"The Tale's Missing Page"

Lieutenant Saul Bental, Expedition leader
Ensign Artim
Turan Trelar, juvenile Quentite "ambassador" - assigned to engineering
Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter
Ensign Eytan
Ensign Running Tree (written by Lori)
Ensign Aristi Ferguson, Flight Control/resident archaeologist (Written by Kat)

"We should reach the Challenger in about twenty minutes, according to the driver.", Saul added. "We're the first Federation representatives to see her after her original crew's... demise. You're familiar with the story?"

Running nodded, "Sad story."

Eytan, who was sitting across from Artim, looked up from the PADD he was reading, his gaze falling on Lieutenant Bental. "Well, at the risk of sounding like an uneducated boor, I'm not all that familiar with it," he admitted. "What happened?"

"Radiation poisoning. Among other things," came an abrupt answer from the back of the vehicle. Her unbound hair whipping wildly in the wind, Aristi Ferguson turned her attention away from the surrounding landscape and toward Eytan.

"Challenger and Devoras were the last two ships remaining in the battle. They were both beat up pretty bad. Somehow...I can't remember the precise cause, but somehow Devoras hit Challenger's weapons hold just right... they didn't have many torpedoes left, but what they did have..." She paused, making a gesture with her hands that was meant to convey an explosion. "Anyway. With their weapons and engines pretty much gone, the captain had no choice but to use the ship as a battering ram." Here she balled her hands into fists and knocked them together, then stretched her hands toward the floor of the vehicle, imitating two vessels falling from the sky.

"... in one of the more questionable maneuvers of that entire war.", Saul contributed from his shallow pool of knowledge about 22nd. century tactics.

"A lot of people survived the crash. The problem is..." The Cardassian pilot crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her feet, her voice getting quieter. "They were still using atomic weapons back then. When Devoras hit the weapons hold, it released a lot of radiation...the closer someone was to the explosion, the worse the effects were. Some of them died almost instantly, for some it took minutes. Some survived longer, but there was nothing to treat them with, so...there was nothing anybody could do."

Eytan frowned slightly, nodding as he took the story in. He agreed with Bental; perhaps ramming the Devoras wasn't the proper move, but it was difficult to question it now, two centuries after the fact.

"... and that's why I asked Doctor Mathieson to give us preventive radiation treatment.", Saul commented. "We also have lightweight radiation protective gear in store, but orbital scans indicated that the radiation is now below hazardous levels."

Artim cleared his throat and somewhat glared at Saul, "I may not be wearing teal anymore Lieutenant, but you might remember I am still a doctor too."

One of Eytan's eyebrows shot up at that, and he shook his head, chuckling under his breath. Despite their differences in stature, Artim and himself seemed to have a fair bit in common, both having been former medics turned security officers. He felt the same as Artim did, but unlike the diminutive Miran, he didn't feel the need to complain about it.

"Point taken.", Saul said sternly. He then faced the Cardassian ensign. Though still extremely rare, Cardassians in Starfleet seemed to draw less attention and hostility than they did half a decade ago. "Sorry for jumping in - please go on."

"A few survivors actually made it off the vessel, only to have a final showdown with the crew from the Devoras who had also survived. But ultimately, nobody from either ship was left alive." Her voice trailed off and she looked around the cabin, realizing that all eyes were now on her, and that she had been talking for quite some time. If it was biologically possible for her, she would have blushed. "Sorry. I did some research on this wreck in school."

"Please, don't be sorry," Eytan replied, offering the Cardassian a grateful smile. "I'm always happy to learn more about your quadrant's history."

Till now, Turan listened closely to the Cardassian's explanations. There was something - a rather unimportant looking part of the story which was bothering him. Call it the pupil's obligation to challenge the teacher or simply curiosity ...

A Quentite hand was lifted up against the pale blue Cheron sky. "If nobody of the crews survived long enough to tell the story ... how do we now?" asked Turan.

"Ship's logs were almost completely destroyed, but enough remained that Starfleet was able to piece together what happened," Aristi explained. "Several parts of the story are pure conjecture though; I hope we can gather some conclusive evidence while we're out here. It would put some of the controversy to rest."

"These people need their stories told." Running Tree added solemnly. An ancient aura radiated from him as he closed his eyes, lowering his head, as if feeling the spirits of the dead.

8-ball bit her lip to keep from responding to that. Part of her was just feeling snarky because Running Tree was sort of an ex-boyfriend, and you always wanted to sound smarter than them. But she also didn't agree with him---the dead were dead. They didn't care whether their stories were told. The living didn't care either, most times, because it was easier to make up something that fitted whatever notion of history they liked best. But 8-ball didn't say anything because she knew no one would agree, and getting into a debate was the last thing this mission needed.

"The wreckage of the Challenger remained untouched until this day.", Saul noted, smiling at the Cardassian flight controller. "The reports say that the main computer core containing all of the logs was annihilated, but perhaps we can find some more hints while exploring it. Come to think of it, we might actually be noted in some history book as the first Federation representatives to see the ship after its demise."

~I doubt it~ 8-ball thought. ~History usually only remembers those who tragically died. And even when She remembers others, it's only the names that are left behind. The people are gone. Their spirit is gone. No one remembers the little things~

8-ball didn't say that either, though. Who said she couldn't learn discretion? Instead, she tried to lighten the mood, since that was sort of her gig. "And here I thought I'd only make history as the most un-Vulcan half-Vulcan you ever did see," 8-ball said. "How cool."

Running Tree opened his eyes from his respectful moment of silence for the dead. He looked at 8-Ball in a way that said he wasn't too surprised, but was still a bit not-too-happy she took it so lightly.

Ignorant of the tension between his team's two science officers, Saul flashed a grin at 8-Ball and grabbed the ladder that led to the roof of the driver's cabin. He climbed briskly, and sat on the single bench next to the lone person that was there since they left the camp.

"She's just around that ridge, isn't she?", Saul asked the Reman guide.

The Reman slowly turned to face Saul, as if it was the first time he noticed there were people on the hovercraft other than him. For a moment, Saul was uncertain that the man carried a universal translator with him, until the Reman silently gestured forward with his hand.

Saul tracked the two raised fingers with his eyes, and indeed - they pointed to a rolling hill the hovercraft was coming around, and beyond that hill the gigantic hull of the Challenger was half-buried in the dust, like a whale swept ashore.

"It is known among my people as an Omen of bad fortune.", The Reman suddenly spoke. "I was the only one who did not refuse to escort you, since I am old."

Running spotted it and sighed sadly, "Will be buried, gone from visible existence in time." He began to gather his equipment.

Turan got up, walked over to the railing and glanced at the wreck. The right warp nacelle was gone so was the wing once connected both nacelles. There were phaser marks and bruises on the upper side of the saucer section. Although there were even holes in the pale gray hull none was large enough to be called an extensive hull breach. If there was one, it had to be on the lower side of the saucer now buried by the sand. The Challenger looked much smaller than the Galaxy - a third of 'old lady's' lenght, the tall Quentite guessed. Nevertheless the giant wreck semi-glossy shimmering in the Cheron sun left a deep impact on him.

"She doesn't look as bad as I expected from what I found in the database. This wreck looks almost intact." commented Turan. "From what I saw on Trill I would have searched for pieces of debris not for a vessel any engineer would feel challenged to get back to space."

8-ball had to agree. "She could look a lot worse," she conceded. "Then again, a lot of things don't look too bad from the outside."

8-ball thought about the people who had died inside the ship, how their bodies must have looked, after radiation, after rotting. "They say it's what's on the inside that counts," she said softly as she stared at the ship. Then she straightened and raised one eyebrow as she looked at the wreckage.

"Can't wait to take a look," 8-ball said dryly as she looked over at Saul. "So how we handling the search? Split into teams or pairs or flying solo?"

The Dutchman's face popped up from the cabin's roof's railing. "I got a PADD in the cabin dividing us to teams of one to three people, and the sections to search. If you have any insights, tell me - you ARE the Science chief after all."

He said something else that 8-Ball couldn't hear, and the Reman next to him grunted. He probably didn't think that a comment like 'Even when you're somber.' was funny.

8-ball thought about sticking her tongue out at Saul and decided against it. The Reman guy was looking close to homicidal, and she didn't feel like getting murdered just yet. Instead she said, "Am I Science Chief? I almost forgot. No, I don't have any particular insights, I was just curious."

Then she stuck her tongue out at Saul anyway. . .she just couldn't help herself. . .but thankfully neither he nor Mr. Somber Reman Mystery Man of Unhappiness was looking.

She returned back to the group, to tease Artim, glare at Running Tree and amuse the rest, until the hovercraft finally reached its destination. Together, she and the rest of the team began to unpack the equipment, and prepared to explore the Challenger and, hopefully, find the missing page in its sad tale.

"Tick, Ticking Away"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineering

She was in combat mode. She also felt an imense sense of fear at first as her hands shook a bit holding the scanner over the panel. Eventually, she got into the job and scanned as fast and as accurately as she could. Her jaws were clenched tight as she concentrated, but also thoughts roamed subconciously through her mind.

As the adrenaline rushed, it was Naranda's first instinct to lash out; to fight. But that wasn't her job here. How she had to fight here was to find a bomb or whatever was booby trapped. Her nerves were a bit shaky from keeping her mind on the mental task where it was her body that wanted to take over.

But what would she do? Kick a console? The thought crossed her mind several times. But she went back to cursing under her breath. And sighing in relief after checking something and it came out clean and resisting the urge to check it again and again in case she missed it. There were other things to check and time was ticking away by the second.

Still, things felt incredibly edgy and things would feel so until this thing was found. Nothing would feel safe even after. There was no telling where the clone would had put anything to be set off by who knows what. Deep scanning every system would take time and may be too late by the time they got to it. Damn original wasn't much help either. They may have the same DNA, but the original still wasn't here when the clone did her sabotage, nor did they have some telepathic connection. As far as Nara knew anyway.

She swallowed a lump as she thought of Saia. Once again she seriously considered sending her to live with her grandmother. She figured that would really damage Saia though. Damage or death. But it was Saia's choice in the end. She knew Saia was strong but Nara didn't think she could bare losing her, and worse, all because she held on to her when she could had lived elsewhere. Somewhere safer. Somewhere Saia could feel the ground and feel the air and hear birds and feel the rain.

She reminded herself that nowhere was any safer than another. Saia almost lost her life when the ship crashed on Trill. That was out of nowhere; unexpected. That could happen anywhere. In all logic, not counting statistics, Saia was as safe on a starship as she was on Trill or anywhere else. And of course Nara had an unhealthy idea that only she was capable of keeping Saia safe.

Nara also wondered where Saul was. She didn't bother to ask where the mission would send him, but she doubted he had to deal with ticking time bombs.

Nara didn't know why she wanted to take it out on O'Shea. She never met this O'Shea before, so she didn't feel as fooled as the others, but she felt the need to take out her anger at the clone on this woman. Nara knew this O'Shea was broken. She didn't know the details of what the woman endured, but Nara was too angry to care. She looked like the woman who threatened the safety on the ship. Who threatened Saia's security. Nara promised to keep Saia safe. And this damn redhead was making it a hell of a job at the moment.

She suddenly hit a panel with the heel of her hand as she growled. The scan was taking too long.

Time was ticking fast.

[Backpost: Occurs en route to Cheron.]

"The Briefing" Part 1

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, Chief of Operations/Team Leader
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil, Asst. Chief Counselor / Diplomatic Specialist
Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer
Second lieutenant Branwen London, XO and psychologist Furies
Ensign Robert Mathieson, Medical Officer
Commander Kol, First Officer

with

Riov Khellera t'Kalderak (NPC), Commanding Officer, IRV D'Decius
erei'Riov Colius tr'Vrentath (NPC), Executive Officer, IRV D'Decius
T'Moran (NPC), Junior Archaeologist, National Institute of Science

Location: Main Conference Room, IRV D'Decius

The Main Conference Room of the D'Decius, like nearly every conference room on nearly every Warbird in the Rihannsu fleet, was a simple, practical affair. A single monolithic table dominated the room, surrounded on all sides by austere chairs covered in a somber fabric. Covering one entire wall was a quintet of viewscreens, all but one of which was currently blank. The wall opposite was composed entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, offering all occupants of the room an uninterruped view of warp space.

One by one, the senior members of Galaxy's away team filed in, followed by the D'Decius' senior commanders. Riov Khellera t'Kalderak, carrying herself with all the grace befitting a woman of her station, seated herself at the head of the long table. Her second in command, the newly minted erei'Riov Colius tr'Vrentath, positioned himself at her right hand.

Khellera appraised her surroundings silently, methodically. Her cold gaze swept the room, settling in turn on every object and person in it. Unlike many of her kind, the seasoned veteran of many wars and conflicts rarely displayed outward emotion. Khellera's outward appearance often made Vulcans jealous, but on the inside she was Rihannsu through and through.

Therefore, it was either a very good or very bad sign when, upon noticing the Bajoran female from Galaxy taking the seat immediately to her left, the Riov sneered almost imperceptibly.

It was at that moment that Counselor Elessidil knew what they were up against from the diplomatic perspective. Romulan pride was no small hurdle to overcome, and from his seat to the left of tr'Vrentath, the Betazoid caught the Riov's reaction toward Iniara immediately. If that was her reaction to the away team's leader at first glance, he could only imagine what would come out of her mouth when things got tense, as they inevitably would. Brian threw a subtle glance of caution toward Iniara. It would of course have been much more convenient to communicate with her directly through telepathy, but the Romulans weren't the only ones he'd done his homework on. Because of her past and undoubtedly some very serious deliberate choices, the Lieutenant was not in the habit of using her telepathic abilities. As inconvenient as it would be, the counselor respected that choice.

Branwen entered fairly quickly after this, and being one of the most junior officers present she took the seat furthest from the brass. Her body language spoke of a respectful listening stance, and yet her curious eyes did not miss any thing that was going on inside the room. Privately she fervently wished she could have placed some Marines at the back just in case.

Before she finished making herself comfortable on the chair, she felt someone touching her shoulder. Looking up, she managed to catch a glimpse of Saul's face as the latter passed by her and proceeded toward the other end of the conference room.

She blushed slightly, Bental still had that effect on her. She tried to hide it though, it was nobody's business but her own.

The Tactical chief took a vacant chair close to Iniara, leaving a single chair between them- Kol's. He placed the paper notes he brought along on his thigh, and balaced the ink pen on it. Iniara asked him to back her up when it comes to dealing with the Romulans, but doing so out loud would make her look weak or incapable in their critic eyes. Passing paper notes, as any 20th century president could tell you, was an excellent way to counsel someone in diplomatic meetings just like this one. Discrete, yet efficient.

Kol took his seat with an uncharacteristic quietness. Not that he was unnoticed. After all, seven foot tall Klingons in a Starfleet uniform hardly go unnoticed marching about a Romulan vessel. He was quite certain at least one centurion had soiled himself at the sight. Or perhaps he merely had less-than-regular bathing habits, Kol was uncertain. Romulans stank so much it was hard to tell. Not that the humans smelled much better. While many of his people utterly despised the Romulans, it really wasn't so in his case - no matter what impressions he may have given others. Truhfully, he found them to be worthy adversaries, if not always honorable. Still, if everyone was honorable, it wouldn't be such a prize to the Klingons.

What he truly expected to be difficult in this mission was the fact that he wasn't in command of it. Though he was sure she had no idea of the depth of his respect for her, Kol thought a great deal of the young Lt. Commander Tarin. She would be a worthy commander - if she allowed herself to be. That would be of primary importance to him here.

The expression on the face of Galaxy's medical representative was one of sublime truth... that he'd prefer to be performing proctology exams on a swarm of constipated Horta than attend this particular meeting with these particular people. Doctor Mathieson had nothing against Romulans, or Remans, or Klingons, - indeed, his medical skills at xenobiology had saved the lives of many of each species over the decades.

What made the diminutive Englishman uncomfortable was the feeling of utter cold that descended on his soul as he entered the room. The air was thick with an icy feel of fear mixed with an overly generous amount of cold loathing. Seeeing the cold eyes of Riov Khellera t'Kalderak fall upon him, the physician wondered how difficult the old habits of the various leaders would make his job.

Thankfully, the soothing of egos wasn't his concern - he was allowed the relative luxury of being allowed to concentrate on tending the sick and wounded, and prayed that there wouldn't be many of either. Nodding respectfully to the Riov, Mathieson took his seat.

Iniara met eyes with each member of her team as they entered. For the first time she was aware of how loudly the blood was beating in her ears, the pace of her heartbeat much faster than normal. She couldn't believe how nervous she was. And for what? It wasn't like this was the first life-or-death situation she had ever dealt with.

Maybe that was the problem. It wasn't life-or-death; at least not how she was accustomed to it. Iniara might have been committing career suicide right here and now depending on how she played this, but there was a very low chance of her actually losing her life anywhere in the vicinity of this huge, black table.

No, it was fear of the unknown, she decided at last. And she wasn't about to let that get the best of her. Straightening her posture she turned to her right, giving the Riov a respectful nod. "Riov t'Kalderak, if--"

"You may begin your briefing," the Rihannsu woman interrupted, the smooth alto of her voice easily filling the room. Khellera folded her hands in her lap, turning the full weight of her gaze to Iniara, and almost as an afterthought added, "Lieutenant Commander."

[Backpost: Occurs en route to Cheron.]

"The Briefing" Part 2

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, Chief of Operations/Team Leader
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil, Asst. Chief Counselor / Diplomatic Specialist
Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer
Second lieutenant Branwen London, XO and psychologist Furies
Ensign Robert Mathieson, Medical Officer
Commander Kol, First Officer

with

Riov Khellera t'Kalderak (NPC), Commanding Officer, IRV D'Decius
erei'Riov Colius tr'Vrentath (NPC), Executive Officer, IRV D'Decius
T'Moran (NPC), Junior Archaeologist, National Institute of Science

Location: Main Conference Room, IRV D'Decius

"You may begin your briefing," the Rihannsu woman interrupted, the smooth alto of her voice easily filling the room. Khellera folded her hands in her lap, turning the full weight of her gaze to Iniara, and almost as an afterthought added, "Lieutenant Commander."

Kol's eyes narrowed as he saw the Romulan's disrespect towards Iniara so evident. So that was how it would be, would it? Very well, then. He subtly bared his teeth in anticipation of the challenges this mission would bring. Kahless had been generous - it seemed there would be plenty of conflict to entertain a proper warrior.

"Thank you," Iniara replied in as even a tone as she could muster, then returned her focus to her fellow officers. "As I'm sure you are aware, we will be arriving in the Cheron system within a matter of hours." She spared a glance to the center viewscreen, currently displaying a map of the sector of space in which they were travelling. Cheron was represented by a white dot near the top right of the screen, slowly getting closer to the green Warbird icon at the center of the map. "The purpose of this briefing is to provide a--"

Before she could finish her thought, the double doors nearest the head of the table swished open, admitting a slightly disheveled Rihannsu male in civilian dress. He carried a number of padds in varying sizes and what appeared to be large-format printed documents folded haphazardly under his arm.

"My apologies, Riov." The man's too-long hair flopped back and forth as he bowed repeatedly to the woman.

"T'Moran." Khellera said his name almost as if it was a curse. "You may take your seat." She held out a hand, indicating an empty chair at the far end of the table-- as far from her as he could possibly get. Then, without further pause, "You may continue, Lieutenant Commander."

The Klingon executive officer of the Galaxy stifled down a chuckle. Then he started to wonder why he was bothering - maybe the manners of these Federation people were beginning to rub off on him. What a disturbing thought.

In the back of her mind, Iniara wondered if the woman would ever call her anything but 'Lieutenant Commander'. Probably not, and it wouldn't make much difference in the situation anyway. "As I was saying," she continued, putting the strangeness of what had just happened out of her mind, "the purpose of this briefing is to provide a final opportunity for us to go over the operational readiness of the relief mission, and to avoid any problems once we arrive."

In all her years running the daily Operations briefings she had never been this formal; now she knew why. What she really wanted to say was something along the lines of "everyone good? got what you need?" but that would hardly seem like proper protocol. But rather than continuing in that line she instead looked down the table at the one person who looked rather like she felt. "Doctor Mathieson, could you please give us a quick overview of your plans for delivering medical aid to the colonists?"

"All's good, ma'am", Mathieson replied, brideling under his best behavior. "In addition to the basic medical supplies on board, we've put together everythin' needed fer a small field hospital. It's pretty basic, but absolutely functional for pretty much everything we'll need barrin' a major catastrophy. We'll be able to treat most major physical trauma, and stablize what we can't. There's a lab station fer two fer dealin' with pathogen an' disease. Th' power cell an replicator should be good fer a month - we can squeeze it to three at least with engineerin' support. 'Cause Cheron's still slightly hot as far as radiation goes, I've bulked up on stock of Kelotane, Inaprovaline, Hyronalin an Arithazine fer radiation sickness - but that's th' easy bit. Th' hard part'll be dealin' with th' cell cycle damage fer those who've suffered prolonged radiation exposure - cancer. Many'll have experienced massive loss o' leukocytes, harmin' their immune systems an' greatly increasin' the chance of secondary infections."

Seeing some of the confused faces around the table, the Englishman decided on a quick summary. "We've put together a band-aid solution t' prevent further harm an ease sufferin'. We can't stop the radiation, or people gettin' hurt, but we'll look after both very well- no worries."

"And," Kol supplied, since he was functioning as the security leader of this expedition, "should there be any.. interference, we will be sufficiently armed to protect ourselves," he said. And after a moment, added, "And the Romulans."

Saul leaned toward Iniara, behind Kol's back, tapping her shoulder. He passed her a slip of paper. It said 'Most important IMHO - match expectations and objectives with Rommies'.

The Riov's nose wrinkled ever so slightly in reaction to Kol's use of the word 'Romulan'. But before she could correct the Klingon, her first officer chimed in.

"Commander Kol," tr'Vrentath began, inclining his head towards Kol. "I understand that a significant part of your team is composed of Marine units. How are you planning to utilize them?"

Branwen left it to the first officer to explain that the marines already had several missions to perform. She believed firmly in hierarchy and letting senior officers speak first.

"With precision." the Klingon answered simply, leaving it at that.

While they were talking, Iniara took a moment to unfold the paper Saul had passed her, scanning the words a few times. Match expectations and objectives, she thought to herself. As far as she knew, they were matching objectives with the Rihannsu. At least from what they understood. She tapped the arm of her chair lightly, thinking to herself. Perhaps it would be beneficial to do a brief overview of the mission objectives now that everyone was in the same room. At the very least, it would make sure they were all on the same page.

"And what about the Klingons?" t'Kalderak interjected. Next to her, tr'Vrentath assumed a more passive posture, obviously deferring to his commanding officer. "They are causing havoc among our camps, harassing our scientists, and have caused work on the excavation site to slow. What do you plan to do about that?"

Kol's eyes narrowed somewhat dangerously. He might have been less antagonistically disposed towards the Romulans than many of his brethren, but he would not brook insults ot the honor of his race. Still, though Starfleet frowned on Honor duels (tiresomely, like so many other things), the Romulans did not. Perhaps he would be able to kill a few in single combat. It would be a good exercise routine while he was aboard this vessel.

Iniara paused for a moment, letting the silence following the woman's question hang in the air. No doubt this was what Saul was warning her about. The other mission objectives were fairly straightforward-- help the sick and injured, protect the scientists, etcetera. Though, if there was one thing that was going to be a problem, that may even cause this tenuous alliance to fall apart, it was the presence of the Klingons. But they were allies, too. It almost seemed like they were stuck moderating children on a playground. Children that might start a war if they didn't like how they were being treated, but children nonetheless. The whole thing made her head hurt.

When she finally spoke, the Bajoran made sure to choose her words carefully. "The safety of the colonists is of the utmost importance, Riov. Monuments can be rebuilt and equipment replaced, but once a life is extinguished it can never be brought back. Which is why our Security and Marines will be focused on protecting the colony, as well as determining the true nature of these attacks."

"True nature of these attacks?" The sound of an open fist contacting the table's surface drew attention to the opposite end of the table. T'Moran huffed loudly before continuing. "We know the true nature of these attacks! The Klingons are here to undermine our work! They mock us with their laughter and...and their blood wine...and," by now he was waving his arms around his head, trying hard to grasp at a word that just wouldn't come, "and, whatever!"

"I agree with T'Moran," t'Kalderak replied tonelessly, though the icy expression she gave the archaeologist suggested she was anything but pleased with him. "The Klingons must go."

"With all due respect, Riov," Elessidil calmly interjected in an attempt to ratchet down the rapidly increasing tension a little, "this is a joint endeavor. All parties involved are going to have to make a sincere attempt to trust each other, or the mission is doomed to fail before it begins." The Betazoid looked around the table at everyone assembled. "We're all aware of the history that exists between all our peoples, much of it difficult and destructive. It's time to move past that. If we can't agree on that, we shouldn't be here in the first place."

"And I suspect, Riov," Kol also said, quiet despite the timbre of his voice, "that you will not find it easy to make my people depart from anywhere they wish to be." His teeth bared as he spoke, but he refrained from the open taunts. It would not do to ruin Tarin's first command-level briefing, after all.

"In any case," he continued nonchalantly, "were my people the ones attacking your scientists, none of them would be left alive. So obviously, it is someone else."

Saul glared at the bulky Klingon commander. He didn't like people who used intimidation as their default approach for everything. Especially not those of them who dare to stop his own simulations prematurely. Also, since the Klingons were undeniably a dangerous factor in the delicate balance of factions on Cheron, bringing Kol around wasn't probably the best of desicions.

On the other hand, it probably wasn't Captain Henderson's decision at all. Or maybe it was? Maybe Cass wanted to rub Kol in the Romulans' faces as a response for them 'kindly' asking the Captain to divide his crew?

And then another, no less troubling thought crossed Saul's mind. The Klingon commander just referred to the Klingons on Cheron as 'his people'. If things go bad - the way they usually do, if a Galaxy crewmember is in the vicinity - where will his loyalties lie? Won't he override Tarin, take command, and support his fellow Klingons?

The Counselor shared Saul's concerns, giving Kol a look of his own. Brian had just tried to defuse the tension a little; Klingon belligerence wasn't going to help matters.

Khellera observed their unspoken reactions with great interest. One well-placed comment had given her all the information she needed. There was no further reason for her continued presence in this meeting.

"Very well, Commander. The truth will make itself known soon enough," she replied, her voice as level as ever. She then stood, regarding the assemblage one last time. "I have more pressing matters to attend to. You may continue your use of this room in my absence."

And with that, Riov t'Kalderak made her exit, tr'Vrentath following closely behind. In the wake of silence left behind, Iniara became acutely aware of the one remaining Rihannsu presence in the room. Contrary to her expectations T'Moran had not made his own retreat, and now that the Riov was gone he actually seemed to be relaxing. Maybe they could use that to their advantage; maybe they could get some real intel instead of the filtered mess the Rihannsu had been feeding them.

"Doctor T'Moran," she began, doing her best to smile pleasantly. "Please, tell us what you know of the attacks. What you *really* know..."

"storage room diplomacy"

by Turan Trelar, juvenile Quentite ambassador and engineering trainee

erei'Arrain Shirak, NPC - honed by Dru

(OOC: slightly backpost - set prior to our departure on the D'Decius)

Turan scratched his forehead. 'Show your diplomatic abilities.' - That's what his mentor, Lt. Eshe, proposed minutes ago, before she left - left him alone with the Romulan junior officer who seemed to randomly deny pieces of the equipment Lt Eshe had planned to take down to Cheron.

The giant Quentite sat down on the backup generator's transport box and scrolled through the inventory padd. There were several items with a missing tick behind them. None of the items were useful in a military context! Even a portable universal translator was amongst those denied items.

Turan looked up from the padd and glanced at the Romulan. A facial expression which could be called, a devilish smile rushed over the Quentite's face before it went pokerfaced.

A large Quentite hand moved slowly towards the Quentite's transcomm. Settings were changed without being noticed by the Romulan. After the gadget was set to 'incoming only' and 'recording' mode, Turan called the Romulan. "Escusa me?"

Shirak, the Romulan officer, turned towards the rather large alien, and frowned as he spoke. It was obviously Standard, but the accent, one a Terran would describe as a mixture of Spanish and Indian, garbled it to the point that he really had trouble understanding the towering giant.

"Escusa me. Couldya please helpa me?"

Shirak quickly scanned the room, just to make sure that the giant was actually talking to him before taking a step closer, straining to hear him and understand what he was saying.

Turan presented the padd which now showed an inventory written in Quentinarish letters.

"Ordered I was to completa this patchawork. My senora wanna me to filla thoss gaps witha reassong why we cannotake thoss itema witha us."

Shirak's face contorted, his slanted eyebrows lowered, frown lines creasing the gray skin across his forehead.

"Oh yes ... waitaparsec"

Turan laid the padd on the box containing the universal translator. Suddenly the letters changed to Romulan. Probably one or two Quentite fingers had touched the padd - the Romulan didn't notice. The other hand's fingers stroke the trancomm - the Romulan didn't notice either.

"Ok, can you understand better?" asked Turan.

Something resembling what Terrans called a smile danced on the Romulans lips as he nodded once in response. Then it vanished and once again Shirak returned to his cold demeanor.

Turan was content. For the moment he seemed to be in the dominant position.

"My superior officer ordered me to care for the missing pieces of equipment." explained the Turan in friendly but nevertheless formal tone. "May I ask you for the reason why those items were rejected?"

The Romulan lowered his eyebrows, a look of distaste creeping through his normal steely visage. Hours of playing babysitter for Starfleet personnel seemed to finally show there effects. And now to add to his indignation 'they' sent this oversize, something or other that he had never seen before, giant as a replacement player to fall on his nerves! "You may not. Starfleet? Who are you to question my decisions?" he asked annoyed eyeballing him.

"Oh sorry," replied Turan. "I didn't introduce myself yet. I am Ambassador Trelar of Quentin, temporarily assigned to the engineering department of the Galaxy. If it makes you feel better, you may call me Turan. May I ask you for your name ... erei'Arrain?"

The Romulan was obviously caught on the wrong leg. He obviously didn't expect his opponent to remain calm and friendly. It was much easier to argue with somebody who shows aggressive tendencies, too.

"Shirak" the Romulan stated flatly, his eyes narrowing on the beast of a man. He was indeed surprised that an Ambassador was assigned to inventory of engineering equipment. Either he was missing something or Starfleet went about issuing the title of Ambassador to all sorts.

"Don't get me wrong, erei'Arrain Shirak. Usually I am the one to carry the equipment so I am rather glad you rejected so many items." explained the acting Quentite ambassador "I don't know why my superior want's to take them. It's not my job to question her decisions. It is not my job to question your decisions either. All I want is to do my part to let the mission run smooth. "

Turan paused to watch Shirak. The erei'Arrain seemed to need time to process what he said. That moment Shirak took breath to reply Turan continued.

"I thought it would look better to present a sensible reason why our superiors ... yours and mine have to sit by candlelight and talk in Klingon language instead of saying: 'erei'Arrain Shirak denied the backup generator and the universal translator without giving a reason."

Again Turan gave Shirak a few moments of contemplation. Deep inside he prayed that Shirak wasn't clever enough to realize he was playing with him by using simple rhetorical tricks he learned at school.

"May I give you an advice?" Turan asked.

The answer would have been 'no' - Turan was sure. So he didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he focused the padd.

"Consider to take some of those items as spare parts. It's not sensible to expose equipment to the hostile environment down on Cheron without reason. If it comes to a technical failure you can show your foresight by supplying a fresh replacement."

Turan scrolled through the inventory written in Romulan letters. He was not able to read any word but that wasn't important. There was nothing else to do now than to wait for an answer. Anything else was in the Romulan's hand.

Nerve-tearing seconds went by before Shirak reacted.

"I will give your idea some thought" Shirak replied snatching the padd from Turan, he had indeed been caught out by the new comer. He turned on his heals, sharp, military precise. He paused once, looking back over his shoulder at the 'Ambassador', "Wait here." he instructed, "I will have another look over this. You will receive my answer in ten minutes. And Starfleet ...that answer will be my final one." He hissed, leaving before the giant replied with any more requests that would take up his valuable time.

Turan watched the Romulan leave and then sighed.

"Temptation Waits "
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Elaithin Jii, pilot, SS Auriga
Major Corran Rex, CAG, USS Galaxy

OOC: Miranda folks, this takes place before "Odyssey 4.x - The Detective"

---------------------
SS Auriga
En Route to Mosanalea
---------------------

It was ship's night on the good ship Auriga.

Elaithin Jii, former Starfleet Captain, former Starfleet Security officer, former resistance fighter, and former (and current) pilot of the "independent trading vessel" SS Auriga sat in the empty ship's mess, staring at temptation.

Nearly a full month ago, his wife, Colonel Kit Jordan-Elaithin of Starfleet Intelligence, had sacrificed her life to save his ship, the Miranda. In his grief, Elaithin had walked away from everything in his life, resigning his commission in Starfleet, and turning his children over to the care of Jordan's parents back on Earth.

He'd scattered Jordan's ashes back at the cliffs on Bajor near his family home, where they'd been wed. And then he'd walked away from his Brother, and the Prophets, too. He had fallen into a cycle of grief and despair, dragging himself through one drunken night in bars on the planet Gyndine to another, until Damon Greyhart, Captain of the Auriga, had forcibly dragged him out of it.

That first night on the Auriga, he'd stopped drinking.

But some nights... some nights that bottle was tempting.

He sat in the dim room now, staring at the full bottle and the empty glass.

Temptation.

"I know you." The words slipped into the room, and into Jii's ears without warning, digging their cold knife-like talons into him with just enough force to be felt past the storm of emotions inside him.

Jii felt a cold, familiar feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck creeped up at the sound of that voice. Some primal, ancestral par of him felt fear at it, but the rest of simply too dead to give a damn.

Instead, he looked to his side to see a familiar face - an officer from the Galaxy, who'd been down to the surface with him back on the Breen mission. "Krieghoff, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Victor nodded. "We met on Breen."

"You're a hard man to forget." Jii noted quietly. "I take it you're the friend Corran brought along?"

"I'm the person he brought along, sir. Whether that means we're friends or not I couldn't tell you. I'm not good at that." Victor walked into the mess and over to the replicator. "I've scanned the room and it's clean. Are you operating undercover?"

"I don't do undercover work anymore, Krieghoff." the Bajoran snorted derisively. "I quit Starfleet."

"Ah." Victor replicated a cup of coffee and took a sip. It was bad, worse than normal replicator coffee, but drinkable. He suspected that the pattern being used was an illicit one and had suffered some degradation while being pirated. Perhaps he would have the chance to make real coffee sometime on the way to dealing with the Major's problems. "Would you care for some coffee, sir?"

Jii chuckled at that, for no reason he could really think of. It was a low, humorless chuckle, but something had struck him as funny nonetheless. "Sure, why not?"

Krieghoff filled the second cup quietly, setting it down in front of the former Captain. Several quiet minutes passed as the two men sat at the mess in the middle of the night, drinking coffee.

Finally, Elaithin broke the silence. "You're not gonna ask why I'm sitting here in front of a full bottle of whiskey at 0300?" he said curiously. Most people, he figured, would. Out of simple curiosity if nothing else.

"No sir." Victor replied tonelessly. "You'll tell me or not. That's your decision to make."

"No uniform, Krieghoff." the Bajoran admonished him. "No, 'sir's here. I'm just a guy."

Victor looked at him for a moment in silence. "People say 'sir' for other reasons than an acknowledgement of rank," he finally observed, the quiet words a bit at odds with the effect of his voice. "Most commonly as a signal of respect for the one being addressed, or as an indicator of a title or grant of nobility." He sipped his coffee. "You do not," he continued, his pale eyes meeting Jii's, "to my knowledge, possess any such title or grant of nobility… sir."

That reeled the Bajoran's head back a little bit. Since he'd gained the rank of a Captain, he'd become accustomed to the respect that rank automatically offered. And at first, he - like anyone - had felt it was deserved. But as time went on, and Jii made more choices, more comprises, and it became harder and harder to sleep at night...

Well, the notion of someone else respecting him for.. him.. wasn't something that'd really entered his thoughts for a long time.

Another few quiet minutes passed, and Jii took another sip of the coffee.

"Well, to answer the question you won't ask, Krieghoff, my wife died. Saved my ship. Went out a hero, in a massive blaze of glory and redemption and a shining example of the dedication to duty that Starfleet prizes so goddamned much." he said bitterly, his face twisting with some fairly unpleasant emotions.

Death. Victor understood that, which made the conversation easier for him. Perhaps not for the man sitting across the table, but that was nothing Victor could control. "That's not what eats at you, though," he said as he set his coffee down on the table. "What is?"

"Because it was supposed to be me," he confessed quietly. He didn't know why this man, this silent killer, made such a good person to unload his soul onto, why he would open p so easily to him, when he hadn't been able to bear the sight of his friends, family, his shi.. his home.. He suspected Krieghoff wasn't accustomed to it, either. But there were things the other man understood that most men never do - and never wish to.

"No," Victor replied, "it wasn't."

"I felt it, Krieghoff." he said with a quiet passion. "I *knew* it. There's moments in your life where things are crystal clear, where you know how things are supposed to be... He trailed off again, the rawness of his pain and loss bubbling back to the surface. "It just wasn't supposed to be *her*. She's not supposed to be gone."

"If it had been your time, sir, then it would have been you that died. As we are talking here, it obviously wasn't your time." Victor considered that for a moment, and decided that it might be too harsh for someone that had lost the One. "I don't know, but I suspect that your wife was, for you, the One. The One who made you whole, the One who completed you, the One who was the part of you that you were born without. If that is true, then I regret that you must suffer such a loss. I also rejoice for you that you found the One, and that you were privileged enough to have the time with her that you did."

The former Starfleet Captain had no vocal response to give to Kreihoff's quiet commentary, though it allowed him a moment of insight into this man he barely knew. Somewhere, Kriefhoff had his One. And he knew who she was, and she wasn't available to him.

Seemed like the two men had more in common than either thought.

"I was asked to speak at a wake once," Victor continued after a moment's silence between the two. "It was an odd experience, not just because most of the people attending would rather it had been me that was dead than the woman who had died, but because none of them seemed to understand what I said." He looked at Jii for a second. "I think, perhaps, that you will. I know your wife only through you, we never met. But for her to have been the One that completed you, I can see her in you. She would have been a good officer. She would have made good choices. One of those choices was to place herself between her ship and the people on it and danger. That was a good choice too, even though it took her from you, because that is what we do: we stand between the sheep we are given and danger, if necessary giving our lives to protect them. I doubt that your wife would have said it that way, but looking at you and knowing what she would have had to be to complete you, then I must believe that she would have understood the meaning, despite the different words." He paused again to blink once, slowly. "She's gone now, and nothing I say will bring her back, will make you whole again in the way that you were before. That isn't what I am, what I do. Instead, I will tell you this: She made good choices, or she would not have been the One for you. Honor those choices by making good choices of your own now. Honor her by making good choices now."

"Yeah." Jii said finally, plunking down the empty coffee cup and giving the whiskey a look. It wasn't so tempting, now. It'd be less so tomorrow. "Workin' on that. Goodnight, Krieghoff."

"Good night, sir."

A few minutes later, Krieghoff was still sitting there as Major Corran Rex, in a rumpled pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt came in yawning. "Man, I hate traveling on a new ship. Always screws up my sleep cycle."

Krieghoff just looked up at him silently, and Corran saw the full whiskey and the other chair, still pulled out. "What'd I miss?"

OOC: This post is very looong, I know, but I think you all will enjoy! The next series of posts will be quicker-paced, and a little shorter. Major props to Laura C. for writing the awesome Rey'ol. Great stuff!

- Matt

*****

"The Slavers" Part III

Lieutenant JG Nieca Rey'ol
Prisoner of War

Corporal Falkor Vox
Prisoner of War

*****

Stardate 60407.05, 29 May 2383

Medical research hold, IHV Thunder of Victory

"Qui Anu! Report!" her comm-link 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...

*****

The past: Stardate 42117.92, 13 February 2365

Joculux, Lycur

"We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your race will adapt to serve our needs. Resistance is futile. We are the Borg..."

From the depth of the hellish night, its scream came, first ragged and splintered, then building, gaining pain and loss to propel it to a wailing cry of rage and terror.

Aaaaoooooooooooowwww!

The howl rent the smoke and blood-heavy air, pure emotion following the frenzy beforehand. How could this have happened to it? It had fought! As best as it could have for one its size and age. Its mothers had fought, It's brave father had fought. And still...

The young pup turned, its bloody-red eyes seeing the movement through the pitch of night. They were coming, it could see the emerald light from their scanners.

It made its move...

*****

The present: War Bridge, Kzinti Battlecruiser Longclaw

Moments of excitement always caused Kull to salivate heavily. As the Longclaw debilitated the crude Hydran ship, he could feel the spittle swelling and pooling in his mouth.

Smack.

The loud, wet sound caused by the excess fluid in his jowels was also a sign to his crew that he was about to speak.

Smack!

"Fir'rre at will!" Kull growled as the ship before them began to crumble. "Make those filthy bugs pay for their destruction of the Saberkeep!"

Say,r're smiled at her Lord's words. Oh yes, she thought with glee. I'll make those bugs pay. This was the ship that destroyed her One's ship, the Saberkeep--killing her mate with the rest of it's noble crew. She mourned him greatly, but now her commander was honorable enough to allow her the retribution that she was entitled by Kzinti law. This day, she knew, she would taste the treacherous alien's orange blood on her tongue!

"Fir'ring, Commanderr'r," she growled through her razor-sharp maw, reaching her long, fingers to the cannon's control panel. "Forr'r my One," she barely whispered as slammed her hand down on the button.

*****

Command level, IHV Thunder of Victory

"We are caught in a reverse-polarizing energy field! We're going to lose major power in two-hundred cycles, Qasar!" Bef reported as he kept each of his eyes on a different systems readout.

Kal, momentarily fazed by the Kzinti's sudden, powerful attack, stood at her command rail, her three arms tightly gripping the metal railing. My ship! My command! her mind wailed in desperation. Obviously, the Kzinti battleship was better equipped than it's smaller cousin they had destroyed two days ago. I must deliver the Queen's experiments intact, she thought. If she didn't, not only would she lose her command...but also her head.

"Prepare the Hellbore," Kal hissed. It was the only chance they had, now. Though the Thunder of Victory was still severely damaged from its last battle, they could, hopefully, get off a single shot with the massive energy weapon.

"Charging firing matrix, Qasar. Solution is locked. Ready to fire in forty cycles," a weapons technician calmly informed.

Good, Kal thought. In 20 seconds, she would be guaranteed her new command. "Ready cannon emitters, and--" she paused, feeling the thrill of the forthcoming victory flow through her veins, "fire when ready."

*****

Medical research hold, IHV Thunder of Victory

Thump.

Thump!

THUMP!

Creeearrrrrrk!

By the Nerru, Qui Anu thought. It's coming... And it was definitely angry. Quickly, Anu reoriented herself, using her three powerful legs to push her body into a perpendicular flight away from the vicious beast's tube. As she sailed away from the terror, her posterior eye caught sight of the other captive, desperately clawing and tearing at its own transparent tomb.

Anu hissed at them, not caring if they were the Sovereign's property. The sooner they were no longer a problem for her, the sooner she could focus on assisting her hive in defending the ship.

In the tube, Nieca's stomach muscles began to retch in response to the thick, pink slime that slid down her esophagus. She tried to suppressed the gagging sensation, but the burning pressure building in her lungs caused her to choke down more of the fluid. The desire to live flooded her mind with sheer panic. As a last act of desperation, she slammed her shoulder into the wall of the tank.

Only a weak, muffled thump was heard in the room.

"Die, gritch," Anu spat at the felinoid from across the room. Gripping the textured wall opposite the tanks, the guard righted herself, facing the drowning Caitian. It was animals like her--like the wretched Lyrans--that had killed her bond-brothers at A'Chul and Recor VI. Although the grey-furred Lyrans were smaller than this female, their resemblance was still strikingly similar. A sick sense of glee filled Aj'Bi'Anu's hearts as she watched the female's heavy breasts heave sporadically as her back arched in an instinctual spasm for air to breath.

If only I could hear its screams, the Qui fantasized.

Thunk!

Crrrrrrack!

Bang!

Anu's morbid joy was cut short by the shattering of the Lupin's enclosure, sending glistening shards of transluminum and viscous, flowing globs of stasis gel tumbling through the zero-G room. "No!" she shrieked, watching as the crimson-eyed monster snaked its powerful arm out of the fist-sized hole it had just punched in the clear casement.

Ka-chunk!

The monster braced itself from within the tank, using its arm on the outside to pull its powerful body into the damaged casing, splintering it even more

Crrrreeeeee...

BANG!

Finally, with an enormous groan and ear-splitting bang, the rest of the weakened transparency exploded, freeing the beast and the rest of its liquid prison.

The loud thumps and crashes resonated through the thick liquid, causing Nieca to opened her eyes for the first time. She made out the blurry form of Vox's arm smashing through the walls of his tank. Her brilliant green eyes went wide with desperate hope. Rey'ol began to smash her fists against her own tank, as a soft, mewling cry for help gurgled out of her.

The few seconds of exertion, though, pushed Nieca's lungs to their limits. Losing control of the lone breath she held, the Caitian reflexively opened her mouth, involuntarily allowing the pink goo to flood her lungs. A thick haze clouded her mind as she tried to scream. Panic set in as all three of Anu's arms let go of the wall at once, instinctively grasping for her disruptor, but--it's not here! Tumbling away from the wall now, the Hydran kicked and flailed, trying to right herself, or grab onto something. Frantically, she kept an eye on the escaping caniloid, while using her other two eyes to scan the room for her disruptor.

Vox's enormous head poked out of the broken stasis tube, his eyes clamping shut at the bright light flooding in from the room. Without his optical overlays, all he could see was blinding-hot shades of white and red. He whimpered ever so slightly at the searing pain, wrenching his eyelids down even tighter over the sensitive eyes. He didn't need to see, though. He could smell the wretched stench of the Hydran--there, off to the left, about 4 meters away. He also could hear Nieca's desperate pounding, just to his right.

He braced his powerful legs against the slippery edges of the container, the transluminum shards cutting into his forefoot's calloused skin. The pain focused him, though. He could still hear the Hydran, hissing and snapping as it tried to regain control of its momentum in the zero-G. Now was his chance.

He shot out of the broken stasis tube, using his right forearm to swing him around to Rey'ol's liquid coffin. Coiling his legs under him, he swung around, just as he was above the tube, his other hand grabbed onto a hold on the side of the tank. Steadied now, he reached down with a foot, feeling the tank's glassy observation port--his eyes were still clenched shut from the overpowering light. No! he thought, panicked. He thrust the side of his massive head to the portal--he couldn't hear her heartbeat anymore!

"Nieca!" He yelled, then cringed in awful pain. The long stasis has rendered his voice barely useable, and the sudden exertion of shouting her name shot white-hot splinters of fire down his throat.

"Get away, beast!"

Vox turned, ears swiveling to the front, locating the voice that had issued from behind him. The strange intonation and intermittent clicking told him that the Hydran must have found purchase on something. He curled his lips, drew back his arm, and rammed it into the Caitian's tube.

CRASH!

Nieca's limbs, however, were going numb as her body began to grow cold. Her movements and thoughts became slow and stupid while her head rolled backwards and slammed into tank's wall, just as Vox's massive fist punched through. The Caitan's panic faded to the calm that arrived just before death.

Feverishly, he punched at the casing again and again, splintering and breaking it off, gouging his hands and arms with the sharp, jagged glass. As his bright red blood flowed down his arm, mixing with the escaping stasis fluid, he gently closed his oversized palm around the back of her neck, cradling her face up to the open hole that his fist had made.

Pulling in a lungfull of air, he swung his face down to hers, the lips of his mouth sealing firmly against hers. Steadily, he pushed the air from him into her, pinching her nose shut with his free hand. "Breathe!" he growled before administering another breathfull.

Anu watched in mixed fascination and horror as the monster tried to revive the diminutive Caitian. Slowly, the Hydran moved along the wall, inching closer and closer to where her disruptor was spinning in a corner of the null-grav room. It was then that she noticed it--beside the Lupin's revival attempts, everything was...quiet. Too quiet. Either one of three things could have happened. They could have destroyed the Kzinti cruiser, but then, the Qasar would surely have announced such a victory throughout the ship. The Qasar (indeed, the whole command level crew) could have been killed by a decisive blow. Or, the worst outcome: they had been incapacitated, and were now being boarded. She had to dispatch of these two prisoners at once, especially if the Kzinti were invading her ship. Slowly, silently, she reached for her weapon...

Ka-ching! Whiirrrrrrrrrr...

Instantly, the gravity was restored, and the 150 kilogram Hydran found herself crashing down to the medical experimentation table below. She landed in a heap, breaking two of her legs on the overhanging equipment carts, while her neck and other limbs sprawled in all direction. She tried to get up, but dizzyness soon overtook her--the large gash on her forehead was oozing bright orange blood profusely. Within moments, her mind turned black as she passed out.

The sudden jolt of 1.8 Gs slammed Vox's massive frame onto Nieca's tube, causing the already-stressed casing to accelerate its spider-webbed splintering.

Rey'ol's body, too, fell back into the half-filled tube, slipping from Falkor's grip. Frantically, he clawed at the jagged transparency, his claws raking huge gouges as he instinctively tried to dig down to her. Realizing that wasn't working, he pulled back, and with both hands, grasped the sharp edges of the transparent aluminum window. Grunting hard, he exerted all his strength as thousands of knives of transluminum glass tore through the flesh of his palms.

Pop!

He repositioned himself, fighting to get at Nieca, clawing desperately at the glass again. In his exertion, he threw back his head and pulled with all his strength.

Aaaaooooooooowwwwwww!

The powerful wail pierced the now-darkened room, its high polytonal harmonic causing several of the assorted vials and specimen jars to burst. The casing vibrated too, finally weakening it to the point that it shattered, dropping the Lupin on top of Nieca. Quickly, he scurried back up, gritting his teeth as he pushed past the pain that flared in his hands and arms. Grabbing her under the armpits, he scooped the diminutive Caitain's lifeless form from its liquid coffin. The smaller body was limp and lifeless in his arms, though, although the warmth of her skin suggested that there was hope for life, yet the loose and uncontrolled muscles of her neck and limbs foreshadowed imminent death.

Clutching her nude form tight against his chest, he carried her to the examining table. Balancing on one foot, he lifted the other, using it as a battering ram to shove Anu's body away. Roughly, he laid Nieca down on the cold metal table. Resting his hand on her forehead, Vox carefully tilted her head back and raised her chin towards the ceiling. He tightly pinched her nose before placing his mouth over hers. With a tight seal ensured, he forced a slow breath into her unanimated lungs. Several breaths passed between themp--every one failing to bring Nieca back to life. Placing his massive hands on her lower chest, Vox pressed his palms into her breastbone...

Hurk!

The sudden compression generated a spark of life through the Caitian's body, causing her to jerk suddenly. Shortly thereafter, she began to cough and gag underneath him. Vox let her head down, letting it roll to the side as she expelled the foul fluid from her lungs. Instantly, she pulled away from his hands and rolled over onto her side, continuing to cough and sputter until she then gagged and vomited over the table's edge.

Vox watched her, pulling his hands back as she rid her lungs of the pink ooze. After she finished she rolled onto her back again, breasts rising and falling heavily as her lungs tried to catch up with her body's need for fresh air. "You are alive, Tabbycat," he growled simply at her.

"You...sound...surprised, Cur..." Rey'ol breathlessly responded, wiping the thick, slimy goo from her brow. "I bet you thought only Terran cats had more than one life."

He ignored her jibe. She was now alive, so he could shift focus to the next task: escape. "Can you stand, cat?" he sneered back at her. "I do not wish to carry you like a cub youngling." A churring growl of amusement followed from deep within his barreled chest.

She sat up on the table and continued to slough away the awful pink mucus from her body. "I'd rather crawl on my belly..." she responded. Nieca slid off the table and attempted to stand. Her thighs trembled faintly as she re-established her equilibrium. "So how do we get off this flying roach motel?" she asked, attempting to ignore the fragile state her body was in.

He watched as the stubborn felinoid drop to her feet, then snorted in amusement as her legs trembled and her tail wavered unsteadily. Your welcome, he thought to himself, averting his gaze from her nude form. Though pleasing to behold, she wasn't worth the compliment. "I am simply a mindless Marine, Lieutenant. And--" he switched his left palm out, extending his razor-sharp, 15 centimeter long fore claws, "know only fighting. You are so smart," he paused, churring again, "you figure the way out."

If looks could kill, Vox would have been dead from the glare he received as Nieca made her way over to the medical room's computer panel. Amused at her faux veneer of control, he watched as her well-manicured fingernails click and slid across the screen at an amazingly fast speed. Do you use those for anything more than combing your own mane? he felt like asking, but instead his tongue.

"It appears, my dumb beast," her lips curled into a Cheshirine grin, as she shot another glare in his direction, “that the Hydran ship is under attack from..." she clicked her tongue, "I can't translate." Nieca’s brow furrowed as she clicked and dragged a box across the screen.

This will be a long escape, the Lupin thought to himself as he watched her finger through the computer's sub-menu's. Maybe it hadn’t been so wise of him to revive her, after all. For a moment, he stared at the naked shape of her form, studying her neck, the muscles of her back and buttocks, and the hypnotizing switch-switching of her long, tufted tail. Useless, he snorted to himself, shaking the trance from his mind. He was wasting time.

"But, it doesn't matter," she cut off his appreciative gazing as one of her hands moved to grip the corner of the computer’s desk for support. "There are escape pods three decks below us."

"Then lead on, Tabbycat--be quick."

"Of course," she responded, her tail curling around one leg. Pausing, she, grabbed a Rihannsu's lab coat to cover herself with, the end of her tail peeking from the coat’s fringe. "And just for reference, Cur, tabby cats are the ones with stripes. As you can tell, from all your disgusting leering--there are no stripes on my body." Nieca bent down and picked up a key card from the broken and bloody Hydran guard on the floor.

“Too bad,” Falkor barely growled under his breath, subconsciously laying his ears back in slight embarrassment at her having caught his wandering appreciation. He shook the concern from his head and retracted his claws, instead following behind her, not bothering to clothe his nakedness--he was much faster and freer when unencumbered with clothing.

Just as they were leaving, his extra-sensitive sight caught hold of the alien text scrolling across the bottom of one of the unbroken screens. Though he wasn't fluent, he could read basic Hydran, especially after all of his experience dealing with them as a member of the old Spectre Team. As Nieca peered cautiously around the open door, he looked closer...

"No," he whispered, understanding the implication of what was named on the screen.

One of Nieca's ears twisted back towards Vox while the other remained locked on the hallway before them. "Kzinti slavers." Her tail began to swish and twitch in agitation. "I can hear them shouting. We’d better hurry, or there will be shackles around our necks."

"Campfire Confessions"

Characters:
2nd Lt Branwen London
XO Furies and staff psychologist

Pilot Paulo DiMillo
Some Position in Vanguard

Cora Dobryin
Chief Intelligence Officer

Private Amy VanDuren
Marine (Written by Stuart)

khre'Arrain (Lt Cmdr) Vaebn
Romulan Marine (Written by Stuart)

FSgt. Thral
Demolitions Specialist

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

Private Michael J. Caboose
ARC/Heavy Weapons Expert, USS Galaxy
--ONPC (Written by Wil)

Lt. (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe - Engineer

Mystery NPC's (Written by Ian)

Rayne Sutea
Marine NPC (Written by Cami)

Branwen used a little water to wash her face. The journey so far had been harsh. The terrain was getting more and more difficult, communication with the base sporadic. She had not thought it would become a problem this early out. Tomorrow they would probably have to go on foot pretty soon. The Lieutenant hoped it would not all be for nothing. So far there have been no sign of life, not even of abandoned signs of civilization. It began to look like this part of the planet was completely uninhabited.

She walked back to the small tents. They had only put up a few which they would share together. No separate tent for the commanding officer. Not that she minded, she was actually beginning to relax and enjoy her role. Somehow with Baile not looking over her shoulder it was always easier. And being away from the ship and very busy made it easier for her to forget about her personal problems.

Lieutenant London began her rounds through the small camp to see how the troops were doing.

Paulo was sitting next to one of the campfires when London walked by. "How goes it?" He asked her.

Branwen smiled. She liked Paulo and besides he was one of her patients. Strange really it was a shift in gear for her to interact with him on a totally different level now.

"So far so good. How are you holding up with the marines, Paulo?"

"I think I may want to kill one or two, but other then that I am doing just fine," he said sarcastically and with a smile. "How are you taking the whole leading role?

"Don't tell anyone but I am beginning to like it more and more." She grinned. "Give them a little time to get used to you. They are okay really."

Bran told him. "Show offs because you are navy."

"Was navy," he corrected her. "Fighter now, so I guess I am a fighter jock, though they don't let me fly fighters except for training. I usually run with the AWACS."

"Do you like it?" He had not come in for a session in a while now. Bran smiled. "Or should we talk about this at another time."

"It was a nice change, but since being suspended from SFI, I haven't had much to do since then so I have been spending my time working on my piloting skills and such. Working on getting fighter certified."

"How much longer until you are? I mean fully qualified?" Bran asked him.

"Depends on when we get back to the ship and I can get back down to working on it."

"So this is really a kind of inconvenience for you, having to be here?" This was turning into a counseling session.

"A little. If I was on the ship I could work on it, but I don't think I would be able to build up the trust. I see the only way of building it back up is going on missions, so I am kind of glad, after a fashion, of getting ordered to come."

Cora was off on some distance away from Paulo to keep things on a professional level during the mission. Briefly she'd conversed with Sutea however the marine had gone in search of London. Overall they were in a situation that wasn't ideal. As an Intelligence Officer, Cora felt a need to study all the data they had very carefully. So far she didn't like the answers and having issues concentrating only made things more complicated.

Standing against a lone outcropping of rock for miles, Vaebn stood looking at the campsite, watching as the soldiers went about their business. He wasn't doing it out of need or the job, but wanted to find a spot where he could rest for a moment. He spied Lieutenant London walking amongst the troops checking how things were going. He couldn't recall the last time a commander had walked among the troops like that. None of his ever did that while he had been around.

"I am glad to hear it, Paulo." Branwen said and now waved as she spotted her friend and colleague Rayna Sutea. "If there is anything you need to talk about during the mission and I'm not busy with marine things, you know where to find me." She finished softly.

Branwen came to her feet and noticed one of the young Marine soldiers throwing up in the bushes just outside the camp. She walked over towards him.

"Are you all right, Kevin?" I know she had recognized him.

The young man tried to come to attention. "I'm fine, ma'am." He said and then fled back to his tent.

Branwen watched him go.

Amy sat at a campfire shivering. She had a double layer of clothing on but it was doing little against the cold. Even when others were wearing a lot less, and did not look cold. Shuffling closer to the fire she briefly felt the warmth before the cold returned with a vengeance. She sneezed, repeatedly and violently.

~This has to be the most miserable planet ever~ she thought as she rubbed her hands together to try and create some warmth. No luck.

She spotted one of the other grunts throwing up in the bushes. ~Ha! At least I aint doing tha...~ She stopped, turned and threw up her lunch all over the dirt next to the fire. ~Damn it to hell and back~

Wiping her hand against her face to clear away any leftovers, she covered the remains of her breakfast with loose dirt and scooted closer to the fire.

~Any closer and I'll be *in* the fire.~

It was a pity that Flatline was back at basecamp with Pops. Amy could have used her services right about now. If there was a medic in the group, they might be able to provide another shot of anti-rad meds. Some thermal blankets wouldn't go amiss either.

"You all right, private?" Branwen asked her. That was the second person she had seen in a short time who did not look very healthy.

"Ma'am, I normally wouldn't say so, but right now I feel like the world is caving in around my ears." She paused as she rubbed her hands together, trying in vain to generate a little more warmth. "If you see the medic, can ya send him my way when he has a moment?"

"Sure, Amy, I will get on it straight away." Bran said, concerned for the young woman.

"No Ma'am, I can wait til he is finished with any urgent cases. Just make sure the doc brings along a spare thermal blanket. Mine isn't helping much." She tried to smile, but failed miserably.

"I will ask. You try to rest a little." The lieutenant said. "Stay close to the fire for now." She determined that the medic should see Amy soon.

After making camp, Thral noticed it was beginning to get chilly around here.

Good thing he'd come prepared with the desert gear he'd kept stashed. The tellarite was used to desolate places like this. Saladin, Mars, Arcus, all were at least as bad as this place. Well, maybe mars was, that lack of an atmosphere can be a pain. However the sand wasn't the only problem right now.

Thral was probably the least frequent visitor to an infirmary in Corps history for someone with his time in, or at least that's what the medical chief at Olympus Mons always told him. It took a lot for the hearty Tellarite to consider himself sick. Right now though, he was beginning to feel...wrong. He didn't show it or say anything but as he made his rounds in his desert poncho, he found he wasn't the only one feeling...wrong. Nausea was nothing for a marine as old as Thral, but for the youngens, it was. Thral wasn't saying anything or even making any visual signs of it however he probably couldn't hide it from the LT.

On the outskirts of the camp the Trill hybrid sat on a rock staring out into the vastness of the landscape. The trip so far had been most uneventful on the engineering front, and therefore the engineer had little to do. She supposed that she could go and help fine tune the communicators and hopefully prove that the 'navy' was just as competent as the hardcore marines, but for the last few hours she had been concentrating on a much more personal goal - not throwing up in front of any previously mentioned hardcore marines!

She wasn't quite sure what exactly had tipped the balance in her stomach, though she could pinpoint when the queasiness had started - bout 15 minutes into the 'drive'. She now had a new, and what promised to be a somewhat colorful, memory of the phrase 'peddle to the mettle'.

There had to be something said about the neatness of transporters, not only were they faster at getting you to your destination, they didn't cause jetlag nor travel sickness. They did of course have there down sides, as most technology did. and she wasn't even going to think about that, as it was quite likely that reminding herself of any kind of transporter accidents would have her retching her guts up.

Truth be told she did feel a little out of place amongst the gun toting, cigarette smoking, phlegm spitting, body building 'muther #&^%*$£' marines. Their course language had her reaching for a Starfleet universal translator - even though she was wearing it! And their fascination with killing things and mainly blowing things up had her cringing inside; behind the fake smile, after all she was the one that had to fix them again!

Time trickled by as the young woman focused on; her breathing, counting to 1000 in Vulcan, Klingon, Betazoid, Trill and Standard, reciting the alphabet backwards in all five languages and humming the tune to 'Kimi o Nosete' - the only Japanese song she knew - all of which were attempts to keep her mind focused on anything except throwing up. (Editorial note - this actually words pretty well for travel sickness, especially reciting the alphabet, or rather singing it.. In your head of course, out loud you just sound like a nut case!)

Dusk began to set in as she continued to stare out across the valley they had just traversed, only noticing the change as the starlight twinkled in the corner of her eye. Begrudgingly she stood up, wincing at the onset of what promised to be a raging headache set in. Walking across the dusty ground, the few tufts of grass that sprung up from the sand had already become damp with due, she joined the circle at the camp fire and began to warm her hands against the flames.

A waning smile crossed her face as she turned to London, the counselor come marine CO. "Evening." she said feebly, addressing all the occupants around the fire, trying to hide the fact that so far she was not enjoying the away mission in the slightest. "What's the agenda for tomorrow?"

Branwen looked up. "Hiya. More of the same I am afraid, only without the vehicles I am afraid.' She said watching her closely. "How are you feeling?"

Dusk had caused things to turn cold and Cora went in search of the fire. Her lack of concentration had actually developed into a cause of nausea. Shaking of Rayna's help a she forced herself to walk the distance herself. It wasn't that far but it seemed like a very long way on this particular night.

Branwen smiled at Rayna then took her aside for a moment. "An awful lot of the troops appear to be sick. I want to have a word with our medic. Keep your eyes open for any other sign of trouble."

Dusk had caused things to turn cold and Cora went in search of the fire. Her lack of concentration had actually developed into a cause of nausea.

Shaking of Rayna's help a she forced herself to walk the distance herself. It wasn't that far but it seemed like a very long way on this particular night.

The ARCs were spread out but Caboose stayed next to Ward but Greg had gotten reports that both Tucker and Donut had both thrown up everything in their systems which was something strange to begin with since Donut *NEVER* got sick in all of the years that he knew the man.

Caboose on the other hand was uncharacteristically silent, almost like he was trying hard to be more professional or something so when he said "Sir" it startled Greg mentally for a moment before he turned to see what the other man needed.

"What's up Caboose?" Greg asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We can add Grif to those who have shown symptoms of sickness and plus Church says that he's feeling a bit groggy which was the same thing that the others said prior to their throwing up." Caboose reported in a calm tone.

"Hmm, understood Caboose. I'll let lieutenant London know here in a bit. What do you think it is, stomach bug going around?" Greg asked.

Caboose shock his head solemnly. "No sir, I've got a hunch or two but it's got mostly to do with this planet, sir. Who knows what kind of dren is in the air or what ever, true?" Caboose said.

"Good point, I'll report it to London as soon as I can. Keep up to date on what you can from the others." Greg said as he headed away from Caboose to try and find London.

Not really wanting to be seen in his current condition, Thral headed out to the perimeter to check on the pickets. The grizzled old tellarite just had this feeling that something bad was going to happen very soon, especially after they left the heavier weapons of the vehicles. The fact that the troops were getting sick didn't help anything. Too bad there wasn't a doc around.

After walking out to one of the picket positions, he headed back to finally talk to the Lt. He didn't want to admit that he was feeling sick after making sure to vomit behind a rock out of sight of anyone else. She was too observant for him to hide for long, darn shrinks.

"Ma'am, perimeter is secure, pickets are in position in the rocks and so far nothing moves but the mice. Anything else ma'am? "

"Blackmail"

By Flight Officer Ember Lansky
With... Luitenant Van Hogh, Utrecht III Domestic Guard (Written by Oded)

Sitting alone in her quarters, Ember gave a grunt of frustration and left the table to get her third cup of coffee. It was getting late, and just about the only reason she wasn't in bed getting a good night's sleep, or with Ayden, was because of this report she had to finish writing. Stupid reports. She had never liked report-writing; it was the devil's incarnation, and one of the few things she truly disliked about Starfleet. Why verbal exchanges didn't suffice for the higher-ups was beyond her comprehension. "It's invented to make life hell," She muttered under her breath, getting the replicated cup and sipping slowly. It was hot, but completely welcome.

A high-pitched note pierced the air, informing Ember that she had an incoming subspace conversation.

She raised a brow, wondering who it could be at this hour. But rather than being annoyed, she was actually relieved for the interruption. Anything to take her a few minutes away from the dastardly report.

On the bedside console, the face of a middle-aged man appeared. She could see only his upper body - the dense mustache, the gray streaks in the hair near the temples, the three-part Bordaux suit so common among officials in Utrecht III.

"Good day, flight officer.", He said with a phony cordial smile. "I am Luitenant Van Hogh of the Utrecht Domestic guard. I'm approaching you about an investigation we're holding, which is related to a crewmember on your ship which was also a citizen of Utrecht III."

Her senses instantly went on alert. Her face was guarded, trying to surmise the person's intentions and his agenda, which she was sure he had. She had never thought she would be hearing about Utrecht III again, since she left that hellhole years ago, and now that it was coming back to haunt her, one thing she was sure about was that it wasn't going to be good. "You mean Saul Bental," She said slowly. How many people could there be on this ship who were also from Utrecht III? She had met Bental briefly on her first few days on the ship, and his name had been a dead giveaway.

"So you are familiar with him.", The lieutenant indicated.

"I know of him," She said with caution. There was suspicion in her gaze. She didn't like this situation where the man seemed to hold all the cards, and she none.

"What are your impressions of this man?"

Ember smirked. That question was one easily answered; more than that,

it should be obvious."I only need to know his family to know what

he's like. Manipulative, conniving, smug assess." Even when she needed to be careful, she still didn't pass up a opportunity to let her opinion of the Bentals be known. They were a thorn in her side, and would always be.

Looking at him appraisingly, she asked curtly, "What's it to you?"

The lieutenant mindlessly stroke a whisker just above his upper lip. "As you said, the subject has some... problematic relatives, so we want to keep an eye on him. See if he's up to something. This is a bit unofficial because the moment it becomes official... well, you know Bentals, they have friends in the right places, if we contact with official authorities they'll find out before the subspace call is over."

"We?" Ember gave a laugh of derision. "I'm afraid there is no 'we' in the equation, Mister. If there is no other business, perhaps we should end this communication." She didn't see where this was leading, and she was fast losing her patience.

If the man on the other sign of the line was irritated or concerned with her response, he kept his emotions well hidden beneath his smug poker face.

"'We' as in the Utrecht Domestic Guard, Ms. Lansky. But I must say I'm surprised by your response. I recently spoke with a friend of yours, and he said that you were an examplary citizen."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who?"

"Elai. Elai Otora. You must remember?"

Van Hogh's indifferent and official expression cracked, as his fleshy lips fomed a smug grin.

The mention of the name, lanced like an arrow to her heart - the piercing blow swift and immediate. The memories that suddenly flooded to the surface made it seem as though the years that had passed between then and now had done nothing to erode the pain and sense of betrayal at the reality of what happened. Ember bit her lower lip, biting down and forcing back the emotions that were threatening to ripple across her face, showing the Lieutenant just how far deeply he had cut.

"He specifically asked me to tell you that he's really, really sorry about what happened the last time you met. The poor guy... life aren't going to well for him lately. We've had a heart to heart conversation, where he raised the idea of contacting you."

Somehow, she managed to find her voice, hardening herself and rallying the steel and anger that had been her strength and support all through her life. Now, more than ever, she needed that. "What do you want?" She asked tersely, her eyes alive with the glint of fire.

"Nothing much. Just keep an eye on him, see if he's up to anything unusual... you know, like Veronica told the wooden shoe, 'youre up to no good missy.'"

The last sentence would sound like total nonesense to anyone who never lived on Utrecht III. But in fact, one of the most famous scandals in the political life on Utrecht (and not that they were scarce) was the time when one of the leading reporters planted a listening device in the traditional wooden shoes belonging a senior official's wife. Within weeks, juicy stories from the uppermost levels of the corrupted government were displayed on huge 3D screen in the plazas of Napoli and other Utrecht III cities.

The urban legend told that when Vernoica, the said wife, finally found out how all the story leaks, she got so freaked out that she began cursing the shoe, and went on for hours until her desperate husband called for medical help. The most famous news title afterwards quotes Veronica saying 'You're up to no good, missy!'.

The bottom line was that the Lieutenant was asking - no, not asking, instructing - Ember to eavsdrop on a fellow crewmember.

"If you know what I'm saying.", The Lieutenant added, if it wasn't clear enough. "Oh, and I heard from our friend here that you were a pretty naughty girl in the academy! I hope you don't mind us two old hags gossiping about you, it's a splendid way to fight the boredom in this lawfull, dull planet."

Ember slowly blinked back the red haze of anger that had begun to surround her when the full magnitude of the odious man's intentions struck her. She didn't like to be threatened, and she hated to be blackmailed, forced to do something she didn't want, against her will.

So, there was a part of her that shouted at her to just walk away, ignore

Elai, and walk away. That was the vengeful part, the side of her that couldn't let the sting of his betrayal go.

But... he was possibly the only reason why she had managed to survive on the streets of Utrecht III. He was a friend, mentor... and more. Quite realistically, she wouldn't be here today if he weren't for him. There was no way she could just walk away.

"How is Elai? What are you doing to him?" She asked quietly. It was obvious that she was fighting to hold back, staving the full unleashing of her wrath until she knew.

"He's doing fine. In fact, he's even 'out' nowdays, you know. And in good health. He has some cash problems, and he was a little careless lately - but hey, you know how is. I'm sure he'll be proud of you, helping the local law enforcement. Just keep it to yourself, you know, I'd HATE to see Saul's reputation damaged just because of our suspicion."

The truth was possibly a lot uglier than that. It was obvious that the underlying meaning of the Lieutenant's words were that her old 'friend', Elai's welfare, depended on her compliance and performance. It stung, and she was balling her fists so tightly that her nails were digging into her flesh.

"Exactly what are your suspicions about Saul Bental?" Ember asked through gritted teeth.

"'Suspicions' is such a strong word, I regret using it already. We think that Bental may be involved in activities common amongst his family, despite his status as a Starfleet officer. If we had anything more concrete, we would of course address the proper authorities within Starfleet. As it is... we want to keep an eye without alerting him. So we just need to know if he does anything out of the ordinary."

"You're going to have to give me more information if you want me to do my 'job' right," She replied deliberately. The man before her might be from the Domestic Guard, but with the status and influence of the Bentals on Utrecht III, there was not much that law enforcement could do against them, not to mention corruption was rife. She would be a fool if she didn't think that the Lieutenant had some secret agenda and that she could trust him.

"I wish I had, Ms. Lansky. Perhaps I could spare you this courtsey call if things were different. But I trust you lived enough years in the garden to know the smell of roses."

Again, the Domestic guard officer was talking in codes. Rajimala Rose, the manager of Rose waste recycling industry, starred in the newspapers a couple of years after the 'Wooden shoe' scandal. Ember was a teenage at the time, and the name 'Rose' became synonimous for illegal smuggling that even people in Utrecht III considered to be 'not in good taste'.

The joke was that commodities smuggled to the planet in Rose's garbage transports 'smelled like roses'.

"Just keep an eye open, actively. He's up to something for sure. Find out what it is. And unlike your little 'incident' with our good friend Elai, please don't find the truth when it's already too late."

She snickered. She wasn't wholly convinced either way, but for the sake of her friend, she was going to have to temporarily swallow her pride. She didn't deign his remark with a comment, barrelling straight on, wanting nothing better than to end this. "So, how do I contact you?"

"I am sending you contact details right now...", The screen flickered and the image twisted slightly, the returned to normal, with a tiny icon on the top left corner.

"I'm looking forward to hearing from you, Ms. Lansky. You'll be doing the citizens of Utrecht III an excellent service."

She didn't buy into his righteous babble, and the smirk on her face said as much. But he didn't need her to be convinced; he only needed her to help, and as long as she had every intention of doing just that, he needn't bother.

"I can't say I feel the same," She said drily. "Goodbye then, Lieutenant," Pressing the button to discontinue the communications, the screen flickered off.

"Suddenly Distant"
By Ayden O'Connor and Ember Lansky

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

Fifteen minutes. That was how long Ayden and Ember had sat opposite each other in complete silence, listening to the clattering sound of fork and spoon hitting the plate as they ate, and to the sound of their own breathing. To Ayden's credit, he had attempted to start a conversation through the dinner more than once - asking how her day was, making some joke about the cooking, and commenting sparsely on his work. But each time, she had shut him off with a direct, disinterested and frequently, one-syllable reply.

She inhaled deeply. Obviously, he had given up trying to fill the silence for the moment. Every single second that ticked dragged on like an eternity. And she tried, she tried to turn her mind away to think of something to occupy the gaps in conversation, but came up blank. It wasn't that she *didn't* want to talk; it was just that she couldn't find the words to form any coherent sentence. Her thoughts were too weighed down by other concerns, and she was already barely concentrating on the food, tasty as it was.

Glancing down towards the remaining half of his own steak, Ayden's expression dulled further into disatisfaction. It was like a sudden empty space had crashed between him and the woman he loved, without reason or explanation. Her demenor obviously went deeper than a trivial day, or even a bad week. There was something very wrong, and she wouldn't let him in to help.

Heaving an internal sigh, he set his silverwear on the table and waited for a few seconds, trying to decide whether he should have another sip of his wine, or just pick up and clean his dishes. Today had been a special occasion, and while Ember was a perk of spontaniously, Ayden enjoyed a more traditional approach to such days. The steak was real, shipped from Telvan IV near the neutral zone. It hadn't been a cheap endeavour, but up until now he didn't have a reason to think it wouldn't be appreciated.

Although it wasn't the expensive dinner that bothered him, it was how incredibly deep her attention fell. What was bothering her?

He wasn't about to leave her in order to give her space. If he did that, it would mean that he only wanted to be around her when she was in a good mood. But he couldn't force her to open up either, that would only push her away. The only thing he could do was to be there in silent protest, hoping she'd come around soon.

Ayden wasn't about to burden her with the meaning behind today's dinner. Picking his utensiles back up, he cut another small slither into the meat and dipped it into his mouth. ~Stay positive, you acting distracted won't help~ He reminded himself, making sure to present a subtle smile.

Glancing up to her, he gestured with a slight movement of his fork. "Would you like some more wine?" He asked gently, seeing that her glass was half empty. It was one of the few things she had touched this evening.

Ember looked up, meeting Ayden's gaze, a small hint of guilt registering visibly in her eyes as she realized how strained and awkward this was. She couldn't remember a time when they had been like this; if she was angry - she let it out, if there was something he did she was upset over - she told him, or yelled at him, depending on her mood. But whatever she did, she didn't hide from him. This deliberate concealment was draining her, and she just didn't feel up to pretending that everything was going okay.

"You know what? I think we should call it a day," She said abruptly, setting her cutlery down beside the plate. It was probably the most words she had said at one go since they sat down together. "I'm feeling tired."

Ayden watched Ember closely, part of him tempted to use that long dormant trait of his that he had worked so hard to suppress. But reading into her mind would be a violation of the trust they shared, even though it wasn't quite so evident right now. He withdrew his momentarly consideration, and set his own silverwear back down.

Watching her raise from her seat slowly, as if there were a thousand things distracting her, he realized that if he didn't say *something* then she would just leave and would be forced to handle her predicament on her own. Not to say that might not be exactly what she needed... some time alone, but Ayden wanted to at least make certain she knew she didn't have to if she didn't want to.

He rose from his own chair. "Ember," he began with a start. His voice wasn't terribly strained or disappointed, only allowing for a hint of concern. For all anybody could guess, it was like he thought she was just having a bad day.

Choosing your words at times like this had to be very careful, because if he made it seem like he already knew too much, she'd probably withdraw. He had to find a middle line between caring too much, and caring too little.

"If something is the matter, I'm here if you need me." He continued, holding onto the curve of his chair. He wanted to walk over to her and hold her, but once again he realized that at a point like this she probably appreciated her space. It was strange how well he could read into appropriate remedies for her.

"You can't help me," She said softly, instinctively - before she could think enough to censor the things that came out of her mouth. And the moment she said it, she regretted it. It was an involuntary admission that there *was* indeed something wrong. She didn't want to let him know... because what was getting her so troubled, was that Ayden formed part of the problem. It was one thing for that man from Utrecht III to threaten her with the safety of her former friend, another completely for him to leak out aspects of her past to the person she was starting to realize she couldn't do without.

Ayden had come so far into her life, that she couldn't imagine what it would be like if he one day, suddenly vanished from her life. And it was precisely what would happen. If he knew exactly what she had gone through and did on Utrecht III - she was certain that he wouldn't be here with her anymore. He wouldn't. For once, the dare-devilish woman just didn't dare to take the risk.

"I'm okay, Ayden.. you don't have to worry about me," She added, as though to remedy the effect of what she had just said. Somehow or other, she managed to force a ghost of a smile onto her lips. "Like I said, I'm just tired."

Ayden heaved an internal sigh, sensing the invisible wall closing around her. Before it could close entirely, he stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around the small of her back. Not pulling her so close to where she'd be too desperate for space, but holding her close enough to know that he cared. "I know you better than that..." he began quietly. "But I also know that you do the things you do for a reason, you always have, and I'm not going to discourage that. You know I'm here."

~There isn't a thing in this world we couldn't tackle~ was the last utterance he wanted to make, but he didn't. Ember didn't like being forced into a situation, she liked to select it. To say that, would have pushed her closer towards the first option.

When he stepped close to her, it was difficult to resist. The dark memories of the past weighing upon her mind, the indignation of being manipulated like a puppet and most of all, the fear of losing him collided fiercely within her. She turned towards Ayden, placing her palms at his cheeks and pulled him in, kissing him with a sense of urgency that drove her to near-desperation. That was all palpable - tangible; it was as though she just wanted to lose herself in mind-numbing passion, and more subtly perhaps, to seek the comfort that Ayden offered and represented.

Ayden couldn't have realized how bad her predicament was until she tried to kiss him with the same sense of desperation as she had done in the turbolift nearly three months ago, it told him a lot about the situation. He nurtured the kiss into a more delicate delivery. Even the taste of her was soaked with conflict and sadness.

When they broke their kiss, he stared into her eyes deeply. They didn't reflect guilt, or disappointment in that she wasn't telling him what was going on. They wrote only concern for her well being, and a strong desire to help. He rose his hands behind her head and played softly with her hair, massaging the back of her skull as he pulled her close into a comfortable embrace.

"You mean the world to me," he reminded her. "I love you."

Only when their kiss ended did Ember realize she had been holding Ayden too tightly. She gently let go of him, feeling little reassurance at what he said. She couldn't quell that nagging voice in her head that wondered just how true his promise would hold when he found out what she was hiding from him. She kept her silence, but placed a soft kiss on his cheek in reply, again with the hint of that fake smile. "Sorry for ruining your evening. It was really an amazing dinner," She told him.

Ayden shook his head, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. He could sense the anxiety within her, knowing that whatever was bothering her was literally tearing her apart from the inside. Somehow it had to do with him, it had to. The way she held onto him so tightly as if she were afraid of losing him, there couldn't be any other explanation. "You haven't done anything wrong," he replied softly, "I'm more concerned about you, are you sure there's nothing I can't help with?" He asked, sensing the revolution lurking within her eyes.

"I... I just need some time to myself," She said quietly, starting to walk towards the door. It was simply something she had to deal with alone - it wasn't something she was not accustomed to, considering how she had faced down so many things in her past before without anyone standing beside her. It was just strange that this time, with someone standing beside her, it only made it that much harder, because now, she had something to lose.

Ayden started to let her go, but in a last moments persistance he grabbed onto her forearm, shaking her gaze back towards him. There was a moment where anything could have been said, and while some words could provide remedy to her demeanor, others could crackle upon the bond they had formed. After a few seconds he gave her a faint smile, relaxing his hold slightly.

In truth, there was an item in his pocket he had been planning on giving to her in person, but now he wasn't sure if this was the appropriate moment for it. It wasn't as if it wouln't have brought a smile to her face, but if something serious was wrong, it might make her feel guilty for neglecting this day. Pulling her closely however, he carefully slipped it into her own pocket before giving her another soft hug, and a tender kiss. "I understand, but I'm here. You don't have to take everything alone anymore so... when you're ready, you know where to find me."

"Calligraphic Conversation In Azure"

(Occurs five hours after the events of "He's Making A List And Checking It Twice...")

Principle Characters:

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Mika Sh'Sonora

*********

USS Galaxy
Mika Sh'Sonora's Quarters

Victor timed his arrival to occur after the Commander's partner had returned from her classes for the day. A brief check of the ship's internal sensors revealed that she was alone and hadn't brought one of her students home with her for extra tutoring as she was occasionally known to do, which made things easier. Screaming children were, he had long ago determined, a detriment to calm, reasoned conversation.

He keyed the door signaler and waited, reviewing his Andorian and deciding on the proper mode of address to pass the few seconds until she answered the door. He'd brought a padd - just incase - but hoped that it wouldn't be necessary. As an Andorian, the odds were that she would be less affected by him than most of the rest of the crew were - at least, if his Aunts were anything to judge by.

=/\="Come in."=/\= Said the door's speaker, making Mika's squeaky voice seem infinitesimally smaller.

The door slid open, and Mika had her back to it. Sitting cross legged on the floor, her focus was intent on something else. Her arm moved rapidly in one swift motion, a stick whirling in her fingers after a stinging vertical slash. She raised her arm up, a trickle of black ink encircling the shaft from a clotted reservoir soaked in between tight nylon bristles. Her arm raised, and shot back down, the air swished, while paper rippled. The brush made a final twirl in her fingers, and then rested on an ink filled clay bowl.

She stood up on her feet, a motion that was graceful as it was simple. Her robes rustled quietly; an orange and yellow Andorian style kimono with the patters of kingfishers, flowers and trees etched in gold and blue threads. Her feet clacked, hard slippers knocking against each other.

By Andorian standards, Mika was the paragon of absolute calm and discipline. Her face, turquoise radiant and as tranquil as a frozen lake, betrayed none of what she felt. It was her antennae that expressed themselves, swaying like reeds in the wind.

"Hello." Mika greeted the security officer, her voice timid and sweet. "I was working on Andorian calligraphy. Have you ever seen any?"

Victor looked at the result of her efforts. "Yes. My Aunt Rexa does it sometimes. Hers is... sadder... than yours, though."

"Oh?" Mika's antennae twitched inquisitively, "How come, dear friend?"

"Because she and her sister Ar'resh are the Idrani," he replied simply."

"Oh." Mika flatly stated, as if some joy was taken with it. "I have heard about the Idrani. That is most unfortunate. Andorian calligraphy is an expression of the artist's current mood and overall attitude. When the art is melancholy, it speaks about the artist mood. When it is always melancholy, it is their attitude." Clasping gently the fragile paper she painted, she laid it on a frame on her table, smoothing out the wrinkles. "I am sad, sometimes, but I know I have an undercurrent of hope and joy. I cannot escape it. It might be that I am a typical Federation optimist. Or... I cannot learn from my experiences. I do not know. Reflection is not what I am strong in. Would you like the painting?"

Victor looked at her for a moment. She was offering him the calligraphy? Why? Was she simply that generous? "I... thank you," he finally said slowly. "Yes." It seemed rude to refuse the gift.

"As you wish, my friend." She said, taking a moment to take a bottle and spritz an Andorian gladiola. Her feet made no noise, but her robes rustled silkily. Barely above five feet two even with the sandals, Mika was far from being imposing. But her advantage was not in intimidation. Even as a former Ambassador, she used her gentle nature to put anyone at ease, and surprised those who thought of her as a wallflower. What was left of her heart that didn't hold love and kindness was a core of duranium.

Even her gentleness couldn't hide a downcast undercurrent in her emotions. A small sigh, eyes staring downwards and too distantly to be the floor, and minimalist movements gave away something more.

"You do not visit my dear James very often, outside of work." Mika outright said, "You have visited me less. Is there something you want to tell me?"

Since he had, in fact, never visited the tiny Andorian woman, Victor supposed that qualified as 'less.' Her reaction was... oh, perhaps he did know why she was acting this way. "I am not here to tell you that the Commander is dead," he said quietly in his toneless way. "Or that he is injured, or that he has been arrested. " He thought a second more. "I am also not presently considering killing or injuring him - or you." Many people seemed to find that last a relief for some reason.

Mika giggled lightheartedly at Victor's comments, a hand over her mouth to stifle herself, not seeing it as the black humour that it was. She shuffled to the replicator, requesting a pitcher of tea, carrying the tray to her coffee table. Inviting Victor over to the couch with a wave of her hand, she set the tea service down and poured two glasses.

"Then you are here to tell me that James is working late again." She peeped quietly.

"No, Thora," Victor answered with a nod of thanks at the offered tea. "Although I suppose it's possible he will be - I did not ask when I spoke to him." So far she was acting more like one of his Aunts than anything else, perhaps this would not be as difficult as it might have been were she not Andorian.

Mika's tiny hand proffered her cup, taking a modest sip from the steaming beverage. With a melancholy cast, she said, "We were arguing lately. I thought he was not spending enough time with me. I thought he was diverting his time between work and other women. The latter I only approve once I know the woman, but the first can be difficult. I suppose it is work for you are not one for pleasantries. I can tell what you have to say is unpleasant. Tell me, please."

Victor took a sip of his tea before answering. "I came to speak to you because I have asked the Commander to do something for me that I considered likely to cause friction between the two of you. Since I have no wish for that to occur, I came to explain the request to you in an attempt to avoid that."

Puzzled, Mika questioned, "What did you ask of him?"

There was little point in saying it any other way than openly. "I asked him to speak to Atole Tekri in order to gain information from her."

She let out a startled squeak, a small wounded sound like a phaser pulse struck at the soul instead of the body. The tea cup slipped in her hand, spilling its contents on the carpeted floor while rolling to Victor's feet. Her implacable calm broke, parting way as she scrunched up her face in sad disapproval.

Down to her knees, she took a cloth to wipe up the spilled tea. "I am sorry, Victor." She said between wipes, "My disapproval does not extend to you, my friend. You asked my mate for a favour. If he did not help you, he would not be the man that I love so much. But Victor, I do not trust that Atole Tekri! She will try to steal my man away, and James will be naive enough to think she will not."

"Perhaps," Victor conceded, "but perhaps not, Thora. The Commander does not have her picture on his desk, nor does he talk about her."

"No, but I know he thinks about her." Mika countered. She rose from the floor to dispose of the cleaning cloth, but halfway to the replicator unit she stopped, wringing the cloth anxiously in her hands, "And I cannot help thinking about our differences. Atole is exciting and young. I am in my middle ages and cannot be as exciting as her. She has family and loved ones while I had to stay distant from even my own father. She is a successful spymistress, while I am a failed ambassador and a schoolteacher. She had a body, Victor. A body! How can James pretend she isn't beautiful when she has a beautiful face and two breasts the size of twin orbiting space stations!? I am left to seduce him with..." She opened up her kimono and looked down at herself, showing to herself only, "...these."

Forlornly, Mika tossed the tea soaked rag into the replicator. It disappeared in a swirl. Her antennae arched sadly as her eyes looked down on the floor. "And worse, I know she is a better mate for James than me. Atole can provide him with children. I... cannot."

She tromped to the couch and sank into it, as if to let the world take her in for she was not fighting. "I love him so much Victor, but I am not good enough. What does it matter that he does not have her picture on his desk. Does he have mine? No he does not. Does he talk about me? I have yet to hear about it. Just because he does not show it, does not mean it is not on his mind. That is why I cannot trust him around Atole Tekri."

She said to conclude, with a sigh, "I cannot trust him in front of such a tempting woman."

"You have not been to his office," Victor said after Mika had slumped dejectedly.

Instead of being silenced, she decided to stammer defensively. "I... I have not, but... well... I have not had the time to do so. I cannot interrupt his work. That would be rude!"

"If you had been there, then you would know that he keeps a picture of you on his desk. He has done this for no other woman since I was assigned to the Galaxy." Victor had thought that the change in the Commander's behavior was obvious, but perhaps he'd been wrong. Or perhaps being emotionally attached to someone made you blind? He'd seen evidence for both. "He talks about you - at least in conversation to me. That may be because my Aunts are Andorian. I know that was why he requested that I ask them for the same materials that they gave my Uncle Bernhard to read when they were courting him so that he would understand them and their culture better."

"Oh..." Mika squealed, a half hearted downtempo moan like a ghost that bled through more of her accent as she grew more emotional. "He was willing to learn my culture... for me? I only learned about the Terrans because I had to live among them. He has no such obligation. He would do that... for me?"

Obviously, emotional attachment did nothing for the hearing either, as he'd just told her that the Commander had done that. "Yes."

"Well..." Mika said, "Could you tell him to find information about quads? I still cannot convince him of the merits of that idea. I even gave him the thought to invite T'lan. What human is so latinum brick-headed to resist her? She is smart and so beautiful that I want her. Now... what is wrong with that?" She degenerated into laughter, "Oh... I am sorry. We are off topic, are we not?"

"Yes." Victor considered several responses, finally settling on, "I will suggest that he review that material again." He had never found T'lan interesting in the way that was under discussion, which, he supposed, was another reason to believe that he wasn't human despite the biological evidence to the contrary. "Perhaps he is intimidated by the idea of trying to ensure that both of you are satisfied equally in the relationship. Or perhaps he still feels guilty over what he was made to do by the Diparthu that inhabited the Lieutenant. Or both. Or neither."

"Maybe you are right." Mika digested the idea, "Maybe you are right. My poor James. He can be so easily flustered sometimes. I have never thought he could be insecure like that. If that is the case, I will have to help lead him along. It always has to be the woman that progresses a relationship... or you could tell him to smarten up and give me what I want. What do you think of my idea?"

Victor didn't need to be a counselor to know that was a bad idea. The Commander might be willing to take his advice on how to kill any number of things, but he didn't think relationships were one of them. "I don't think that will work out the way you want it to," He said slowly. "I might have better luck asking my Aunts to speak to him. He'd be more likely to listen to them regarding this topic, but they... you have obviously never spoken to my Aunts."

"No. I have not." Mika smiled mirthfully, "Just because I am Andorian, does not mean I know every Andorian."

"They are... difficult to deal with at times. They do not listen to things that they do not want to hear."

"But I do know a typical Andorian when I hear one described. How can they help?"

"They matchmake." That was simple enough. "They're good at, in their way. I think they've gotten twenty couples married on their ship so far. They understand the difficulties of having a human in a quad because they were married to my Uncle Bernhard, which means that they probably already know the answers to questions the Commander is just starting to ask. But...."

Mika leaned forward in anticipation. "But..."

Victor sipped at his tea for a moment. "They're... heavy-handed. Sometimes like bricks of neutronium hitting you. But they mean well." He supposed that he might as well get any other problems out in the open now, too. "They're fans of his music, too. They went out with him once, on lanJep, but it never went beyond dancing and dinner. I think they intimidated him too much. That, or it was the knowledge that they'd seen the bootleg film of him in his concert touring days at a post-concert party that intimidated him. Or both."

Giggling, Mika rolled the thought of a naked Corgan with a guitar in her mind. She said to Victor playfully, but switched to being more thoughtful as she progressed. "Well... he does have a nice butt and he works out. How could they not make a naked bootleg of his performance? But bashful? Oh yes he is... shy. Andorians are not used to negotiating with shy people. We are always forward, and as you humans say... in your face. Even if I am not so explosively emotional, I do have to be forward but very nice about it. James is different. He is only forward when he sees no other way, and does it with such disaster. I love him, but I wish he would not hold back on me when it is important. No... do not call your aunts yet. I can coax him out of his shell... as thick as his skull, but not impossible."

"As you wish," Victor nodded. This had been less troublesome than he'd feared after all.

"Ahhh..." Mika sighed, "Victor, before you go, I do have one thing to ask."

Or perhaps not. "Yes, Thora?"

"Ok... it is about humans. Humans do have the capability of being attracted to multiple partners, even though they are more suited towards single mating pairs. Yes?"

Victor considered that for a moment. "I assume so, yes." It wasn't as if he'd ever had that happen, but that hardly meant someone else might not have.

"It is no wonder, my friend, that human beings are so prolific, yet so unsatisfied. They have the drive to mate with almost anything, but keep to such rigid exclusivity that their energy is still pent up. Do not mistake me, we Andorians do not go beyond our own quads, but even then it allows some flexibility. Multiple partners, homosexual relationships if one chooses... rare among my people I must admit. But you humans, with such limitations... it must be frustrating. But what must be more frustrating... is trying to step outside of them."

"I wouldn't know. My Uncle might have, but the topic never came up before he died in the War." He considered the idea in context for a moment. "Have you considered allowing the Commander to think he is the one in control, while you actually hold the power? Perhaps that is the core of his problem?"

"Oh no... no no no Victor." She batted her eyelashes and looked coyly at Victor, "There is no such think as 'control'." Her wink said otherwise, "But I do on occasion nudge him in certain directions. It is what any good mate would do. I think deep inside himself he knows and is compliant. It is just that sometimes he doesn't get nudged. But thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

"I don't know that you should," Victor suggested. "I'm not a good friend, and I doubt that my advice on this topic is any better."

"And for such a dangerous man," Mika grinned impishly, "... you are not that confident. I trust that what you say has some wisdom."

She fondly looked up at the security officer, not feeling the fear that accompanied a visit when Victor was with anybody else. Unafraid, the Andorian leaned over to Victor, and with her hands resting on his shoulders, kissed him softly on the left cheek.

Victor blinked once and simply looked at her. Perhaps more Andorians could stand to be near him and touch him than other species, but that didn't mean he was used to anyone touching him. Outside of Angelienia when he danced with her that was - she was the only one that touched him regularly now.

She murmured lightly in her quiet, meek little voice, her smile warmer than sunshine, "Thank you, my friend. You care so much for my James and I that you would come to my quarters to lay rest my fears. Thank you. If you will excuse me, I have my calligraphy to finish... and much to think about in private. Will you visit again soon?"

"If you like," Victor frowned, unused to such an offer. "Perhaps... perhaps when you finish the calligraphy I can have tea with you again."

"Good." Mika led Victor to the door, ushering him out politely. To make sure she was her best hostess self, she even bowed on the way out. When the door swung close she breathed a sigh of relief. Handsome as the security officer was, Victor could be stuffy and intimidating around novices. But in private Mika found Victor to be thoughtful, if unsure about himself.

She looked at the painting, the streaks of black on light paper with a background watermarking of an Andorian tiger lily. She sat down cross legged, brushing her robe with a smooth motion of her hand, as not to get it bunched up. She collected her paintbrush, dabbing it the thick black oil, and was about to paint until she stopped herself.

There was not something right with the calligraphy. She set aside he brush and gathered the painting, looking at it with introspective eyes.

Mika crumpled up the piece of work. With a new sheet of paper, she started again with the long task of staining on a watermark of an Andorian Royal Garden Kingfisher.

"Island of the Misfit Toys!"

The Navigation Departmental Meeting Part 1 of 2

Featuring Lt. Raven Darkstar, Chief of the Navigation Department

And the Flight Control Crew: (NPC's since I am the department at this time)

Consisting of old standbys:
Lt. Jg. Selena (Vulcan)
Lt. Jg. Maggie Pike (Human)
Ens Aristi Ferguson (Cardassian)

Rounded out with the new guys:
Lt. jg. Otis 'Ham Bone' Bisbee (Human)
Lt. jg. Guff Rahkow (Dwarf)
Ens Luka Pailaka (Human)
Ens Gydian (Hermat)

Location: Main office, HELM, USS GALAXY

"I didn't even know this room existed." Maggie Pike said, her southern drawl tinged with a bit of awe as she gazed around the cavernous Navigation Department Main Office. The half a dozen crewmen with her could only stare in amazement. The cavernous office was nearly twice as large as the ship's bridge.

"I think your voice just echoed." Ensign Gydian purred as s/he squatted down on hir haunches and ran hir slender fingertips across the carpet.

In a radical contrast to most of the rest of the ship, the floor of the room was carpeted in a deep, dark blue carpeting so deep that it appeared black. Along the wall, four cubicles were lit up by banks of computer screens allowing research and access to the rest of the ship's systems and libraries. True to his inquisitive nature, Lt. Bisbee waddled over and began pushing buttons.

"Hey guys! I think I found the cafeteria menu in here." he said, slightly out of breath. "Guys? Guys?"

The group of flight control officers attention was focused on their surroundings and without moving their individual gazes, they filled in the briefing stadium seats, which were arranged like a half circle and slightly tilted, like those of a planetarium giving them an unobstructed view that was the room's trade mark.

"Holy shit." Ensign Pailaka said.

"You could say that again." Gydian said.

"He probably could. Ain't nothing wrong with his tounge." the diminutive Lt. Rahkow barked.

"Selective bouts of aphasia would be welcomed. It would allow us all to process that in which we find ourselves currently viewing." Selena said.

Rahkow looked from side to side.

"Did she just tell me to shut up? It sounded like shut up?"

"SHUT UP!!!!" they all yelled in near unison. The dwarf silently began to pout while the rest of the group marveled at what they were seeing.

The most amazing feature of the office was that the whole room appeared to be sitting, unprotected on the nose of the ship itself. Rather then walls and tile, the agents looked at a vast starfield and the planet Romulus itself.

"This is most interesting. Not very logical, but interesting." Selena said as she took in the spectacular view in, steepling her hands together and battling the slightly disorienting effect the room had.

"The entire room is lined with viewscreens linked to the sensor arrays. They project a three dimensional view of the ship's current surroundings. One could overlay coarse coordinates, trajectory projections, monitor battle and a host of other functions." Lt. Raven Darkstar, the newly minted Chief of the Navigation department said, coming down from his office across the room, startling the assembled crewmen.

"Be seated." he ordered.

Otis Bisbee put up a large paw, large drops of sweat dotting his brow.

Darkstar's face darkened.

"Lieutenant, I have not even said anything and already you have a question. Do you think it would be possible to hold your questions until after the briefing?"

"How long will this take?" Otis asked.

"It's called a brief. By definition, it is brief in length. Besides that, I find my tolerance for public speaking diminishes as my patience does." the Indian said. Ensign Gydian placed hir hand over hir mouth to suppress a giggle. Maggie playfully swatted the Hermat's thigh and mouthed 'stop'.

Gydian paid close attention to Maggie's thick lips as she moved them and winked.

Lt. Rahkow coughed loudly and if one were to play it back, it is quite possible to have heard the phrase 'Get a room' somewhere in his grumbles.

"The reason I gathered you all here is to simply introduce myself, you all and also cover what my expectations are of this department." Darkstar said, clasping his hands behind his back and assuming his traditional, ever vigilant pose.

Lt. Bisbee shot his hand into the air again.

One could literally see the dark clouds swirling around the Chief.

"Lieutenant, I have not even begun." he said.

Otis Bisbee, looking like a child who had caught his hand int he cookie jar, slowly put his hand down.

"My bad, dog." he mouthed.

Darkstar glanced at Selena. The Vulcan shrugged and the Indian continued.

"For those of you who don't know me, I am Lt. Raven Darkstar. I have served in both Tactical and Security on this ship. I have headed both OPs and Security under Fleet Admiral Bhrode." the indian said. "There are many new faces in this department. Ensign Ferguson is currently manning the helm. She will be receiving a copy of this briefing later today. Please state your name for the benefit of those who may or may not know you. Starting left to right, please."

"Lt. Selena." the Vulcan said coolly, her eyebrow arched.

"Maggie Pike. Lieutenant. I was here when Bhrode was too. Quite a guy. Hey, when do we get to meet Leo Streely? I have heard much about him."

"Never, If we are lucky." Darkstar said. "Next."

"I'm Ensign Gydian." the hermat said, raking hir sparkling green eyes across the Chief's muscles."Hopefully we'll get to know one another a little more."

Clearly a little flushed, Darkstar quickly moved to a face that bore some familiarity to the ship.

"Luka Pailaka, Ensign. My brother Mike served in the Navigation Department onboard the previous Galaxy." the Pacifica native said.

The bearded dwarf just snorted.

"Lt. Rahkow. Do you have some sort of problem with your nasal cavity requiring attention?" Selena asked.

"He's just cranky. We're interrupting his sleep cycle." Maggie said cheerfully.

The dwarf pilot grunted.

"I just don't see the point of a long drawn out hog call."

"Neither do I, " Darkstar interrupted. "That said, let me wrap up. Unlike crews in the past, I expect this department to be extremely tactically proficient. It's easier for Tactical to make a split second photon torpedo shot if the ship is in optimal position to do so while in combat. You will all be cross training with me on tactical strategies."

"Thats why you are all here. You show great promise in making this department what I envision it to be. Make no mistake. The Captain may be the head of the ship, but I am Captain of this department. Don't expect department picnics in the holodeck or poker night in my quarters. I was trained to be the best and I train to be the best."

"Expect thorough training, appreciation for a job well done, and strong leadership by example. Hopefully this time I will not have to scalp any crewmen." Darkstar said.

The assembled officers at once went collectively pale.

"That was a joke. I do not do that very often and now you see why. Are there any questions?"

Bisbee's large hand shot up in the air.

The Chief folded his hands over his large chest.

"Do we have those little hot dog and cheese things that they used to have in Department meetings?"

- Next Up: The Chief assembles his Shuttle Pilots.

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