"Ghosts and Lovers, Part II"

Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter
Ens. Rob Crestine
Ensign Running Tree
Lt. Giana Crestine

****USS Challenger, 48 hours before the crash***

The first thing Rob noticed when he woke up that morning was that his mouth felt like sandpaper and his brain felt like mush, a clear indication that it was not time to get up yet. The second thing Rob noticed, as he rolled to his side, was that Giana was not there in the bed with him.

Rob's eyes opened. Reluctantly, he sat up.

"Gi?" he called out to absolutely no answer of any form. He asked the computer the time, and found out that it was obscenely early. No sane person would be awake at this time if they didn't have to be, and Giana wasn't scheduled to be on until a much later shift. "Computer," Rob said as he rubbed his eyes, "Where the hell is the love of my life?"

"Require more information."

Rob sighed. "Where's Lt. Giana Crestine?"

"Lt. Giana Crestine is located in Science Lab 1."

"Of course," Rob said to himself. "Why did I even bother asking? She's always in the Science Department. It doesn't matter if she's scheduled to be there. She might as well sleep there."

These words weren't entirely bitter, as Rob knew that being the Chief of Science took a lot of responsibility, but in the last few. . .weeks? months? . . .Rob wasn't sure quite how long. . .Giana was almost never around, and seemed constantly stressed out. Ensign Vig, as much as of an incompetent buffoon as he was, couldn't be the source of *all* Giana's stress.

Rob thought about just rolling over back to sleep, ignoring his wife's disappearing acts for the moment until he was actually mentally capable of doing something about it, and grudgingly decided against it. And after a sonic shower, two pots of coffee, and some jogging around his quarters, Rob actually felt awake enough to see people without biting their heads off.

He quickly replicated some flowers---lilies, Giana's favorite---and walked over to Sciences. ~Hopefully this isn't some elaborate adultery scheme~ Rob thought to himself. He wasn't serious, of course; Rob trusted Giana completely. ~Otherwise, the flowers were a bad idea.~

And then he walked in.

The desk was situated where all he could see were hands working on a console and a scrunched, clenched face. Giana's eyes roamed intently over the screen. She didn't notice anyone coming in, she was concentrating so hard. She had been concentrating so hard, her head hurt. But things more urgent than ever before, she couldn't stop for even a sip from the now warm glass of water on the desk.

Rob walked up to her and stood there for a second, an odd smile on his face. On one hand, it was sort of cute (and slightly depressing) that he was standing in front of his wife holding flowers, and she only had eyes for the computer. On the other hand, she looked more frustrated and intent than he had ever seen her, except, perhaps, for the few months before their wedding. That was the time of Murphy's law---everything that could go wrong did go wrong leading up to that ceremony. It was sort of a wonder they managed to get married at all.

But they did, and now Rob was standing in front of his wife who still hadn't noticed him. He cleared his throat and put on a mock-injured expression. "I *did* have flowers for the pretty lady," he teased, "but now I'm thinking I'll give them to someone who notices when I'm standing right in front of them for several minutes."

She looked up, quickly removing the current program from the screen. "Rob! What are you doing here at this hour?"

Rob gave her a weird look. "I'm. . .visiting you, seeing what you were up to at this ungodly time of day." He understood that it was surprising to see him out of bed until about five minutes before shift, but Giana looked less startled than mildly alarmed to see him. "So. . .what *are* you up to, Gi?"

She looked at him a bit defensive, "Working." She stood. "What can I do for you?" She was speaking to him as if he were just another Ensign. She was in work mode. Always it seemed, in work mode.

"What can I do for you?" Rob repeated. "What---did I just become Ensign Vig? Am I coming here and asking you to fix something for the ship? I'm Rob, remember, Ensign Roberto Crestine, half Italian, half other stuff, married to you for about, oh, six years? Matching wedding bands might be a clue; also, perhaps, memories of weddings, incredibly good sex, *living* together for the previously mentioned *six* years?"

He sat down in the chair across from her desk, watching Giana's fingers tap, always a sign of irritability or nervousness. "Half the time I wake up, you aren't around," Rob said. "You act evasively when I ask about work; you turn off your computer the second I come around. . .yeah, I noticed that, well played by the way. The only explanations I can come up with are a split personality, a torrid affair, or a sudden change of career to international spy. You're not crazy, you're a lousy liar, and I just refuse to believe you're having an affair because I know that you love me. So what is it? Giana? What is going on?"

She would glare at him, but she was a bit too tired for that. Instead she sighed and answered as best, and as cryptically as she could, "You're an officer in Starfleet, Rob. You understand there are some things that some people know that others can't." She put a hand to her head to try to soothe her headache. It was in vain and she added with a mutter, "Go back to bed, Rob. Your shift isn't for awhile."

"Thanks for being dismissed, *Lieutenant*," Rob said. He tossed the flowers down on her desk and shook his head. Giana opened her mouth, and Rob didn't know if she wanted to snap at him or apologize. Either way,the only thing came out was a 'Crestine here' when her commbadge rang.

After being told there was something needing her attention, she stood. She looked at Rob, a bit too tired to deal with him, "You better be out of this office before I get back. I don't want you back in the department until your shift." As she walked out, she added, "That's an order, Ensign!"

Rob watched her retreating back and then found his gaze drawing towards the computer. ~What the hell~ he thought ~I could only be court martialed for something like this.~ Normally, things that could get you court martialed were a bad idea, but at the moment, Rob just didn't give a damn. He cared deeply about Starfleet, it had become a part of his identity, but it was tearing a wedge between him and his wife, and that mattered more. Besides, the angrier someone was, the likelier they were to make stupid decisions. This was an immensely stupid decision. . .but he just didn't care.

Rob flicked the computer on and went backwards until he found what Giana had been looking at it. The files were encrypted, probably in case spies or angry spouses were interested, but Rob caught one word that was not cleverly coded.

"Delilah," Rob said under his breath. "Who the hell is that?"

Problem was, the issue Giana had to deal with was minor and so was back fairly quick.

"Ensign!" She glared at him, "I'll ignore this gross display of insubordination if you get the hell out of here right now!"

Rob was a little startled---he kind of hadn't planned on Giana coming back quite so quickly---but he was a little too angry himself to be intimidated by Gi. He leaned back in Giana's chair and casually put his feet upon her desk---he was a big believer in body language, and the message for today was insubordination. Gross insubordination, as it turned out. Rob smiled coldly at his wife.

"I really don't give a damn if you ignore this display or not," Rob said cooly. "I could honestly give a damn if you write me up, kick me out of Starfleet. Of course, that's not exactly the description of supportive wife, but hey, that's okay. I wouldn't *presume* to naively conceive that your marriage is more important than your job."

"This is not ab...." She glared at him as he interruped.

Rob didn't let her finish. "Who's Delilah?" he asked.

"None of your damn business." She stepped aside leaving access to the door, "Now get the hell out before I call security!"

Rob ignored this completely. "She *is* a project of some kind, right? You're not having some kind of military clandestine affair with some chick named Delilah, are you?"

Looking up, she laughed incredulously before looking at him, "For the love of all that's good. I thought you knew me better than that!"

"Yeah," Rob said softly. "I thought I knew you too." He stood up from the desk and walked to the door. "Hope you liked the flowers," he said before he left Giana alone in the science lab."

After he left, she closed her eyes a moment. She wondered how she could fix this later. But if she didn't focus on Delilah, there may not be time to fix anything. She went to her computer, ignoring the flowers.

*****USS Challenger, Present Day*****

Running Tree walked behind the desk and his gaze turned to a chair against the wall to the left. There lay a ribbon tied around what used to be stems. The slightest breeze would send the stems, petals and leaves flying as dust.

8-ball glanced over at Running. She was still looking at the datalog they had found---most of the material wasn't particularly relevant, but it was interesting anyway. She set it down and began to search again. "What did you find?" she asked Running.

"I think a very large piece of the puzzle."

8-ball got up and stood next to Running Tree. She sort of expected something huge, maybe a big sign that said, "This is what happened exactly." Instead, she saw some extremely dead looking flowers. "That's a large piece?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.

He sighed, "No. Here." He handed her an envelope that was marked, "Rob."

8-ball raised the other eyebrow and opened the envelope. She read outloud.

"My dear husband. I know I have neglected you and our marriage. The only information I can give you is that Delilah is a top secret project that requires my urgent attention. I wish I could spend more time with you. I wish for days where we can just sit in each other's arms. But a universe such as ours doesn't allow such luxury. But soon, love, I will give my time to who has my heart. In case you didn't know: That's you. Always my love, Giana."

8-ball put the letter back in the envelope. "I wonder if he ever got the message."

Running sighed as if collecting himself before answering. "I hope he did. We should all be sure to make the ones we love know we love them." He looked at her a moment before opening drawers in the desk.

8-ball just shook her head. Apparantly, Running and her needed to have some form of long, truthful talk. . .which, frankly, sounded as fun to her as radiation poisoning, particularly because their thing together hadn't exactly been a long term commitment. But needed or not, this talk would have to wait. There was other stuff to do.

8-ball looked at the letter again. "Delilah," she murmured to herself, and then rejoined Running Tree in the search.

"The fun begins" open fist main marine group

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 USS Galaxy

Mystery NPC's (Written by Ian)

2nd LT Rayne Sutea
Marine NPC (Written by Cami)

Dr. Tricks (Phoenix A Dass) – (Written by Dru)

Corporal Michael Laverius Tucker
ARC/Infantry, USS Galaxy
--ONPC (Written by Wil)

*** Cheron, Remote Location East of Settlement ***

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?"

"Yes, find me the medic and bring him to my tent."  She ordered.  Then she motioned DiMillo, Dobryin, Ward, Eshe and Sutea to follow her to her tent as well.  She needed to confer with the officers about the sickness she was seeing all round.

Paulo picked up pace, standing next to Cora and just behind the Lt. He didn't know 100% what was going on, but if there was a meeting at this time, something was up.

Thral spied a private that seemed to be doing nothing and shot him that evil glare every sarge just kind of picked up.

"Private! Find the medic and get him up here on the double and make sure he has my...special remedy"

Once the private was up and moving Thral finally pulled off his pack and sat down.

"I presume you've figured out we got a problem ma’am."

"Yes sergeant." She said. "Feel free to sit in on the meeting with the officers." He was a senior NCO, so it would be good to have him here.

Greg and Caboose had just gotten done checking on the various ARC troopers which had proven that only a small number of the ARCs had been infected with whatever was causing them to be sick which made Greg both curious and concerned.

"Time to see what's up and hopefully the lieutenant will have some idea about why our people are getting sick." Greg said to which Caboose could only nod, his eyes were peeled for something but the Hoffmanite marine couldn't say.

As soon as Cora got word that Branwen wanted to see her she got up from the fire, moving much slower and with far more caution than usual. Very concerned about the developing situation it didn't take much for her to see unmistakable signs of trouble. As an Intelligence Officer details were something Dobryin happened to be very good at. Her job required her to fit together very complicated puzzles, but the problems with the away team spelled trouble no matter what way she looked at it.

"Ladies and gentlemen."  Branwen said looking at her officers.  "I am sure that all of you are aware that we have a problem.  Right now we have to decide if we can go on with this mission."  Being a Marine she hated failure, but it had to be feasible to go on.  If people started to get more seriously ill, she would have to abort.

Paulo decided to speak first.  "I think at this point it is important to stay here and figure out what is going on.  We also don't want to risk spreading it to the rest of the known people on this planet. This may be the intelligence officer in me, but I think it is important to find the source of this sickness and cure it, or send information back so that someone else can do it.  For all we know, this could be a biological attack."

Thral didn't really respond, though the look on his face showed that he was listening and still deeply concerned. The spy could well be right but then, with most biological agents used on the battlefield, someone should be dying by this point not simply puking up lunch. Could be radiation from the wreck site for all he knew.  That's what doctors were for though, this Tellarties job was to yell at privates, shoot the enemy and blow stuff up.

Branwen nodded. For the first time she was feeling a little unease in her own stomach. "I have asked the medic to join us. Let's see what he has to say. For now we are not moving anywhere."

“Your not wrong there Lieutenant.” The tall slender Trill confirmed as he slipped through the folds of the tent, “I would have been here sooner but I was .. waylaid.” he explained.

He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the tent before eying up the occupants. They were a mixed bunch, several humans, couple of Trills a Romulan and a Tellartie. He himself was new to the Marine core, recently transferred from Starfleet Medical. He had gone straight from the academy to SM, this was to be an eye opener. Ever since he did his thesis on ‘Field Medicine’ for his degree he had desperately wanted to get a view from the inside. All of his theories had come from books and first hand accounts from doctors that were already out there, established in the line of fire. And now he was going to get the chance to see with his own two eyes. This was going to be a step up the ladder.

He turned to the Lieutenant and nodded respectfully. “Ma’am, my name is Dr. Phoenix Dass. Though the troops call me ‘Tricks’...” he smiled proudly at the nick name he had earned rather quickly, given his time with the marines a total of 48 hours if that.

Straightening up he continued in a more serious manor, tugging his tunic down as he cleared his throat, “From the few members of the away team that I have seen so far, I have diagnosed them all with radiation poisoning. I have treated all the effected crew members that have come to me so far with anti rad’s. But, I am betting that the *three* patients that have come forward, are by no means the total head count.” he eyed the faces that surrounded him suspiciously, “By the looks of this lot, they are feeling it too. Even I am beginning to feel the effects.” He added for the benefit of the marines, if he admitted that he wasn’t feeling too great the rest of them would follow, hopefully. Save him the difficult task of informing them that they were not fit for duty after they had pushed themselves too far – marines, and in fact most Starfleet officers, were known to do that all too often.

Bran gave him a very serious look. "So what do you recommend, doc?" she asked him.

“Well first of all there is no need to panic, at least not yet. In the mission briefing packs we were advised of the radiation and therefore we did not come unprepared.” He smiled and patted his med kit affectionately. “I am however going to have to see everyone individually to ascertain their exposure and administer the anti rad’s” he hoped that his cheerful disposition would ease the tension of the group before him. Although his own mind was subject to conjecture – they should not be this sick, at least not yet…

From his spot, Tucker let out a slight groan as he buried his face into his hands, "what is it with doctors and the need for being so bloody cheerful?" he muttered to himself. 

Dhanishta shifted her weight from one foot to the other and sighed gently, “Same need that drives them to constantly stick hypos in people.” she retorted quietly, wondering how she could get out of seeing he doctor this time. Maybe there was something she could do, far way from this tent. Surly someone out there needed an engineer…

As the team began to mutter Dass leaned forward towards the Lieutenant, his back slightly to the rest of them, “Lieutenant,” he whispered quietly in her ear, “I must inform you that that was not a request. It was an order. I really must see *everyone*,” he stressed his voice laced with concern, “as soon as possible.” He straightened up holding her gaze for a moment to convey the seriousness of the situation before turning back to the troops and offering them a wide smile as he slipped his med kit off his shoulder and placed it on the table.

"All right everybody, lineup, and be quick about it!"  London ordered her people.  "As soon as we are done we will get the troops in here for a checkup."

There was a common distrust between Doctors and Marines. Marines often believed that they were impervious to harm, often found it difficult to seek out medical attention. It was actually a major part of his thesis, combined with the psychological mind frame that Marines seemed to almost be brainwashed into this way of thinking. Part of it was due to their training, that Dass was sure of, and the rest was down to the belief that Marines had to be tougher than nails and then some. Out here in the field he would be able to study the underlying factors that caused them to be prohibited in this manor, and maybe implement a new ethos into the training program – another rung up the ladder!

He smiled broadly at his line up of patients, his new project, and almost salivated at the thought of the paper he would write after this mission. “Lieutenant, as we are already here I suggest using your tent as a basis of operation. Unless you would prefer I use another?” he asked brightly.

"Absolutely not.  You can use my tent, I agree with you Doctor." Dass did not know her well enough yet to realize she was different from most marines, probably because she was also a counselor.

There was always a moment of uncertainty in a group this size; no one wanted to be first! Dass had a way to combat that. Random selection. He looked briefly down at the padd he had containing the list of the away team.

“Ward!” he called out, “I will see you first. The rest of you wait outside the tent please.”

The hybrid blinked in confusion as to why he'd been singled out first and then walked over to the doctor and waited for him.

He wasted no time in taking over London’s temporary ‘office’ as he began to unpack his equipment.

“You,” he said grabbing the Telerites arm, “Thrall is it? Get me some more lighting in here. And you,” he said turning to the female Trill as she passed him, “I need some more thermal blankets. Go to the transport, you will find more in there.” His demeanor turned brusque as he focused on his work.

Thral glared at the doc and then glared at the private he'd sent to get him. One snap of his fingers was enough to get the man headed for the transport for the lights. This doc was really beginning to annoy him. Weren't you supposed to figure out what was wrong was before you started sticking people with medications they may be allergic to.

Dhanishta stared at the doctor for a moment ~ Nice! ~ she thought sarcastically. Stepping out of the tent she tapped the man the doc had referred to as Thrall, “Hey, wanna swap jobs?” she asked him, “Fetching and carrying is not my bag.” she indicated her gold undershirt, “Lighting, now that’s more my style.” she smiled with as much lightheartedness as she could muster.

The Tellarite smiled at the engineer. "The carrying is what privates are for, don't be afraid to use them."

Dhanishta smiled falsely in return ~ Riiiggghhht ~ she thought ~So what is it exactly that you do?~ she wondered. She wouldn’t shirk her duties on to anyone else, swap – yes, shirk – no. There were obviously different standards between Marines and Fleeters

Caboose turned to regard both Thral and the engineer and said "I can carry it. I can carry a-lot of things." in his usual mellow voice.

Dhanishta stared, slightly confused at the comment the relative new comer had just made. As of yet she knew none of them by name, nor had she conversed with any of them.

Tucker, another one of Greg's SpecForces walked up, "It's true, he's got crazy strength. Church and I think it's the Prophet's way of compensating. First time I saw it, I shouted "GREAT PAUL BUNYAN, HE'S LIKE AN OX!"

Caboose turned to Tucker, Dhani and Thral and said "But I have no horns... or lumberjack friends."

“That’s…great.” Dhani finally offered after a stunned silence. She nodded still slightly bemused, smiling slightly and gently backed away, finally turning around and walking across the dirt to the transport; realizing why there was a divide between the two groups, ~There all nuts~ she concluded.

As she reached the transport she frowned, all she had left to look forward to on this trip was a medical check up. Why was it that no mater what mission she went on she always got stuck with a doctor wanting to do tests? ~Just my rotten dammed bad luck~ she gripped rubbing her stomach as it did another volley of somersaults.

"Bedside Manners"

Ensign Robert Mathieson, Phd.

Starfleet Mobile Hospital, Planet Cheon, RSE

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

"Have ye been losin' any hair?"

"Have you been losing any hair?"

"Any pain in yer joints - wrists, elbows, knees, hips an' the like?"

"Any pain in your joints - wrists, elbows, knees, hips and the like?"

"Do ye have t' reprat everythin' I say?"

"Do you have to repeat everything I say?"

"I'm warnin' ye lad, I've got a Gorn laxative that'll give ye th' ragin shits for a year if ye don't behave!"

"I'm wanring you, lad, I've got a Gorn laxi... laxa...lax-a-tive... what's a laxative?"

A tired, sweaty Robert Mathieson cursed the fickle gods that made some Romulan children equally as belligerent and difficult as Human ones - perhaps more so, as added to the sometimes healthy distrust of child to adult was a proportionate fear of Mathieson's all too evident humanity. The child's mother, as stony and cold an individual the doctor had ever seen (and he had seen a lot) didn't help much, offering only single syllable replies to important medical questions. The examination wasn't going well.

The short Englishman looked down at the young Romulan and saw only a thin child of perhaps eight, too smart for his own good and too impatient to be cooperative for the exam. Something unorthodox was required. He have the child an impertinent sneer, and made his move.

"Nyaaaaaaaa!"

"Nyaaaaaaaa!"

"Phtphtphtphtphtpht!"

"Phtphtphtphtphtphtnhaaaaa!"

The proceedure had worked perfectly - the child, repeating his taunting raspberry, had exposed his tongue long enough for it to be seized with a gloved hand. Taking a close look at it, Mathieson could see two small patches of purple, rough tissue about a half inch in diameter.

~No wonder the kid's a pisser - cancer of the mouth.~

The doctor jabbed a hypospray into the child's neck and inoculated him with a hefty dose of Inaprovaline, then let go of the tongue.

"Human! That was NOT necessary! What kind of animal are you, a Klingon??", the mother railed, suddenly capable of more than grunts and short answers. Her son simply glared and covered his mouth with both hands, blissfully silent.

Mathieson, now having the upper hand, have the parent an icy stare of his own. "You bet yer ever lovin' 'A' it was! And if this's yer kid, ye'll have the same symptoms. How yer treated'll depend on how well ye behave. Fer instance, ye can get th' hypospray, or that thing over on the table."

That 'thing' was a Starfleet Medical Suppository Applicator Mark I. It was a Mark I because after the invent of the hypospray over two hundred years ago, Medical ceased development of instruments for delivering medicines anally. Mathieson liked to keep the medieval looking instrument handy as a clear, accurate sign of the consequences of being difficult - it was a picture that painted a thousand words. The mother's eyes bulged at the Applicator and docilely exposed her neck for the hypospray.

~Thought you'd see things my way.~

Mother and son left the hospital quickly after that.

Despite the attitude of some of his patients (and truthfully, it was only a handful), Mathieson's part of the mission was proceeding well. For the most part, Romulans, Remans and Klingons cooperated with a minimal amount of fuss, and Delta Shift was performing exceedingly well. Many were young and green, but Mathieson couldn't fault their work ethic or commitment, and the experience on Cheron was giving them more practical medicine in a week than they'd typically see on a starship in more than half a year.

~Well, maybe not quite that long. Galaxy seems to be an odd kind of ship, truth be told.~

During the lull in patients, the Cockney doctor returned to the morgue and re-examined the Romulan casualty he was keeping in stasis at great cost of reactor power and resources. When Director Leto demanded to know the cause of death, he wasn't pleased with the answer Mathieson had given him.

"What do you mean 'his brain is missing?' How can you say you have no idea how it happened?", the Administrator demanded. "What kind of Medical Officer are you?"

"Th' kind that doesn't put up with a lot o' shit, Director", Mathieson bristled. "I've fergotten more medicine than your staff'll ever know, and in forty years o' practice, I've never seen anythin' like it. No Romulan, Reman, Federation, Klingon, Ferengi, Orion, Kzinti, Lyran, Hydran, Gorn, Betazoid, Bajoran, Founder, Breen or any other race o' th four quadrants I've ever experienced 're capable o' this, an' that's a fact."

Leto, however, was unconvinced. "Doctor", he said, wide eyed and disbelieving. "This isn't credible. There must be some kind of explanation! You must have overlooked something!" Out of habit, the older Romulan glanced in the direction of the Klingon compound, certain that Vergh and his crew were somehow responsible.

"Look, mate. I know what yer' thinkin - but th' Klingons 're simply not up to this kind 'o finesse or precision." The doctor lowered his voice, sensing Leto's anger and frustration. "Look, you an me've been 'round th' block a few more time than the kids we work with, and that includes that lot over there. Believe me when I'm sayin' that there's no way Vergh or anyone else in his crew could've done this. Not a chance."

"There has to be some kind of explanation, Doctor", Leto whispered. "If not for me, then for my superiors. With your presence here, eye of the Senate now looks uncomfortably on Cheron. Should they be unsatisfied with our explanations, they could focus on the matter with a more, ah... exacting inquiry. Cheron, despite it's flaws, has proven that my people and the Remans can peacefully coexist - this situation must continue to exist." The administrator clearly looked uncomfortable discussing any matter of Imperial politics. "We need to give them something better than 'I don't know'."

Mathison nodded, and glanced back at the morgue. "Alright, I'll chat it up with me boss and ask her t' look into th' matter. Let our people look closely at the site the victim was attacked 't see if there's somethin' around that's not evident on the slab back there. Can't make any guarantees, but I'll do me best."

With a smile and a firm handshake, Leto sealed the bargain. "Thank you, Doctor. Reports about you were completely inaccurate - you're the very spirit of cooperation."

"Well, Director Leto, that all depends on th' answer to me next question - when wasy *your* last physical?"

{{OOC: Re-sent. Ian, please use this version for archiving purposes. Also, thanks to Marco for correcting Audris' family name :) }}

"A Bridge to the Past"

Present Time:
Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer / Expedition Leader

Turan Trelar
juvenile Quentite "ambassador" / Acting Engineer

2160:
Commander Audris Schneider, intelligence (Oded)
Lieutenant Rhon Aclestone, helmsman (Marco)

Saul was trying to determine who among the group he trusted the least.

They made their way in the amazingly-preserved corridors of the Challenger, following a path Saul outlined on a PADD based on the ship's schematics which were conjured from the depths of the Galaxy's historic databases.

The two aliens flanking him were the top candidates for Saul's mistrust. The Reman looked serene, almost too serene. He hasn't made a sound for over five minutes, and generally looked like someone who would step over a cliff's edge without slowing its pace. Saul suspected that the Reman may be involved with the saboteurs, perhaps using as a decoy or as an observer. Thinking of how the Romulan expedition to the nearby city ruins ended up – buried under the rubble of a collapsed spire – made Saul even more tense when thinking of the Reman. Was he waiting for the right moment?

Next to him, the young Romulan was constantly shooting hastened glances at every passing shadow. Saul usually perceived Romulans as cold blooded and calculated, but this particular one was nervous. Perhaps HE knew something Saul didn't? Saul doubted, but he didn't abandon the possibility that the saboteurs were in fact Romulans, and if the driver was collaborating with them, it could explain his nervousness.

Behind them, giving a good fight to both the Reman and the Romulan, was acting crewman apprentice Chava. The Bolian-Human woman was wearing a ragged desert outfit and a sly grin which resembled Saul's, to the point of discomfort.

She was collaborative, much to his relief. Saul was willing to bet his second pip that both the Reman and the Romulan believed Chava to be an SI agent. Ironically, so did part of the Galaxy's crew. Saul already picked up some gossip bits on the rumor mill, ranging from Chava being some sort of a clandestine operative or agent, to his secret mistress.

As if he would survive for three minutes if Nara or 8-Ball would believe THAT particular rumor. Saul chuckled at the thought. Still, he knew what kind of person Chava was, and her decision to work for Devoss at some time after Saul left Utrecht III could only mean that she was not trustworthy at all. And yet here she is, wearing a Starfleet uniform and looking proud of herself. Perhaps, after this mission, he could convince her to leave the life on Utrecht III behind, like he did when-

No. It was only a matter of time until she backstabs him. And rightfully so, after what he did to her on Vaden.

So the person that could be trusted the most in the group was probably also the tallest.

Saul approached the tall, pale-skinned Quentite. When he questioned Iniara about her assigning Trelar to his team, her only answer was that the other engineers were required for repairing the damage and investigating the sabotage. The alien had a slightly intimidating appearance, but Saul was told that he was quite young. He was sort of a protégé of the Engineering department – so how much harm could he do?

Saul leaned toward his Quentite ally.

"So what do you think of her, Mr. Trelar?", He asked, referring to the ship whose bowels they treaded.

"She rather looks like a dungeon labyrinth than a star ship with all the sand and dust. One could easily get lost in these dark sloping corridors.", the tall Quentite answered illuminating walls and floor with his wrist torch. "I haven't seen many star ships before but compared to the Galaxy she looks rather .... ancient. I wonder how she looked when she was on duty."

Turan stopped and looked at a Lcars-like schematics showing a deck plan. It took some time to find the 'you are here'-point. Although the Challenger was about a third of the Galaxy's size the schematics showed more than twenty decks - several of the special purpose rooms spanning more that just one deck.

Turan turned towards the Terran. "Sir? May I ask you where we are heading? What are we searching for?"

The Lieutenant took a glimpse of the other group members, and whispered cryptically. "We're looking for a missing page. Aristi's story sums up all that we know of the Challenger's demise, but we still don't know many things. Like how exactly was the ship damaged, and how did it reach this place. The battle took place in the vicinity of this system, but not near the planet. In fact, if I recall correctly, the planet wasn't visited by Starfleet until a century after the Challenger met its final resting place. And why didn't the ship leave the battlefield in time, and..."

Saul realized that he was carried away in his excitement. "You know, it's like a museum here. To answer your question, right now we're heading for the bridge."

Turan turned back to study the schematics, his long bony finger moving over the clear plastic plate. It took some time to read the small words written in Starfleet standard. It was not just the language the schematics was labeled in - Starfleet letters weren't as hard to learn as the Quentite boy first feared. There were only fifty different symbols. Twenty-five of them were only used at the beginning of a word. Certain there was a rule when 'A' was used instead of 'a' - Turan didn't understand yet.

"There seem to be three ways to get there. I think the lift is out of order so we can drop that option. There is an emergency stairway leading there. It's near the main lift."

The Quentite boy scout turned towards the lieutenant to watch his reactions.

"Third option is to crawl what they called 'auxiliary access tunnel'. That's something like a Jeffries tube, I guess." he reported.

Saul took a deep breath. "As... the team's engineer, which path do you predict to be the safest?"

Turan scratched his forehead. At 'home' on the Galaxy the answer would have come easy to him.

"Good question, sir" the Quentite answered. "The sloping doesn't make climbing steps easier. Assumed the tunnel isn't blocked by debris I would prefer the passage through the tunnel."

"All right.", Saul took the PADD, and marked for the others to follow.

Complaints followed soon thereafter as both the Romulan and Chava realized what was asked of them. The Reman, however, submitted in silence and knelt next to the tunnel's opening.

It was a very narrow pass, and Saul kept thinking that if any saboteur wanted to trap them, now would be an excellent time. It would be an ugly way to die, suffocating as several untrustworthy aliens and a white giant consumed his air.

But eventually the seemingly eternal crawl ended, and Saul slowly rose to his feet. He smacked his thighs and rubbed his elbows, raising small clouds of dust; The white, powdery stuff seemed to be everywhere.

The door to the bridge was torn open, and daylight penetrated its empty frame. Saul stepped inside, turning off his wrist torch and lowering his weapon.

"They didn't stand a chance.", He murmured.

The front wall of the bridge was missing, exposing the Challenger's command center to the dry air outside.

Turan climbed out of the tunnel second. It took some time until the tall boy's spine unfolded to its full size. After crawling dark tubes for so long he was forced to keep his eyes closed until they finally adapted to the bleeding bright sunlight.

The Quentite walked over to the center of the bridge. There were three single seats looking as if they were waiting to be manned again. (Besides the fact that the sloping would let the one who sat down there slowly slip out of the seat down on the floor.)

Carefully, he stroke the console standing in front of the left seat to wipe away the sand and dust covering its surface for two hundred years. The surface was not as empty as the Galaxy's consoles would be when switched off. Only a rather small rectangular area in the middle of the panel was dark. Several controls were arranged around the dark area. Most of the label showed that the console once was the helmsman's workplace.

"Are you sure that the wall was teared open before the Challenger hit the ground?" asked Turan.

"A Bridge to the Past" - part II

Present Time:
Lieutenant Saul Bental Chief Tactical Officer / Expedition Leader
Turan Trelar juvenile Quentite "ambassador" / Acting Engineer

2160: Commander Audris Schneider, intelligence (Oded)
Lieutenant Rhon Aclestone, helmsman (Marco)

The Quentite walked over to the center of the bridge. There were three single seats looking as if they were waiting to be manned again. (Besides the fact that the sloping would let the one who sat down there slowly slip out of the seat down on the floor.)

Carefully, he stroke the console standing in front of the left seat to wipe away the sand and dust covering its surface for two hundred years. The surface was not as empty as the Galaxy's consoles would be when switched off. Only a rather small rectangular area in the middle of the panel was dark. Several controls were arranged around the dark area. Most of the label showed that the console once was the helmsman's workplace.

"Are you sure that the wall was teared open before the Challenger hit the ground?" asked Turan.

* * * 2160 * * *

The heavy doors sighed open, and Audris marched into the bridge. The command center was a beehive of activity, and today the buzz was louder than usual. Ten minutes earlier, an officer woke her up from an uneasy sleep, telling her that the Captain instructed her to assume bridge duty two hours early. When her eyes landed on the Captain's seat, she saw that it was vacant."

Rhon swiveled his seat. His eyed met the pair of dark blue eyes glancing at the empty seat next to his one. The rumor that went around amongst the Challenger's crew was going become reality soon. Seconds ago, the captain ordered a new course towards Cheron, a planet close to the border of the Romulan space - actually a few lightyears behind the enemy's lines.

The Challenger's helmsman wasn't really thinking about the soon-to-come battle. His eyes still focused the curly intelligence officer. This was not the first time Rhon was paralyzed by her intoxicating appearance. This was not the first time he felt like drowning in those two deep blue lakes mother nature gave her as eyes. Every time they met before Rhon was too shy to get anything over his lips other than the formal 'Hello Commander Schneider'. When all this - or at least the coming battle was over, he silently swore to himself, he would ask her for a date.

"Hello Commander Schneider.", Rhon greeted Audris "The captain left to change into a clean uniform. He didn't want to face the enemy wearing a dust covered overall. He will be back in a few minutes."

"That's one way to put it, Aclestone.", The black Ensign standing next to the sensors station said. "He and the XO were at each other's throats AGAIN."

Audris shot a warning glare at the Ensign, which shrunk in his place. "And that amuses you because...?". When an answer didn't come, she shook her head in disappointment. In truth, she WAS disappointed. The rivalry between the Captain and his supposed right hand was clear since

the taskforce began travel toward Romulan territory. Audris didn't recall such hostility between them beforehand, but then again she was only stationed on the Challenger for two months, so perhaps she arrived when the CO and XO were in a temporary truce.

She decided to talk with a more objective observer, and stepped next to the Helmsman. She leaned over his console, scanning the new course set by the Lieutenant.

"So how bad was it, Mr. Aclestone?", She asked, a thin smile penetrating her ice-cold expression.

"Can't really say what happened behind the scene. That all came virtually out of nowhere." answered the helmsman mentally adding 'as usual'.

Audris nodded. Thank goodness for small graces. Although, she would love to hear the contents of her superiors' arguments. It could give her a hint regarding Delilah, or what's eating the two of them in general."

"As far as I was able to attend the show all started when Commander Mulrave suggested to have some recreational activities. She thought some extra freedom would raise motivation. She talked to the captain in a rather polite way. The captain seemed to feel his authority undermined. He reacted harsh and anything else but friendly. He seems to be very nervous since we got that message about the enemy's stealth technology." explained Rhon and turned back to his console.

Oh no, Audris thought, he was nervous far before that. Rhon got one thing right - the Captain must've felt that the Commander IS undermining his authority. Both of them had access to 'Delilah', and Audris' intuition told her that this obscure project, not recreational activities, was the center of the argument.

"We will reach the border of Romulan space in about forty minutes and forty-six seconds." Rhon added, seeing that Audris was lost in thoughts.

"Borders the least stable thing in this war.", The German intelligence officer commented. Right now, THEY were the border, and with them the border advanced. If they fail on Cheron, the border will be where the Romulan counterstrike will finally be stopped.

"So, tomorrow is the big day.", She added, her words meant for the helmsman alone. "Will you be flying the ship, when the time comes?"

Rhon shook his head no. "Can't say yet. Depends on the shift and of course on the captain's mood. Let's say I'm not really looking forward to dogfight those Rommies. But it's the same with the other pilots, too. Yesterday we sat together and talked. Most of us joined UESPA to explore and to ... as the advertising said ... proudly go where nobody else has gone before. None of us expected to find himself in a war nobody really seems to know what the fuss is all about."

"The 'fuss' is quite simple.", Audris replied sharply. It seems that the Captain's behavior and the shroud of secrecy and uncertainty covering this entire war, hurt the morale of the crew. The last thing she wanted was an undetermined officer manning the Helm tomorrow. "These Romulans are hostile. and they've not responded to our requests to negotiate. You can't sit on your hands when someone attacks you without provocation. You must--"

The Captain's entrance put an abrupt stop to Audris' speech, while Rhon slowly turned back to face his console to demonstratively check its controls.

Audris turned to face the Captain. He seemed calm and confident. If he displayed insecurity in front of the bridge crew before, it vanished now. The bridge suddenly turned quite."

"Captain on the bridge.", Audris prompted, standing in attention. The Captain gestured at her to stand down, and took his seat.

"Captain, may I have a word?", The intelligence officer asked.

The Captain patted his mustache. "Is it relevant to tomorrow's battle?"

"I do not know.", Audris admitted.

The Captain remained quite for a second, but his expression was clear. He knew what she wanted to talk with him about, and didn't like it one bit. "Then tomorrow. Until we come out of the battle triumphant, we should all focus on the fight at hand. That goes for each and every one of you, gentlemen.", He added somewhat louder, addressing the entire crew now.

"Tomorrow will go down in history as the turning point of this war, but only we can determine which side will emerge victorious. If we win, two months from now all of us will be back home with our loved ones. If we lose, two months from now the Romulans will be at our homes and our loved ones will be dead. I choose option one. I choose to focus, to concentrate all my thoughts and will on the twenty four hours. I choose to win. And so will you. I promise you as many 'recreational activities' and as many trivial answers as you want in our celebration of triumph. And until that blessed time will come, Mr. Aclestone, take us full speed ahead, where victory awaits."

Audris was stunned by the bridge crew's reaction. They cheered. They clapped their hands, they waved their fists in the air.

Perhaps the morale wasn't that low. And perhaps the Captain was right. 'Delilah' could wait another day, couldn't it?

She leaned over Aclestone's console.

"Hip hip hooray!" whispered helmsman Aclestone. There wasn't much of the enthusiasm the other shared.

He almost recoiled with surprise when he felt something touching his shoulder - her hand. "Motivation aside, I'm sure you'll do well tomorrow. The Captain has a point - it's us or them, I'm afraid. See you tomorrow then."

"Up the creek..."

Open fist main marine group

Dass
Branwen
Danica
Vaebn
Amy

Branwen waited outside until the doc had finished and could join her. She hoped it would not be too bad and they could continue with the mission. Radiation shouldn't be that bad. She had been warned about it but they had all taken medication and it should be okay. Bran simply didn't understand it.

Dass finally emerged from the tent, med kit slung over his shoulder and a stack of thermal blankets under his arm. The expression on his face was one of anxiety; he almost tripped up on London as he made his way through the camp.

Looking up at his obstruction he gave the woman a grim look and handed her the stack of blankets, "Walk with me Lieutenant?" he asked, his tone indicating it was not a request.

Branwen didn't protest at the tone of command in his voice. The doctor was now the most important person in the camp.

He was silent for some time as he led London out to the perimeter.  Once out of earshot from the majority of the troops he paused in his stride and looked down at the petite Welsh woman beside him.

"We have a problem Sir." He said solemnly.

"What's wrong? I know it looks like radiation sickness, but that can't be, we are not close enough." Branwen said quietly. Dass shrugged his shoulders and let out a long sigh, “I know.” he replied tiredness and exasperation showing through his hoarse voice and drooping features.  He had seen almost every member of the away team in the last few hours, one after the other, nose to tail like a shipment of cows.  And each one had the same condition.  Some were more worse-off than others in the way their body handled it; but their exposure was all the same.

“I don’t understand it.” Dass continued running his free hand through his mousy brown hair, “The briefing said that Cheron was ‘buzzing’.” he began to outwardly recite his inner monologue, pacing slightly as he did so, “We expected radiation.  But we also took scans of the area.  Base camp was set up in an area that had extremely low levels of radiation.  And this route that we are on is *away* from the crash site, where the level of radiation is quite frankly negligible.” his pitch rose as he spoke as did his gesturing, not particularly aimed at London mind, “The amount of radiation that everyone has been exposed to is consistent with us being virtually *IN* the crashed ship!” he humped frowning deeply.

Danica Rainn one of marine engineering techs assigned to the team approached Branwen and Dass. She felt this was important enough to interrupt. "Actually Ma'am we could be closer than we think. Navigation equipment is not working properly due to interference and is unreliable." She paused not wanting to accept the conclusion but they had to know, "We're lost..."

"I am sorry?" Bran could hardly believe it. "All the equipment? For how long?" “And it doesn’t help matter’s that over half your team wasn’t taking precautions in the first place Lieutenant!” Dass chastised London flapping his arms at his side in frustration.  He was so caught up in his own confusion over the radiation poising that he didn’t even notice the interruption, he stopped pacing and turned to London lowering his voice, “And what’s worse Lieutenant is that I don’t have enough meds here to keep those worst effected going through the night!” he hissed as he was trying not to shout.

Frowning he double taked at the woman that was now standing with the Lieutenant, wondering where the hell she had just come from and was that line something he wanted anyone else to know about except the Lieutenant – quite frankly no.  ~Shit~ he mentally kicked himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings.

His scowl deepened creasing his young skin, amplifying his premature frown lines.  He scratched his head absently and then his hearing suddenly caught up to him, “Come again?  Did you just say that we are lost?” he asked blinking in disbelief at the young woman.

*** Elsewhere in the Encampment Cheron, Remote Location East of Settlement ***

The fire crackled, drawing his attention away from the perimeter. A form could be seen huddled by the fire, shaking quite badly from the looks of it. It was the woman from the briefing. The one who had questioned his involvement with the Federation marine unit. He chuckled slightly, at the thought of the Marine being sick. It served her right.

He could see her cough several times in quick succession.

He had seen several other Marines coughing and looking unwell also during his time against the rock. Probably some sort of reaction to the planet. As if it was trying to tell them to leave. Vaebn didn't understand why they had been brought here, nor why they agreed to come. It wasn't like the Federation had been involved in the battle that had occurred years ago, nor for that matter had the formerly mighty Klingon empire. It had only been one tiny planet, who became one of the founders of the Federation. One tiny miserable planet, and they had bested so many of his Rihannsu brethren.

At least the Remans had an valid excuse to be here. Not that Vaebn wanted them here either. But he was... What was that? A twinkle of light had caught in the corner of his vision. Turning towards the source of the light, he could only make out the darkness that covered the terrain. If he had night vision or some sort of night vision goggles, he'd be able to see through the darkness better, but alas he hadn't had time to pack them, and hadn't seen the need to request some from Lieutenant London. Damn. He had seen something. He was sure of it.

A cough from the woman marine drew his attention again. She had turned and was looking at him intently now. A look of anger, or perhaps distrust on her facial features showed that even in her incapacitated state she still viewed him with loathing, or some such other human emotion. There it was again. The glint of light. Turning again towards the source proved useless as he could still not see anything.

"Did you see that?" He asked the Private.

"See what" she said coldly. "I didn't see squat."

"There is someone, or something, out there." He called back, ignoring the chill that emanated from her words. "But every time I turn to look, it disappears."

"Tell the LT." Amy grunted. "And while you're at it, get me the doc."

He nodded in response and turned towards the location where he had last seen London.

"Expecting too much"

Lt. Cmdr. Brianna O'Shea

Lt. Ella Grey

Lt. Jiiles (Written by Dru, as always!)

Lt. Naranda Roswell

::Engineering, USS Galaxy ::

It had been a little while since the briefing and since the news had been let out about the ticking time clock. Anna was in the depth of it all, and struggling to maintain some form of control. She found it disconcerting to be working with men, but pushed on through pain and fear cause of the problem. Ella had remained close by her at all times, it was good but Anna knew it was also bad since she was trying to get back into the form of control she once had before.

Anna turned and saw all the key people within ear shot. "Alright... what do we know... about the, this ticking... anything I want to hear all of it." Anna said a she approached the 'pool' table.

"It's definitely a countdown." Ella confirmed. "We've narrowed it down to three locations."

Anna looked at her friend. "Three locations... What else have you figured out thus far?" Anna asked, holding her hands in her pockets so people wouldn't notice the shaking.

"There's booby traps around each, Chief." Ella reminded her. "Which makes it difficult to discover what the device actually is if we want to try to deactivate this ticking's security without actually setting it off. Furthermore, each location has a different type of security."

"It would be safe to assume that each location is different in the form of security protocols, such as what will make the bomb go off." Anna said. "Which means we need to hit all three locations at the same time." Anna stated. "Are we sure it's just one bomb? What if there are three? I mean the galaxy is a large ship.. If she were me and I were her... I wanted to destroy you all.. I would plant three."

Jiiles looked up at the Chief and simply stared at her. While he knew that she wasn't the same woman that had planted the bombs and the endless booby traps, that line brought home their similarity.

Both the woman before him and the one that he had worked with for the last half year; spoke the same, looked the same, there was no indication that they were two different people. Everything about O'Shea had been copied, right down to the last strand of DNA. So in truth, what exactly was the difference between 'O'Shea the clone' and 'O'Shea the chief'? Nothing!

"That's.. that's great chief." Jiiles stammered as the realization hit. "It's always good to have a view from the inside track!" He averted looking at her for the moment and focused on the task at hand, because there simply was nothing he could think of to do with O'Shea. How do you keep a traitor from turning against the fold?

Ella shot Jiiles a warning look before passing over her computer PADD to the Chief.

Nara's face hardened, but kept her gaze on the PADD. She took a few deep breaths before she looked up, the hardness still there, but trying to be at least civil, she spoke practically through clenched teeth, "Could they be interconnected? If one is disconnected, the other two go off? Do we need to try to disarm them all at once?"

Any time she was around O'Shea she had to fight the urge to strangle the woman. The more things were discussed, the more real the anger became real and the fuzzier the line between the original and the clone became. The more it was talked about, the more Nara wondered if the real O'Shea wasn't as much of a traitor. She kept a comment about trusting O'Shea to herself. She would discuss it with Ella later.

"It's a fair bet they are and we do." Ella said.

Nara kept her gaze away from O'Shea and looked at her PADD, "I also think we should evacuate the areas and have a force-field around the vicinity of the bomb. It should keep the explosion isolated in case something goes wrong." Sure, an engineer or two would die, but the ship would be somewhat not as damaged. Her jaw clenched tighter. If anyone died of this, someone would pay. Clone or not. They were of the same DNA. Someone would pay.

"That won't work..." Anna said quietly as she looked up, feeling the heat of stares and concealing the fact she wanted to just leave. "If their connected, and I'm stressing if they are... if we surround them with a field, it could go off if we sever the connection.... also we have to think about the bombs could be connected to the plasma conduits... if they are, this whole ship is wired to explode." Anna said.

"The clone isn't stupid... remember that." She said bringing her shaking hand up. "Mister Jilles and Lt Roswell... if you have something to say to or about me, don't make childish remarks, glares or mutterings under your breath... say them to my damn face!" Anna said, showing how much anger she had just under the surface. Anna closed her eyes and took a breath, now was not the time for her anger to surface.

"Were gonna need help with this..." Anna said.

Nara chewed the inside of her cheek a moment before looking up, "I agree we need to get these bombs taken care of." Nara didn't mention she had been biting her tongue so there was nothing childish how she was acting.

Jiiles looked up at O'Shea's outburst. He felt for the woman, honestly he did. The first time he had really worked with her he had been a total bastard towards her, he couldn't deny that. But they had talked and settled their differences. But that wasn't this O'Shea.

And the problem was no longer the same one. And he wasn't even sure if there was a problem. So the woman had the same DNA, didn't their counterparts in the Mirror universe have that too? Not that he had ever met anyone from an alternate universe, but he had heard about it. And someone even more close to home; Dhani. She told him of how she changed when she had been abandoned in the alternate future.

So there was a difference between 'O'Shea the clone' and 'O'Shea the chief' - circumstance.

Things happened that made the clone defect, mainly the fact that she was 'raised' by the Hydren, her purpose was to defect! But did that mean that this O'Shea would defect too given the right circumstance? And if the answer to that question was yes... then surely there would be a circumstance that would make him defect too.

That thought remained with him for a while.

"No, no problems Chief." Jiiles said vaguely, handing her a PADD he walked away from the pool table a distant look across his face. Why did he always get stuck in this position? It was like he was the only one that had the guts to have a go at the hierarchy, no fear that was it. It must be.

Looking down at the data PADD. It was hard for Anna to keep the anger inside. When she read his comment on the device < You are expecting too much, too soon > she looked over at him and resisted the urge to walk over and tell him what he could do with his comment. She cleared out the device and began to type her own response on it.

Jiiles leaned against the wall next to the replicator, "Red leaf tea please." He ordered rubbing his smooth head to relieve the rising tension. He stared up absently at the 'jobs board' in Engineering collecting an errand thought, they were missing something; something that was really obvious. Wasn't that always the way though? His inner voice mocked.

Moving over toward Jilles she handed it to him. Then turned and walked though the crowd. "I'll get us some help from other departments... Ella... you're in command until I return." Anna stated, she had to get out of here before she popped off at someone, the thought of Jilles reading the data PADD which said, 'What I expect if anyone can't work with me.. then get the hell out of my way.' she had wrote.

Nara sighed and looked at Ella for a word of dismissal or further instructions so they can get to work. She thought momentarily that when this emergency was over, she needed a drink. A stupid, get drunk night, with the hang over the next morning drunk. Too bad 8-Ball was gone and Baile was in the brig. Now she had to find another. Or maybe she should stop doing that. That would be under consideration.

For now, she was itching to get to work in hopes of not dying today or anytime soon. Keeping Saia alive for one more day.

Jiiles watched O'Shea storm out and then realized that she had written a reply. Shaking his head he sighed and placed the tea back in the replicator. Nodding to Grey he left Engineering, hot on O'Shea's heals.

"Timestorm - Part 3"

Ensign Keldan, Operations Officer
Michael McDowell, Civilian Engineering Specialist

Keldan grabbed his tricorder and toolkit from the side drawer of his workstation and began planning on how best to broach the problem at hand. The drive toward getting to the bottom of this was sending adrenaline pumping through his system and the need for sleep was now a fading memory. It would no doubt catch up with him later, probably at some perfectly inopportune moment. Eh. Best to worry about it later.

He ran the tricorder over the station, looking for evidence of physical tampering, but finding none. "Computer, begin a level one diagnostic on this workstation. Report any mechanical or operational anomalies. Estimated time to completion?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Perfect. "Execute." He began laying out the equipment he would need to open up and explore the interior of the unit if need be. He had already dismissed a dozen ideas as to what might be the problem. Whether the cause was operational or mechanical remained to be seen. He'd need help from Engineering if it was the latter.

He'd seen this McDowell a few times on board the ship, but their paths had not yet directly crossed. Thank the Father that it hadn't been Dhanishta who'd responded to the call; the last thing he needed was to have her in his quarters again since that would have only led to either strained silence or another session of 'talking' about their 'feelings'. He'd already reached his quota of that for this year.

But then he remembered Dhanishta had been assigned to go to Cheron and would probably be gone for a while. He certainly hoped things would go well for the group, especially since Lt. Tarin was in command of the mission. He looked back at his workstation with mild irritation. "Well, I guess we all have our problems to take care of, don't we, Chief?"

Keldan waited in silence for several minutes, continuing to go over in his mind possible causes to the problem other than intentional sabotage. Hopefully, between himself and McDowell, they would come up with the answer.

Michael arrived somewhat early at Keldan´s quarters. Instead of 15 minutes it had taken him only 10 minutes to finish his work and get here. All the better. He tapped the chime and waited for a response. Meanwhile he wondered what problems he would run into now.

"Enter", Keldan barked in response to the chime. He stood facing the engineer as he crossed the threshold of his quarters. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Lieutenant."

"No problem." Michael answered. From the corner of his eyes he saw something was happening on the workstation Keldan had talked about. He looked closer to see what it really was that scrolled over the workstation's display. "I see that you already started?"

"I'm currently running a Level 1 diagnostic on the unit looking for any anomolies. It should finish in a few more minutes."

"Alright, good idea. That should cover a great deal of possible causes we have to sift through." Michael raised his Engineering Toolbox slightly, making it clear to Keldan that he wanted to lay it down somewhere. After Keldan did a step sideways Michael walked towards the table, placed the Toolbox down, and opened it. "Can you tell me something more about the problem? You said something about 'O'Shea's presents', but I need to know details before I can do anything."

"Basically, the root of the problem is this: someone accessed my workstation around eight hundred hours this morning without my knowledge. They used my access codes, but I can't determine from what computer station aboard ship was used, because the access log has been partly erased. Whoever it was accessed a lot of the various ship's systems, and who knows what kind of havoc they may have introduced. A few hours ago I found a booby trap in a console on Deck 16 set by that O'Shea clone that was going to send out malignant code to systems all over the ship. I immediately thought she might have done something similar here."

Michael nodded. "That's possible, yes. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd done that." he said. "Could you find out what areas have been accessed?"

"Already done," he replied. He began rattling off the affected systems. "Propulsion, Environmental, Stellar Cartography, Historical Archives, the Crew Manifest & Starfighter Duty Roster, for starters. The diagnostic should give us a more detailed description of what was accessed. But I found it interesting that all the areas are pretty innocuous. No high clearance information; just activity logs. Seemed like a good way to plant some kind of computer virus or worm." He paused for a moment, thinking. "We should probably see if we can reconstruct the access log, as well. It might give us more information on who is behind this and what they did."

"It's an idea we can use, yes. Let's see if we can backtrack the users who accessed the areas you mentioned." Michael sat down before the console and typed in his access code. It gave him access to areas of the computer network where loads pf programs were stored. All used only by Engineers. After a minute of searching through the file he stumbled on something. "Hm, I think this can come in handy. A tracer-program. The game is afoot, don't you think?" Michael looked at Keldan. He kind of enjoyed these little mysteries.

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