"Danger Abounds, Part 3"

Lt. (JG) Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineering Officer

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer

Ensign Eytan
Security Officer

Ensign T'Rei
Security Officer

Sgt. Major Thral
SFMC, Furies Detachment (Written by Michael)

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

2nd Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment

****
Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

8-ball and Steven, in a bit of desperate optimism, waved at the others coming at them. "Hey," 8-ball yelled at him. "You the rescue squad?"

One of them smiled and waved back, before pulling out a scanner. And then, after a brief scan, he and the others with him, pulled out their phasers and started shooting.

8-ball made a sound that was a little closer to a yelp than she would have liked. She and Steven turned and ran for it. "Apparently not," 8-ball muttered as they ran.

Having seen their rescue party, or what they had assumed was the rescue party, start shooting, Steven decided then and there that he really hated this O'Shea woman and hoped he could meet her and give her a taste of her own medicine. One day. If they got out of here.

"Hey," Jonas said between breaths, "You think they might notice a little quicksand?"

"Not likely. It's not like it looks any different."

"Yeah, exactly. We lure them to the quicksand and hope to get them trapped," He responded.

"Okay," 8-ball said, because it wasn't like she had a better plan, or any plan, for that matter that didn't go like ~Run run RUN!~

"You want to lead or should I?"

"You go ahead and lead," 8-ball said. "I'm a little too terrified to be feeling very feminist right now."

Holo-Raynor started yelling, "KILL THE HOLOGRAMS! KILL THEM BEFORE THEY KILL US! EYTAN TAKE THEM ON THE LEFT! T'REI TAKE RIGHT!" Now the group had spread out a little triangulating fire on on the two runners. A basic military strategy in any attack, get in as many different angles of attack as possible, without having your own troops firing at each other... The angle was enough so that they couldn't all be hit by the same weapon in one burst.

With this in mind he didn't seem to concerned that he was heading right for the quicksand at a rather rapid pace.

****
Elsewhere, Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

As soon as Eytan rematerialized inside the holodeck, he brought his phaser up and quickly scanned his surroundings, making sure there were no hostiles. Satisfied, he relaxed a little and straightened his stance, and double-checked for the crewmen who were supposed to be trapped inside.

His gaze settled on the beach nearby, and the Brenari smirked. "Looks like I dressed appropriately after all," he quipped.

"It is highly illogical to assume that we will be spending time relaxing on that beach," The young ensign commented to her fellow security officer. Drawing her phaser, she brought it up slowly. Things were quiet, and that was never a good sign.

Raynor simply asked sarcastically... "You wish to face unknown amount of deadly holographic traps meant to kill you in your swim trunks?" Before pulling out his cell phone and began scanning for life signs outside himself and the two others around him. Scans would confirm the location of those they were sent to rescue, though it would not give any useful information on the terrain or obstacles they would have to face and conquer inbetween them and those they had been sent to rescue. This room was just one big holographic signature on the scanner.? But the scanner did tell him something else... the air wasn't being recycled in here.

"Just a joke, people," Eytan responded, trying not to roll his eyes. He should have known better than to try to make a joke around a Vulcan-raised woman and an Intel drone.

"Their in that direction, but there no telling how many traps are along the way... also watch your O2 intake... air isn't being recycled in here..." Raynor was used to breathing third rate air so it wouldn't be difficult for him. "I'm guessing we have about 20 minutes left in here max... and if we have to extert ourselves much less than that. Keep that in mind and move out." He said starting in the direction indicated after that little speech...

Apparently divine will was against him. He was in command of this little group as much as he hated to admit it, so he had to act like it. One of the many reasons he never wanted to be promoted... but regardless of that he had seniority so when he was in a room full of ensigns, he was the one with say...

****
Outside Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

Thral had just entered through his doggie door when a forcefield slammed down blocking the hole and incoming rush of air that followed.

Thral mumbled some Tellarite curse and proceeded into the holodeck.

Nara had started looking at wires again, punching things on the console, muttering things like "Damn O'shea" and other curses in Sakarian and Klingon.

As she kept working, the muttering grew more angry and more drawn out. Sentences instead of simple phrases. "She put a dampening field in here. What the hell was she intending to do in there?" Nara's mind went around that a moment. Why would someone try so hard to make it near impossible to beam anyone out? She knew they were in danger, but it became more and more aware it was O'Shea's intention. "Damn woman's the devil." Nara concentrated harder understanding that the full intention of this was likely murder. "She's trying to kill us."

She tried to push aside the pressure associated with this. She had to get them out. "I'll dampen your plans and your dampening field devil woman."

"Oh, did you say something?" Cynthia asked as she returned to the holodeck entrance. She hadn't found anyone else and wanted to see if there was anything that she could do to help.

Nara startled a bit hearing the voice. She almost forgot she wasn't alone. "Huh?"

"Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I'm Cynthia McTee, I called in the incident."

"Oh, uh..." Not able to think of anything to say and really needing to get to work, she muttered, "Ok." and looked back down to the wires, thinking she found something.

She looked around, and finding no one else she asked the Engineer. "What happened to the others?"

Still concentrated, she muttered, "Inside."

She nodded, hoping for the best. "Anything I can do to help?"

Nara growled, nearly ripping the wires, but controlled herself before looking up, her face flushed with frustration, "Yea. When O'shea gets here, you hand me the knife to kill her with." Then Nara went back to muttering Klingon and Sakarian curses at the wires. Then she asked, "You an engineer?"

"Operations..." McTee answered. "But I should know enough to lend you a hand."

Nara waved her over, "Just hold these wires while I look at the circuitry."

****
Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

Their plan had worked and one of the evil crew members had gotten stuck in the quicksand, leaving two of them to deal with. But still they ran.

Still running, Steven and 8-Ball were trying to evade the phaser wielding maniacs that were behind them. And then 8-Ball saw one of them infront of them, with his Phaser drawn.

"Get down" he called out.

Jonas ducked as the man threw something towards the oncoming holoclones, slowing him down.

"Thanks!" Jonas called out, veering their path towards the new group.

Raynor's left leg was considerably lighter now that he had thrown away that training weight... he had three heavy disposable band on him still, for range purposes... that took no oxygen to throw. "No problem... now any landmarks I need to be aware of before we do anything stupid?" Raynor asked as they hid behind a fairly big boulder as the holoclones regrouped...

The terrain around them had become fairly rocky, and there was a cliff with a few trees which seemed to offer a better view of the entire coast.

"Sorry, I don't know much about the program. Just picked it for the beach," Jonas replied.

"Thanks for the rescue. You wouldn't believe what has been going on here..." Steven said, hands on hips, his breathing taking its time to recover.

"The holodeck was trying to kill you... in a way that made it possible for you to resist rather than just having that sun in the distance go supernova and kill you quickly," Raynor said with simplicity. "Or just have the entire holodeck blow up. This has to be dumbest assassination attempt I've ever dealt with. WAY TOO DRAMATIC and by extension STUPID!"

Raynor already knew that statement was going at the very least going to buy a view strange glances.

8-ball offered the strange glance and decided not to say what she was thinking, for once... namely, that he was right, and that this wasn't exactly an unflawed assassination attempt... at the same time, it was her life that was overdramatically being threatened every five seconds, so calling it stupid also seemed a little insulting. 8-ball didn't want to yell at the rescuer, though, lest he decide to join sides with his Holo Twin, so instead she let Steven speak for both of them.

"This is O'Shea we are talking about. And from what I've seen, it looks like she wanted to make the recipient suffer." Steven paused. "And from what we could surmise, it was Captain M'Kantu she was after. Though I'm not sure why she couldn't just use the sensors to determine that he isn't here."

"G'day kids", Thral said as he and the private made their way to the rest of the group. He looked each over and nodded "Door's open now, we can get out if Nara gets that forcefield down."

"And its not even over, we need to get out here before we run out of O2 in about... " Raynor checked. "Three minutes... oh joy..." Sarcasm was ever present as he tried to figure out if it was worth it to use a phaser to vaporize himself to buy more time at the with the remaining time they had left...

"Guess we showed up just in time" Thral said with a sarcastic tone as he shouldered the rifle

"Yea, but now your here, O2 is going to drain even quicker... so unless you have any breathing equipment on you..." Raynor said sarcastically.

"That only happened AFTER I put the hole in the door ensign." Thral snarled at Zev. "I thought since you couldn't walk through walls you'd be a bit more grateful.

****
Outside Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

[15 minutes until life support failure]

Nara frowned. Beads of perspiration had formed on her crinkled forehead. She was frustrated. Damn frustrated. Every time she had a solution, something blocked her. Cussing continued. Growling continued. Just another frustrated engineer yelling at something. Nothing to cause alarm. No, the hole blasted in the door would do that.

****
Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

The splashing of the third hologram in the quicksand meant that he quickly went under the surface, leaving just two of them to deal with. And with the Intel guy's mentioning of the fast running out oxygen levels, using the phaser the three rescuers carried would be pointless.

Looking at their rescuers, Jonas had an idea. "Hey," He was looking at Hunter. "I know you don't like being reminded of your heritage, but you don't happen to know the Vulcan nerve pinch do you?"

"Uh, sorta. I know the basic idea behind it."

"I was wondering if it might work on them?" He indicated the two holograms with a nod.

"If I don't fuck it up, yeah, maybe," 8-ball said.

"Whatever we're going to do, let's make it fast!" Eytan said as he joined the group. He'd been busy trying not to get shot by his own holo-self (which was still kind of weirding him out), and had just joined them behind the boulder. "This place is starting to give me the creeps." He used the towel that was still tied around his waist to wipe the nervous sweat off the palms of his hands, then grasped his phaser again.

Raynor grabbed the phaser from Eytan's hand... "HELLO! AIR IS LIMITED IN HERE AND YOU WANT TO BURN IT UP QUICKER?!" he shouted at Eytan. You would think they never taught you how to use hand-to-hand combat against ranged weaponry at the academy... then he realised that was Ronin training. "We've got to win this thing without killing ourselves in the process don't fire back unless I give you the order!" He checked the scanner again. One minute twenty seconds... why was he surrounded by such incompetent people.

Eytan looked down at himself, then glanced up at Raynor. "Where the hell else am I supposed to put it, genius? And stop shouting, you're going to use up all the air." He turned away from Raynor and prepared to move. God, Intel people could be such pricks sometimes.

8-ball crept up behind the holograms with Eytan and Raynor. She thought about mouthing "On three" but it seemed so cliche, so in the end she just kind of shrugged at them, and then they attacked. She had always wanted to do the whole Vulcan neck pinch thing. Maybe it would even work.

Surprisingly, it did. She glanced to see how the other guys were doing.

Zev had quickly managed disarmed the remaining holo-officer, which was of T'Rei and pointed her own holographic phaser at her, hoping that because it was holographic it wouldn't burn up any air, but as he pushed the trigger, it emitted and electric shock to his hand, disabling it. Raynor was taking a few seconds to recover and looked over to what Eytan was doing...

At that moment, Eytan was wrestling with his holo-clone, who clearly wanted to vaporize him with the phaser rifle in its hands. The towel-clad, flesh-and-blood Eytan finally managed to yank the rifle out of his counterpart's hands and he smashed the butt of it into the hologram's jaw, dropping it. He tossed the holographic rifle away and moved to join his comrades. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

****
Outside Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

[15 seconds until life support failiure]

Time for wondering if her decisions were correct had gone long ago. Now she was just trying to get this done in any way possible. She was worried about the people inside, knowing the longer she took, the more danger they were in. She grabbed a handful of wires and with a grunt, yanked as hard as she could. She looked over into the hole in the door, hitting her commbadge, "Lt. Roswell to Ensign Eytan." She waited a moment, ready to call each by name.

****
Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

"I'm not sure if he's lost consciousness yet or not... but thanks for coming 2 seconds late," Raynor coughed sarcastically over the comm. They had just begun to literally hold their breathe. Breathable O2 levels had been depleted and most of the party had just been on the verge of losing conscious, and then death.

"I'm--cough--not unco-conscious," Eytan replied a moment later, after tapping his combadge, which he'd stuck to the left leg of his trunks. "Well...okay, I might have blacked out for a second or two," he admitted a second later. "Anyway, I'm still here..."

"Still here...I've been through worse" Thral managed to get that out between coughing fits over the comm.

"The only thing worse than a near death experience would be death, and you look pretty alive to me..." Raynor commented, smiling.

[Ok, well, there's a hole in this door made especially for you guys. Might wanna use it.]

****
Outside Holodeck 3, Deck 11
****

Eytan followed them out of the doggie door, and took a moment to catch his breath. It felt good to be out of that damned holodeck. After making sure everyone else was, in fact, okay, he smiled at them all. "I guess I'd better go get dressed before someone else gets themselves into trouble." He gave the group a wave and walked off, headed for the pool again.

As Jonas emerged from the doggie door, the last, but for Thral, to do so, he saw that they were all as relieved that it was over as he was.

"Thanks!" He said to the women in the mustard colored uniforms, not knowing who they were.

Nara gave a smile of relief to them all, "I suggest you all get to sickbay while I clean this up."

"Hey, that was my hole kids." Thral said as he emerged all the well for wear. It would be awhile before he went back to the holodeck after this experience.

"And many thanks to you for providing it, Sergeant Major. I'm not sure what we would have done without you, all of you." Steven looked around the tired and exhausted crew. The pain and suffering seemed etched on their faces, and he hoped that this was the last thing that O'Shea had planned for the ship. Though deep down, he knew it wasn't likely.

Looking at 8-Ball, as she was heading off, "Maybe next time, I'll recommend we head to Ten Forward for a drink instead."

He was rewarded with a wry smile.

"I'm thinking... yeaaah."

off: Slight backpost

"What were you thinking?"

Lieutenant Branwen London
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Samantha Widdlestein (APC)
Sara-Jayne Agathon (PCC)

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

Branwen was doing paperwork waiting for Kimberley and Sara-Jayne to arrive. She was also trying to stay calm, shouting at Samantha earlier had not been a good idea. So far she had stayed very calm towards patients. Maybe it was because she didn't see the girl as a patient, but as a pupil.

Meanwhile, Sam was amusing herself by trying to work a psychotic marine counselor into her epic tale of romance and ritual sacrifice on the high sea. So far she wasn't getting anywhere with it, with the exception of a horrific death scene for the character, but it was something to pass the time.

"We all here then?" Kimberly asked as she walked in, propelling Sara-Jayne to a free chair with a gently nudge she put a PADD on Branwen's desk, "here's the data on their little excursion from my shuttle, their beam down point, time on surface and location of beam up," she said as she dropped into a seat, "looks like they did a little wandering for a few hours." she added scathingly, looking at the two of them.

Branwen quickly looked over the info and then at the two girls. "What the hell were you thinking!"

"Mayhem and destruction?" Samantha asked and then shrugged at the murderous look that Branwen gave her. "Well, you did ask."

"Samantha!" Branwen said in a warning tone.

Looking somewhat guiltily at Kimberly Sara-Jayne shrugged after a moment, "We were curious, we just wanted to have a look around," deciding that this was probably the least inflammatory thing she could say she shrugged again, "we didn't, erm, well." trailing off the sentence she shut up.

"Like the pretty lady said, Bran, we just wandered around for a few hours." Samantha replied. "We're fine, nothing happened."

"You were very lucky. Do you have any idea what could have happened! Any idea what kind of people were down on that planet. Nobody knew you had gone. If they had captured you, it might have taken days before you were rescued. And you don't even seem to care!" Branwen exclaimed heatedly.

"Nothing? A full scale civil war broke out while two you were down there!" Kimberly snapped at the same time, "You were lucky to be able to beam back up! Just what did you get up to down there?"

Samantha looked at the other girl. As much as she hated to admit it, she hadn't been the leader for this little adventure, so she would defer to what the other girl decided to tell them. But Bran and Burton were getting on her nerves so she cheerfully answered that they had performed ritual killings and vasectomies.

Catching the look Sam sent her way Sara-Jayne used the brief moment of confusion caused by the ritual killings and vasectomies to form a reply, realizing whatever she said she was certain to get in trouble anyway she figured she might as well get it done with, "I was bored, okay," she announced suddenly, "School was boring, and I figured I'd do something different and more interesting. Sam was sat next to me looking almost as bored so I asked her if she'd like to join me, it was my idea, so don't give her a hard time, she just came along for the ride," shrugging, "you guys act like it was such a big deal, we went down, spoke to a few people, wandered around for a while," glossing over ''exactly' what they'd gotten up to, she figured what they wouldn't be able to find out they needn't worry about, "came back, what's the big deal, everything was fine!"

Almost speechless Kimberly looked at Sara in what could almost be a state of shock, up until now she had seemed so responsible careful and considerate, this was a complete switch from the girl she had thought she was getting to know. "You could've been killed!" she got out after a moment, sounding horrified at the thought.

"Or worse." Branwen said thinking back on what had happened to her.

"But we weren't." Sam shrugged.

"This time. And I am going to make sure there will be no next time." Bran said through clenched teeth.

"What," Samantha said dryly, "Is it to be the wire hanger again?"

"You keep quiet young lady." Bran said out of patience. "Kimberly and I will discuss this and we will get back to you really soon."

Samantha looked at Sara-Jayne, who shrugged.

"Okay, Branwen." She said sweetly.

"The Party's Over"

Ensign Robert Mathieson
Medical Officer

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment

**** Main Sickbay, Deck 12 ****

Steven trepidly stepped across the threshold into the medical bay. The place was jam packed, with doctors and nurses scurrying about doing what they did best; help people with their various ailments.

He'd have preferred to not to have to come here, a bit of chow and a little sack time was all he really wanted, but the Security officer had been quite adamant in his visiting the Medical professionals for a checkup. It seemed after surviving a fire, vicious animals, and holographic warriors, that they believed that he needed a checkup. If it hadn't been for the security guard who had basically dragged him here, he would have headed back to the barracks in a heartbeat. But now that he was here, Steven figured he could give them a few minutes of his time.

Looking around, Steven noticed that each biobed had an occupant, some lying down, some sitting on the edge of the bed, some just resting against the bed. A couple seemed to have burns on their arms and necks, probably from a plasma conduit rupture or some other event related to the Engineering department. Another seemed to be clutching his abdomen in quite severe pain. Figuring that a few scrapes and cuts and a reddish welt near his ribcage could wait, he moved over to a vacant area and awaited a free medical professional.

He didn't have to wait long.

Mathieson was finishing grafting new skin to the back of an enginner, and was using a Trilaser Connector to connect the patient's nerves to the new tissue musing that as far as medicine had advanced over the centuries, serious burns were often some of the most painful and serious injuries a physician sees. Blissfully, the engineer was sedated and would wake with only a mild itch to remind him of his wounds, but the pain he had endured on the way to sickbay had been more than intense.

Completing the procedure and giving postop instructions to one of the nurses, he then turned to welcome the latest entry to a very busy Sickbay. "'Allo lad. Wot brings yer to me parlor?"

"Hi, I'm Steven Jonas, and I was ordered here for a checkup. Seems my adventures in the holodeck require me to get this looked at." He indicated the welt that was semi-visible under the edge of the torn shirt he was wearing.

The old physician grunted. "Let me guess - the FUBAR on Holodeck Three, Deck Eleven?"

"Oh, you heard about it? News travels fast around here it seems." He responded. "Some of these guys look like they could use your help more than I." Steven nodded towards the patients nearby.

Another grunt. "Nah - all's good, lad. The primary work's done - the Physician's Mates n' Nurses r' a good bunch - when they're not skacking Kelly!" A tall physician's mate peered back from the wound Mathieson had just finished treating and grinned. "Sure Bob, whatever you say."

"So, where do you want me?" Steven asked. He was ready to get this over with as quickly as possible. Sickbay always freaked him out.

The balding doctor wiped his bald pate and looked at the Marine. "Well, seein' as yer walkin' on yer own juice, questions for starts. Any pain, dizzyness, shortness of breath - the obvious stuff?"

"No dizzyness. I do feel like I've been hit by a starfighter though, and it does ache when I breathe deeply, I think this is the cause." Steven raised his shirt and showed off the bruise that had developed after his runin with the holographic copy of Raynor.

"Right - hop up on the bed to the left there, take yer shirt off, and we'll take a look at that welt and wot's else's tickin'". Mathieson then went to retrieve his medi-scanner for the checkup.

Steven nodded, and pulled off his shirt. The shirt, being torn, with scorch marks over it and covered with both his blood and a little of the Lion's, was now worthless and he would likely need to get a new one from the Supply office. Screwing it up into a ball and throwing it to the floor, he jumped up onto the one spare bed and awaited the doctor.

The short physician returned and started scanning Jonas to perform his diagnosis. He concentrated on the haand-held unit and peered periodically at the biobed's readout to confirm the data he observed. Finally, he put the scanner away and probed gently with his hands and fingers. Feeling the marine wince, Mathieson confirmed his suspicions. "Two cracked ribs and some minor burn damage to the upper epidermis - nothin' to lose sleep over. Th' hair'll itch like mad when it grows back though." His eyes narrowed as he examined the Marine's back, seeing dozens of faded scars. Mathieson lowered his voice as he saw the extent of the old injuries. "What'all this then, lad? Marines get bashed up from time t' time, but this lot's a good deal beyond th' average 'slap and tickle', if ye catch me drift."

Steven had a pretty good idea that the Doc could tell what they were from, and so he just shrugged. "It's just a simple reminder from the War for me, of the darker days of my past."

"Cor, guv. I saw some o' this on DS9 durin' the war with th' Dominion. Don't kid a kidder, lad" Mathieson said, looking Jonas in the eye. "They're old, but they're friggin' deep as you well know - and there's lots of 'em. Any lingering pain? No interference with muscle movement and the like?"

Steven shook his head. "Not normally, but every once in a while I get a feeling like one or two of them have opened up again, but nothing painful. They remind me not to take my enemies lightly. And if they had caused any issues with my movement, I would have had them removed long ago."

Mathieson scanned over the scar tissue once more. "'S no problems to take 'em off now if ye'd like. Twenty minutes and yer back'll be smoother than a baby's bum."

"I'd prefer to keep them. Though the ribs are starting to throb slightly."

Distracted by the scarring on the Marine's back, the doctor had almost forgotten about the cracked ribs. "Sorry, lad. I'll get on it right now. Lie down an' relax - the procedure's painless." He hauled one of Sickbay's Anabolic Protoplasers out from the sterile equipment locker, calibrated the unit, then hooked it on the biobed's edge. Focusing the phase-modulated lasers on Jonas' ribs, the Marine began to feel the tissue warm and the pain subside.

"So you were stationed at DS9 huh? I never got to see the station first hand, my unit was on the front line being deployed as boarding parties against several Cardassian and Jem'Hadar attack ships. It was there that events conspired to give me these." He pointed towards his back.

Mathieson nodded, not taking his eyes from the Protoplasers display screen. "DS9's not exactly a nice place to visit, an' I'd certainly not advise livin' there - especially durin' the war. 'Till that point I thought the Cardassian-Federation war was bad, but the Dominion was worse - far worse. Especially the Jem'Hadar. Had quite the trip back with th' blighters back on Galaxy, I can tell you."

The Protoplaser continued to hum and Jonas' pain continued to diminish. "Conspiring events, eh? Lad - those kind of scars aren't the kind you get on boarding parties. They're the kind you get when boarding parties go seriously up shit creek without a fekkin' paddle. Not goin' t prod if you don' want me to, but are all those scars healed? An' I don't mean the ones on yer back."

Steven sighed. "It was one hell of a fucked up war and I doubt I will ever be over it." He marvelled at how much the pain from the broken ribs had dissipated. "Up shit creek without a paddle is how I would describe it too. Simple board and disable, that's all it was supposed to be, but everything went wrong. Starting with the Transporter chief putting us smack dab in the middle of a roomful of the buggers. After the disasterous battle, I got to spend a little time with some colleagues of those brutes we have down below. On some shithole of a planet. For two weeks. Then I managed to escape and all I have to show are these scars and a nice shiny little award for my dress uniform."

Still concentrating on the Marine's knitting ribs, the doctor grunted. "'Been a while since I was a Marine, but I believe the term "clusterfuck" still crops up - sounds like you waded into a nice one." He shut the Protoplaser off with a sharp click, and took a look at the pink-red skin on Jonas' ribcage. The scanners showed that the ribs had been healed, and in examining the epidermis he saw that the burn trauma had healed satisfactorily as well. Mathieson grunted "Huh. 'Think we're done 'ere, lad. Like I said, a couple of days of itchin' but otherwise yer patched enough for full duty."

"So what made you want to join the Galaxy?"

A broad grin split Mathieson's usually stony expression. "Me? Last kick at th' can, lad. In almost thirty years in th' fleet me mouth's finally got the best o' me - told a politician exactly what I thought o' his administration. Still, no complaints - busted down to Ensign removes me from most o' the berkin' paperwork anyways. Allows me to keep focused on th' real work o' patchin' you Jarheads up when ye need it." He squitned as he thought of his age and experiences. "Christ, I know I'm old, but they still call you chaps 'jarheads' these days?"

Steven nodded. "Amoung other names."

"Good!", Mathieson chimed. "At least yer attendin' physician's not gone senile! Not yet, at least."

"No, not yet." He smiled. "Thanks for the fixup doc. I owe you one."

"Any time, lad. Any time" the doctor replied, putting the Protoplaser back to it's cabinet. With a wink, he added "Jus' don't make a habit of gettin' burned an' bashed about too much."

Reaching down, Jonas picked up his shirt and put it on. Tattered and torn, there wasn't much value in wearing it, but he decided to anyway. Nodding his thanks again, Steven headed for the door.

Watching the young Marine leave sickbay, Mathieson pondered the man's wounds from the war. ~Too feckin' many and too feckin' deep fer a man of any age~ he mused. The many scars Lieutenant Steven Jonas kept as reminders of his would change in nature as he aged - scars fade, but they also stretch and distort. The same would be true of the ones the Marine bore in his soul as time changed those memories - if they ever do.

Too feckin' many..too feckin' many....

"The Slavers" Part I

Corporal Falkor Vox
Lieutenant JG Nieca Rey'ol

THE PRESENT: STARDATE 60407.05, 29 MAY 2383

IHV THUNDER OF VICTORY: COMMAND QUARTERS

Qasar'Mereth Ja'Sh'Kal slammed down her three fists, causing the plate of Jedg to tip precariously on the table's edge.

"Enough deception Gral!" she yelled at the hologram, green spittle flying from her beaked maw. "My crew and I have played enough games, carrying N'Fth'Nor's prizes throughout almost every section of Imperial Space. We tire of the deception, and our ship tires of the constant slip-jumps. She is not the Icon of Glory, you are aware?"

The Gral's hologram said nothing, his eye-stalks pulled close together, quietly studying the raging commander of the IHV Thunder of Victory. "I am aware of your vessel's...shortcomings, Qasar Kal. I am also aware that these orders come directly from the queen's war council. You orders are quite clear--"

"Our orders are shoj!" she growled back. "Are you aware how close we are to Slaver space? Twice now we've had dealings with the local factions, both the Lyran and the Kzinti," she waved her central hand about, accentuating the encounters.

"And," his voice betrayed his weariness with the sniveling gritch, "Twice now, you've dispatched both with your superior weaponry."

Barely, she thought to herself. Although Kzinti technology was years behind her fleet's, they had still proved to be a formidable, highly-agile enemy. No doubt, their reinforcements would arrive in the sector soon, in order to determine why the destroyed battle cruiser had not reported in. With any luck, and by the blessing of the Nerru gods, the Thunder of Victory would have her slip-drive repaired and be long gone by then. Most likely, the Kzinti would conclude that their ship had, once again, been destroyed by their blood-enemies, the neighboring Lyran Star Empire.

Slowly, she sat back down into her seat, pushing the plate of food back from its precarious perch. "If I am to continue these...evasions, I demand an answer: what is the importance of these Starfleet beasts?"

The holo-figure sighed audibly, one of his hands rubbed at a spot just behind his beak. "Qasar, we have been over this before, and this will be the last time I restate myself. Your clearance is not sufficient for that information. You will continue along your route, making sure that no one follows you. We cannot risk them discovering the location of the project." He paused on the monitor, clearly turning an idea over in his mind.

Kal took the opportunity to catch him off guard. "And...?"

"And," he growled as he spoke, clearly displeased with what he knew he had to do to placate her whining, "once you finish this mission, the Queen's War Council will look more...favorably upon your situation. The Thunder of Victory is due for retirement..."

Is he joking me? It couldn't be true, could it? A new ship? A larger crew. Oh, to have a more prestigious command. The things she could do, what would be possible! If nothing else, her clan-status would be elevated, perhaps enough to even allow her another mate...

"Perform well, Kal. Do not lose the Gral's precious cargo. You will be rewarded for your efforts, of that I assure you. The Light of Vindication waits, even now. It is only two more cycles until it is ready for slip-drive testing..." his beak chattered in a slight chuckle. He was perfectly aware that he was stringing her along.

And so, too, was she aware of his play. But, the Vindication! Even larger than N'Fth'Nor's Hammer of Progress. Finally, she'd be able to show-up that jak'sas. She couldn't stand him; the only reason he had been allowed another command after the failure at Rel'Kessan (and the loss of the Ascendant Justice, no less), was because of his clan's close ties to the War Council.

She made up her mind. "For the Glory of the Empire."

"And the life of the Queen," the Gral echoed, his hologram blinking out.

Quickly, she touched the light controls on her pad to open another channel. She had to inform her clan of the Nerru's goodwill.

BOOM!

An immense shock knocked her off her tripodal legs and sent items flying through the room and crashing to the floor. As the second shockwave hit, the plate of Jedg overturned and fell on her shoulder, staining her uniform and skin with it's bright green blood.

"Qasar to the command level, Code First! Qasar to the command level, Code First!" the page of one of her command officers--Gi'A'Bef, by his voice--echoed through the ship-wide intercom.

Pulling herself up, she steadied her legs. Once standing, she pressed the comm-link attached to her center wrist. "Report, First!" She barked, even as her powerful legs propelled her out of her quarters and into the main hallway that lead directly to the command level.

"My Lady," he replied, "It's the Kzinti! The Longclaw--"

The rest of his reply was cut off by another explosion, this one more violent then the previous two. If Bef had identified the target correctly, they would have quite a fight, the Longclaw was the Kzin Hegemony's most powerful warship, equal in firepower to the Starfleet's mighty Galaxy-class cruiser. Something, Kal realized, the outmoded Victory was not prepared to fight. Especially with the slip-drive damaged from the last encounter. Hiding her damaged ship in the Noclus Cloud had been a foolish, but necessary, mistake. It was too obvious, though, only a half-parsec away from where they had destroyed the Kzin Saberkeep.

"Defensive shell, First!" she barked as she strode onto the command platform. All around her, below her circular platform, the Victory's crew raced to prepare defensive and offensive countermeasures. "Target their primary reactor with the protobeam, lock solution, and await my command!" she ordered her Second, Weapons Officer O'Kj'Zek.

Seconds later, Zek nodded: the Longclaw was targeted.

Kal gripped the railing, steeling herself for yet another victory, a victory that would surely guarantee her command of the Vindication. But before she could issue the order to strike, an strange blue-white glow began to envelope her bridge. In seconds, the Victory was shaking like a Sherv beast in its final death throes.

Kal didn't even have time to feel the dread rise as Bef bellowed in rage, "Slavers!"

[BACKPOST] - Just before arriving at ch'Rihan, and before Curran's conversations with Karyn Dallas. Occurs immediately after "Patterns of Force".

"That Which is Not Seen"

Kylar Curran
Chief Liaison Officer

Tarin Iniara
Chief Operations Officer

After he'd seen the security brute on his way out of the Lounges, he'd turned his attention to locating the Operations Chief to get some answers.

Curran found the invalid exactly where he had expected to-- on the floor. Taking a deep breath to calm his inner turmoil at the fiasco he'd been witness to in the absolute embarrassment of a handle on ensuring a protective custodial arrangement for Goran'Agar and his colonists, he purposefully strode in the direction of the fallen female, weaving through the now resettling pacifists so as to avoid stepping on what remaining possessions attributed to them.

"...you'll be fine," he heard her telling a crying child. Upon closer inspection, she seemed to be holding the child's hand. Someone who was probably the child's mother had knelt down next to them, a worried expression on her face.

Still with her back to Curran, Iniara addressed the woman. "He'll have some tenderness and bruising in the hand for a day or two, but otherwise he should be fine. I wouldn't worry too much about it." She did her best to smile reassuringly.

He didn't understand the need to calm a child when they had no proper reasoning ability or impact on the delegatory aspect of their guests, but in not knowing the female Jem'Hadar and her relations amongst those still on the deck, he forced himself to wait out the exasperation of what he assumed was a maternal instinct most females in every species he encountered seemed to harbor. Yet another weakness in allowing emotion to over-compensate other shortcomings.

"Lieutenant Tarin? It is imperative we have a certain discussion about our guests." He crossed his arms, looking down on her with a clinical, yet disproving gaze. His ice-blue eyes delivered an equally penetrating stare, affecting a repose of impatience. "The child can be better tended to by its mother."

"Hello, Legate," Iniara replied evenly, glancing over her shoulder in his general direction. Turning back to the pair she patted the child's hand then released him to his mother, watching as they moved away into the crowd. Then, after a pause, she continued. "I take it the problem has been contained."

"One of them has." He stopped to look back towards the entrance Krieghoff has exited to the out corridors through. "Unless you allow it to return." Unhooking his arms, a PADD slid out from under one tricep, where he keyed in several items, passing it to the woman who still had not risen from her squat. "Lieutenant Krieghoff is not to be on rotation amongst the Jem'Hadar colonists until he has been certified in absorbing the new intelligence on our visitors. He shot Goran'Agar needlessly."

"I see," she replied, scanning the text on the PADD. She'd have no problem with that; Krieghoff's mere presence creeped her out, distracted her, made it that much harder for her to do her job. Not that she'd ever admit that to the Kelvan; he'd probably sneer at her again or call her weak.

Returning the PADD to Curran she shifted her weight, then slowly forced herself into a standing position. "And what may I ask is the other problem?"

"The other problem is your jurisdiction." He swept his left arm out amongst the several dozen colonists assembled about the lounge. "If you had arranged to have the Jem'Hadar settled into their berths in the Cargo Bays and assigned staterooms, Goran'Agar would not have been a target of the rogue Jem'Hadar still on this ship. Your security protocols are sorely lax, dangerous, and ignorant of the lives we have been charged with. That child would not have needed to be tended to by you or anyone else had they been out of danger."

"Agreed. However, my orders were to assign them here until a proper census could be taken. Until we had more than just the evacuees' names and transporter logs on file, it was determined that housing them in one central location would make them easier to track and control. Now that we have that information recorded," she continued, beginning to make her way around the room towards the nearest turbolift, "we can begin to parcel out the groups to their new homes. As soon as the additional security personnel arrive, that is. Come with me. I have something to show you."

Curran narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the female. He hardly trusted any of the humanoid crew on this ship, and women even less. They exuded manipulation for no other reason than it seemed to be a source of enjoyment for them.

"Can you not just explain it to me here?" His watery eyes encompassed the perimeter from one length to the other. Security was back in place, the Jem'Hadar had gone back to their routines, the bodies gone. It was as if the actions on Goran'Agar's life had never occurred. Curran could only hope the Jem'Hadar leader felt the same way from a historical note. He couldn't see anything around him of an important nature enough for him to depart the area on a whim of a female who may for all intents and purposes be attempting to seduce and strangle him in a dark corner.

"I would prefer not to," Iniara replied, relaxing somewhat now that Curran's attention was directed elsewhere. She would have preferred to be rid of the Kelvan entirely; his thought patterns were just as unsettling to her as Kreighoff's. But, she had been assigned to work with him, and orders were orders. "There is nothing wrong with what you can see, Legate," she continued in a lower voice, beginning to tap on her PADD again. "What you can't see should be your concern."

That got his attention. Softening his gaze imperceptibly, he returned his focus to the aloof female. Her odd phrasing of a key Kelvan philosophy in that one should always be aware that the unknown is the enemy and deserves more attention than the known made him keenly curious as to what it was she wanted to show him. He nodded minutely, pushing all else to a secondary level of awareness while his mind raced with the possibilities and heightened senses of suspicion, he decided this one deserved more than he had initially was willing to offer her.

"Lead the way, Lieutenant. You have my unwarranted attention." He floated one hand out in the Terran gesture of 'You first'.

OPEN FIST

"Burning Bridges" - Part I

Appearances: Lots of People

Orbital Docking Facility 4
Over Ki Baratan, ch'Rihan

"It would be better if they left."

"Why? Are you afraid of progress?"

The khre'Uhlan who tapped his fingers on the terminal control sighed. He and the one other uhlan were stationed at the main sensor control grid, where nothing ever happened, even if today's government had decided that ch'Rihan was in imminent danger of invasion. Nevermind that it was general consensus that the likely fall of the Rihannsu Empire would be from within rather than without.

"Not at all. I fear for our cultural identity. Progress takes time, and should be established on our own terms, not under the inscrutable eye of the Federation." He shifted a game piece on the board.

"I agree with you on that point, but I don't see how the government can move forward with reforms if we've got factions at every turn blocking them. Everyone has an agenda. The Federation will be more of a watchdog than anything else." She trapped his game piece.

"And what happens when we choose a path that the Federation doesn't agree with? Do you honestly think they'll take their warship out of orbit amicably?" He chuckled softly and shook his head. "You've a lot to learn."

Before the khre'Uhlan could respond in kind in their fourth game of Trayatik, a warning audible on the sensor terminal broke their conversation.

Their game ignored, both Romulan soldiers fell into protocol, and ran their sensor scans. The Galaxy had just come out of the far side of the planet, and their orders were to cast intensive scans over the ship. Word had come down that the Federation ship was hiding something from them, and the RNI wanted to know what that was.

****

USS Galaxy
Main Bridge

"Sir, we're being scanned." It was Evening Watch on the Galaxy, as upon arriving at Ki Baratan, the ship's rotation had been adjusted to the planet's capital below. Daywatch and Overnight Watch had been given the shifts off.

Commander Kol marched across the upper ramp to stand behind the Tactical Officer on duty - Lieutenant Bosco, fresh up from duty on the Battle Bridge, who had reported the scan. Kol had sent eh shifty Tactical Chief on a Tactical and Intel analysis of the Romulan Fleet. He and the Dobryin woman would learn to work together even if only one came out of the offices alive. Then it would settled. Properly.

"Were we informed of the intention?" He doubted it, knowing Romulans.

"No, sir." A visual of the security logs between the Galaxy and the Romulan communications node showed no warning.

"Where is it coming from?"

"From what I can determine," Bosco triangulated the beams, and overlaid them on a terminal console screen between the two of them. "It must be an orbital station, though with all the traffic over ch'Rihan, it's hard to get a lock." Since Henderson's authorization of open visitation to the Romulan homeworld, the crew had begun to descend in rotation to the planet through a myriad of options; shuttlecraft, runabouts, private craft, transporters. All of them had to go through an orbital hub checkpoint before descending to the planet, which threw the sensor network into disarray.

"I could narrow the sensor field, and increase the resolution throughput with direct scanning, sir." Bosco took the initiative to start the procedure, anticipating the Klingon's next order. He knew a lot of crew tended to allow themselves to be intimidated by the XO, which in turn made them hesitate. By watching the interactions, he understood that Kol enjoyed being intimidating, but demanded the crew to react instantaneously, or before he could implement an order. Bosco's instincts were good in this regard, but had anticipated the wrong action.

"No. They would take the scans as an insult." Kol snorted derisively. Of all the places to find himself assigned, the Romulan homeworld was not one he would have chosen. He would rather conquer the petaQ and be done with it. "Establish contact with the station. I want to know why they're scanning us now, when there had been plenty of opportunity when we arrived."

****

Orbital Docking Facility 4
Over Ki Baratan, ch'Rihan

"Sir, the Galaxy is hailing us."

khre'Uhlan Raytak nodded, while singularly poring over the reports the scans were revealing. So far, nothing of any import had come up. At least, nothing revealing to the lowly uhlans. Rihannsu Naval Intelligence and the Tal Shiar may have something to say about it.

"Inform them we are performing a routine random scan of their ship. Tell them it has to do with initiated security protocol. They do not need to know the reasons why." He dipped his eyes back into the blue-green glow of a sensor node. "We're at fourteen percent complete... By Gal Gath'thong! Get central command!" He waved a hand anxiously. "We've been tricked!"

****

USS Galaxy
Main Bridge

Both Kol and Bosco waited over the commpanel until a response was acknowledged.

"This is taking too long! They're planning something." The urge to raise shields itched at him.

Bosco nodded in agreement. "They're using delay tactics, sir."

When the response finally did arrive, it left nothing but suspicious imprints on both of them. When they demanded to know the reasons why, they were met with static. Communications had been severed.

***

Ch'Rihan
Planetary Defense Hub

"You are positive? Transmit your findings." On ch'Rihan, located underground somewhere within range of the capital city, the central hub of the planet's military and defensive network received the compressed package burst of the detailed scans of the USS Galaxy.

None of this had been sanctioned by the current government, of course, being that it had been weakened in the wake of Praetor Shinzon's clumsy attempts at galactic domination. Tal`Aura's ineptness had further divided the government, splintering it at the seams to become the embarrassment it was today. Equal representation of the Tal Shiar, a group of former senators, the Romulan Military represented by Donatra, the Tal Shiar, and the Unificationists.

And so, there were other factions, working from within while waiting for the current government to turn on itself. These new factions gathered loyalists through whatever means possible. Though Riov Jelok swore to one of the splinter groups in the current government, his real loyalties lay with himself, and those he was gathering around him.

When the data packet arrived, his suspicions grew ten-fold, and wheels began to turn in how to use this to his advantage. While brewing over the possibilities, he brought the findings to the senior officer of the hub, Enriov Tagva.

***

Ki Baratan
National Institute of Science

[Minster, we need assistance. We're severely undermanned here, and with the Klingons-]

"The Klingons? When did the Klingons arrive?" The tautness in the voice of the Science Minister could be heard quite clearly.

[They beamed down just this morning, and they're not doing anything to protect us. They've already segregated out the Remans into their own campsite, leaving us defenseless!]

"Have you had any casualties?"

[No one has been killed yet, but dozens of injured. The sabotaging *has* to be the fault of the Klingons, and now they're here to gloat now that they have numbers in their favor. The colonists are mostly farmfolk, with no real military experience, except amongst the men, but no one expected to fight on a desolate, burned out planet. Not living beings anyways, just the environment]

Shafar held his head in his hands. The Klingons were well known for claiming planets not their own, and fighting to a man to keep a strangehold just to spite the legitimate 'owners'. Even so, this was no ordinary planet. This was Cheron. They could not lose this planet at *any* cost. It served no strategic value with exception to the Federation, but the sentimental and moral cost of losing it would be exponential.

[Send the Federation ship, Minister. They have an alliance with the Klingons, and this planet is just as important]

"And just as inclined to join the Klingons in forcing us off the planet, Leto. Cheron is as much a historical planet of significance to them as it of strategic value. It's only ten light years from their border. I can safely say they have factions of their own that would relish a listening post on Cheron."

[Then send Warbirds. Please, Minister. We've little choice remaining to us, other than leaving]

"No! You will not leave under any circumstances. I'll figure something out and get back to you within the day. Shafar out."

"Burning Bridges" - Part II

Appearances:
Lots of People

***

War Room
Planetary Defense Hub
Ch'Rihan

"Has this been confirmed?" Enriov Tagva, an older Rihannsu of established house, shook the document at Jelok fiercely, his knuckles white as his lips, which had pursed with anger.

All around them, the war room had increased in activity. Sensor units were up and running, coordinating data, Tactical stations were preparing and running simulations on scenarios. Intelligence was cross-referencing information from across the planet. Listening stations were constantly feeding updates through to the operations center.

"Aye, Enriov, it has. Through four independent sources. We managed to obtain information from a contact in the Federation that confirmed their cargo."

Tagva shook his head and crumpled the paper in his hands. He preferred the older style of presentation of information, as he was paranoid of electronic surveillance.

"We can't allow this. Jem`Hadar soldiers in an alliance with the Federation... The fact that they attempted to hide them away from the rest of the crew to avoid general detection is proof of their duplicity. I need to inform the senate. If any of those soldiers come down shrouded, it will be anarchy if they destroy the government. We're just starting to stabilize; another Shinzon trick will break the Rihannsu spirit for good. We will not be conquered by these dha'rudh!"

***

Ki Baratan
National Institute of Science Ch'Rihan

Shafar rubbed his eyes with the forefinger and thumb of one hand.

"Praetor, do you understand the implications if we lose Cheron?"

It was a stroke of luck that Shafar had been able to contact Praetor Hitan on subspace. The Senate had been in session for some time, discussing the merits and downfalls of the Federation presence, and still they had not come to a consensus on how to patrol the Federation presence on the planet. Even Spock's unificationists were not in complete agreement. Some felt the Starfleet presence would overbear the peaceful co-existence Spock and his clan had established with the government now that it had lost its military clout. They felt that a Federation ship carrying the weight of the Council would come into a direct conflict with the intentions of the groups, and shift the precarious balance of power.

And so, when Shafar had requested assistance from the Senate, he was met with just as much of a stalemate. Some were happy to send the Federation on their way, while others argued that it gave them leverage at Cheron, as Shafar had suggested to Director Leto earlier. Others refused to send Warbirds, as it would reduce planetary defenses against the Starfleet ship.

And so they argued like that for quite some time.

***

Tactical Station 1
Planetary Defense Hub
Manned by Arrain Yusef

Arrain Yusef had been in the privileged position of being within earshot of the Enriov and his senior staff, arguing over embargoes and sanctions. Apparently, they had not been successful in getting through to the senate, their concerns falling on deaf ears. None of those they had contacted were of a faction that was allied with the military in any way, so they didn't really care. Only promises to pass on the information. They'd had enough of the paranoia of military and Tal Shiar decrying End of the World proclamations.

Yusef shook his head. Some things would never change, and bureaucracy was one of them. The Cardassians had it right the first time, with their military in control, and he couldn't wait until ch'Rihan got the same thing, the utter collapse of the Cardassian government notwithstanding.

So, when he overheard the Enriov and his staff arguing over options since no one was replying to them at the Senate level, he made an executive decision when no one else would.

Yusef enabled the planetary passive defense network. He would not allow his people to die or be conquered because of political squabbling.

***

Throughout the entire planet - surface, space, and underground - defensive arrays came online. The orbital defense platforms engaged their electro-magnetic nets to envelop the entire planet from above, instantly disabling any non-singularity drive propulsion systems, impulse engines, and thrusters not encoded with a Rihannsu signature. Transporter dampening fields were enabled over key locations on the planet's surface and underground, preventing any and all transport from or to those locations.

Anything caught in the net or fields were instantly redirected to remote locations for pickup by Rihannsu MP's at a later time.

***

Rihannsu Senate Chambers
Main Lobby

Located only a scant three meters in front of the immense wings that formed the Rihannsu logo at the entrance to the chambers, the elongated security desk that included three Rihannsu encompassed the entire opening, with only a small entrance that separated the desk in two. Each side of the opening contained detectors, designed to pinpoint and deactivate anything suspicious.

The lobby though, was devoid of any but the three Rihannsu, and guards posted along each column that divided the grand sky windows that peered out on the city.

Those three at the desk, usually working at a steady pace, were now overburdened with calls. Some were coming from the Planetary Defenses, others from inquisitors, journalists, beggars.

Then, the terminals went silent. The three, coordinating without words amongst themselves, investigated. One activated a newsfeed, the officially designated government-sanctioned broadcast network, and quickly discovered that the planet was in disarray after the passive defense network had been activated, downing non-Rihannsu craft and transported personnel all over.

Quickly, one of the secretaries gathered the pertinent information on broadcast recordings and projected impact points then hand-delivering them to the Senate.

***

Tactical Station 1
Planetary Defense Hub
Manned by Arrain Yusef

Arrain Yusef's face went numb as the impact of the back of Enriov Tagva's open hand resonated through the side of his face.

"What authority did you have to enact the defensive grid??" Riov Jelok had rushed to the console while his Enriov interrogated the Arrain, snapping his fingers at relevant personnel around them, demanding the command code cards to deactivate the grid before any further damage could be done.

"Praetor Hitan wants someone's head, Arrain, and I've a feeling it's going to be yours." His attention diverted to the Riov.

"Jelok, give me a status report!" He loathed to execute any personnel, as trustworthy *and* capable officers were a scarce commodity these days, but he needed to make an example. Today was too important a day to make grievous errors.

"I've deactivated the passive network, Enriov. Reports indicate a minimal amount of downed craft. At least three Federation shuttles... a Dreshayan trader... some pleasure craft. Thankfully no Reman or Klingon craft. Transport signatures are much higher. We had nineteen personnel in mid-transit when the dampening field went up. All dead. Several hundred were diverted to remote locations."

"I was only doing my duty where bureaucracy was not, Enriov!" Yusef tried to scramble to a standing position, but Tagva stepped on the Arrain's chest, pushing him back to the floor.

"Stay down, ghilik. You sicken me." The older Rihannsu's face was flushed a dark green from the heat of ire. "It was not your order to give, and most certainly not your place to question the Praetor!" Tagva snapped his fingers, bringing a pair of Centurions.

"Deliver his head to the Praetor."

"No!" Yusef's arms were grasped by the two armored soldiers, and he was dragged out amidst his calling for mercy in defense of the Empire.

***

USS Galaxy
Main Bridge

"REPORT!" Kol's voice bellowed throughout the bridge, overshadowing the eruption of alerts and audibles that started as soon as the first Romulan ships went hot on their weapons and immediately trained them on the Galaxy.

"An electromagnetic field just activated around the planet, Commander." Kaya Akauki, the G.E.L.F. female who had just been assigned her first shift on the bridge, replied coolly.

"What does that mean, Ensign? Explain! Bosco, get me someone in the Rihannsu government to get some answers!"

"Commander," T'Rehn, fresh back on duty after her ordeal with the Dithparu had left her comatose, was also on her first shift back, but Kol liked her. She had a Klingon soul instead of the chatterbox Vulcan machinations her race usually produced. "Communications are scrambled. I can't recall any craft on approach to ch'Rihan that haven't been caught in the field. Transporter control reports they lost eight crew in transit."

"One at a time. Ensign Akauki, explain this field."

The brunette turned in her seat, already having memorized all the pertinent details.

"The field destabilizes non-singularity drives within a certain range of the field. Most likely, the computer controls are out on the craft caught in the termination wake of the field, and I would put their odds of survival from that altitude as minimal. Craft caught under the wake will find their primary systems off-line, no method of propulsion. They will crash on the surface."

"And will this have any effect on transporters?"

"The field itself has no bearing on transports, but a transport dampening field was raised over several locations on the planet's surface. Anyone caught under the dampener when it was activated will not have survived. The information stream carrying their molecular information would have been corrupted. The end result would have yielded an incomplete pattern rematerialization."

Kol wasn't a squeamish being by a long shot, but the idea of individuals rematerializing missing sections, appendages, or re-arranged was not a thought worth dwelling on. It was a dishonorable way to die.

"Commander, I can't reach anyone on the surface of ch'Rihan." Bosco shook his head from side-to-side, flustered. "Our communications are being blocked, still."

"Any craft on approach will just have to deal with the situations as they come. We can't do anything for them, but we can deal with these dishonorable petaQ if need be. Call Captain Henderson to the Bridge."

***

Rihannsu Senate Chambers

"We cannot allow the starship to leave orbit, Praetor! They carried an invasion force and would have used them against us. It is the proof we've been seeking, and you know it."

Hitan walked the Senate floor, pacing back and forth between the wingtips of the Rihannsu log. It was not normal procedure for him to leave his station, but after the successful assassination methods employed by Shinzon, he would not die in his chair like his predecessors.

"Proconsul, we do not know if it was an invasion force. Why would the Federation be so careless to have a Jem`Hadar force on board in plain sight? Why wouldn't he have had them all shroud to conceal themselves from our sensors?"

"Because the Federation are an arrogant people."

"I disagree, Proconsul." Donatra, representative of the once seceded military fleet, rose from her position as Defense Minister located near the Praetor. She'd recently arrived, just prior to the Galaxy's falling into orbit, when she'd been asked to take part in the funeral of General Omar's son. She liked neither, but it was in the interest of good relations that she was here.

"I've worked closely with Starfleet in many endeavours in the past, and though they do have some questionable characteristics, arrogance by throwing Jem`Hadar into our midst blatantly is not one of them. They like to talk too much first."

"And back up their words with an invasion force!" One of the Senators slammed a fist on the table.

"I think we're presented with a perfect opportunity to test their intentions."

All eyes turned to Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu as she entered the chambers, at which point they all bowed in deference when they recognized her.

"What do you suggest, Empress?" Hitan raised his eyes to the woman who had appointed him as Praetor.

"Divide the crews. Force them to recognize there are multiple fronts and feints. That we are far from weak. If they agree to the requests we make, then it is likely that they are telling the truth. If not, they open themselves to multiple repercussions by having spread themselves out. And if they refuse to divide their personnel, we destroy their ship in orbit."

"How do you intend to accomplish that, Empress?" Omar had also risen and come to stand next to the Praetor. The rest of the Senate remained hushed. If one of these two faltered, then the Empress would them killed. Everyone vied for power, and when the Empress was present, it was best to shut up and listen if one ever wanted to advance.

"Why, quite simply, General. We bring their command crew down here for the funeral, and send their most skilled personnel to Cheron aboard a Warbird. Then we offer our own engineers to assist in whatever issues they are not admitting to having on their ship. Call it an effort in diplomacy for the error in judgment for activating the defense network. We can even assist in locating their missing crew if any were on transport on the way down here. We do not mention anything about the Jem`Hadar. It gives us the advantage."

"I have my predispositions to this path, Empress, but your will shall come to pass." Omar bowed, never breaking eye contact.

"You always have predispositions, Omar. Let us all be thankful you are not Emperor, then."

The General tried - successfully - to hide his ire, and then left the chambers, barking orders into a communications device on his wrist. The rest of the Senate fell in behind him, their cliques chattering amongst themselves about the current events.

"Building Bridges"

By The Bridge Crew - All unauthorized.

***

USS Galaxy
Main Conference Room
Twenty minutes later

"... I've agreed to their request." Cassius Henderson looked to each face around the table, missing crew very noticeable. Legate Curran, Karyn Dallas, and Kimberly Burton had been all en route to ch'Rihan when the network had come online, and gone missing in the ensuing din.

"I still find it very suspicious that they ask us to do this after fine-res scanning of the ship, then make it part of the package offer to allow some of their personnel on the ship."

"As do I, Mr. Bental, but in the interests of diplomacy, we're left with little choice. Would you rather I tell them they aren't allowed on the ship?"

"Yes, I would. There is a lot of sensitive material on board they should not have access to."

"Which they'd take anyways, if we decline their offer, if those Warbirds outside have anything to say about it."

Cassius turned his gaze to Commander Corgan, who was unusually silent during the meeting. Typically, the outspoken and unorthodox Security chief would be up front and center during any staff meeting, but not this time. It didn't take any counseling skill to know something was bothering him, but Cass elected to leave it be for now. "Then it will up to you to prevent that from occurring Commander, since you'll be in command of the Galaxy while we are away. I'll need Ensigns Artim and Eytan for the trip. They both have medical expertise to help out."

Corgan raised a brow, but nodded in acknowledgment.

"Commander Kol, you are tasked with mentoring Lieutenant Tarin, who will be in operational command of the trip to Cheron. I'll need you there if negotiations with the Klingons reaches an impasse." He turned to the next face at the table.

"Since you're in command of the mission, Lt.," He focused on Iniara next, "Lela Beral will be your operations officer in stead."

"Aye, sir."

"Doctor Mathieson," Cass gave a start when the doctor upturned one eye to him, reminding him of the story of Frankenstein and Igor. "You're tasked with the medical operations of the mission. I'm told there are casualties amongst the civilians. Bring what you need to make sure everything proceeds smoothly."

Next, he turned to Ella Grey, currently acting Chief of Engineering. "Ms. Grey, I need you here to keep the Rihannsu from understanding the full implications of what O'Shea has done to the ship. Assign Lt. Eshe and Turan Trelar to the Cheron mission." On Grey's nod, he moved to the next person in line.

"Mr. Terrik, since the ship will be stationed in orbit for the time being, I've assigned you to the Cheron mission as well." He nodded to 8-Ball Hunter next. "Ms. Hunter, this is your area of expertise. It doesn't need to be said that you are indeed part of this mission."

Teyri Jen, representing Vanguard while Corran Rex was on assignment. "Ms. Teyri, assign Mr. DiMillo to the mission. It might help him learn to refocus on his duties that much faster." Everyone here knew that the former Intelligence Officer had operated outside his authorization several times. By sending him on this mission, it may help him realize his duty came first, not personal vendettas.

"Lieutenant Baile," The Marine CO was stock-still at the back of the table, a statue who spoke very little since his return from wherever he was. Baile was most certainly not the same man as he was when he left, and even though Cass had never associated with him, it was the marine's composure that spoke volumes.

"We'll need Lt. London, Lt. Ward, and Master Sergeant Johnson for this operation, along with their support groups. I don't want to take any chances."

He stood up from the head seat, and spoke to all of them as a single unit.

"Take whatever support personnel you need. If we can show the Rihannsu that we mean them no harm or betrayal, then perhaps we can re-establish the level of trust we had worked so hard towards when the Titan was here last. Don't take any un-necessary risks, check in every six hours with the ship, and *be careful*."

"Dismissed."

Occurs before "Something to Work With"

"Confronting Demons" (The Rihannsu Tangent)

Lt. (JG) Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineering Officer

2nd Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment

**** Theta Province, Nimbus, 2369 ****

The eyes burned their way into his soul, eating away at his very existence. They were awful and yet mesmerizing at the same time. They drew him in and he found he couldn't turn away, despite his whole body screaming to turn and run for it.

The eyes were filled with anger, and great hatred. And it was all directed at him. And his fellow Marines.

He could see them from his position behind the barrel. Two gleaming orbs looking towards his own position. His weapon lay 2 feet away, in the open, out of reach.

He had tried to reach it already, and had nearly lost his arm in the process. If only the owner of the eyes had been a better shot.

With the other Marines a click away fighting the main force, he was alone, in a one on one fight, with his weapon out of reach.

His knife was lying on the floor a click to the south, broken in two, so he couldn't use that. He checked his uniform for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand wrapped around the only thing it could find; a spare clip for his rifle. It would have to do.

Taking his time, he lined up the throw that he had to make. Over the barrel, under the roof truss, and directly between the two glowing orbs that made up the enemy's eyes. Reaching back, he threw the weapon and did a fast count to 2 before reaching over for his gun.

He heard a loud thwack, he hoped it was the sound of the clip hitting the soldier, and pulled his rifle in just as several shots hit the area where his rifle and hand had just been.

Several shots from his own rifle later and he heard the soldier go down. Cautiously moving forward, while keeping cover behind whatever he could, he found the soldier lying in a pool of blood, on the cusp of death.

His eyes no longer showed the anger they had before, but great sadness. At what, Jonas didn't know, but as he breathed his last few breaths he spoke a few words to the young Marine.

**** Jonas' Quarters, Deck 4 ****

Steven woke with a start, his mind fresh with the events of that night. ~Damn! Not again! ~ He was sweating profusely and shaking uncontrolably. He could feel the dampness of the sweat in the sheets. ~ Third time this week. Why is this happening to me? ~

Throwing the sheets off his body, Steven rose to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes briefly. Muttering to himself of the stupidity of the recurring dream, he rose to his feet, stretched his back, testing the fully healed ribs in the process, and made his way groggily owards the shower.

The hot water soaked his body, throwing off the last vestiges of sleep and soothing his mind.

It had been a week since the series of disasters had befallen him in the holodeck. And he had not seen hide nor hair of 8-Ball since. No doubt avoiding him after he had gotten her into it. He didn't blame her. After the burning building, quicksand, Lion and the holo-crew mates trying to kill them, he doubted if she would even talk to him again.

It was likely that Holodeck 3 would be shutdown for a full examination of it's systems and all holoprograms that were in the database would probably be reviewed by Engineering. It was all a big mess. And O'Shea was to blame.

After finishing in the shower, he checked the chronometer and found it was the middle of Delta shift. The Marines didn't have any training today, with some of them heading down to the capital of the Rihannsu Empire and others being drafted to assist in watching their Jem'Hadar guests.

Chucking on some jeans and a t-shirt, he laced up his boots and exited his quarters. He had heard that Engineering was investigating the program to determine the former Engineering Chief's reasoning, to hopefully determine what else she may have done to the ship. He decided to pay them a visit and see how they was getting on.

He turned down the hallway and headed for the turbolift.

**** Main Engineering, Deck 36 ****

Added to Nara's normal duties of watching scans and pressing buttons to correct spikes and so forth, she kept her eye on the assignment board. Those really were her favorite and after the holodeck incident, she felt mighty highly of herself that she saved the day. Or helped. Either way.

Ok, so she just yanked a few wires. Whatever got the job done. She would much rather have to answer for torn wires and a hole through a door than losing lives. She did enough of that on Sakaria during the civil war.

The doors to Main Engineering swished open before him, exposing him to the peaceful hub of activity. He had assumed that they would be a chaotic mess of Engineers wandering around like headless chickens, and Steven was pleased to see this wasn't the case. Stepping past the doors, he spotted the woman from the holodeck at a station nearby and approached her.

"Hi." he called out to her.

Nara turned to look at him, giving a polite smile. And also a smile meaning -please tell me you need me to fix something somewhere.-

"I'm Steven Jonas, Marine and Holodeck Survivor. I recall you being outside. I didn't catch your name in all the confusion."

"Lt. Naranda Roswell." She held out a hand. "Everything ok?"

He reached out shook her hand. "Yeah. Everything's fine. I heard that you guys had been trying to find out what O'Shea had done to the holoprogram. Did you have any luck?"

She scowled, "We're trying to figure out what she did to the whole ship. Woman went on a rampage."

"Oh," Steven said, "I'm sure you guys will crack it eventually." He smiled.

"Did you hear that the Marine CO returned yesterday? Haven't been to see him myself. Besides, he left before I joined the Furies, so I don't see the point." He paused. "And I'd rather not see any more Brigs. Two weeks in one is enough for me."

Nara looked at him curiously. She had heard it in passing, but it suddenly hit her it was Baile. "Baile?" She raised and eyebrow, but shook her head realizing it wasn't too surprising he was in the Brig.

Steven nodded. "Besides, I have enough trouble trying to evade both my nightmares and this O'Shea character. And since you're working on the latter, I guess I'll have to focus on the nightmares myself."

She looked at him as her thoughts about Baile were pushed aside. More like wondering what he heck he was up to to put him in the brig. "Nightmares?"

Steven sighed slightly. "Sorry, not sure why I'm telling you this. You're an Engineer and not a Counsellor. It's probably just cause we are so close to Ch'Rihan."

She checked something that had beeped, wispered a Sakarian curse, but was relieved it was only a system error. "Aw. She didn't do that. Galaxy just got a little grumpy." She finally turned back to him, "You have nightmares about Ch'Rihan?" She wasn't sure why he was telling her these things either. If it turned out to be a long conversation, she'd just ask to meet him after her shift. Which was only about an hour longer.

Steven shook his head. "Not Ch'Rihan itself, but rather that my first kill in the Marines, heck, in my entire life, was a Romulan. I guess it's messing with me after all these years. Anyway, it looks like you guys are busy, so I'll leave you to your work."

Nara nodded, "I get off in an hour if you want to talk then."

"Sure. Want to grab a drink in Ten Forward?" He turned to leave her to her work.

She had started to concentrate on her work, but muttered, "Sure. And might wanna talk to his family, though. Hard as hell, but kinda brings closure."

Steven smiled. "That's not a bad idea. I could check with the Federation embasy and see if they know where his family is. Thanks. See ya at Ten Forward."

"Yea." And in a moment all that was on her mind was those little frequency signals and making the lines do what they should.

off: takes place before Open Fist begins

"Something to work with"

Lt. Ella Grey
Michael McDowell, Civilian Engineering Specialist
Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
Lt. Jiiles Engineering Officer (NPC - Written by Dru)
Ensign James McCormick, Engineer
Ensign Serec, Engineer

"I don't know anything new." Ella told the engineers as she entered the room. "And until Medical and Security gets done with her, we're not going to learn anything from O'Shea. So for the time being let's pretend she's still off somewhere terrorizing innocent star ships. Found anything new?"

"Too much to mention." Michael said. He was first in giving a reply for a change. He read the first one-liner of the PADD he held in his hand. "The 'nicest´ one being the case of dissolving uniforms." He didn't explain the incident further, assuming that by now everyone what know what he was talking about.

"The holodecks are pretty screwy too." Nara mentioned with a bit of distaste. Then she added, "If we haven't already, we might want to lock them down and go through every program." She knew it would take a lot of work, but no telling what programs were tampered with and how.

"I concur with that." Jiiles said joining in the discussion as he walked through the door. He nodded briefly to Ella in acknowledgment of being slightly late to the emergency meeting. "I have just been down there and crikey, there are bugs planted under bugs and what's worse is that preliminary checks aren't picking them up. It appears that most of them are in the sub routines. Really nasty shit too. But my main concern is that if there are nasty bugs in the holo decks, what the hell is in the rest of the ship?" He looked around at the faces of his fellow engineers and let that question sink in before continuing.

"My suggestion Sir," he turned to Grey, "is that we close them down for the foreseeable future, lessen the risk to the crew. But we *must* concentrate on scanning and repairing the main systems. I say we start gutting them one by one, start with the most important, life support for example, then on to defensive and then offensive systems."

Nara nodded, "Life support, then the core. Replicators. Who knows, maybe she planned to poison us as well."

Which was all very well and good but it wasn't like they hadn't been scanning and repairing and looking for problems since the minute they'd learned of O'Shea's betrayal, Ella thought.

"We need a more accurate diagnostic." Ella commented. "Everything we run is telling us that the ship is fine, and then something falls apart."

Just then a man stepped forward from the faces around engineering. "What if we try our hand at creating a program that would run as a diagnostic but work as if it's looking for where problems could be, we could use what we now know about the clone and use that as a base to write a program. Granted it might be totally wrong, but I'm sure the computer would find some things that we haven't even discussed."

Nara looked at the man, "Make the computer think like the saboteur?" She nods, "But who knows what she was thinking? So many things seem erratic. Some things seem well planned out and have a definite purpose, while others were so random."

Serec, a Vulcan, standing not far away from Ensign McCormick raised an eyebrow when Nara spoke. "Events are never random. They are simply not processed to make logical sense. The program, I believe, Ensign McCormick is talking about would take a lot of time to create and the outcome would only be theoretical findings since we do not have a prolonged study of how the clone was thinking..." Serec then paused and thought. "However, there is one possibility. If we could get access to the clone's personal logs that were made we might find better insight into the realm of her thinking while here onboard the Galaxy." Serec said, though he knew getting those files from Intel and Security would be unlikely.

Nara looked at the Vulcan thinking to herself, ~Yea, kinda what I meant.~ She otherwise kept her mouth shut, agreeing with the idea of looking through logs. Until an idea came to mind, "She was obviously more than she wanted us to see. She wouldn't post anything useful in logs. All we know was she was highly talented and had a need to sabotage. We'll just have to take the ship apart bit by bit and correct anything we find."

"I might have another way of finding out where we need to focus our attention primarily." Serec stated. "We can view the internal sensors of where the clone was or working during the duration of her time on the ship... it would be fairly easy to use the combadge she wore... however, as cunning as she is she have disabled the universal position program out of the combadge while still maintaining full transporter ability."

Jiiles sighed, "We could spend hours creating systems to work out what she did.  We could spend even more time tracking all the locations that she visited, knowing full well that a saboteur knows how to hide his tracks, especially a clone of the chief engineering officer.  BUT that will inevitably be fruitless." He slammed his palms down on the table in frustration, eyeballing the others round the table; they just didn't seem to understand the enormity of all this!

"While we play catch up the damage is already done and who knows what other booby traps lay ahead.  I say we turn off all non essential systems, and start gutting this ship from top to bottom.  It's the only way to make sure every where is clean.  I know that we have already gone through several systems, but we need to be thorough.  At this point in time no one is safe on this ship.  If something goes down it will be our fault.  The safety of this crew is now in our hands!"  Possibly a little overdramatic he thought but his point was still valid none the less.

"The safety of the crew is always in our hands." Ella pointed out flatly. "I want a report on every system that we can shut down, re route, gut, or fry and then ideas how to protect the systems we keep or fix. Serec, recheck the internal sensors and someone go bug Intel for O'Shea's logs again. The rest of you get back in there and find me something to work with. We need to stop this bitch before it's too late."

"Visit to a Busy Planet" featuring...

2nd LT Greg Ward
SFMC Special Forces Lead, USS Galaxy

Tech SGT Carol "Foe-Hammer" Rowley
ARC Operations Transport Pilot, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Corporal Richard Simmons
ARC/SFMC Trooper, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Corporal Dexter Grif
ARC/SFMC Trooper, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Private First Class Grace Waldron
ARC/SFMC Trooper, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Private Leonard Church
ARC/SFMC Trooper, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Private Michael J. Caboose
ARC/SFMC Trooper, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Private Franklin D. Donut
ARC/SFMC Trooper, USS Galaxy --ONPC

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

Location: Briefing Room #2, "Marine Country"

For the once members of SFMC's 237th Strike Group, being back in orbit around Romulan homeworld was something of a really bad case of deja-vu as the last time that they were there, an altercation occured which lead to their commanding officer being knocked back to Second LT from First following an incident where a Reman captain choose his words...poorly.

Now, here they were again and several of the ARC's friends looked at them funny when they announced that as a whole that they were not going to go down to the planet's surface, much to the surprise of Ensign Teryn Wilat who had a strange relationship with their boss but they pushed that thought out of their heads when he made a statement that made them sit up and listen that ended with a single word:

"Cheron"

Carol Rowley was the first person to speak in the dead silence that had entered the room with the one phrase that spoke voloumns..

"You've got to be shitting me." Foe-Hammer said as she looked over at Greg, "You've got to be utterly shitting me. They are sending a group of us aboard a romulan warbird to save something on that prophet's forsaken rock of history."

Caboose looked at Rowely and simply said "Wow, you said Prophets.." before Church that was sitting next to him smacked Caboose upside the back of his head at which point Church quickly regretted it as he had-forgotten the other man's slightly thicker skull due to Caboose being from a high gravity world.

"Maybe I should think about changing departments..." Greg muttered under his breath before he turned to face his troopers. "Alright, enough jokes and shiate, we need to get serious here. While I would like to keep some of the ARCs here on the Galaxy during all of this, Lieutenant Baile feels that all of the ARCs need to be aboard for the trip of Cheron."

This time the unit's sniper and scout in Grace Waldron piped up from where she was leaning against a wall, "That makes no sense, sir. I mean why send us into another exploratory situation let alone take orders from someone who abandonded his post during a crisis." she said evenly, her voice kept with the same tight restrant that Greg knew all the ARCs had on the subject of Baile at the moment.

"Despite all personal views on the subject, Mister Baile is currently still the highest ranking marine on this ship as well as in the sector which means for the time being, he's still SFMCCIC for the Galaxy. On the other hand, I checked into a few things and this is well within the ARC mission scope." Greg said, hoping to head off certain questions at the pass before they could be asked. "I know that we are special forces but in this case lady, gentlemen and Caboose, is that how many federation scientists have been to Cheron in the entire history of our government?"

For several long moments, nobody said anything until the slow and mellow voice of Caboose simply said "Not once in the history of the Federation has any scientist not of Romulan origin been permitted to step upon the face of Cheron."

At this everyone in the room simply turned with astonished looks at Caboose who normally wasn't the most academicly minded of the ARCs and while he served as the unit's heavy weapons expert due to his strength, he was known for his pearls of utter knowledge..but this one took the cake.

"Where did you learn that one, Caboose?" asked Tucker who's jaw was just now returning to it's normal location.

Caboose simply shrugged and said "I paid attention in Federation History 101 in high school." was the only thing that he said.

Greg shook his head and coughed loud enough to get everyone's attention, "I want standard suit up arrangements for this little trip. I want standard weapons load and a few extras just for possibility's sake. Furthermore, I want one to two ARCs covering all command level personnel just in case something does indeed go down." Greg said and then he looked at the assembled ARCs and shouted "DO YOU GET ME?!"

The room as a whole stood up and repeat "WE GET YOU, SIR!"

"Good, now go and get ready. I want this unit to be waiting at the transporter padd BEFORE any of the command leads show up to head out, understand?" Greg said and he got yes's from everyone present and he headed out of the room, Grace and Church close behind him.

Meanwhile, Simmons leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest before looking over at Grif who was also sitting next to his squadmate, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "Do you ever wonder why we're here?" he asked

Grif turned to look at Simmons who since the day that the two of them graduated form basic and was posted to the same strike unit had asked that question but today with all the serious shit happening, he looked annoyed at his friend and said "No. I NEVER wonder why we're here. Semper fi, bitch!"

At this, Caboose looked over at the two and smiled then said "I'm having a lot of fun. It's like we're real soldiers." before he left the room to catch up with Tucker, leaving Simmons and Grif behind to look at each other for a minute before they started laughing.

"Preparations"

Pilot Paulo "Hawkeye" DiMillo, Vanguard Squadron

*****

Paulo looked over his new assignment. He hated being in the dark about so many things. It was odd being out of the loop, not knowing what was going on. All he knew was what was on this padd and this padd told him to report to the transporter room in 2 hrs for disembarking for a Romulan warbird.

He had no idea why he had been assigned to this mission. Most likely to teach him some kind of lesson. But none of that mattered now. He had a mission he had to get to, but before that, some refreshing could be in order. Who knows what the Romulans considered showers on their ships.

About 30 minutes later Paulo stood over his desk collecting some padds. A couple good books, not to mention the history of the first Federation/Romulan war. He knew it had ended on Cheron, but that was about all he knew about the war.

After going over a few last things, and leaving a message to be delivered to anyone who tried to contact him, not that to many people ever tried to call him.

After finishing gathering his things, he headed out of his quarters, heading for the transporter room to meet up with the rest of the team.

"No Rest for the Wicked"

Ensign Robert Mathieson, Medical Officer
Delta Shift - Sickbay

==Sickbay, USS Galaxy==

"Oi - wot d'ye mean, I've got t'er fill this lot out?"

"Doctor Mathiesion, I assure you, the forms are quite standard", the Vulcan Ops Lieutenant said smoothly while presenting a PADD to the old physician. "All inventory going planetside must be accounted for. You should not be alarmed - I have compiled everything into a single file to expediate the process."

Mathieson accessed the file directory and his eyes bulged. "Yeah, but the friggin' file's ten bleedin' megabites large! It'll take me a month o' Sundays t' get this all figured out!"

The Vulcan simply stared down at the diminutive human with a cool, unemotional glare. "Terran calendars usually feature four to five 'Sundays' in a monthly calendar period. I estimate the inventory evaluation to take approximately six hours and twenty minutes..."

"SIX HOURS??"

"And twenty minutes. Assuming you are diligent and proceed uninterrupted immediately" the Vulcan concluded, unbothered by the human's emotional outburst. He gave the doctor a curt nod, turned and left Sickbay leaving the short human bewildered, shocked, and highly annoyed.

In Bob Mathieson's hand, the inventory list for a portable hospital unit scrolled through and his eyes raced to keep up with the data. Not coming remotely close to the bottom of the list, he looked up from the PADD to see the staff of Delta Shift unusually busy sorting and calibrating Sickbay's many pieces of medical equipment - each person vainly hiding a smirk or a grin. The old doctor growled. "Don't worry - yer all off the bleedin' hook! Wouldn't wish this big steamin' pile on any of ye!"

A tall red-haired nurse broke the silence with a quick laugh which quickly spread through Sickbay. "Thanks Saint Bob! We knew a kindly old man like yourself wouldn't inflict that kind of paperwork on his hard-working and loyal co-workers." She then gave Mathieson an elaborate and overly formal salute. Another wave of laughter rippled through the ward.

Mathieson gave a good-natured glare at the giggling nurse. "Brenda - you were my favourite nurse on Galaxy. Now you're jus' the oldest. An' I'm real glad you folks are so hard workin' an' loyal; both'll come in handy on Charon." Looking around at his shiftmates, the old doctor changes the tone of his voice to something more serious. "Let's start by reviewing triage procedures for Romulan, Reman and Klingon physiologies. In a couple o' hours, I'll cook up a holo-simulation of some casualties an' we'll go through some practice treatments."

Delta Shift went to their tasks quickly with grins on their faces, and Mathieson once again thanked the gods of old doctors and old fools that he ended up with a good staff. He retreated to Sickbay's office and began a review for the equipment required for the mobile hospital unit the new Captain required. The list was enormous and throroughly detailed, but he knew that many little "extras" would be required for effective practice.

The task was more than a little daunting.

"Bloody hell..."

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

Field Emergency biobeds
Anabolic Protoplasers
Cardoistimulators
Dermal Regenerators
DNA Code Analyzers
Hundreds of Hyposprays
Portable Medical Diognistic Scanners
Dozens of Medical
Microtomes and Microscopes
Neural Stimulators
Neural Transducers
Ostrotractors
Dozens of Field Medikits
Physiostimulators
Plasma Infusion Units
Protodynoplasers
Laser, Monomolecular and Nanotech Scalpels
Sonic Separators
Trilaser Connectors
Portable EMH Emitter

And that was only the portable equipment! The list of medicines for the races that inhabited Charon, in addition to those that may be required for any of Galaxy's crew, was considerably larger and still comfortably in his element - but paled significantly when compared to the list of equipment that needed to be procured from Ops. The portable hospital's structure, power supplies, replicator units, water and waste disposal systems, lighting, ventilation, forcefield generators - all had to be ordered and tailored to the medical unit's specifications.

All equipment then needed to be packaged and crated for transport onto a Romulan warbird. ~And what a fun little trip that'll be!~

Mathieson drew on over three decades of medical practice and the experience gained during two Federation wars to make sure the mobile unit covered any contingency he could imagine - and his imagination was wildly creative. Delta Shift had performed admirably with the triage drills he had devised - two Romulan surgeries, a Reman burn victim, and a Klingon badly injured by disruptor fire. He repeated the excercise with Gamma Shift who, although they wouldn't be going planetside, would be providing valuable support for the mobile unit.

Gamma Shift came to a close when the old physician was finally done. Copies of the master file was sent to the absent Kimberly Burton's personal directory as well as the Captain, Executive Officer, Chief Ops Manager and Head of Security. For good measure, he made a request of the head of the Marine Battalion to borrow a couple of field medics for the mission - people who would be cool under fire, just in case things got a little hot planetside.

Another call to Security to ensure proper surveillance of the hospital and his people was also required. Reports about Charon were sketchy, but Mathieson had enough experience in the field to know that if the Romulans were willing to allow Federation assistance, the situation was bad - and many see the hospital's presence as another business opportunity rather than a humanitarian effort. He also wanted to avoid submitting his patience to the tender mercies of the existing Klingon forces.

Finally, eight hours of paperwork had taken their toll and no ammount of strong tea could reverse the downward spiral of fatigue he was experiencing. Rubbing his eyes, he left sickbay for a last-minute visit to the ship's quartermaster to finesse some last-minute items before the need for sleep robbed him of his good nature and finely honed diplomatic.

"Silence was Golden"

By

Kylar Curran, Chief Liaison Officer

Ensign T'Rei, Security Officer

After dealing with Karyn Dallas for the last hour or so, the Kelvan was in serious need of avoidance and sensory deprivation.

In other words, silence was golden, even in an era where the metal's economic value was deemed worthless. In this case, though, it was worth more than all the latinum that could be processed. And it was scarcer than a likeable, neutral-scented human.

Moving through the congested corridors, he felt suffocated in the throng of people preparing for rotation to the surface of ch'Rihan. After all, it wasn't every day one was able to step foot on one of the most storied and mysterious locations in the known galaxy, was it?

Of course, Kylar had been stationed here almost a decade before, as Pro-Consulor of the Kelvan Embassy in Ki Baratan's N'emoth District. In fact, this was his last posting before coming to the USS Galaxy. In many ways, he felt like he was coming home, as the Rihannsu were by his definition, the better and more efficient peoples of those known between the Federation, its allies, protectorates, and enemies. Their arrogance and divisiveness had brought about their downfall, unfortunately, even as Curran had predicted while he was here. If they'd stayed the course and utilized their resources for the common good instead of individual selfishness, greed, and grasp for power, they would likely have been the most powerful force in the known Galaxy. It must sicken them as much as he had been when the Kelvans were defeated by Kirk and his crew that they had to turn to the Federation for assistance in restructuring as a result of their fractured society finally collapsing in on itself.

He needed to get off this ship. There were simply too many things happening on board that he did not need or feel a desire to attend to. Dallas and her ramblings about his intrusive memories or whining about being hurt, Elessidil most likely trying to chase him down for a counseling session, Dobryin and her unending questions about the Hydran research facility, Iniara and her surprises... on and on and on and on, like some rambling, drooling mental patient. He could get everything he needed on the shuttle ride down without having to become embroiled in the soap opera happenings of the crew all clamoring for gossip and rumours du jour.

He used his keypass to get him as far as he could below decks, where the shuttlecraft were likely not being used as the transporters were the favored method of travel. Not for Kylar. His genetic structure didn't agree with his dueling DNA and molecules being scrambled.

There was a small line of personnel boarding each of the larger of the shuttlecraft aboard. He had hoped to gain passage alone on one, but now that seemed quite unlikely.

It didn't take him long to discover upon registering that he was required to carry a security escort with him to the planet's surface. He made a show of arguing with the Shuttle Bay Chief, whose rather large form did nothing but cross his arms, and shake his head from side to side. He wouldn't even discuss it. In fact, he never said a word.

Finally, Curran ceded, understanding the officer wasn't going to be acquiescing to the Kelvan's needs. "Show me the security roster of available personnel, then." Brute released one hand, unfurling it and pointing to a lone PADD sitting on the registration counter. Curran snatched it up.

Running his eyes through the scrolling list and seeing no one he cared to bring along - they were all women or irritating humanoids - he just called up a random name, keyed in a request for them to meet him here, and locked off the name from other duties using his authorization. Brute nodded, and let him pass to stand in line for processing to board the shuttle.

T'Rei was at the moment, tucked safely within the confines of her quarters. The duty shift was gloriously behind her, with nothing but hours that stretched out into welcoming oneness. Or, so the ensign thought. Her console informed her that a notification had been sent and required her urgent attention. Sighing, she slowly walked over, sat down and read the information. It stated that her presence was required at the shuttle bay to execute the duties of a security escort.

"Curran." Knitting her eyebrows, the ensign had not recognized the name associated with her upcoming duty. Packing a few things into a small duffel bag, she gave her quarters a cursory once over before heading to the shuttle bay. She grew reflective as she meandered her way through the corridors and turbo lifts. Her shot at being alone was shattered, and that somewhat disappointed her to some degree. It was a desire of hers that this Curran person kept to himself or herself and let her escort in peace.

However, that occurred to her a slim possibility with the various crew members she had the pleasure of recently holding conversations with. The crew, or most of it in her opinion, lacked sufficient logic and discipline in the workings of their daily lives. This ranged from streaking naked in the corridors to tales of outlandish sexual behavior, nothing appeared sacred anymore. Upon arriving to the shuttle bay, she inquired as to the whereabouts of the person that she was required to escort. Locating him, she spoke. "You are Curran?" She stated inquisitively.

He was three individuals away from boarding when he heard his name cantered out somewhere to his left and down. Turning, his shoulders moving forward before his neck did, the rail brushed his side, instinctively causing him to look down in distraction.

It was there that he saw the stoic female officer who was staring coolly up at him.

"You are Curran?" She repeated the phrase monotonously.

"I am Legate Curran, yes." Someone pushed past him, pressing him against the railing. It caused his eyes to squeeze shut as both hands grasped the metal support beams of the ramp to retain balance. Chills coursed down his back.

"Is your physical being acceptable?" She questioned.

"I cannot tolerate being touched. Most humanoids are not hygienic and disrespectful of personal space." Left alone on the ramp after the last person boarded - who happened to be the one to push by - he was signaled by the shuttle pilot of impending flight.

"You are my security escort?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then come. You're holding up the flight." Looking back to the pilot, he turned his back on T'Rei, walking in determination to the hatch, where he ducked inside.

Saying nothing, she arched her right eyebrow. T'Rei sensed that this flight had potential to be most illogical.

When Curran ducked under the archway into the runabout shuttle, the activity was enough to make his chest rumble in a sickening response to the anarchy. Raising a hand to the upper railings that had been dropped from its reservoir from the panels above, he used the bar to maintain his balance as he swung and ducked to avoid being jostled by other beings. The stench in the condensed passenger cabin was atrocious. Turning, and seeing the human woman between him and the cockpit, he changed his mind about approaching the pilot to increase the air circulation. At least until he found a location to seat himself.

Covering his nose and mouth with a kerchief he tended to carry around with him, he dodged an incoming armpit from some giant, hairy creature he couldn't identify through his tears, and almost fell into another female's lap. With some deft footwork, though, he managed to avoid the embarrassment, and reach the back of the compartment. Cracking open the storage area in the rear, he rushed in, anxious to away from the smells. One of the flight personnel of course tried to persuade him to join the others, but quickly left Curran be when he found out the hard way - vocally - who he was. He was replaced by the woman who came on board with him, who stood resolutely by the door.

"I hardly see the need for a security escort in what is nothing more than a storage closet, Ensign. You're free to join the others up front." Sighing, "Not like I can escape this tin can if I tried."

"I would be remiss if my duties if we were separated, Legate. My charge is to provide escort to your person. You are not 'up front'. You are here. Therefore, so am I." Curran strapped himself into the only jumpseat available amidst the emergency supplies, deliveries to ch'Rihan, and luggage of the passengers.

As the shuttle lifted underneath them, the inertial dampeners almost instantaneously following behind, Kylar couldn't help but feel a bit on the humiliated side. Cramped into a loose-fitting crosshatched patterns of Velcro and bright-colored hemp in between packages and storage cabinets, he sunk himself into the contraption and tried to meditate. He hoped the silence would bore the woman into leaving.

Several minutes into the flight, the voices of the other passengers in the forward compartment began to increase in volume and fervor. The shuttle bounced, then shook. Assuming it was the upper atmosphere they were breaking through with the turbulence affecting the craft, he ignored it. He'd been on many shuttle transports during his life, and this one was no different. It was just typical of the humanoids up front to complain when their luxury craft had a little bounce to its step.

"I believe your services are required more with the passengers up front becoming anxious, Ensign." At the moment he ended the sentence, a tremendous crack reverberated through the craft, and the sound of shearing shrieked all around them. The Kelvan couldn't help but cover his ears with both hands as the sounds threatened to overwhelm him. The pitch and wail had drowned all other sounds as the dampeners then failed. Opening his eyes with sheer will, he noticed the ensign was gone, likely doing her duty in assisting the passengers up front.

Fighting against the g-forces that threatened to pin him to his seat, Curran groped along the support rails, containers and random items falling and crashing on him as he and the forces swept them off shelves in an effort to make his way forward.

Upon reaching the doorway, he had to use the manual over-ride to pry it open, and when he did, the sight that greeted him almost tore him from his place at the door, if it were wide enough to yank him through.

The top of the shuttle had been rent off, which explained the shearing sound he'd heard earlier. All the passengers were gone. Above, patterns swirled in a myriad of color. Wispy white of cirrus clouds, grey tendrils, shades of blue sky - or was it water? All of it swam by the open roof of the shuttle in a dazzle.

Movement in front of the shuttle caught his eye. Two forms, hands moving about in a frenzy, he could hear bits and pieces of phrases, but couldn't make out the meaning of them.

Kylar, his face pressed hard against the door because of the vacuum decompression of the rear compartment, twisted his face so that his mouth was between the cracks, but obscuring his vision. He yelled out to the ones in front, demanding to know what was happening. Turning so that his ear was pressed against the gap now, he could catch only pieces... something about an emergency, and a transport, but nothing else. It was drowned out in the wind.

And so he peered back out with one eye, his face numb against the cold, and could see one of the pilots gesturing towards him, and yelling something to his co-pilot. The humanoid turned back to say something to Kylar, but then the cockpit window the pilot's side shattered with an object that sent shards of the material out through the hole in the roof. Some of the material impacted against the door Curran was peering anxiously out of, cutting his face in several places before he pulled his eye out of the way.

When he looked back, he saw the pilot's body dangling in his seat, half the male's face ripped away. The roar of the wind was intense, overbearing.

Then a gods-awful sound rippled through the entire ship. Metal screamed in agony, it's ear-splitting sound attacking Curran's eardrums, and then it was gone.

When he opened his eyes, the fear of his future finally loomed large over him. The entire forward section of the shuttle was gone, and the ground flowing past him underneath, not a dozen meters below, and closing.

Looking forward with trepidation, he could only watch and wait as a great mountain range drew ever closer, its snowcapped peaks quite uninviting.

And then the shuttle crashed, sending the remains of its contents skewing across the rocky landscape.

"Unlikely Allies" pt 1

(Takes place prior to "Burning Bridges")

Principal Characters
Major Corran Rex
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff Lt. Ella Grey

--------------
Rex's quarters
Deck 41
--------------

Corran's insides felt numb as he read the message on the screen. Hell, Rex itself felt numb. There were good reasons for the Trill law - although as often as it was broken, it should probably be called a tradition - of not getting involved with associates or lovers from past lives. It was too much baggage. And if there was enough of something that Corran Rex had, it was certainly baggage.

But this brief announcement...

Backett had deserved better than a half-hearted note tossed Corran's way.

He'd deserved better than to be the only person who survived him be the new host of his old partner.

He'd deserved better than such a crappy death - and he deserved the right for someone to know why.

It didn't take Corran long to decide what to do.

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

Two hours later

It hadn't taken long to get everything taken care of. Even now he was throwing the list of the things he would need into a small duffel - he'd have to stop by the Armory to get extra power packs for his phaser. Actually, there were some in the flight deck's Armory, he could just get them from the Squadron's quartermaster. Maybe a few other little trinkets, too.

The conversations with Cass and with General Et'zet had been short, indeed. Cass had understood. The General had been harder to convince, but once the topic of resignations had come up, his Breen superior had proved remarkably accommodating. It wasn't like much had happened here while the Galaxy was at Romulus. Frankly, it didn't seem likely that much *would* be happening. The Squadron could do without him for a bit. Teyri was a good leader - better than she gave herself credit for. And she had Pad, Angel, and O'Connor to back her up. They'd be fine. He'd even secured permission to take Vanguard One to get back to Deep Space Five, where something with a bit longer legs and of much more dubious credibility would take him to Mosanalea. A brief conversation with Teyri had placed her in Acting command of the Vanguards, and then he'd left Ella a message explaining - briefly - what was going on, and asked her to meet him on the Flight Deck in an hour.

Wouldn't be right to leave without saying goodbye, after all.

Now he just had one more person to see.

---------------------------
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters
Deck 7
-----------------------------

Corran rang the chime once, and then pressed the intercom. "Victor, its Corran. I need to talk to you."

There was a long pause, as lights set into the door's lock flashed in a complex sequence. Corran – or rather, Vorrin – recognized the modifications and the patterns: there was a scanner installed which was verifying his identity. It was amazing how much the boy (and who else on this ship would think of Victor Kreighoff like that?) was like his uncle. It gave Corran an all-to-familiar feeling of deja vu sometimes. But then, at Rex's age, there wasn't much that didn't remind him of something else.

The lights flashed once, and then the door opened.

Into darkness.

The room was unlit; the only light either coming through the room's exterior window from the ship's running lights or in the door from the hallway around Corran. Even with that little light, it was easy to see that the room was almost empty, with only the bare furniture issued to it and nothing more.

"Yes, Major?" Victor's voice slid out of the darkness, the chair at the desk turning as he stood up from where he had been looking out the window. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah," Corran replied, feeling a pang of sympathy at the plain soullessness of the quarters. Kreighoff merely resided here. It wasn't his home, and the Trill wasn't sure that Victor had ever had a place he could call that. "You can pack."

Victor stood there in the shadows for a long time before responding, his words startling in their sudden appearance out of the darkness. "Why, sir?"

"You're going on leave." Corran replied hastily. "I need your help, Victor. I've got to go to Mosanalea. You ever heard of it?"

There was a pause, then more suddenly appearing words, like a flight of thrown knives from out of the night. "No, sir, I haven't."

"It's out near the T'Kith'Kin border, just outside of Federation space. It's not a... nice place. The Syndicate's got a pretty strong presence there, and there are a lot of smugglers, mercenaries, criminals, all sorts of unsavory types. We'll fit right in." the Trill assured him.

"I didn't say that I was going, sir." Victor was abruptly at the edge of the light, as if there had been no transitional movement, just his feet visible, the rest of him still lost in shadow. "Why would you go there on leave, sir?"

Corran frowned as Krieghoff continue to address him with the honorific. Time later to address that - if he could get the man to come.

"Because a..." How did you explain the idea of obligation to someone you'd only known in a past life? Indignation swelled in Corran as he even thought about his friend's end - indignation, and something a lot less healthy. "Because a friend of mind was murdered, and the local authorities are a joke. The local Starfleet field office won't even investigate, because he wasn't a Federation citizen. But he was a friend of mine, and he got shot down like an animal in the middle of a bar."

There was a steel in his eyes that Victor hadn't seen in the Trill until these last few months; that unrecognized - or maybe just unacknowledged - similarity between them. "And I mean to know why."

Victor didn't answer for a moment, but Corran noticed, almost by accident, that the light that had formerly reached only Victor's feet, was know over his knees. "Why," came that same voice out of the darkness, "ask me, sir?"

"Because it's been a long time since I was a cop, Victor. I need someone with a little more recent experience." Corran's face grew firmer as he continued. "And frankly, on a place like Mosanalea, justice is a pretty self-defined proposition. And if there's killing to be done, I can't think of anyone I'd prefer by my side more. So are you coming?"

"That depends, sir."

"On?"

"On whether or not my leave request will be approved." For a moment, Victor was so close to the circle of light cast by the door that his features were almost visible – and then he was back by the desk, the muted glow of an LCARS panel illuminating his face from below, making it appear… alien, wrong.

"It's taken care of." Corran replied. "Feel free to check, if it makes you feel better. Unless you've used all yours up." The Trill's tone indicated he knew exactly how likely that prospect was.

Victor's face looked up, the shadows from the LCARS panel making it almost demonic in appearance. "No sir, I have the time available. I haven't taken formal leave in seven years."

"I figured." he snorted. "You're too uptight to take leave."

"No sir, that wasn't it," Victor replied as he filled in the request form. "Every time I've considered it, I've either been under medical restriction, suspicion of some offense or another – or there hasn't been anyplace that I could do what I would want to do within reasonable range. I took a few days on lanJep with my Aunts, but that was mandatory leave, not counted against my time." He straightened up. We'll know in a minute, sir."

"Look, one other thing - There's no ranks on this trip. No "Sir", no "Major". Just Corran, all right?"

"I'm familiar with the idea of working under relaxed rules of conduct, sir." Victor turned and looked out the window at the starfield as it slipped by again. "Is this the sort of operation where we will be expected to function undercover, sir?"

"Why?"

"Because if it is, then it affects what I will want, or need, to bring; you don't hunt Andorian Ice Bear with the same gear you take to stalk a Cappellan Power Cat."

"Then yes, Vic, I'd say it is."

-----------
Flight Deck
Deck 41
-----------

As the pair of them entered the Flight Deck, Corran wasn't surprised to see Ella standing by his ship. He was even less surprised when all the two exchanged was a perfunctory greeting consisting of ranks.

"Ella," he said warmly, trying to pretend Krieghoff wasn't there. "I'm sorry it's short notice, but I've got to take care of this."

"Why you?" Ella asked. She'd angled her body away from Victor and was trying to come up with a really good reason why Corran had to stay. So far she couldn't think of one that wasn't selfish or incredibly stupid. There was still everything O'Shea had done that she had to deal with, but she couldn't really deny her.. lover? boyfriend? this.. whatever it was.

Ella knew the need for revenge when she saw it.

"He was my friend. He deserves to have his killer brought to justice," Corran said resolutely.

She could understand that.

"Why him?" Ella said, nearly pointing her thumb at Victor. It would have been pointless however.

He indicated his head back at the Security officer. "Who better?"

She could understand that as well.

"Stay safe." She whispered as she hugged him before turning to Victor. "You too." It seemed she was only capable of talking in two words at a time.

"Do my best." Corran replied, and gave her a quick, passionate kiss. "More of that when I come back, yeah?"

"Yeah." She affirmed with a grin.

Corran put his hand on the panel that extended his fighter's canopy, and just looked at the amazing woman that was Ella Grey for a moment. A dozen different feelings welled up inside him, mostly the desire not to leave her. But there were times when a man had to do certain things, and this was one of those. Ella understood that. It was one of the things he did love about her. "Come on, Victor, time to head out."

With a nod, Victor finished stowing his travel kit and the security-locked metal case he'd brought with him in the fighter's travel compartment and climbed into the cockpit, never looking back.

Corran followed the security officer up the ladder and sat into the cockpit, taking the forward seat after Victor settled into the aft passenger seat. As the canopy started to slide down into place, he heard Ella say one final thing. "You better come back to me."

"Always do." he replied quietly, knowing she couldn't hear him.

Vanguard One launched from the Galaxy without further incident.

"Unlikely Allies" pt 2 - "The Dance"

Major Corran Rex
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

----------------------------
Vanguard One
En Route to Deep Space Five
----------------------------

It had been a long, long trip from Galaxy's position at Romulus to Deep Space Five.

Corran didn't mind it, usually. He liked the solitude of the stars, a far cry from the spacesickness he'd suffered from before his joining.

It normally wasn't bad at all.

Except, this whole trip, there'd been Victor. Right behind him.

Just sitting.

And staring. There was a lot of that, too.

Corran couldn't see it, seated in front of the human as he was, but he could feel those dead eyes just boring into the back of his skull. And honestly - why wouldn't Victor hate Corran? Corran was sleeping with the woman he loved. If he loved her, that was. If he was capable of it. It probably wasn't all that smart to be in the small ship with a man who could probably kill him with his pinky. If he could feel an emotion for two seconds long enough to get pissed about it. But instead, he was just back there. Sitting. Quietly. Staring. It was enough to drive a man crazy.

Well, crazier.

There was something wrong with the Major, Victor could tell. He could always tell when his presence was starting to slip under people's skin, to dig at them slowly, making even the ones that weren't normally so affected by him nervous, edgy… afraid. Ordinarily he'd just leave, get up and go somewhere else, someplace where there were no people to be affected, no one to inflict his presence on. Lately that had meant places that were silent and dark, where he could look out at the stars and imagine that he was drifting in space, surrounded by nothingness – the inner man reflected in his outer surroundings.

But that wasn't possible here. There was no place to retreat to; no silent, dark spot to lose himself in as he had time after time since his discovery of the peace it brought him in the caves on the Jem'Hadar planet. There was also no Operations Officer in a gravchair to bring back memories of what he'd done – and almost done – to Karyn Dallas so many months ago. He wasn't sure why that had happened, but there had been no repetition of the event, so whatever it was, it seemed to have passed. He felt no such urges looking at the back of the Major's head, had no flashes of memories of having done violence to anyone in the past overlay themselves over his vision.

Perhaps the Major was expecting him to, and that was the real cause of his nervousness? The Major might be wondering if Victor was thinking of committing an act of violence on him because Lieutenant Grey preferred to be with him, and not with Victor; that was possible he supposed in silence.

If Victor had been someone else, perhaps he might. But he wasn't someone else, and wishing to be or pretending that he was had no meaning. There was only what was; nothing more. Not for him.

For a moment he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, let his thoughts find their own path in the void that filled him, and wasn't surprised when they located a memory of him dancing. He did a lot of that now, even though he wasn't certain why. He'd first felt the need to do it after the Diparthu had been defeated, to dance in formal, ritualized ways that he had never wanted to before. Mainly Terran dances like the waltz, the tango, the foxtrot, the salsa, the rumba, and more. He'd even recently located simulations for Andorian, Klingon, and Romulan dances in the diplomatic training databases and placed them in his holosuite queue. If this trip took any time at all, by the time he returned Flight Officer Angelienia would have checked the queue, seen them, and had traditional costumes made for herself - and likely him too - to go with all of the programs.

Oddly, when he thought about dancing with the Flight Officer he didn't feel so empty inside, as if the act of dancing was somehow filling him, making the emptiness inside him go away. He didn't know why, but it did. Which was odd, he supposed. Or perhaps not; maybe dancing did that to everyone.

"Do you… dance… Major?" he asked suddenly into the silence of the cockpit.

"I…." Corran started, inadvertently tilting the ship for a moment.

The Trill quickly righted things, and then tried do decide if he'd heard right. "Say again?"

He should have brought a padd, Victor decided. Reading his words as opposed to hearing always seemed to work better for some people. "Do you… dance… Major?" he repeated with the exact same intonation and timbre – or lack thereof.

"Uh, yeah." he replied, a bit befuddled, thoughts of the first night he and Ella had gotten together drifting through his mind. "Quite a bit, actually. One of my past hosts, after we made contact with Earth, used to travel the amateur ballroom dancing circuit whenever she was on leave. Couldn't get enough of it."

"Do you… like… it?' Victor asked further.

"Victor, are you asking me on a date?"

Victor tilted his head to the side and blinked once, slowly. Sometimes he simply didn't understand what the people around him were thinking – or why. Perhaps one of the Major's previous lives had been as someone who was interested in relationship of that sort? Whatever the reason for the question, it didn't matter, since that held no interest for him. The times that Victor had allowed himself to think of things like that, he'd never once thought of anyone but a member of the opposite sex. "No, Major."

"Well, it's not a usual topic of conversation if you're not." the Trill clarified. "And if this was two lifetimes ago, I'd be all for it. But you're not really suitable for my current tastes."

"I asked you if you liked to dance, Major, because I wanted to know. I don't say things with more than one meaning; they just confuse things. People have enough trouble understanding me most of the time as it is. Making it worse deliberately is… senseless."

"Well it's not *my* fault if you're socially inept." Corran muttered under his breath. "But yeah, I like to dance. Why do you want to know?"

Victor relaxed slightly at the direct question. Perhaps he wouldn't need that padd after all. "When you dance, what does it feel like?"

Corran frowned again. "Physically?"

"No, not physically." Victor stopped for a moment, searching for the right words. "When you dance, does it feel *right?*" Victor resigned himself to finding a padd when they stopped. Even he felt that this was an inaccurate way to ask what he wanted.

The Trill fought a chuckle, wondering if Krieghoff was actually on the verge of being frustrated. "Depends on what you mean by 'right.'" he shrugged. "I mean, you can definitely tell when you've done a move wrong."

Yes, he was definitely getting that padd when they reached SB5, Victor decided. Short of finding a telepath who could stand to be inside his head, it seemed to be the only way to make people understand what he meant without misunderstandings. "No, Major, not that; I mean do you feel… whole, complete. Like it was something that you were meant to do?"

"OH!" Corran explained with a loud laugh after that. "THAT'S what this about. Yeah, Vic. That's normal. That means you're having fun."

Victor thought about that for a moment. He knew what he meant when he used the word 'fun' but he wasn't certain that the Major meant the same thing. Dancing and hunting both made him feel the same way - they just took different approaches to get there. He wasn't certain that 'fun' was the way he'd describe that sensation though. His idea of the word had lighter connotations and overtones of amusement than what he felt when he hunted or danced. Still…. "Fun?"

"Yeah, fun. I understand you're not used to it, but there you go." the pilot replied with a shake of his head. "Krieghoff likes to dance. Who'd have thought?"

He'd been right, the Major didn't appear to be using the word the same way that he was. Perhaps if he tried another way to explain it? Flight Officer Angelienia had said something to him once while they dance about flying; perhaps that was a better analogy? "What does it feel like when you fly?"

"Well, that's just another kind of dancing, Victor." Corran answered. "The moves are different, but they're both about the beauty and economy of motion. But when I fly, it's like there's nothing out here but me and the stars, and I'm dancing among them."

~ Hell kid, that was practically poetic.~

~Shut up, you old skinflint.~ Corran thought back at Vorrin. ~You're the one I got it from anyway.~

That had, indeed, been the right way to try and get the Major to understand. Victor made a mental note to thank the Flight Officer when they got back, her explanation of flying's appeal had been the key.

"That's what dancing is for me, Major. Not fun, but… like that. Everything is there, all at once: creation and destruction, life and death… everything, all contained in the dance."

"Victor," Corran replied finally. "That's what fun *is*. That's what *life* is."

Victor gave no reply to that.

"So Many Questions…"

SCPO. Renora Loret, Tactical Analyst

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

Renora was running over the information on Cheron. Though to call it information might be a little bit of a misnomer; hearsay and speculation might have been a little closer to the mark. Things just didn't seem to be making sense to her, too many gaps.

Cheron itself was an M class planet in the southern region of the galaxy that was listed as supporting humanoid life and charted by the Federation in the twenty third century.

First question, why was the planet uncharted until the twenty-third century when the battle of Cheron was supposed to have ended in the twenty-second? Was the battle elsewhere, unlikely given the nature of the mission, and if the battle wasn't here then what was significance and where was it?

She let out a sigh, that was just one more part of the puzzle. She couldn't even be sure who had been involved in the war or when it had begun, or even ended. The whole thing seemed to be shrouded in some kind of veil of shadows and secrecy. That said, given the Romulans reputation, it was hardly surprising that this was the case.

The other thing that bothered her was the sides involved, Earth and the Romulans. Not the Federation, but Earth. Was it just a historical inaccuracy or was this prior to any formal alliance of planets?

Some of the research, she had to confess, was for her own interest. The weapons they'd used, nuclear in origin by all accounts, and primitive even by the standards of the time. She'd only ever read about them in books and the chance to look over some remains first hand seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. Then there was the chance to see what tactics had been employed and how they may have differed to what the Romulan Empire used today. The history of war had always fascinated Renora and now she had the chance to look for herself.

The politics of it all also interested her; according to the accounts she read there had only been subspace radio communications between the sides, they'd never spoken and had only met in combat. There were also some arguments as to who had started the conflict and even less information as to what it had been about. Territory, honour, a political or personal slight that got out of hand. It could have been anything.

"So many questions," She said to her self, sliding the data PADD into her utility bag, "and I have the feeling we'll have more of those before we even get close to any answers."

She pulled the carrier up onto her shoulder and made for the door.

[BACKPOST] Occurs before the Burning Bridges/Building Bridges series of posts.

"Hunting Ghosts" Part 2

Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security

Lieutenant Tarin Iniara
Chief of Operations

---------------
Main Operations
Deck 9
---------------

Iniara sighed with relief when, less than five minutes later, Commander Corgan appeared in the Ops Center. It was no secret that Corgan carried more than his fair share of demons from the Dominion War, which no doubt came from seeing more than his fair share of combat. Iniara could only hope that he had a more detailed knowledge of the Jem'Hadar and their shrouding technology than she herself possessed.

Stepping out of her office she raised her hand, catching the eye of the Security Chief. She kept her demeanor as nonchalant as she could, figuring that it might throw off any Jem'Hadar who may or may not have been floating around the office unseen. "Commander Corgan, please come in."

"Lieutenant Tarin. A pleasure, as usual." James curtly greeted her, extending his hand out in welcome. James' demeanour was professional and pleasant. He had worked with Iniara before, and liked her on that level. But for today, the Lieutenant seemed very tense. Her eyes were darting, or hunting for something he couldn't see or feel. By the nature of her note it seemed to fit her 'cautious' mood. James said, picking carefully the words he wanted to say without being too direct. If her fears about Jem'Hadar cloaks were true, then James didn't want to come off as being too loose lipped. "It has been too long since our last Hazard Team exercise. We do not meet often enough. But I suppose we can forgo that discussion and talk about business. What is on your mind?"

"Oh, the usual, the usual. Broken waste reclamators, Sciences crying 'more power, more power!', a little ghost hunting here and there," she rambled on as she ushered Corgan into her office, the door quietly closing behind them. "Computer, activate privacy screen."

The office's single window frosted opaque just in time to conceal Iniara's rapid change in demeanor. "Sir, I hope I'm just being paranoid. I know you saw a lot of action during the Dominion War. Please tell me you know how to track a shrouded Jem'Hadar warrior."

James strode to the replicator. He ordered himself some coffee, extra strong and black, aromatic enough to taste in the air. It was at that instant that James laid back, pleasant smile turned into a placid neutrality.

"You have to understand the nature of the Jem'Hadar cloak system." James Corgan started, serious as the business end of his phaser, "It is not a technological construction, but purely a biological function, like the chameleons on Earth or the reflective butterfly of Tarsis XII."

James walked up to a large LCARS screen. He requested the information on the Jem'Hadar, to which the computer drew up a basic anatomy chart of a Jem'Hadar warrior. With one tap of his finger, James zoomed in on a section of the Jem'Hadar's arm, then further into its skin. "Their skin cells are part mutative, part photosynthetic, so they can emulate their surroundings. But it is more than that. Their skin cells can manipulate and bend the light around them. Even our best scientists can't figure it all out with our best genetic engineering techniques... normally a humanoid can change their skin to the tone of their surroundings, but they cannot become totally transparent like the Jem'Hadar. It is a trait unique to them. The theory is that their entire body can sense and feel light at a level totally different to ours. If light hits their front side, then the backside can guess what was supposed to show up as if their body wasn't in the way to refract that light. But that's just a theory, either way it happens."

The diagram zoomed out of the Jem'Hadar's skin cell display. He manipulated the screen, putting an emphasis on the Jem'Hadar's drug feeding harness. He enlarged a picture of the Ketracel White tube. "Their cloaking abilities are tied directly to their metabolism. They don't need to eat or drink like we do... at least not as much. Most of their sustenance came from the White. It gave them strength, agility, stamina and, the most important part, the ability to cloak themselves. It was noted that Jem'Hadar soldiers undergoing prolonged White withdrawal lost their ability to fight. They weakened, were sluggish and weak, and they couldn't cloak at all."

"So without White, a Jem'Hadar can't cloak. That doesn't make sense..." Iniara tapped her chin in thought. "Several minutes ago, just before I sent you that message, three Jem'Hadar decloaked and tried to assassinate Goran'Agar. Now if they were no longer using White like they claimed, wouldn't that make them unable to cloak?" She paused, brow furrowing in thought. "Unless the separatists in their group were secretly producing and using it...or they had overcome the chemical dependency but still retained the ability to cloak somehow. But I suppose that how they are cloaking doesn't matter so much as why they are cloaking, and what we can do to track them down?"

"Therein lies the problem. They are hard sons of b*tches to find." Corgan itinerated, calling up another display, conjuring up the Jem'Hadar's elaborate cardiovascular system. "Jem'Hadars can control their body temperature like lizards, so forget trying to find them on thermal sensors. Their skin can not only refract light, but bio scan frequencies and sensors, so you can forget that too. We tried using Betazoids to mentally scan for troops, but their complex neural pathway system makes them immune to telepathy in a way similar to the Ferengi. If you're really unlucky..." He paused to sip his coffee, setting it down and letting the fact hang in the air, "...you'll run into one trained to use the cloak properly too. They'll use breathing techniques, move slowly to confuse motion detectors, and special stealth movement skills to keep as silent as possible. Hell, some can even stop their hearts for brief periods in case THAT was too noisy."

Iniara folded her arms across her chest, looking back towards Corgan and the display behind him. "So. When they're cloaked, they're visually undetectable. Telepaths can't sense them. Sensors can't detect their life signs, at least not the way they're currently configured. But, that was how we first noticed something was wrong, so I guess that is a blessing in disguise. For the moment we can track the number of cloaked Jem'Hadar on the ship, even if we can't tell how many there are. I don't know how that will help, other than to tell us if we're really screwed or only somewhat screwed, but it's better than nothing."

"Not exactly. Get out your tricorder."

"Alright." Iniara opened her top desk drawer, retrieving the tricorder she kept there. Flipping it open, she looked back to James for instruction.

With his own tricorder, James demonstrated the settings, letting his fingers fly across its small key panel. "The Jem'Hadar can control body temperature, but it is not perfect. There will be small differences if you look carefully. Look for the body shaped dark blue blot in the field of even darker blue whenever you scan for Jem'Hadar. Something like... this shade of blue." He pressed a hand against the table, and waved the tricorder over. Its display screen showed a visible, orange handprint on a field of blue. As the heat from his handprint dissipated, it turned darker and darker, until there was only a faint outline, barely noticable. "There. That's the shade you want."

"Hmm. If we adjust the sensors to focus on the lower end...like...this." Iniara began to work on her own tricorder, then turned the device so that James could see the results. Now, instead of a solid blue, the table was a blotchy mix of blues. She pressed her hand to its surface, and the resulting handprint flared a blinding white in the display. As the heat faded, it dulled to a vibrant orange before once more fading into the background. "Jem'Hadar are much larger than a hand print. If we modify internal sensors to ignore temperatures that are much lower or higher than background temperature; say, plus or minus two degrees, we should be able to come up with something."

"Also..." James added, "You'll notice that they do refract and reflect light with their skins. So that leaves us screwed when you scan for the Jem'Hadar but... if you scan for light itself you'll see some of this manipulation take place. The only time you'll catch this is during the decloaking phase, three seconds before they phase back. One could argue that you can do the same just by watching them, but that doesn't help when they mostly attack you from behind."

"I suppose it wouldn't help if we grew eyeballs in the back of our heads." Iniara grinned morbidly. "Anyway."

She turned back to the LCARS screen before them, pulling up a display of the areas where the Jem'Hadar were currently congregated. Scores of small white dots moved around the screen, some passing from room to room in the network of crew lounges which the refugees currently occupied. "Right now, sensors tell us there are three hundred seven Jem'Hadar currently aboard. Transporter logs show we retrieved three hundred nineteen from Tru'Haran. Subtracting three for the cloaked Jem'Hadar who are no longer with us...means that theoretically we have nine more cloaked Jem'Hadar milling about."

James' fingers flew across the console, etching in a myriad series of commands. "But if we tell the sensors what to look for, we will have a more accurate count of our dear friends, the Jem'Hadar. So if I do this... and this... and this..." The console chirruped under his handiwork, rotating the ship as the internal sensors were manipulated. Soon, fields ranging from the dark blues of the ship's cold storage units to the red heat from the MA/AM reactor and backup fusion reactors glowed and ebbed on the display. The ship's crew were tiny firelights in the gigantic ship. On a ship of thousands, with so many thermal signatures, James took one cursory look and said, frustrated, "...we have a crapload of thermal to wade through. Computer, check shipwide thermal scans from before the arrival of three hundred and nineteen Jem'Hadar, compare said scans to this one, and extrapolate any inconsistencies."

The computer chirruped pleasantly in reply before altering the display before them. Now, instead of thousands of tiny lights, there were only a few hundred milling about. "Computer, display only readings within two degrees of standard room temperature." Iniara folded her arms across her chest, watching as the lights went away, replaced by a sea of blues. She frowned. "Increase detail." The blues resolved once more into a sea of color, several spots at the edge of the specified temperature range chaning into a bright white.

"Well, this is certainly more manageable," Iniara commented at last. The display flickered with several dozen bright spots, most of which were still concentrated in the crew lounges. "Any Jem'Hadar still in the crew lounges will be difficult to track, what with all the background noise, but if they've left the area... Computer, remove all readings from the areas currently occupied by Jem'Hadar refugees." Around half the spots disappeared, leaving them with a random collection of spots that mostly radiated out from the area surrounding the crew lounges.

"And finally, the finishing touch." James' fingers danced across the console. "Computer, compare these temperature outlines to all physical profiles of the Jem'Hadar taken aboard, ignoring any temperature variant fields that aren't humanoid sized and shaped, and show us their locations clearly."

The grid of the Galaxy flashed to light, as red indicator globes centered in on their search parameters, extrapolating the most likely of results. One red dot appeared, somewhere near engineering, and another two decks upwards, inside a jeffries tube. Number three, four and five were in Cargo Bay eight, clustered in a triad. Number six and seven were in tandem, making steady progress through deck thirty five, number eight was moving slowly past Sickbay, and number nine hovered on deck 3, loitering around a turbolift.

There were no other variants detected. There were nine, a clear number far from coincidence.

"We should take the one near the bridge first. I think he's looking for a chance to sneak in." James said grimly.

Iniara nodded, quickly synching the data up with her tricorder. Now they would be able to track him-- and his eight friends-- as they moved toward their goals. She looked back to Corgan. "Alright, how do you want to do this?"

Corgan earnestly grinned, "I won't be able to attend to everything. I'll have to go back to Romulus for the funeral. But you were the one that saw this coming before anyone else. Take care of it. I trust what you will do will be right. Use any of my department's resources, and consider yourself the leader of the Hazard Team while I'm gone. I won't stop you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Iniara replayed the words in her head: "leader of the Hazard Team". And then her thoughts were off and running as she mentally skimmed the lists of Hazard and Security personnel that she knew could handle this sort of work. "I'll get right on it."

"Dirtside. The Fast Way."

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer USS Galaxy

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

"Mayday, Mayday. This is the shuttle Alhazred, we are declaring an emergency."

"I'm getting no response from the Impulse engines or the thrusters."

"Comms are down too."

"Switch to anti-gravs."

"Down as well!"

"Christ, we're flying a brick without wings!"

* * * Earlier * * *

"But 'WHY'!" Sara-Jayne whined as only a teenager can.

"Need I remind you," Kimberly said somewhat absently as she hunted for the last PADD she needed on her disorganised desk, "of a little jaunt you took a while back without permission, down to Junction? Plus, this is ch'Rihan so no shore leave for kids here. Now, I believe you have homework, so scoot young lady and I'll see you when I get back." She ordered, looking pointedly at the door.

Watching the teenager sulk and storm off, and glad the doors couldn't be slammed as she had used to do in her teenage years, she slipped the last PADD in her case and snapped it shut. Casting one last look around she shrugged and walked into the main ward, "Arrietty," calling to her nurse and aide, "Let Doctor Kio know I've logged her as senior duty Doctor for Alpha shift today, so she can handle things 'til I get back, I should only be a day or so."

"Have fun Sir," Arrietty said with a grin.

Grimacing in disgust she turned without replying and headed out of the ward, ~ Fun, yeah. Discussing interspecies medicine with a bunch of arrogant Rihannsu physicians, ~ she muttered to herself silently. The invitation had been a surprise, and under different circumstances promised to be an interesting few days, but the tone of the invite had left no doubt as to just what the Rihannsu Medic had thought of the Federation Doctor, which left no doubt that the next day would be anything 'but' fun.

Determined though to make a good impression, she had dug out her best duty uniform and cleaned it, polished the high boots, made sure the pleats in her uniform skirt were neat, the insignia shiny and even had her hair done. All in all, she felt good, and hoped a neat and professional presentation would at least garner some respect.

~ If not, well Frell 'em! ~ she decided, not really in the mood at the moment to take any gos-se from anyone, not after recent events.

* * * Now * * *

"Set inertial dampeners to maximum."

"No response."

"Structural integ."

"Offline!"

"What is working!"

"Batteries have partial charge."

"Route it to the transporter. All hands, Abandon Ship! I say again 'ABANDON SHIP'!"

* * * Earlier * * *

Letting her mind wander as she boarded the shuttle Kimberly sat in the first available seat behind the pilots and pulled out the PADD containing details on the test the Rihannsu were inflicting on the crew. Leaving the young security crewman who had been tasked to accompany her to find his own seat she settled in and ignored the pre-flight and the preamble around her and focussed on her reading.

A short while later she heard the hatch cycle shut and the crew announcing their departure. Still ignoring them she kept reading the PADD, not really paying attention she ignored the launch and subsequent departure, focussed as she was on her PADD.

* * * Now * * *

"Get on the Pad!"

"Go Go Go!"

"Energize!"

"We're loosing."

"Look out!"

* * * Earlier * * *

Feeling the shuttle shake, and not for the first time Kimberly Looked up from her reading to see the pilots frantically engaged in a desperate effort to stabilise the shuttle. Setting her PADD aside was about to stand when a vibration shook the whole shuttle, throwing her back into her seat violently.

"Mayday, Mayday. This is the shuttle Alhazred, we are declaring an emergency."

She heard one of the pilots call out, just as all hell broke loose.

* * * Now * * *

Feeling a pack slapped against her stomach by someone Kimberly grabbed whatever it was as she was tossed from side to side by the momentum of the falling shuttle. Grabbing hold of a support she held on for dear life as she stood on the small transporter pad. Watching the chief flip open a panel she saw him depress the emergency transport switch, a big red button basically that told the transporter to beam the occupant of the pad away from the ship and to the nearest class 'M' environment.

Chancy, but with so many people to evacuate, the only option was to get them out. Fast.

Looking up suddenly, she heard a rending noise a truly terrifying sound, one of metal tearing from metal just as the transporter beam enveloped her.

* * * ch'Rihan * * *

Materialising in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, Kimberly staggered violently and fell to the ground inelegantly. The incorrectly programmed transporter hadn't properly adjusted her momentum, and as she materialised the excess momentum had translated into movement. Movement that sent her to the ground, hard to land atop the emergency kit someone had given her in all the confusion.

Looking around her she saw no-one in her immediate vicinity. Looking up next, high above her and descending fast a trail of fire spread itself across a portion of the sky, glowing as it descended the remains of the shuttle were heading down in her general vicinity, though fragments seemed to separate and sparkle out of existence, the bulk of the tough little ship seemed hell bent on making it to the ground.

Realising it was heading ever closer she shook her head to clear it and got up, ~ Run girl! ~ she advised herself, ~ Beaming out only to have the damn thing land on you would be one hell of an embarrassing way to die! ~

"Flashback: The Battle of Mygeeto"

Featuring:
Captain Roland B. Flowers
CO-237th Marine Strike Unit/ARC Operations, USS Hood --ONPC

First Lieutenant Jayne "Wyoming" Mahr
XO-237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood
--ONPC

Sergeant Greg Ward
Command M.A.A./ARC, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood

Corporal Dense Flores
ARC/Infantry, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Lance Corporal John Kawalsky
ARC/Infantry, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Lance Corporal Steward Ferretti
ARC/Infantry, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Private First Class Alan Ford
ARC/Recon, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Private Thomas Freeman
ARC/Infantry, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Private Derek Brown
ARC/Data Warfare, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Private Carlos Mendoza
ARC/Demolitions, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Private Ace Levy
ARC/Combat Engineer, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

Private Tracy Bendis
ARC/Communications, 237th Marine Strike Unit, USS Hood --ONPC

and Corporal Grace Waldron
ARC Trooper/SFMC Sniper, USS Galaxy
--ONPC

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

Location: Danuu City, Mygeeto, Holdings of the UFP.
Date: May 8th, 2365

There was alot of hellholes in the universe that the cardassians could've been fighting for..this was the one that didn't make any sense. Mygeeto was a frozen world more akin to the andorians or breen to take rather than the cardies but that was for someone or thing in intelligence to figure out because he was there to ensure that the colony on Mygeeto wouldn't fall no matter what.

But for the last several hours, the membes of the two hundred thirty seventh marine strike unit had been forced to hide in an abandonded building that for all intents and purposes was once the city hall and that did not make Flowers happy at all as he strode over from where he was looking out from behind cover of a pillar towards his unit's data warfare, combat engineer and recon specialists. "Ford, gimmie an update. This place used to be your home." Flowers said to the dark skinned recon trooper.

"Sir, I don't know what to tell you. Most of the paths that I would've suggested have already either been trapped or something worse, your best bet is to wait until the scout team gets back." Ford said as he geastured at the map in front of him.

Flowers looked at Ford with a dubious look when he said "Scout Team" for several long seconds before he finally said "And pray, who is in this scout team?"

"Well sir, that would be the top along with his three friends of course. But you and I both know that they know the first rule of battle is never let 'em know where you are." Ford said with a smirk on his face.

A few seconds later, the sounds of Federation-issued phasers and Cardassian-issued disruptors could be heard a Sergeant Greg Ward came running into the building, screaming and firing behind him while Levy and Freeman gave him covering fire and Flowers just sighed. "That boy is gonna either get himself killed or make major one day" Flowers thought to himself as Ward dives over a wall for cover and lands nearby, disruptor blasts zinging over his head.

The recon expert of the 237th simply looked at his CO and said in a very deadpanned voice and look "Of course, there's other schools of thought..."

Greg quickly scrambles over to them, laughing. "Oh! That was bracing. They don't like it when you shoot at them. I worked that out myself." he said while popping out his depleted power cell for a new one.

Flowers took a breath and counted to ten before asking his next question, "Ward, where is your woman?"

Greg looked at Flowers with a raised eyebrow that would've made a vulcan proud. "My woman sir, she might find that a bit offensive sir." Greg responded but Flowers' question was quickly answered a few moments later when some very colorful shouting could be heard from the otherside of the wall along with alot of energy blasts as the slim and compact form of Coporal Dense Flores landed in a tight roll on the other side of the wall where her fellow marines where. Flores was a well built young woman in her early twenties with short reddish-brown hair and sparkling green eyes that seemed to roll in the enjoyment of what she had done.

"Oh, you were right Greg. That was bracing and they really, *really* didn't like what I did." she said as she grabbed the front of his armor and pulled him into a hard and passionate kiss which he equally returned which caused Ford and Levi to snicker while Flowers just sighed again and muttered something akin to "those two are going to get me killed" before he looked at the two lovebirds and said "Well, what did you find?"

Flores motioned to a nearby hole in the wall as a bulky yet sharp angled box was tossed into the room and slide to a stop next to Flowers' right boot. The source of the toss was the tall and gangly Lance Corporal Steward Ferretti who had his partner in crime in John Kawalsky next to him. "We netted seven cardassian man portable torpedo launchers, sir. They were getting them into a prime firing area that would've killed all of us with the first shot." Kawalsky said, while Ferretti simply nodded.

"Well shit, I can't believe that those spoonheads would actually go as far as insulting us with torpeados and shit like that." Flowers said in a rather put out tone as he picked up the launcher at his feet, checked it's readouts and then shouldered it and fired both of the shells in the launcher into the cardassian units outside with a very pleased expression on his face. After he'd done that, Flowers simply looked at Ward and Flores, then said "NOW THAT..WAS BRACING!" with a grin on his face.

However, the joy wasn't meant for long when the unit communications trooper in Tracy Bendis ran over to Flowers. "Sir, I got some news from CIC. We got ourselves a heap of dren!" Tracy said as he handed the communicator handset to the taller marine who listened to it and said "of course sir", "Not a problem sir" and "right away, sir." before handing the handset back to Tracy.

"REGULATORS! LISTEN UP!" Flowers' shouted at the top of his lungs and the various members of the 237th stopped what they were doing and turned to face their CO. "We got ourselves a 'mit problem here. It seems that the battle here on Mygeeto was nothing more than a diversion from what the cardies were really doing."

"sir, what was their real target?" asked Carlos Mendoza from his sniping position with a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Athos." was the only thing that Flowers said and that made several people swear at once as Athos was nine systems away and a good thirteen hours travel by warp nine. But only a couple of people at the moment knew the truth-one of them was Greg who let out a line of Trill curses that made Bendis, the only other unjoined trill there, blush.

"They're going after a high target, aren't they?" Greg asked Flowers who simply nodded in return. "Ambassador Sarek is currently meeting with the people of Athos, hoping to get them out of the firezone before the Cardies came for their world. The ambassador's time is up gentlemen." Flowers said and then he took a long look at all of them in turn.

"Now, we got ourselves a mite big problem here. The only way to the beam out zone is four hundred kilks that way!" Flowers said while pointing in a northwest direction from their present location. "Which means that we're in for a hard run no matter what."

Greg simply looked at the direction that they needed to go and saw that the cardies where getting ready for something massive themselves. "I say we do it sir, we got an extra helping to do something with." Ward said as he turned back to his CO who simply nodded in return.

<cue up: "The Long Run" from the Halo OST>

"Alright, get your shit packed and I want six volunteers to use these cardie launchers to open up a hole through there lines and then, we make a break for it." Flowers said and a few moments later, Ferretti, Kawalsky, Flores, Mahr, Ford, Levi and Mendoza were letting loose with both barrells from their launchers and which was followed up with Flowers' shout of "REGULATORS, LET'S ROLL!!" at which point the entire unit headed for the beam out zone, dodging enemy fire while returning fire of their own.

However, both Brown and Freeman were cut down by a cardassian sniper which Ford quickly in turn took out with a proton grenade launched from the underslung launcher on his rifle before turning and catching up with the rest of the unit. About sixty yards from where the beam out zone was, the cardassians had finally managed to get their other MPTLs up and firing, one shot managed to seperate Greg and Dense by several hundred yards, Greg felt something in his right leg snap backwards when he forced himself to land on his feet and he crumpled to the ground, biting back a scream of pain and he forced himself to turn and look back at where Dense was, she had hauled herself up into a sitting position as numerous disruptor bolts slammed into the wall behind her.

Greg tried to force himself to stand but his right leg couldn't support his weight and he kept falling back to the ground at which point Flowers and Ferretti had come back and helped to haul him to his feet while Kawalsky gave covering fire. But Greg tried to force himself away from the two when he fell onto the ground in front of him with a very painful thud. When there was a crackle that lead to Dense's voice coming over the static filled tone of the hand's free communicator.

"This is Flores to Flowers, sir..can you please get my man out of the hot zone. I'll hook up with the fifty seventh before they bug out too." Dense said in a firm tone.

"Corporal..Dense. You know that no marine can leave one of their's behind." Flowers said as he fired a couple of rounds into a charging enemy trooper.

"I'll be alright, I'll hook with the fifty seventh..but for the moment, I'll give you covering fire." Dense said and she stood up long enough to let loose with a long blast from her own phaser rifle to show the point.

"Dense, don't do this. You can make it...please." Greg said, his voice almost ready to break. A marine wasn't supposed to get emotional in the battlefield..it wasn'st something that happened at all.

"Greg, you know that I care deeply for you but I promise you that this isn't the last time. I promise you that I'll find someway of getting back to you and the unit." Dense said through the channel, her own voice still firm but close to breaking.

Greg at that point looked at Flowers and then grabbed his dropped phaser rifle and motioned for Flowers to give him his which Flowers did. Greg then tossed both rifles over to Dense along with a belt of power cells. "The first cardassian you see, you tell him who his daddy is! YOU TELL HIM DENSE!!" Greg shouted into the line.

"Alright, now get out of here. I'll be okay." Dense said and then Greg allowed Flowers and Ferretti to get him to the beam out zone and right before the transporter beam effect happened, Greg hear the rage filled voice of Dense Flores shouting "I'M YOUR DADDY!!!" followed by the familiar sound of two phaser rifles being unleashed before his concensus mind went poof from the pain...

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

Location: Second Lieutenant Greg Ward's office, USS Galaxy-currently in orbit around ch'Rihan

Date: March 15th, 2383

Greg Ward awoke with a start at his desk, his right hand automatically going for a sidearm that hadn't been at his waist in more than a lifetime ago, almost shouting the name of a person that might as well have died all of those years ago.

As Greg turned in his chair to face his desk again, there was a beep at his door and after taking a few seconds to clear his thoughts, before saying "Enter". A moment later Grace Waldron entered the office, dressed in standard ARC infantry gear.

"Sir, the unit is ready for deployment. All gear has been stowed away and ready for transport." Grace said as she quietly regarded her unit CO. Ever since the situation at DS-Five, he'd been under a little bit more stress than normal and she couldn't understand why.

"Alright, let me grab a couple of things here and then we can head to the transporter room." Greg said as he picked up two standard issue PADDs and an old hardback novel which he quickly put into a travel bag. He then turned to face the ARC's resident sniper.

"Greg, are you sure that you're up for this? I mean you've been through alot lately?" Grace said, as one of Greg's few actual friends on the ship she was brought into the ARCs following his promotion to second lieutenant on the Beowulf, and she was also told of what happend at Mygeeto.

But her concern was apparentally in the right place because she felt him tense under her palm for a moment before relaxing. "I'm fine, Grace. I'm just a little tired from overworking myself these last few hours. I mean it's not every day that a group of federation officers get to travel to Cheron, true?" he said but Grace didn't believe him but she did not solomenly as she took her hand from his shoulder.

"Let's go, history is waiting." he said as he shouldered the bag and the two left Greg's office for the transporter room.

"Klingon Praise"

Commander Kol
Executive Officer

Lieutenant Tarin Iniara
Chief of Operations

---------------
Main Operations
Deck 9
---------------

It wasn't often Kol made it a point to step into another officer's office. With the exception of the Captain, the big Klingon generally preferred to summon others to his own office. Perhaps it was a dominance thing, but Kol, truthfully, just rather liked his chair.

Still, today he was heading into the office of the ship's Operations Manager and Executive-Officer-In-Training, Lieutenant Tarin Iniara.

He did not, of course, knock.

Not that he would have needed to; his mere presence was enough to announce his arrival to even the weakest of telepaths. Thus, by the time the door opened to reveal the huge Klingon, Iniara had had ample time to prepare. By tensing up, of course.

"Commander Kol." She stood, meeting the man's stern gaze. "Please, come in."

He gave a curt nod, and placed a small silver rank device on Tarin's desk in front of her. It was the brevet pin of a Lieutenant Commander. A temporary rank, but such often became permanent. "'Congratulations' is the term I believe you Federationer's use?"

"That it is, sir," she replied, reaching a hand out towards the pin. Relief washed over her; her hard work was at last yielding concrete results. "Thank you, sir. You honor me."

"Indeed I do," he confirmed. "You have done well these last weeks. Captain Henderson's faith in you is justified. You have reclaimed your life, 'Commander."

Iniara nodded at his assessment. It did feel as if she had reclaimed her life, finally breaking free of the prison her mind had put her body in. "I am more than ready to close that chapter of my life and move on to much more pressing matters," she concluded at last, her mind turning once more to the upcoming mission to Cheron.

"Please, have a seat. May I offer you food or drink?" she asked, making a small gesture in the direction of the replicator.

"Raktajino," he replied. "It is too early for bloodwine or whiskey," the Klingon said, not unexpectedly. "This promotion is because it is deserved, but also because of your command of the mission. This is your chance at... proving yourself, 'Commander. Fail, and you will be reduced in rank to Ensign. I guarantee it."

Iniara nodded solemnly, moving to the replicator. "Failure is not an option for me, sir. I have no desire to experience such a demotion again." As she spoke two sturdy mugs of steaming Klingon coffee materialized. She handed one to Kol, then slid back into her seat. "I have already spoken with several of the officers assigned to this mission. They have been made well aware of its importance."

"And what have you spoken to them of?" Kol was rather enjoying not being the one to plan this mission. And if, on Cheron, they met others in battle.. well, hell. This was practically a vacation.

"I have emphasized the diplomatic importance of this mission, and the need for patience, discretion, and good judgment in all matters. This is not so much a request by the Rihannsu to provide aid to the colony as it is a test. A test of our skills as Starfleet officers, of our diplomatic sensibilities, and of our own personal character," she stated. "The presence of at least five distinct groups on Cheron makes the situation especially precarious, and I will not have this mission fail because of an officer's carelessness or incompetence."

"A very concise summary." He nodded, pleased by her accurate reading of the situation. "When have you scheduled briefing and departure for?"

"A briefing for all personnel involved has been scheduled for 0800 hours tomorrow. Senior members of the team have until then to select their own teams, and to package and inventory their supplies in preparation for Rihannsu inspection." Iniara wasn't overly pleased with the idea; the inspection process would likely cause a good deal of confusion and repacking which would inevitably lead to delays. As the Operations Chief of such a large vessel, organization and punctuality were always on her mind. "Our Warbird will arrive at approximately 0900 hours, at which point the inspection and loading process will begin. Departure is currently scheduled for 1200 hours."

"Do not worry about the Romulan "inspections"." Kol snorted. He steadfastly refused to use the politically-correct term "Rihannsu". "We will still have.. advantages."

"Still," he concluded, standing after he finished his raktajino in a single gulp. "You seem to have everything in hand. Good day, 'Commander."

"Thank you, sir." She stood once more. "I will keep you updated as necessary."

"The Slavers" Part II

Corporal Falkor Vox

Lieutenant JG Nieca Rey'ol

Continued from "The Slavers" Part I...

*****

The Present: Stardate 60407.05, 29 May 2383

Command level, IHV Thunder of Victory

Kal gripped the railing, steeling herself for yet another victory, one that would assure her command of the Light of Vindication. But, before she could issue the order to strike, a strange blue-white glow began to envelope the bridge. In moments, the Thunder of Victory was shaking like a Sherv beast in its death throes.

Kal didn't even have time to feel the dread rise as Bef bellowed in rage:

"Slavers!"

*****

The Past: Stardate 47041.47, 16 January 2370

Ferasa, Cait

The false-sleep induced by the containment unit allowed Nieca to dream. Forced into a passive state of rest for the first time in a very long while, the Caitian dreamed of happier times and places.

Ferasan summers were always hot and humid, the air feet heavy and thick to Caitian lungs. The torpid heat induced a lackadaisical attitude among the felinoids--work slowed and families preferred to lounge at home. Because of this, it was Nieca's favorite time to come home on a holiday.

Thhhhwwwfffphhhrahrah...Ka-BOOM!

The toddler perched on Nieca's knee crashed his toy air-cruisers together on the kitchen table, and, judging by his reaction, he seemed quite pleased with the imaginary explosion that had just occurred.

"Tell me about her first word," Rey'ol asked, a sad smile crossing her lips.

"Didn't I send you the holo-record of it?" the female Caitian sitting across the table from Nieca furrowed her brow in thought as she shifted the toddler sitting in her lap from one leg to the other.

"Of course you did, Nania, but I wanted to hear it from you."

Nania was Nieca's younger sister, thin-faced and soft-spoken. Their mother had always said Nania was born 'without wings', and, because of this, she was destined to remain home while Nieca and Sheea--their older sister--were meant to go out into the world. Nieca had always pitied Nania's fate: spinster and den-mother. When Nieca joined Starfleet and had to leave her beloved children at home, however, she was thankful that it was Nania who was raising them.

"Oh, well let me see," Nania looked down at the little girl that sat in her lap. The toddler colored a picture, mumbling to herself while the adults spoke. She was a stark contrast to her brash and noisy brother as he played with his air-cruisers.

"It happened last month. I was going over shapes and colors with them and several of the other children, and when I held up the color red, she shouted it out with great pride! For the next week it was the only thing she would say to me: 'Red! Red! Red!'," Nania mimicked proudly for her sister.

"I wish I could have been there," Nieca said with a faint frown, hugging the little boy-cub in her lap. He merely screamed in protest while reaching for the toy he had been separated from.

"Don't be sad, Sister. We are all so proud of you and the work you do. A divorced woman making something of herself; it is very admirable!"

"Mommy," the girl in Nania's lap looked up at Nieca. "Done!" She pushed the drawing towards Rey'ol. It was a picture of a shinkha grazing on green grass while an oversized yellow sun loomed several inches above its out-of-proportion head.

"Kira!" Nieca beamed. "This is beautiful!" She looked down at the little boy. "What do you think of your sister's drawing, Romulus ?"

The little boy in her lap opened his mouth to speak...

*****

The present: medical hold, IHV Thunder of Victory

The two nude, fur-covered forms floated silently in their liquid-stasis units as the world outside shook and rocked with the violence of the Kzinti attack. The medical and security personnel had already manned their respective battle-stations, leaving only a single guard to watch over--what the Hydran doctors had come to call--the caskets.

The guard, too distracted by the Longclaw's attack, failed to notice the steady climb in one of the tank's brainwave scan indicators. It was a gradual rise, it didn't even raise any alarms at first. There weren't any outward signs, either. The strange, black-furred wolf-creature suspended in the pinkish nutrient fluid hardly even twitched--only a few small muscle spasms rippled through its massive arms.

Beep!

The graph spiked, this time tripping the computer's alarm. Though the guard knew nothing about the complex stasis machinery, she was aware these captives were very important to both Qasar Kal and the Queen's War Council project. If anything went wrong with them on her watch, the Qasar would probably have her head--literally.

Qui'Mev Aj'Bi'Anu moved to activate the commlink on her central wrist, then stopped. Although aware of her responsibility to report the scanner malfunction (after-all, what else could it be?), she also knew that it wouldn't be wise of her to bother her Gi during a Code First battle situation. Especially concerning such a trivial variance. No, she could handle whatever this...development, was. Beside, Gi'Meshkesh G'V' Ur would most likely commend her for handling the situation on her own during the battle crisis.

Boom!

The deck rippled below the Qui's tripodal legs, causing her to stumble forward and crash into the wolfine creature's trasluminum case. The guard grunted, pushing herself back off the case with two arms, while the third reached up to rub at her now-bruised beak. Uttering a curse, she spat out a sticky glob of orange blood from her bit tongue, landing it on the glass of the creature sleeping within.

Filthy beast, she thought with disgust. Oh, if only she could have the luxury of being suspended during this tedious journey Qasar Kal had taken the crew of the Victory on. Then, she could simply wake up and find herself returned to Hydra, her mate and children there to greet her triumphant return from her important mission. Maybe, she'd even be awarded another breeder, or even better, another male to mate as her own and build her own clan with.

Creeeeeaaaaaak...BANG!

Her daydreaming was cut short by another violent tremor, tilting the deck under her legs. Instantly, she felt the deep-pit nausea of weightlessness--the Kzinti weapons must have knocked out the grav-generators!

Helplessly, the Hydran guard tumbled, clawing at empty air in vain attempts to catch something to anchor herself to, her back leg brushed against the pod, pushing it away from its elaborate tubes and plugs. Floating past the felinoid female's partially-detached tank, Anu managed to grab hold of the frame of the Lupine prisoner's control panel. Steadying herself in the zero-G, she reached again for her commlink. Although Damage Control was probably aware of the gravity loss, it was still her duty to report it to the proper watch officer. Tapping the wrist device once with her free hand, she lifted it to her maw while quickly forming the report in her mind.

"Qui'Mev Anu to Damage Control," she spoke into the tiny transceiver. As she waited for a reply, her rightmost eye caught another spike on the caniloid creature's monitor. Better report that, as well, she sighed to herself.

"Qui Anu, this is Gral'Mev Jin. Report," the watch-commander barked in reply.

Snap! Pop!

Nieca's pod, already looming out of its partially-detached wall receptacle, began to pull and tug at its wiring, forward momentum building. Anu tried to steady it, but in the zero-G, she instead accidentally pushed against it once more, giving it the final thrust it required to break free.

BEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Rey'ol's stasis machine flat lined as its wires snapped.

The Qui'Mev watched in dread as the tank began to drain its sticky pink fluid into the gravity-free room. The female Caitian inside began to thrash and claw at her face, choking and gagging on the fluid that began filling her windpipe.

Anu's attention was ripped from the ruined stasis pod when the monster in the other tube began fidgeting as well. Her beaked jaw dropped in amazement as powerful contractions rippled through the raven-furred alien's powerful arms and chest. Realizing that Jin was still waiting for her reply, she hurriedly tripped over her words. "G-Gral Jin, we...we have lost--"

Beep, Beeeeeep, BEEEEEEP!

The Qui was cut off by the tank's display issuing a sharp warning. Immediately, she focused all three of her eye-stalks on the unit's status display. Oh no, she thought as she deciphered the display's readout.

Thump!

With both horror and awe, her eyes shifted to the transluminum casing, staring at the spider web cracks that the huge, clawed hand just made in the casing.

It was waking...

"Qui Anu! Report!" her commlink buzzed.

She ignored it, though, too caught up with the spectacle emerging before her, like the mythical Hyl'Tok monster from the depths of the Hydran seas. A blood-curdling scream was the last thing Watch Commander Gral Jin heard from Anu's comm-link before the channel went dead.

From within the tank, the thing's eyes slowly opened. In petrified fascination she floated, transfixed by the Lupine's dark, red eyes.

It snarled, then lunged...

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