues to behave himself, the great ugly git. All thhe charm and personality of a hemmeroid.~ He knew that sooner or later the Kelvan's concussion would have to be seen to. He ground on his nerves that he had to admit that the snotty Kelvan had been right - a concussion was the least of sickbay's problems right now. The medical staff was now experiencing an ebb to the flow of casualties coming in, and some of the more serious injuries that had been stabilized could now be attended to: amputations, organ replacements, and deep tissue surgeries. Control had been almost within their grasp - until the pregnancy threw a wrench in things. Kio had arrives first to attend the young mother, but the Vulcan seemed to pale as she performed her diognosis. Sealing a chest wound on a Jem'Hadar warrior, the older doctor could only inquire. "Kio lass - 'ows she doin'? Needin' any help?"

Kio, controlling the sensation of self-failure that an admission would symbolise nodded her head once to the doctor and took a step towards him. "This woman has suffered extensive trauma to the abdomen rupturing the protective membranes about her child and causing an internal bleed from her spleen. We must remove the spleen and seal the bleeding or she will die, but the child will die should we conduct surgery. If we should try and save the baby I do not believe we will save the mother; I do not choose to make a decision upon this on Vulcan we would save the patient more likely to survive; the mother. The only way I can conceive to save them both would be to place the featus in stasis and construct a cloned womb in which to develop the child to full term... but that procedure is rarely attempted when the child is only 4 months into the gestation period. I need a second opinion."

Mathieson leaned over and took a sobering look at Kio's scanner readings. ~Shyte! What she's proposin' 's some dicey work!~ Unfortunately, he had to admit she was completely correct in her dignosis. "Yeah... yeah. Without a surrogate, we're completely up the creek - it's the only option that'll save 'em both. If we had someone who'd carry the foetus for a week or so, we'd be OK." Looking aroung the chaos of wounded crewmen and bust medical staff. "That's not likely t'appen any time soon."

While he couldn't do anything at present, Curran felt his attention being drawn to the woman who had shouted earlier. He saw the large-lobed bald troll hovering over a wounded Jem'Hadar, so he wound his way through the throng, careful not to let anyone touch him. He walked directly into a blood geyser though, spraying his face and arms. With utter disgust, he refrained from yelling at the technicians, but filed their image away so that he could issue a reprimand later.

Swiping off a towel from a cart, he wiped away the thick glob spatter and continued on through until he reached the group, at which point he then just stood off to the side and watched with curiousity. He'd never been witness to a humanoid birth before, and it would be informative if the situation ever arose in a diplomatic interaction.

Seeing the patient and the security officer slowly gravitate to where Kio was treating the pregnant woman, a way of keeping both out of the way of the combat triage dawned on him. "You two are as useless as tits on a bull right now. Doctor Kio's goin' to need some pretty simple help in the next few minutes. Why don't you charmin' fellows clean up and 'elp her with the delivery of the child? Jus' follow 'er instructions and you'll be fine."

Obviously, he hadn't hidden away in a dark enough niche to avoid the ugly fellow's not-so-lazy eye. Curran gave an openly visible chill at the thought of touching anything with humanoid blood.

"I think not, Doctor, but I'm positive the Ensign here would gladly help." He grasped the Brenari by the arm and shoved him forward while Kylar covered his mouth with a clean part of the towel. The smells were overpowering, his head was pounding, and he needed a new set of clothes - his OWN clothes, not some curtain to drape over his body like a toga that exposed his backside.

Eytan had opened his mouth to say something when the Kelven grabbed him and pushed him over toward the laboring woman. He looked back at Curran with an unhappy expression, and turned to face Mathieson and Kio, giving them both a halting smile. "Uh...certainly. What do you need me to do?" he asked, glancing warily at the woman lying on the biobed. He'd specialized in pediatrics when he was a doctor, so he was no stranger to these type of cases, but it had been a while since he last was in a position like this.

"'At's the lad! Champion! Jus' champion!" Mathieson grinned. "And if yer surly friend's too squeamish to help out on the business end o' things, maybe he'll be brave enough to hold the mother's hand through it all. She'll be needin' all the 'elp she can get lad, an' he'll need somthin' better to do than gawkin' slack-jawed like the village idiot."

His mouth began to form the words to a retort at the indecency, let alone inaccuracy of the statement, but was interrupted quite rudely by the Vulcan woman who was coordinating the mess.

Kio, seeing that she needed to take control of the situation made a decision at last.

"Dr. Mathieson I need to you to create a stasis field in which to place the baby. This will only serve to keep it safe for a matter of hours so we will also need that artificial womb constructed as soon as the baby is free. Take a tissue sample and we can start work on that as soon as we are able?"

"Aye lass. I'm on it faster'n a Scot on a sheep." His shiny head bobbed out of site as Mathieson went to sterilize himself and configure the neccessary equipment.

Turning to other two she raised and eyebrow and thrust an instrument into Eytan's hands. "If you please, monitor the babies vital signs, I am about to beam her straight from the womb into stasis. If your friend would assist me we must begin work at once upon stabilising the mother as soon as the baby is free."

"He is *not* my friend," Curran was busy digging through an apparel closet, "and I am not touching the female. She's filthy."

Eytan took the medical instrument and immediately set to following Kio's instructions, trying to remember what was good and what was bad. "Vitals are looking okay for the moment, though I wouldn't recommend you waste much more time in beaming that baby out of there," the security officer recommended, keeping his eyes on the baby's vital signs.

Even as he finished speaking Kio finished configuring the medical transporter which she had already requested.

"Doctor, is the stasis field ready?"

Mathieson nodded. "All ready and good to go. Whenever you're ready, Kio."

The unconscious woman let out a moan, coming to her senses for a moment but then lapsing once more into oblivion, her head falling to one side. "I am engaging the transporter now." Kio said, moving at great speed to the terminal. "Be ready to start work on the mother, this will be a great change to her bodies mass and it may put her into further shock. Be ready to resuscitate if necessary!" "Engaging on my mark..three, two, one."

The photons danced within the stasis field and then there hung in the centre was a tiny form, frozen for the moment in miniature perfection. Despite the situation Kio took a moment to look at it and remarked:

"Our mother is clearly very close to a Klingon."

Curran raised an eyebrow at the statement, even as he leaned in close to the stasis chamber to survey the tiny form. The prominent ridge plates that tracked up its back and over its cranium were an odd sight, indeed.

And then the monitor went crazy as the woman's heart stopped beating.

"Patterns of Force"

Kylar Curran, Chief Liaison Officer

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff, Security Officer

Lt Tarin Iniara, Chief of Operations

Guests:
Goran`Agar, First Administrator, Free Jem`Hadar

-----

USS Galaxy
Deck 32
Crew Lounges

****

After having left the others to their own aims, Curran pushed his way through the throng of leathery beings, all the while feeling trepidation that any one of them could be a plant that would reach out and snap his neck like a twig at any moment.

The Crew Lounges on Deck 32 had been specifically assigned to the Jem'Hadar for the main purposes of being away from the key areas of the ship, with the exception of the stardrive computer core systems and phaser cannon power taps. There wasn't much one could do about that. Limited space for 300 former enemies of the Federation meant keeping them away from a whole lot of sections of the ship, and you couldn't very well lock up a dozen of them here and half a dozen there. It didn't make for good diplomacy.

Ahead of Kylar, the Jem'Hadar parted, creating an empty space slightly more than two meters across. In the center of the empty space - blocking access to the turbolift - stood a single individual in a uniform that bore the signs of having been worn in combat, apparently unaware that there were dozens of Jem'Hadar milling around him nervously. As Kylar moved into the open area, he glanced at the approaching Vice-Legate and then turned his head to the side slightly so that he could continue watching down the corridor towards the power taps.

"Sir," Victor nodded without looking back. "I was told to ask if you require an escort?"

The diplomat stopped, staring at the man they said represented death in every form as a living host. Curran had worked with Victor Krieghoff several times before, and found him an efficient officer. He had no such feelings of fear when it came to the man. Why is that people who perform their duties above and beyond what is required become feared by their own kind? This man Krieghoff should be an icon, an example of what levels of humanity could reach if they cast off their feeble emotions.

"Yes, I do require a security escort. Goran`Agar is a likely target of retribution by his former Second's forces. Do you have a relief team to stand guard here at the ships systems you are protecting? I don't see any."

Their eyes never met, as Curran had been maintaining a steady sweep of the lounges in both looking for the Jem'Hadar First and any possible offensive movement. They'd made sure the lounges were away from any observation windows, and guards were posted around the room at ten meter intervals. Not nearly enough if a Jem'Hadar pumped up on whyte was going to do any damage.

Wordlessly, Victor tapped his combadge and the turbolift opened, revealing three more officers stationed inside it as a rapid-response force, all familiar to Kylar as members of Security assigned to Krieghoff's shift. A Vulcan - S'kore, Kylar recalled - waved the other two into position where they could maintain a full watch on the necessary areas.

"Ready when you are, sir," Victor said tonelessly.

Without acknowledgement, the Kelvan continued onwards into the crowd of their impromptu guests, Krieghoff silently falling in behind. "Why has Lt.

Tarin not designated quarters for the Jem'Hadar?" He asked the question rhetorically, as he doubted the security officer would know the answer.

They walked through makeshift cots; blankets rolled out on the floor to designate familial sections, the smaller of the Jem'Hadar in some cases sleeping in the arms of their mothers. It was an extremely strange sight seeing the apparently upper echelon of soldier cradling a newborn infant.

Across the room Lt. Tarin was slowly making her own way through the crowd. The red of her hair made her quite easy to spot in the sea of grey and black as she moved, pausing here and there for whatever reason. Emerging from the crowd she took up a spot near one of the security officers stationed around the perimeter of the room. She set her walking cane against the wall and then began to make notations on the padd which she had been carrying in her right hand.

Iniara supposed she shouldn't have been surprised when Captain Henderson had made the decision to keep the Jem'Hadar aboard for the time being-- it was either that or leave them at Deep Space Five. Even for someone as poorly versed in the politics of the 'Fleet as she, Iniara still knew that leaving these refugees in the clutches of 'Livia Proctor was a bad idea. Still, it didn't make her job any easier, as she was now tasked with finding more permanent accommodations for their guests.

She sighed, pausing for a moment to look around again. Having fought in the Dominion War it was hard to look at the Jem'Hadar as anything but calculating warriors and stone cold killers. But the faces before her looked nothing of the sort-- faces of confused children, frightened mothers, weary fathers. Hundreds of refugees grouping together for strength and support, with no real possessions but the clothes on their backs. It brought back old memories better left buried.

Victor continued to watch the refugees as he and Curran moved through them. The ones that shrank back, or shielded their children from him were nothing to worry about - at least not in comparison to the ones that didn't. Refugees liable to panic were one thing, but unreconstructed Jem'Hadar troopers were something else again. Accounts varied on how many of the latter there were in the evacuee population, and he'd been unable to get a firm number. The Vice-Legate, on the other hand, might know. "Do you have a count on the refugees, sir?" he asked.

"Transport logs designate a total of three-hundred-nineteen arrivals via the cargo bay transporters. It's currently unknown as to how many of those arrivals are legitimate refugees or insinuated forces that sought a cleaner entry point to escape detection. There was enough confusion on the surface that only groups arranged in cordoned off areas or transporter tags were beamed up. You are asking for up-to-date information to make an informed security arrangement for the Jem'Hadar?" He caught the mane of red hair against the opposite wall; they were headed directly for the Chief of Operations.

"Ah. I asked because Security does not have one that breaks down how many colonists of traditional outlook there are in the total population; I was hoping you did. It would make things easier as we start to encounter them."

"Unfortunately, I'm not privy to that information as yet. Intelligence and resources have been slack in defining the proper numbers to base the more important divisions on developing a proper protocol for the situation." He ignored the colonists as he stepped over them, his secondary target only a couple of meters away. He waved her down before she could move off. "Lt. Tarin is over here. Perhaps we'll both get some answers."

Victor decided that this was one of those statements that other people made when they really didn't expect an answer. It was just as well - he was busy watching the refugees anyway. There was no proof that some of the traditionalist, combative Jem'Hadar had boarded the ship. None, at least, as of yet, but that made no difference. He'd already failed too many times to protect the people Starfleet had given him, had allowed things to be done to them that couldn't be imagined by a sane mind. He wouldn't allow it again.

The three of them met at the wall. Curran's gaze fell to the cane, and felt derision. Why was it that females in senior positions were always handicapped in some form? Tarin should be relieved of duty to allow her second to step up. He was far more capable in that he wasn't limited by an assisted device. Why did Starfleet allow such weakness? An area containing more Jem'Hadar than could possibly be handled by the limited Starfleet presence, and they place an invalid? He silently hoped it didn't come to an offensive measures; he had no desire to have her at his side. He'd rather have an enemy there. At least he'd have more assurance of what to expect. He made up his mind that he would sacrifice her to the enemy if it came to it. He was under no obligation to assist in her protection. Let the security types make the emotional decisions.

"Lieutenant, why are these colonists setting up living arrangements in the lounges? There are plenty of guest quarters available with more than enough security officers to isolate them if need be."

"My orders were to assign space to the Jem'Hadar away from key areas of the ship, which is why they are here for the time being," Iniara replied, giving Curran only a cursory glance. His distaste with her was plain to see for even a non-telepath, and she had half a mind to use her cane to make him realize just how much he was underestimating her. It was a shame she had more important things to worry about, like getting these people taken care of. And dealing with the encroaching aura of Victor Kreighoff.

"Would it not be better to concentrate the Jem'Hadar in one area of the ship, rather than scattering them through various sections?" She already knew the answer but she asked anyway, just to humor the Legate. "It would be much harder to keep track of their movements then."

"There are too many variables in that equation, Lieutenant. Combining families reduces the risk of rogue Jem'Hadar concealing themselves in the crowd. One or two security officers could easily contain or guard a family. It's a far more efficient method of allocating our limited personnel, wouldn't you think?"

She nodded once, her focus remaining on the padd in her hands. Keeping hundreds of refugees in what was basically a giant cattle pen for the duration of their next mission was far from humane, and it would be much better to get them into guest quarters.

"Have you seen Goran'Agar?" He stepped up beside the Bajoran, his back to the wall, and scanned the room for the colony leader.

"I believe he is over there." She pointed a finger off to her left. "Near the tall male with no hair."

"The tall male with no hair..." He followed her directive, and saw nothing but Jem'Hadar one after the other after the other... all with no hair.

He was about to shake his head and retort that her humor was in no way wanted or warranted when he spotted a much larger Jem`Hadar turn to the side, revealing he had no hair stem to speak of. It was not something you would generally see on the soldiers, but he would file it away for a future addendum to the library database file on the species.

He later berated himself for not cluing in to the uncommon difference in overall size and appearance of this Jem`Hadar when at once the being also spotted Goran'Agar. The former had been standing separated from the colony leader, then pushed forward into the outer circle of Goran`Agar's entourage, causing a ripple of dissension from the group. Attention was diverted to the being, Kylar urged himself forward, waving the Bajoran woman back. He'd no use for an invalid getting in his way.

As the throng encroached upon the larger male, all eyes had come forward, Curran and Krieghoff were about halfway there, and it was then that the true strategy had been revealed. A trio of shimmering images fell in behind Goran`Agar, popping into existence as they came at the leader from behind his unprotected rear now that his guards had moved forward to intercept the now known decoy.

Victor made a sound akin to a soft hiss behind Kylar and the Vice-Legate found himself jerked backwards. "Stay down," he ordered in a voice that wasn't really Victor's, as the security officer moved past the falling Kelvan in the same motion.

"I do not cow on the floor like a mewling child or woman, Lieutenant." Krieghoff had already moved into stalking mode, though; Curran's retort had gone unheard. He picked himself up off a Jem`Hadar young adult he'd been thrown against, slightly repulsed at feeling the leathery skin for the first time. He pushed the male away from him and rushed the colony leader.

As the civilians around them started to panic there was a sudden rush away from Krieghoff, as if some force were emanating from him and they were fleeing it. Victor fired once, his phaser seeming to appear in his hand without passing through the space from his waist. The beam lanced out, threaded its way through the moving guards and civilians. and struck Goran`Agar in the ankles from the side as he started to turn and face the attackers behind him. His feet thrown out from under him sideways by the impact, the Jem'Hadar leader went down, striking the deck heavily.

The Kelvan was incensed. Krieghoff's pushing him aside had initiated a delay in the Kelvan's reaching the colony leader before he could be defended, and now they would be facing a diplomatic disaster because the Starfleet brute couldn't use his head to deploy a more sensible solution.

Kylar dropped to his knees, turning the Jem`Hadar leader over on his side, while scanning the injuries the *human* had unleashed upon him. More of Goran`Agar's entourage closed ranks around their leader, protecting him, but all were leading themselves to decrying torrid remarks about Starfleet ineffectiveness. He felt rough hands torquing into his shoulders, pulling him away from the fallen leader, who was himself making every attempt to pull himself to his feet with the able assistance of others of his kind.

The now-exposed Jem'Hadar attackers behind the fallen leader hesitated, their weapons - two knives and a Jem'Hadar-issue polaron rifle - aimed at a space no longer occupied by their target, as Victor closed. His phaser fired again, the impact lifting the assassin in the center off his feet and sending the alien's rifle flying through the air.

After being pushed out of the inner ring of defenders, the liaison officer was released from the distressed Jem`Hadar, who had then turned their attention to the two remaining attackers, who'd also been surrounded from behind by Starfleet personnel and Jem`Hadar alike.

Curran, unceremoniously pushed aside in favor of these new targets, took the opportunity to search for the tall, hairless one that started it all. He saw his body a short three meters away, head twisted at an impossible angle.

"Krieghoff! Stop your attack before you make things worse than you already have!" He buckled to his knees, palms on the deck, and spotted the man's feet through the grey. Trying to recover anything lost from the encounter, he ordered the Starfleet personnel - all of them - to retreat, and let the Jem'Hadar take care of business. He scrambled to the cold man's side, climbing back to his feet and standing shoulder to shoulder, facing him from the side.

"Let the Jem`Hadar take care of this, Lieutenant. It's their way, and maybe we can recover from your mistakes all that much more quickly. The intelligence levels of this ships crew seem to be dropping every moment. I suggest the next time you shoot someone, try taking out anyone BUT the delegation leader, or I will make sure you are assigned somewhere that even you will not take to with any relish."

Victor turned his head from watching the Jem'Hadar dispose of the remaining two assassins until his pale, almost colorless blue eyes met Kylar's. "I had no shot with Goran`Agar in the way, sir," he replied tonelessly. "One of the three assassins would have killed him before I could have gotten more than two of them. The only solution was to remove their target - and the obstruction. You'll find that I used a setting low enough in power to merely knock an adult Jem'Hadar down, nothing worse than a hard punch or kick. The worst he should suffer is some bruising - less, in fact, than he might have suffered if his own security had jerked him to the floor and covered him."

"Leave the thinking to those capable of it, Lieutenant." With a brute force of spoken word, he clipped off dialogue briskly and to the point. "You based your tactics on battle-hardened Jem`Hadar soldiers of a decade past. Goran`Agar's creations have been bred with other, more necessary and required traits to their standard of living. Your evaluation of the tactical situation was no more based on if they were cattle than veterans of wars past. You made a decision without basis for facts." Curran met the rugged features and cold caves of the other's withering eyes, and felt, rather than saw, the barbarity in the automaton's gaze. His own ice blue eyes held Krieghoff's with an endurance of their own, not out of fear, but sheer necessity.

"Perhaps so, sir," Victor acknowledged. "But Goran`Agar is alive, you are alive, the civilian refugees are alive - and the assassins are dead. If he, you, or they feel the need to seek retributive action against me for my actions, then you all have the capacity to do so. Something the assassins were unlikely to leave you with." He nodded past Kylar to where the Jem'Hadar leader was waving off assistance from bystanders. "Since you know where to find me in the event of such a desire, and he does not, shall we see if he feels the need to strike me in return?"

"Your arrogance will get people killed one day, Lieutenant." The Kelvan sought out the Jem`Hadar leader, saw that he'd been hurried off the scene and into what was hoped to be a safer haven. They locked eye contact, but almost as quickly, the ebon-dark eyes of the exiled colony leader failing to reveal the thoughts underneath. "The means do not justify the end, if you are unable to comprehend the result of your actions in the long-term. You may have damaged long-term relations with the Jem`Hadar, or worse, validated their opinions of us as primitive warmongers. I hope you are satisfied." He took the man's elbow, pushing him in the direction exactly opposite the others.

"Leave. Now. You're relieved. Be sure you avail yourself of the documentation sciences and medical have collected on the Jem`Hadar while you ponder what errors you made. You might learn something. Like that Goran`Agar has been defending himself from those that have wanted to terminate his existence for more years than you've been allowing your arrogance to get the better of you. Based on your personnel record, I'd say that's a good many years, wouldn't you?"

The Liaison Officer ignored Krieghoff as they parted ways at the bulkhead to the outer corridors. Kylar had only wanted to confirm the neanderthal's hasty exit, and once he had, he turned his attention to locating the invalid. She'd probably fallen down somewhere and couldn't get up. Seeing as this attempt on the colony leader's life was her fault for bottling them up in here, he wanted to confirm that she was at least aware of what had happened, and to make reparations so that it did not occur again.

"Boom Boom BOOM!"

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath "Intelligence" Officer

Ensign Artim
Security Medic

The Guns by Private Baldrick

Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom! Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom! Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom! Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom!

The Phaser Range

This was the basic scene at the phaser range as Raynor nailed holographic target after target... he had been concerned about his training noting that he had been practicing way too much in hand to hand and meelee combat, and as usual ignoring the main weapon he would use in any combat situation... a gun or phaser.

But as always to him it was like learning how to fly a starship... once he learned he never really forgot. He been there for awhile alone, when the door opened...

Since he didn't have to worry about keeping his medical proficiencies at the highest level, Artim had some more spare training time to devote to weapons training. Given he'd have to pass the Special Operations tests soon, a little extra time in the phaser range never hurt. He had brought his specially modified phaser carbine which he used in place of the standard rifle which was a tad big for his 40 kilo frame. Looking into the room he saw the infamous Raynor apparantly having the same idea.

"Mr. Raynor, hope I wasn't interrupting... Having fun I presume?"

"No on the interrupting... having fun is my one of my many names which I aquired about two seconds ago," Raynor said. "So come here to practice shooting or practice being a target? Whats with the gold by the way... I thought you were a doctor."

"I'm practicing because I'm trying out for the Hazard Team and that I think has something to do with the gold. They wanna try me out in security for awhile. So, you up for a little competition." Artim said with a grin on his face as he put the carbine in training mode

"Hazard team huh? That brings back memories..." Raynor said thinking back once again to his last position... he had served as both an Intelligence Officer and the Hazard team XO on his last assignment... but he also had managed to make so that the Strife's Hazard team was as close as he could make them infinitely adaptable. He doubted that this ship's Hazard team would be so rigorous. "So what the requirements for this ship's Hazard team anyways?"

"That you do whatever Commander Corgan tells you to do. Being a crack shot doesn't hurt either. Now don't go thinking little old me isn't one..."

"I would imagine..." Raynor said smiling.

Then while still looking at Artim... Raynor tossed his handheld Wakizashi style phaser to the other hand and hit 9 out of 13 targets that had shown up using peripheral vision alone. He sighed, then smiled, 'Not perfect he thought but close.'

"So what kind of music you into anyways?"

"All kinds, but for this circumstance there's something I use particularly to train with. Computer, music plese, moderate volume, Vivaldi's The Four Seasons, Spring"

With its usual affirmitory chirp the computer started playing the requested music. A moment later, Artim seemed to be almost in a trance as the training program started. Almost in tune with the music crimson beams shot forth from the carbine finding their targets with natural ease. He missed one, causing the Miran to curse under his breath. Still, 14 of 15 was still a descent round.

"I use different music for each training program. Helps me focus, get in the rythm. I generally like terran classical music, though there's some Tellarite stuff I use for the more intense programs."

"It's weird," Raynor noted. "I have yet to meet anyone who listens to modern music... its almost like it doesn't exist on board these starships, and yet it must..."

Raynor turned and began his round. Hit all 17 of his targets in about 20 seconds.

"Who said that? Some of the stuff I listen to is fairly recent. However modern stuff seems to be less pure, too much cross cultural influrence. Look at Tellarite music. Its gotten calmer every decade since they joined the Federation. Still, some of it is still good"

Artim keyed his next training program and went 15 of 15 over the course of a minute or so, but then he was shooting at targets alot "further" away.

A few minutes passed in without them saying a word to each other... just the sound of phaser fire against their targets or the back wall as the case might have been.

"Do you remember that weird ship wide broadcast awhile back?" Raynor asked. "The one with Admiral and the blow job?"

"Oh yeah, I loved it, what about it?"

Raynor thought for a second then as if fessing up, "I was the guy behind it, I am looking for feed back."

"What, you need more ways to insult Admiral Proctor? I can think of tons."

"More like suggestions for other parts of the show..." Raynor confessed.

"Hmm, let me think for a moment," Artim said as he keyed in another long range program and went into a kneeling position with his eyes to the scope of the carbine. As the Miran popped off target after target at range he eventually said.

"Etani Jal. He's a contempary Bajoran musician. Everyone I've ever met whose heard any of his stuff have loved it. Met him once at a conference. Odd guy, you'd like him. I downloaded some of his stuff into the library computer. Take a listen."

"And I'll give it a try..." Raynor replied. "But I was thinking more along the lines of ideas for bits to do inbetween songs..."

"Other then your usual comedy routines, I dunno. I mean, I used to be in the theatre, but its your show," Artim replied.

"Well thanks anyways..." Raynor said taking aim at his new targets.

"I'll let you know if I think of something. I think I'm going to call it a day.", Artim said as he finished off his round and shouldered the carbine.

"The Flames are rising!"

Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter
Chief Science Officer, USS Galaxy

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

Hallway outside Main Science Lab,
Deck 8

****

Jonas walked the hallway towards the Science Lab. He had been here earlier but she had been in a meeting, so he was back now. He had just come from the observation room overlooking the Vanguard Squadron's shuttle bay. He had met one of the Pilots. Seemed to be a nice enough guy. 'Ayden', he had said his name was. As soon as he had heard the name, he had realized that this was the man who, as rumor had it, had just run around one of the decks naked with a woman. Nice, but strange, that was for sure.

The doors opened as he approached.

The large lab was crowded, at least it seemed to be. It could have been the many tables and benches that lined the room's walls, or the large bench in the middle, covered with all sorts of equipment. Science staff were at various points throughout the room, but his target was standing off to the side, next to a computer interface or readout panel. So he made a beeline for her.

Coming up behind her, he coughed slightly. "Hi." He said as she started to turn around.

8-ball raised an eyebrow. "Hi," she said, wondering why Jonas was here. She couldn't think of anything a Marine would need from her. . .unless it was something personal. She prayed it wasn't something personal. "What's going on?"

"I was wondering if you have time to talk?"

Shit. It was something personal. "Um, I'm kind of working," 8-ball said, gesturing vaguely to the equipment around. Truth was, she wasn't that busy, and if she really wanted to talk, a little thing like work was hardly going to get in the way. But he didn't know her well enough to know that.

Steven smiled. "Sorry, I can see that you are busy. I was meaning when you finish your shift. I've booked the holodeck for an hour so if you..." She cut him off.

"I don't know," 8-ball said quickly before he could say anything else. "I've, um, I've got a lot of stuff to do here."

Steven shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'll be there if you change your mind."

With that he turned and walked from the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

****

Holodeck 3, Deck 11

****

Jonas stood up, wiping the sand from his backside as he did. "Hi. I didn't think you were going to come." He indicated a spot next to where he had been sitting.

8-ball shrugged and sat next to him. Truth was, she hadn't planned on coming. She was not really up for a "talk" with someone she had understood to be a one night stand, but she didn't feel it was right to just leave him here either. "I did lots of delegating," 8-ball said dryly. "We learned lots about delegating in Command School."

She played idly with the sand for a moment, letting the warm grains slide through her fingers, and then looked up at him. "What exactly is it that you want?" she asked quietly.

"This is probably gonna sound weird. So I'm just going to lay it out for you... First of all, I'd like to thank you for the other night." Jonas saw that she was about to respond. "But not for the reason you might think." He paused to try and word the next part properly. "I was so hung up on my 'Bella, wound so tightly to her memory, these past three years that I'd forgotten what it was like to live life to the full. I had lost my faith, so to speak. And I'd like to thank you for helping me discover that faith again."

8-ball had absolutely no idea what the hell to say to THAT. She'd been thanked for a few things before, running an errand for a friend or just damn good sex, but being thanked for renewing faith? That was a new one. "Um. You're welcome?"

He picked up a handful of sand, and played with it, and let it fall over his bare legs. "Since that night I've been thinking of you a lot, and I wanted to tell you how I feel..."

He trailed off, and 8-ball waited. She didn't think he really needed her to say anything yet. Besides, she her brain was still going "Uhhhh" over the faith thing. She kept silent for a moment and he began to talk again.

"I realize that you were looking at us as a one night stand. And I can appreciate that." Steven looked over at her. "Until about twenty minutes ago, I had wanted more. But sitting here alone on the beach has given me the time to go over the situation in my mind, and my viewpoint has now changed."

"Okay," 8-ball said. "Um, good. I think. How has it changed exactly?"

"Well, I was chatting with one of the Vanguard pilots earlier and realized something. The way he talked about flying, the thrill it gave him, the enjoyment, it made me realize something. That what I have been feeling towards you isn't love. Infact, I doubt lust would even describe it. It would be more of a deep affection." He paused to she what reaction she had.

8-ball blinked. ~Huh~ she thought. She was a little annoyed now. If he had said he loved her, 8-ball would have probably run away screaming, but to not arouse even lust. . .this did not make 8-ball happy. She frowned, and he noticed.

"Don't get me wrong, you are a very attractive woman, and if you wanted to go out sometime, then that would be great, it's just that I realized that the reason I like you is that you have given me something that I had never realized that I had lost. - My faith in Life."

8-ball was floored again. "Well," she said slowly. "That's good. I guess. I mean, you're a great guy and I had fun, definitely, but yeah, I wasn't looking at this to be anymore than a one time thing so I'm glad you're okay with that. And I'm glad that you have, ah, faith, or whatever. I'm still not sure exactly how I helped you with that, but it's good that you have it now. I mean, you have to move on, right? Right."

8-ball stopped and laughed lightly, knowing she was probably making a mess of things. Still, this was a weird situation. "So, what now?"

Steven paused, wondering why he was pouring his soul out to this woman. He barely knew her, and they had only had one night together. Well, he had gone this far, there was nothing to lose now. But before he did, he needed a drink. "Would you like a drink? The beach house back there is stocked with a fairly large selection of drinks."

8-ball shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Why not?" Alcohol was always a plus.

Standing up, he held out his hand to help her up. "Oh, and before you ask, this isn't one of my programs. I just found it in the general database."

8-ball hadn't been paying attention to the scenery in the slightest but nodded anyway. She noticed there was a huge easel faced towards the ocean. "Guess it's a nice place to paint," she said. "I'd come to here to paint the ocean. . .if I had an artistic bone in my body." She walked over the sand with him into the house and was pleased to see a VERY wide variety of drinks.

"Excellent," 8-ball said, and stopped Jonas from pouring her drink. "No, I'll do it," 8-ball said. "I used to be the bartending apprentice, and it's nice to be behind the counter every now and again." She slid behind the counter and smiled at him. "What will ya have, Sir?"

"Well, " Steven smiled, "with this selection, it's hard to choose." He paused for a moment. "Since we are heading to visit the Rihannsu, and I haven't had any for a while, how about some Romulan Ale?"

"Sounds good," 8-ball said, and poured herself one as well. She took a sip of her drink, wondering what she should say, when she noticed a smell coming from somewhere. She couldn't place it at first, but it reminded her of Big Man's bar, back in New York. It was almost a pleasant smell to her.

That was when 8-ball realized she was smelling smoke.

"Hey," 8-ball said frowning, "Do you smell that? Is there a bonfire on the beach I failed to notice or something?"

"I don't recall the computer telling me of any bonfires when I asked for a description." He sniffed the air, the aroma of burning wood filled his nose. "How about you pour us another glass and then we'll go and check it out?"

8-ball shrugged. "Sure," she said, and poured him another glass.

"Got any marshmallows back there?" Steven asked. 8-ball raised an eyebrow and went to investigate.

While she was looking, he examined the small shack. It wasn't that large, but with it serving as a painter's retreat, it didn't need to be. A large easel stood facing the ocean, a stool and small table next to it. Jonas could see the various paint tubes sitting in a neat row on the table, with several brushes lying next to them. A half finished painting sat on the easel. The painting depicted a shack on the beach, not unlike the one they were standing in, with a couple of people standing inside. What struck him as odd was that the building depicted was alight with fire.

"Um, 8-ball, is this someone's sick sense of humor? Or am I being paranoid?" He indicated the painting on the easel.

8-ball stared at the painting and started to cough as smoke started to billow into the room. "Yeah," she coughed. "I don't think you're paranoid. I think it's time to get the righteous fuck outta here."

Unfortunately, that wasn't as easily said as done.

The flames leapt around the building fast, the entrance to the beautiful shack was now filled with flames and from what Steven could see, the roof was now ablaze as well. Looking around, he couldn't see any immediate ways out of the shack. Not that it would matter. All they had to do was end the program. Simple enough.

"Computer, End Program!"

=/\= Unable to comply =/\= The monotone voice replied.

"Computer, Archway!

=/\= Unable to comply =/\=

Something was definitely wrong with the situation. Trying a different tactic he tapped his Comm badge. "Lieutenant Jonas to the Bridge" Silence.

"Um, you want to try?" Steven said, defeated.

"Yeah, cause the computer likes me more," 8-ball snapped, but then tried anyway, because what else was she supposed to do. "Computer, PLEASE end program." When this failed to happen, 8-ball said, "Pretty please? Sugar on top? End the fucking program!" Nothing happened.

Smoke billowed into the room, choking the two occupants. The searing heat from the flames felt unbearable. They were in trouble. Deep trouble.

"Computer, Why can't you comply?"

An image shimmered before the duo. An image of a scarlet haired woman, the former Chief of Engineering, Brianna O'Shea. As the flames licked the floorboards around her, she spoke. "Because, Daren, this is only the beginning." She started laughing maniacally as the image of her faded into the flames.

****

Meanwhile, Outside Holodeck 3, Deck 11

****

Cynthia's nose hurt like hell. She had been on her way to the holodeck for the timeslot she had booked for her knitting lesson. With two young children, there wasn't much free time in her daily life and this half hour session was all she had available. And in the past the doors had always opened for her before she reached them, but not this time.

She rubbed her nose. It wasn't right. She was sure she had booked this timeslot.

"Computer, who has Holodeck 3 booked at the present time?"

=/\= Chief Petty Officer Cynthia McTee has the holodeck booked from 1600 hours to 1630 hours. =/\=

That confirmed it. It was her turn. So why weren't the doors opening?

"Computer, Open the door of Holodeck 3!"

=/\= Unable to comply =/\=

What? "Why?"

=/\= A computer malfunction has disabled that function. =/\=

"Computer, terminate the program!"

=/\= Unable to comply. A computer error has disabled that function. =/\=

"Computer, are the safety protocols enabled? If not, who disengaged them?"

=/\= The protocols are not enabled. A computer malfunction has disengaged them. =/\=

One malfunction was understandable, two maybe, but three, that was unlikely to be a coincidence. The Engineering team had reviewed all of the holodecks a few months ago. Commander O'Shea had been spearheading it. Then it hit her like a brick. She and the rest of the Operations staff had been tasked with reviewing the ships systems due to that woman. "No way, she wouldn't have done something like this... surely not."

"Are there people inside holodeck 3?"

=/\= Affirmative. =/\=

"Who?"

=/\= Lieutenant Junior Grade Hunter and Second Lieutenant Jonas =/\=

She tapped her comm badge. "Chief Petty Officer McTee to Lieutenant Hunter, please respond"

Nothing.

She tapped her comm badge again. "Chief Petty Officer McTee to Lieutenant Jonas, please respond!"

Again nothing.

Damn it to hell.

"Computer, what program is running in holodeck 3? and who created it?"

=/\= Beach Painting 3-Alpha by Captain Daren M'Kantu =/\=

"Are Lieutenant Hunter and Lieutenant Jonas in danger?"

=/\= Affirmative. =/\=

"Explain!"

=/\= They are trapped inside a building which is now engulfed in flames. =/\=

Oh Shit!

She tapped her comm badge. "Chief Petty Officer McTee to the Bridge, We have a serious problem down here."

She went on to hastily explain the situation.

****

(OOC: Just a little background: The Clone O'Shea has tampered with the program that Jonas ran in an attempt to take the life of the Captain. (It seems the program, which the Captain wrote, has only ever been accessed by him and she set this little trap for him.) A Dampening field and forcefields have been erected, by her tampering, around the holodeck, blocking attempts to communicate and transport in and out.)

"Tampered With"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer - USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Ella Grey
Assistant Chief Engineer - USS Galaxy

USS Galaxy - Main Sickbay

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

~ When was the last time I went out? Did something fun? ~ Kimberly thought absently, pausing for a moment she thought briefly about just hat had been occupying her time since she came aboard and assumed the duties of the Chief Medical Officer, ~ Let's see, there's work, study, Sara-Jayne, my new counseling client list, small as it is, where'd the fun go? ~ she thought after a moment, ~ I think the last thing was that brief horse ride a couple of months back! ~ she admitted to herself.

"Okay, this has gotta change!" she muttered softly to herself as she resumed what she'd been doing, "I keep this up I'll end up like Branwen, locked in an office all day worried about nothing but work!"

~ Okay, that was a little unkind! ~ she admonished herself, ~ True, but unkind! ~

Satisfied the biobed was prepped she sat on it and picked up her PADD while she waited for Lieutenant Grey, opening a new file she started making a list of all the things she used to do a lot of, but hadn't gotten around to recently.

Ella entered Sickbay and then told the nearest nurse that she was early for her appointment.

"Doctor Burton is waiting for you," the nurse replied, pointing Ella in the direction of the waiting CMO, "go right over."

Seeing the Assistant Chief Engineer approach Kimberly slid off the bed and put the PADD down, "Lieutenant," she greeted Ella, "Pleased to meet you at last."

"Nice to meet you." Ella replied, thinking that her mother would be so proud of her manners.

"Well, what brings you here today? You have a recent physical on file, so is there something bothering you?" Kimberly asked politely.

"Well," Ella said on an exhale. "I know that I was cleared when our team got rescued but I was a little out of it at the time. I wanted to know exactly what was taken from me."

Recalling the file she had read earlier Kimberly thought for a moment as she skimmed the details of recent events again, "Okay then, well hop up," she asked, patting the bed, "and we'll see what we can learn," picking up a tricorder to start with she found herself wondering about the vocal simulator she used as well, it sounded much better than some she had heard before, "what can you tell me about what happened?" she asked.

"I was eating lunch. On the planet." Ella started as the doctor examined her. "And then we were attacked. I tried to fight back but I'm not much of a fighter." She was sure that Burton had her medical files to confirm the numerous injuries Ella had sustained during the months following Indy's death. She hadn't really used the program since she had started officially seeing Rex. "I woke up suspended in jelly."

For some irrational reason, the only thought that popped into Burtons mind at that was ~ Kinky! ~

Then remembering just how they had found the prisoners she dragged her mind out of the gutter and back to work, "I was with the rescue team," she said a little unnecessarily, "give me a moment, let's do a few scans and we can try and answer that," setting the bed working on a few scans of it's own she let the tricorder run as well on a different scan, "so how have you been otherwise? Any complaints recently?"

"Nope." Ella replied cheerfully. "I've been good."

"Something every Doctor likes to hear," Kimberly admitted, busy running scans she muttered to herself for a second, "So, what's new on ship, not much gossip seems to hit sickbay lately," she deadpanned, "anything interesting from Engineering?"

"We found a nasty little computer virus O'Shea left us the other day." The engineer said. "But otherwise nothing. As for gossip, I don't know what to tell you. I haven't heard much myself lately." She tried to sneak a peak at the doctor's tricorder.

Angling the tricorder so Ella could get a better view Kimberly smiled, "So far so good, your lungs, heart and other major organs seem to be in pretty good shape, digestive system is good, bones are reasonably sturdy as are your muscles, brain's still there," she added, sounding almost like she had added the last as an after thought, tapping the bed controls she checked the readings there and 'hummed' quietly.

"Well, that's good." Ella said. "Hard to be without one of those."

"Looks like O'Shea's virus is the only one around," she assured Ella, then 'hummed' again and called up Ella's file to check something, "can you tell me what happened, briefly, when you were captured, please," she asked gently.

She wanted to look away, make a funny quip, tell the woman to mind her business but she knew Burton was just trying to make sure she was okay. "I honestly don't remember once they started extracting things, Doctor. I made myself check out. It's easier to deal when you're not all there, you know?"

Nodding, "Yeah, I know," the Doctor replied softly, remembering what they'd been doing at the time to Branwen she aimed her tricorder at Ella's midsection, scanning for a second she frowned and ran a different scan quickly, checking that no-one was close enough to overhear she lowered her voice slightly, "I'll need to do a few more scans Lieutenant, but initial scans show someone has, tampered, slightly with one of your ovaries," she said carefully.

Ella nodded. That fit with what she had heard. "Will they still work? I don't have any plans to have children right now but someday I might change my mind."

"Well, one looks fine, though I'll need to do a more detailed scan later to be sure, the other though," thinking quickly she debated on the best way to phrase it, "there's some damage to your right ovary, from my initial scans it doesn't look too bad though, and nothing I can't repair, but I'd like to schedule you for a follow up if that's okay."

Ella sighed slightly, the implant making it close to a humming noise. "That's good. Yeah, sure. Whenever's best."

"I'll log an appointment for you then, and, if you ever just wanna chat, feel free to drop by," she offered, "in the meantime though," sweeping her tricorder over Ella she added the scans to the bed's data and checked the results, "I might suggest something a little more nutritious than just toffee cheesecake and coffee for lunch," she suggested wryly.

"But they're so tasty." Ella replied even though at the moment she couldn't remember even eating lunch today.

Simply smiling, "I'll see you tomorrow Lieutenant." Kimberly replied.

"Fight or Flight" - Part 1

By Branwen London, XO, Furies SFMC

Ella Grey, Asst. Chief Engineer

Dallas Corgan, Chief Security Officer

Brian Elessidil, Asst. Chief Counselor

Cora Dobryin, Chief Intelligence Officer

Kylar Curran, Chief Liaison Officer

****

Deck 8
Intelligence Offices

She wanted to be anywhere but here. Branwen had come into the room early. She wanted to pick a spot as far in the back as possible, and she hoped nobody would ask her any questions, any specifics about what has happened. She really did not want to share it with more people. It was bad enough that Victor and Kimberly had seen her like that. And she was actually horrified that the debriefing was not going to happen one-on-one. So she sat down and waited for what was going to happen.

Ella, likewise, thought that she'd rather be anywhere else and that included a dentist appointment or an Engineering inspection. However, she made her face appear bored as she read some reports from her computer PADD. Hopefully, they could get through this with the bare minimum of details and then she could leave that cold laboratory behind her once and for all.

While everyone made a vain attempt to downplay their discomfort, James on the other hand looked obviously annoyed. Out of the group of survivors, he felt as if he came off lightly, and after what he saw done to the women of the group, he could hardly blame himself. He came away with a dreadful itch on his skin thanks to an allergic reaction to the substance in the holding tanks. But what the others had dealt with, a rash was a minor annoyance. Yet he was still bothered by his luck, and by the fact that he could do nothing to help. Still, James went through his trials and tortures himself, and could sympathize with those who had just dealt with their own.

Speaking of such intense content, however, was not easy to broach. Some of the crew in the briefing were literally violated, and James did not know how to get across to them that he wanted to help make things better. Problem was, he didn't know if he could.

"Coffee... black." He ordered from the replicator, leaving his inner turmoil to himself.

This was going to be no "touch-feely" session, that much was for sure, Brian Elessidil thought as he watched Commander Corgan breeze by him after receiving his coffee. He'd known the man for years, though not particularly well, and it came as no surprise that Corgan had chosen to clamp down on the emotions that swirled within. In fact, it was no surprise that any of the people assembled here so far were inclined to remain as reserved and disconnected as possible, given what the counselor had seen of the initial reports of their experience with the Hydrans. Suddenly the events of his own capture and escape on Vaden seemed almost trivial in comparison. But this was not about comparisons, it was about "unpacking" (a psycho-babblish term he'd never cared for) what they as a group and as individuals had experienced and all the affects that followed.

Brian quietly took his seat, up front but off to the side. Attending this debriefing was part of his job, a task Karyn had asked him to take care of as she dealt with a myriad other counseling necessities arising from the presence of their Jem`Hadar guests, and while he was certainly glad to be of whatever help he could, he wanted to do everything possible to keep it from coming off as an intrusive grilling of any kind. How the Intel officer assigned to conduct the session would run things was unknown to him at this point, but as far as he was concerned, it was his job to ensure that the concerns and feelings of the participants were respected at all times. They had been through enough already.

Branwen gave a brief nod to Brian, while she blushed even more. She did not want her colleagues to find out what happened. In fact the less people knew the better. She hoped everybody in this room felt the same thing, and they would keep their mouths shut about the details.

As the Intelligence Officer assigned to this debriefing Cora didn't look forward to questioning her crewmates about the incident but it was her job. What happened in this room would stay there. Briefly nodding to Brian Elessidil and the others, "Once everyone is here we can begin."

It had been a little less than a month since the Jem`Hadar had been aboard the ship, and still things had not settled down. Proctor had been leaving him messages every day professing her desire to do unimaginable things of a completely non-sexual nature to various members of the crew. She wanted their colonists, and wouldn't heed orders from her own superiors in the matter of what to do with them. In this case, he was on the Starfleet brass' side. For once. She'd done enough in the area of diplomatic disaster, and was certainly bound to find something else to pre-occupy her fetishes on glory somewhere else.

When he'd arrived at the Intel offices on Deck 8, he'd found most of those that he'd been captured with already there, with the exception of Nieca Rey'ol, Falkor Vox, and Ekoma Janx. He had no clue where the two women were, but Falkor had been lost in action. An unfortunate loss.

He took up a position near the end of the conference table, ignoring everyone around him. He would share his views of the locale, but nothing more. He knew a counselor was present, and he'd no desire to share his 'feelings' with anyone on this ship.

Noticing that everyone arrived Cora started, "First and foremost let me assure you what's said in this room will not leave it. The good part is you don't have to deal with some unknown figure from Intelligence. As Galaxies Chief Intelligence Officer, conducting this debriefing falls to me."

~"If it's going to be a spook."~ James eyes grimly looked down at his coffee, ~"It might as well be a familiar spook."~

Branwen watched and nodded, not intending to tell anybody any details.

The Kelvan didn't lift his eyes from his daily report summaries. Of course it was going to be confidential. They were conducting an intelligence briefing. He shook his head minutely so as avoid attention.

Better to get it over with, Ella decided. "Where do you want to start?"

"I need you to tell me what happened on that ship. What did you find? What type of information they wanted. It doesn't matter who starts," Cora responded keeping her voice non-threatening.

"We could not *find* anything, Lieutenant. We were embalmed in ambrosia. Be more specific. Or would you rather we be deliberately vague?" He'd laid down the PADD centrally before him, leaned into the table, and interlaced his fingers upon the edge.

Branwen was somehow relieved that she was not the only one would rather not be here. And was not exactly in the mood for talking. Maybe they would let them go quickly after all.

"I think what Lieutenant Dobryin is asking is just that you tell us what happened -- what you experienced, what you saw or heard, anything that could help us understand what you went through," Elessidil gently interjected.

"Don't you understand, we saw nothing, we heard nothing, we were paralysed, completely paralysed. That it, end of story." Branwen said flatly hoping that would end it.

Nobody else wanted to divulge any information, so James took it upon himself to be the first. Even so, he had to walk as if he was traversing the fire shallows of Senpak III. "We were captured by Jem'Hadar, and put on a Hydran Vessel. For the entire period, we were suspended in containment fluid. Our mobility was taken away. When I tried to struggle too hard against my bonds I was given a neural burst that knocked me unconcious for an unknown amount of time. While I was awake, I saw Hydrans for sure, but none I recognize. I also saw Brianna O'Shea talking to the Hydrans and taunting us. It was easy to see that she was our Quisling." He paused and gulped in some air, wondering of what he was going to say yet was well within his rights. "After that... there were examinations. They didn't get to me by the time Lieutenant T'lan freed me from containment."

Branwen looked at the floor not wanting to think back and certainly not wanting to talk about that.

Brian could clearly see they were treading in difficult territory, and perhaps better than anyone, he could quite literally feel the pain this was causing them. Yet while he understood their not wanting to relive the experience again, he knew it all had to come out in the open both for informing Intel and for their own long-term psychological benefit.

"I know this isn't easy for any of you, please understand that," he said quietly, carefully taking the time to look each one of them in the eye. "I will do my best -- and I'm sure Lieutenant Dobryin will agree -- not to go any longer with this than is necessary." The counselor paused for a moment, then continued. "Can any of you say anything more about these examinations?"

"It's not my place to say." James Corgan said, matter of factly, "Like I said, I wasn't experimented on. I sure don't want to step on any toes by saying what went on. That's not my right, it's the right of the victims." James Corgan gave everyone else a cursory, steely glance, and continued to speak with an earnestness that chilled his reserved self. "I had a friend when I first came aboard the Galaxy. She was Electra Reece, and she is now a commander and a chief administrator at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. Her case relates to what happened, and all I can say was that she wasn't the same afterwards. We found the bastard that did it to her and let justice run it's course. It took months, but she was able to recover."

He finished, gentling his voice to almost a whisper, "If she didn't start talking about her experiences and making sense of them, she would have not recovered. She may have even quit Starfleet, painful as it was. So I think someone should speak. It will do you guys better in the long run. You don't have to be afraid of anything. I was there. Most of you were there. We understand what went on. So who better to talk to about this than each other?"

James sighed, not knowing if his heartfelt words would work, "I hope you all will make the right choice."

Letting his silence indicate that he agreed with Corgan on both counts, Brian also looked to the others, hoping they might take the difficult initial steps in bringing their experience into the open.

"Tables Turned" -- pt. 1

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer

Lieutenant Commander Brian Elessidil
Assistant Chief Counsellor

A dark plain room with a table, two chairs, and a monitor...

Raynor sat in his chair thinking of the irony... he was here to basically screen for incoming clones, from a mission he would have been a part of if the then Commander didn't scrub him at the last minute for his feint of tardiness. Maybe I would be on the other side of this desk...

Those who came in, didn't know that they were being screened supposedly, simply being asked to clarify their reports, for the sake of Starfleet Intelligence. Unless they were smart enough to figure it out, but then they would have to suspect that Starfleet had a way of detecting the clones from the non-clones. Which technically they didn't, not a physical one anyway. However using an expanded universal translator program to translate every single brainwave emitted by an individual, they could search through an individual mind for hidden triggers and/or memories which didn't fit their account of events.

Raynor had unfortunately introduced this idea to select few Starfleet Intelligence Officers as a way of gathering information, having brought over from the Terran Coven as a way of monitoring the mental health of their Ronin constantly.

Unfortunately, the process took weeks to explore the facets of the individual's mind for any hidden thoughts or memories, on a holodeck recreatation. And there were only a handful at Starfleet Command even briefed to the existence of this expanded translator application, let alone briefed qualified experts.

He called in his next 'victim'... and saw another irony as the name was shown across the display. "Who's under the microscope this time?" he thought to himself in a mentally sarcastic voice.

It would only be in hindsight hours later that Brian would find it curious how un-surprised he was when he entered the room and saw the face of one of his own on-again, off-again patients scrutinizing him from the other side of the table.

"Lieutenant," he said politely as he took his seat. "Intelligence wouldn't consider this somehow inappropriate or conflicting in any way, given the nature of our professional relationship, would they?" he casually asked.

Raynor felt his collar for a second as if jokingly making sure he hadn't been promoted in the last two seconds. "Have I been promoted without me noticing again?" He asked as he stroked his single pip. He was of course taking note of the mistake but it was way too obvious... then again sometimes its the obvious mistakes which are a spy's downfall.

"And of course they would consider it conflicting... but were going to do it ANYWAY..." Raynor said in a sarcastic tone in which you could never tell if he was being serious or not... "We're not doing anything major here, Brian...just the need to go over your report and clarify some things for us..." he said trying to reassure him.

Raynor's telepathic defenses were defending against any casual probes, but if the Betazoid in front of him really wanted to he could enter Zev's Mind... Raynor was much better at counter attacks on his home turf than he was at keeping people out.

After a tiny chuckle and a silent shake of his head at his own error, Elessidil repositioned himself in his chair; he wanted to be as comfortable as possible if he was going to be here awhile. "I'll be glad to clarify in whatever way I can," he calmly replied.

"Alright, I'd like you to start off by repeating the series of events you faced after leaving the Galaxy up until your return," Raynor stated with a down to business manner about him.

"Okay," the counselor began, thinking back through his recollections of the mission. "I'd say the mission began fairly uneventfully. After our preparations here, we arrived at Lammergeir to intercept the Backbroken Reward and its crew. Talked to some of the patrons at the lounge at the spaceport, then met up with our contact on Vaden who helped us get the ship; I wouldn't say anything particularly significant occurred. Then once we had the ship, we left for Vaden to begin our investigations." He shrugged slightly, as if to suggest it was a fairly mundane affair up to that point.

"Things really didn't go awry -- for me, anyway --" he added with a hint of discomfort at the admission, "until we split up to begin our own reconnaissance... that's when I met the real Radu Prett, though I didn't know it at first."

"Can you tell me why you choose such a lofty name as the alias you went by?" Raynor asked, curious.

"I didn't choose it," Brian answered. "Starfleet Intelligence assigned our aliases based on their knowledge of the Brokeback Reward and its crew."

"So what happened after meeting Radu Prett?" Raynor asked.

"He locked me up in a holding cell after accusing me -- accurately, but he didn't *know* with any certainty -- of being a spy," Elessidil replied, a hint of an edge lending something of an ironic tone to his otherwise steady voice.

Raynor said nothing waiting expectant for Brian to continue.

"Prett has spent his entire life being a chameleon, a fact stated in Intel's file on him and verified by what little I could learn of him during our 'conversations'. He changes his location, his appearance, his mode of operation and his name as easily as you or I change our clothes. I have to admit, based on what we knew, the possibility that Intel's information on the man was at best outdated crossed my mind early in the mission, but there wasn't really much we could do about it. The chances that the intelligence was inaccurate *and* that I would encounter the real man himself were pretty slim -- but obviously, not impossible. Whether the person captured when we took the ship was a decoy planted by Prett himself or just some mercenary opportunist, I have no idea; but whichever he was, he'd adopted Prett's name and appearance -- at least one that Prett suggested he'd used sometime in the past."

Raynor held back on the obvious joke... along the lines of how much difficulty he had changing clothes... "Interesting..." was all that emitted from Raynor's lips. His eyes squinted in thought.

"He's definitely a telepath of considerable ability. The best either of us could manage was to block each other's attempts at discovering more about the other . . . a telepathic stalemate of sorts." Brian exhaled a short puff of air as he reflected on the situation. "I think the fact that he couldn't read me any better than I could read him is what kept him from killing me on the spot."

"I've never heard of a telepathic race that could also shapeshift... so what is he?" Raynor asked.

The counselor smirked and tilted his head slightly at the surprising -- and somewhat unsettling -- thought. "Heh...sorry Ensign, guess I wasn't clear. He's not a shapeshifter, at least as far as I know. He's just very adept at disguising himself -- almost re-inventing himself, even. Like the image Intel had of him -- jet black hair, dark features, long dark trench coat -- it was very different in a lot of ways from the man I actually met. The 'live' version of Prett had white hair, very fair features and was much more formally dressed in an entirely white suit. I even wondered if maybe he really wasn't Prett after all, but when I got back to the ship I compared the image from Intel with the one I had of him in my mind after having met him: beneath the obvious differences, there was enough similarity of features to convince me that it was indeed the same man.

"But the second part of your question is perhaps more of a mystery. He's humanoid, but of what specific race I couldn't say," Elessidil added after a momentary pause.

"Did he knock you unconscious at any time or feed you anything?" Raynor asked.

"Both, actually," Brian somewhat dryly answered. "I was put out by hypospray at one point and had been given some kind of mush or gruel to eat only maybe a day before."

Raynor had a look of concern. "I assume Medical has given you a full work up?"

"The usual post-mission examination. Other than having lost a pound or two and showing some minor signs of fatigue, Doctor Artim said everything checked out fine." He paused again, seeing Raynor's concern. "For what it's worth, I can't say I noticed any long-lasting effect from the hypospray. I'm not sure how long after I woke up, but I had the impression it wasn't long -- an hour or two at most. Aside from being a little groggy and dry-mouthed, I felt okay. As for the food, well, it wasn't haute cuisine but it was edible. Again, I noticed no ill effects."

"There are plenty of diseases which take forever to show symptoms, or you could simply be a carrier... but I was thinking more along the lines of being implanted with a tracking device..." Raynor said suspiciously... or out right replaced he thought to himself. "I'm thinking we should have you back in there for a full medical..." he recommended. This matter was technically out of his hands... enemy agents was what he was assigned to look for, not implants or diseases.

"But it is your choice... moving on... Did you find out anything else about Redu Prett during your time in his presence?"

"Tables Turned" -- pt. 2

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer

Lieutenant Commander Brian Elessidil
Assistant Chief Counsellor

Brian sighed quietly. It was still troubling to think about what he'd learned. "He runs a child slave labor ring," he said with no small amount of irritation. "Prett considers himself a 'businessman' and for all I know he's involved in all kinds of business activities, licit or otherwise, but what he does there is . . . just disgusting," he spat. The counselor looked Raynor carefully in the eye. "He genetically breeds them to be telepathic but mute, using some advanced cloning technique to create as many . . . " He stopped as his voice caught in his throat, taking a moment to keep his emotions under control. "As many as the market will bear," he finally managed after swallowing deeply. "I tried to rescue one little girl after she'd been struck by an angry patron in the bar where she . . . worked. That's how I ended up caught by Prett in the first place."

"I wish I could say it gets easier, but for moral men with hearts that cannot turn a blind eye... it just gets harder the more you wander that world..." Raynor said with sympathy. Ronin, though part of the underworld, were probably among the few who did try and stay moral men... so he knew the feeling.

"Yeah," Brian quietly sighed in agreement, well aware that just as people had the capacity for profound good, they also had the capacity for profound evil. "So now you know pretty much everything I can tell you," he said, shifting the subject back to the interview at hand. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes..." Raynor said returning to his questions... "How did you escape exactly?"

"I guess you could call it the old fashioned way: I had some help from Lieutenant Bental and we overpowered a guard." Elessidil shifted slightly in his chair; the recollection of his escape still seemed odd to him. "Honestly, it seemed almost too easy. Some of Prett's men pursued us, but we broke through a door that eventually led to an underground sewer system and from there, to the streets outside. Somewhere along the way, the guards just stopped chasing us." Brian looked askance, frowning as he continued to muse over the incident. "The prison, or whatever it really was, that Prett kept me in was old, obviously left over from a time long before he commandeered it. There apparently were no sophisticated security systems in place." He shook his head slowly, still wondering about it all. "That or they just didn't use them," he added, looking up at Raynor, the consternation etched into his face. "In the end, I just don't know how we got away so relatively easily... maybe we were just lucky." But even as he said the words, Brian didn't think he really believed them.

"He let you go, no question..." Raynor said seriously. "He would have never of put you two in the same cell, if didn't intend on letting you go."

"Well, it would explain how we got away so easily, though I'm not sure what purpose letting us go would serve."

"It breaks the 36th rule of being an evil overlord 'I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.'" Raynor quoted. "And that is fairly basic logic. So unless we want to pretend he's an idiot, he probably had a purpose to letting you go. There are could thousands of possible reasons... but if I had to hazard a guess... so you can tell us exactly what he looks like as he is about to change into another alias while were busy looking into this white man."

Raynor's theory seemed reasonable enough to the counselor, who merely nodded in agreement.

"Of course even then I figure he would make it try to seem difficult..." Raynor said. He was now trying to get into the head of Prett, which was easier said than done.

As much as Brian wished he understood Prett and his motivations, he knew anything at this point was just idle speculation. There could be any number of reasons why he would have let them go, logical or otherwise, but it wasn't likely they would ever know. "I'm just happy not to have to deal with him anymore," Brian admitted. "He's one of the most insidious people I've ever met. My only regret is that I couldn't help those children."

Raynor said nothing for a moment, leaving the man to his thoughts... then after that moment passed...

"You're right about one thing, Brian," Zev said, smiling... "I am interested in knowing how this incident has affected you. I've read your file; I know a little about your past and the unique abilities and point of view that have grown out of it. The strong opinions and concern you've expressed only make clear how decent a man I'm dealing with," he calmly insisted. "So let's get past the obfuscation and righteousness and really talk about how it's affected you; not me, not everyone else, but you."

Raynor had paraphrased the words that Brian had once told him, and was insisting really really REALLY express his regret instead of simply stating it. On what emotional level it affected him...

"Touche, Mister Raynor," Elessidil replied with a smirk, recognizing the other man's turnabout-is-fair-play approach. The curl in his lip quickly dissolved, however, as his expression and tone took on a gravitas people rarely got to see in the usually pleasant counselor. "But I have to admit I'm at something of a loss for what you want to hear. I can tell you that the images of those children hasn't left my mind since I first saw them. I can say that I came away from that mission feeling like I had failed somehow, both in Starfleet's eyes and my own. I can also say that I will do everything in my power to aid in any efforts to stop Prett, should anyone who's read my official report wish to undertake any. And I've already given you a fairly thorough account of what happened, so if there's any obfuscating I'm not seeing it."

Despite the seriousness with which he'd said it, Brian couldn't suppress a small giggle at the irony of his last line. The experience on Vaden and re-telling it now reminded him of just how affected he really was by it all, but he was glad that in the end, his sense of humor was still intact. He knew by training and by experience it would be one of his best weapons for fighting against what had been stirred in him.

"Most people find confusion when the way the perceive what the universe around them is, becomes shattered by... real life examples of how bad it is out there..." Raynor stated mildly. "They start questioning things, when most of their life they've been more or less pampered."

"You don't spend years in my line of work being that completely naive to the ways of the universe; but that said, an experience like this does help to put things in perspective," the counselor replied.

"One more thing, before I let you go, as the on board psychological expert and telepath, can you describe to me how these events in your view effected the others."

Regarding Raynor with a calm but unflinching gaze, Brian spoke after a momentary pause. "I'll restrict my response to what I believe is relevant to this debriefing, Ensign, which does not include my professional detailed assessment of each member of the team's personal psychological state of mind." He paused again briefly to make sure his rather broad invocation of therapist-patient confidentiality was clearly understood. "Overall, everyone went through a good deal of stress on this mission. It was not an insignificant burden in terms of expectation or risk for a team of starship officers whose regular duties don't include off-world intelligence gathering, Lieutenant Bental's background notwithstanding. In the midst of very real personal danger, Information was gathered, conflict and capture were endured, yet everyone returned in one piece -- if somewhat exhausted mentally and physically. The obvious exception, of course, is Mister Baile, and honestly, since I didn't see him after we separated on Vaden, I have no idea what his thoughts or motivations were. I can say with reasonable certainty that those of the team who haven't already begun working through their experience of this mission with a member of the Counseling staff will likely be doing so soon; still, nothing I saw in anyone during the mission or after raises concern with me regarding any Intelligence-related issues."

"Alright you're free to go for now... I might think up another question or two later, but not likely..." Raynor said, in dismissal. "Have a nice day..."

~I'm sure you will,~ Brian thought to himself as he rose from his chair.

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