"Elementary, My Dear Doctor"

2nd Lt Branwen London, XO Furies and staff psychologist
Ensign Robert Mathieson, PhD
Mervaan, Reman NPC

Tunnels, Planet Cheron

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

"Jus' how far d' these friggin' things go?"

The transit tunnels beneath Cheron's surface were massive, and now resembled gargantuan cave grottoes. Limestone stalagmites rose from the cavernous floor into the darkness above, so high the portable beams carried by the Remans couldn't probe the top. Resting after four hours of hiking, Mathieson and the Reman party seemed to have made little progress in distance travelled. If the height of the tunnel was large, the length defied description.

Mervaan offered the human water, taking none for himself. "They're intercontinental, Doctor. It would seem the original inhabitants of the planet were impressive engineers - the scale of this mag-lev transit system is beyond anything I've ever seen on Romulus. The amount of goods or people that could be moved by such a system would be large indeed." The Reman, while making his observations, kept is eyes firmly cast at the darkness before them. Periodically, he'd adjust his head as he listened to the small noises echoing off the tunnel's distant walls. Finally, he raised a pale, leathery hand at the Starfleet physician.

"Shhh..."

Mathieson frose mid sip, looking at the Reman leader from the corner of his eye. Mervaan signaled silently to the other Remans in the party and they blended into the shadows. After a minute, he leaned close to Mathieson's ear and whispered. "We are not alone. A mile ahead. Small party. Not Remans or Romulans. Far too quiet for Klingons."

The doctor risked a quiet whisper of his own. "Corrilian? Starfleet?"

The tall Reman shook his head, and looked back at the echoing blackness.

==========

1 Mile Ahead ==========

"Look, where the hell are you taking me. Talk to me, at least tell me who you are." Branwen was saying. She was blindfolded and although they were not treating her rough, on this terrain it was not easy either.

"Why did you separate me from the rest of my group? Was going to happen to them, are you really going to let them go? Don't think you can torture me. I am a Starfleet Marine, I am not afraid of you. Really I am not, at all." Branwen realized that she was chattering, but somehow she couldn't stop herself. Everything was better than the silence. And besides memories of the mission before this were coming back, and those were not good memories.

===========

1/2 Mile Behind

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

~Fekkin' bloody biece of shyte!~

Cursing silently to himself, Mathieson vainly tried to get his tricorder working, but although the power cell seemed operational there was no current reaching the sensors or display. Fortunately they still had light, but nothing else - communicators, chronometers and other devices were dead. Whatever was approaching killed anything electronic, but didn't affect the chemical fuel of the portable lanterns.

Mervaan had left the old physician alone, and the inky darkness didn't bother him in the least - it was the sounds that have him concern. Small, indiscernible sounds.

A step?

A shuffle?

A drip?

They sounds were barely audible, but magnified in quantity as they echoed off the distant tunnel walls. Each small, unidentifiable noise added to the mounting tension that seemed to bear down on the old man's ribcage. He almost screamed when a cold, pale leathery hand covered his mouth.

"Easy Doctor", Mervaan whispered, seeing the physician's eyes bulge in surprise. "There's a Starfleet Marine with the party ahead. She's even louder than you are. She also seems to be a prisoner, but who the captors are remains unclear." As the bald human nodded, the Reman removed his hand and crouched down alongside him.

"Cor fekkin' blimey, 'r ye tryin t' kill me?", Mathieson growled quietly.

The Reman offered a fanged grin in reply. "You breathe louder than Vergh snores, Doctor. The other party will be here soon - you need to find a place to keep out of the way."

Nodding, Mathieson put away the useless tricorder and some of the other gadgets he was trying to operate. "Wi' no phasers 'r disruptors, how're ye figgerin' t' deal wi' the approachin' squad."

Mervaan's fanged grin spread wide. "Really Doctor - you surprise me. A man of your experience should know that there are far more deadly weapons in the darkness, and my people have been in life's twilight for many, many years." The Reman leader raised a ling, thin stiletto that glinted in the flickering light of the lantern.

===========

1/2 Mile Behind

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

Suddenly Branwen fell. And although she could do nothing for her bound hands she was able to slip the blindfold away. When one of the guards bowed to help her up, the young marine took the opportunity to kick him in the nuts with her knee. There was a small gap now and while the others were confused, she made a run for it. Bran had absolutely no idea where she was going, but anywhere was better than here.

As she ran, she distanced herself quickly from her pursuers and their searchlights. The outlines of the massive stalactites became fainter as did the surface of the uneven ground. It was unsurprising she fell again, but she was shocked when a cold, clammy hand quickly covered her mouth as a coarse voice whispered in her ear. "The affable Doctor Mathieson sends his regards, Starfleet. I'm going to release my hand and free your bonds - keep quiet, say nothing, and don't let go of my hand. Only the darkness will save us now."

She kept silent while he loosened her bonds. Then when he had finished took the offered hand, and let herself be led by the stranger, he knew Doctor Mathieson, somebody who she liked and trusted. It felt extremely good to be free, and to meet a kindred spirit. So she followed him, hopefully to meet up with the doctor.

Behind them, search beams criss-crossed and the sounds of persuit slowly faded. The tall, bald Reman guided her patiently and efficiently through a maze of stalagmites and sedimentary debris.

===========

1/2 Mile Ahead

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

Drumming his fingers on the case of his tricorder, Mathieson admitted to himself he's make a piss-poor starship captain. Too much waiting. Doing a crappy job nobody likes is one thing (and he'd done more than his share of that), but sitting around waiting for somebody else to do their crappy job - well, that was infinitely worse.

The Remans had left him in almost complete darkness, light coming only from some of the non-electronic instruments in his case. It was light good enough to see about six inches away, but it was something. The faint glow didn't affect his night vision, so he could see the random lights a half mile ahead, faint and receding.

About an hour later, the hushed, scattered noises of the tunnel gave way to a rhythmic shuffling and the occasional bump and curse. As the noise came closer, the doctor couldn't help himself and poked a bald head from his hiding place.

"Oi - Mervaan! Is that you lad?", he whispered.

"Doctor?" Bran whispered. And then when she could locate him in the weak lighting threw her arms around him. "Am I glad to see you, doc!"

"Ooooof!" was Mathieson's only immediate reply as the air was expertly squeezed from his lungs. "Female... human... strong... hug", he wheezed trying to draw air from the darkness. "Mus' be Lieutenant London. 'Blimey lass, wot're ye doin' down 'ere?"

The whole story rattled out of her. How everything had gone wrong during her mission how the whole team was sick with extreme radiation poisioning. Being taken prisoner and then how they had taken her away from the rest of the team. "And you?" She asked on the same breath.

"Jus' ducky" the doctor grunted. "Let's tak' a quick look at yer t'see if ye've been cooked by th' radiation an' the usual bumps an' scrapes." Lacking current for the tricorder or mediscanner, he placed a rad patch on the Marine's arm and went about gently feeling about her neck. Peering in her mouth, he saw slight bleeding in Branwen's gums and light radiation burns on the back of her neck. Checking the patch on her arm, the plastic had turned a light shade of umber.

Fumbing through his med-kit, Mathieson grabbed a hypospray of Inaprovaline and a broad-range anti-biotic. "Right, Lieutenant - I'm not goin' te spare the shyte here; ye've got radiation poisonin' but not too advanced. It's good ye've stumbled 'ere so ye can get treated quicklike." He emptied the hypospray doses into her neck, and looked at the scrapes on her knees and elbows. "I'll clean this lot up, but now that ye've calmed down a bit, do ye feel any other injuries - nothin' cut or broken?"

"I was calm from the beginning, Doctor." She said. "Nothing else, just been feeling a bit queasy the last 12 hours. Nothing I cannot handle." She assured him.

"'S'good", he grunted. "Th' scrapes 're nothin. A dab o' antibiotic, jus' to be on the safe side. Now, if ye've got radiation poisonin', so've the mates ye were with. We'd better find 'em quicklike and get 'em treated 'afore some of the more advanced symptoms start poppin' up. D'ye have any ideas where they are lass?"

"No, I was blindfolded the whole time. And even before we entered the caves we changed direction a lot. And we were lost even before we were captured." She blushed. She then started to describe the scenery at their last camp.

The Reman leader frowned. "That would be in the direction of the Lieutenant's captors, Doctor. We have more pressing concerns right now."

Mathieson looked up at Mervaan's pale, worried profile. "Wot could possibly be more fekkin' important?"

His dark eyes reflecting the dim light, the Reman glared down at both humans. "Keeping both you and Lieutenant London alive."

"Confrontation Among the Dunes"

Lieutenant Saul Bental

Also featuring…
Lieutenant Tarin Iniara
Commander Kol

The tiny warehouse was a perfect place for children to play hide-and-seek in, or for a pair of lovers to find some intimate privacy in the middle of the bustling Romulan encampment. Saul and Iniara, however, were done with games and the privacy they needed had nothing to do with intimacy or love.

For the past hour, after Saul finished deploying a barrage of gadgets intended to prevent their conversation from reaching the wrong ears, the two Lieutenants tried to think of a strategy to resolve the volatile situation.

Saul's report about the missing Thalaron weapons was only the cherry on top of the troubles' cream. There were also the known sabotage cases, the bizarre autopsy results provided by Doctor Mathieson, and the lack of contact from the marine team.

"… this won't do.", Saul told the Operations chief. He was sitting on an empty create, swinging his legs back and forth nervously tensely. "We don't have enough manpower, especially with the marine team out of .contact. We don't have enough access, and won't be able to inspect all the encampments without raising suspicion."

"I agree. Also, the weapons are probably not stored within the camps."

Heavy silence descended on the warehouse. Iniara rested her chin on her palms, trying to conjure a creative solution. When she prepared herself to the mission and all of the possible situations that may occur, something like this magnitude wasn't even considered, just like she didn't prepare herself for a Borg attack or an appearance by Q.

Yet even this was not enough to shake the weathered Bajoran-Betazoid.

"All this brings us back to doing nothing or your confrontation idea.", She summarized.

"Doing nothing is very tempting, but a pistol resting on the table in act one will surely be used by act three. And our return to the Galaxy depends on the Romulans. Unless you know of a good cab service in the vicinity."

Iniara wasn't even mildly abused. "Confrontation, then."

"That's the option I supported from the beginning.", Saul concurred. "I think we can set it in a way that will give us optimal chance to find out who is behind this. I'll talk to counselor Reynaldi--"

* * *

Captain Vergh's fingers burrowed into the plastic container, squishing the live Gagh beneath. He eventually scooped a handful of live worms, and put them in his mouth.

The crawler's turret was narrow, and there was room for only one other Klingon. At the moment, it was Starfleet Commander Kol which stood on the opposite side of the turret, watching the desert views streak by. He was back in his Starfleet reds, an insult to Klingon-kind in Vergh's opinion. But he found Kol's presence enjoyable nonetheless. There was not a foolish costume in this universe which could mask a true Klingon warrior.

"What do they want?", He snarled at Kol, for the eleventh time since they departed.

"I look forward to see.", Kol hissed back. He was quite irritated at Iniara not informing him exactly what she was planning to do. She was the appointed team leader, true, but he was the ranking officer.

If that's not enough, Iniara didn't agree to tell him anything beyond the fact that they have news on Doctor Mathieson's findings and wanted to break them to all of the factions together, in a neutral place. If this wasn't Starfleet, he would've expected this to be a badly planned ambush.

"Bah, it is probably a Romulan plot.", Kol threw his head back, gazing at the sky. "May their treacherous mothers be devoured by diseased Targ."

"Even Targ has standards.", Vergh offered Kol his container. "Filden Gagh?"

The Klingon Captain watched his companion closely as the latter pried the container. He had a very good reason to believe that this invitation by the Starfleeters was trickery. And Kol was one of them.

If Kol was part of this, Vergh thought, he'll make him squirm like rotten Gagh before he's done with him.

* * *

By the time the Klingon crawler rounded the final dune, the Romulan and Starfleet delegations were already there. Vergh noted with disgust that the spineless director Leto was present in the flesh. At least he wasn't dishonored by facing a lower representative. Not that Leto was any match either.

He climbed down the turret and out of the crawler, followed by six of his most trusted men, and by two elder Remans. His heavy boots left deep marks in the sand.

This was probably not an ambush, he decided as he watched the surroundings. There were no nearby hills, no cover, and the Romulans brought less soldiers than he did. Good.

"What does the worm want??", He exclaimed at the red-head Starfleet leader as he neared her. Kol outranked her, he now noted. And yet she seemed to be in charge. What a shame.

"Soon, Captain Vergh.", Iniara replied calmly, ignoring the Klingon's tone. She also avoided Kol's seething stare. She turned toward Leto. "Where are the Corrilians?"

"They are no side in this.", Leto informed simply. "They are an integral part of the star empire."

The Remans said nothing at this, but Iniara could imagine what they thought about being an 'integral part' of the Star Empire.

The Corrilians' absence was a problem. A minor one, and yet a problem. If they were the ones behind the sabotage and the disappearance of the weapons, she will have no way of finding that out.

She slanted her eyes toward Saul and counselor Reynaldi. The two of them had a critical part in this attempt to solve things peacefully. Saul buried in the sand yet another barrage of Intelligence gadgets, scanning the various parties. In general, he turned the immediate area into a large scale polygraph. His equipment was complemented by the counselor's natural telepathic abilities as a full Betazoid. Iniara, a semi-Betazoid herself, wasn't sure how much useful the counselor's abilities will be in sensing unusual thoughts on the Remans' or even Romulans' minds, but it was worth a shot.

She cleared her throat. Showtime.

"Let's start. I'm afraid I have grim news that will influence all of your people. I thought it was crucial to deliver these news in person, and discuss their consequences face to face. They don't have direct relations to Doctor Mathieson's findings…"

"Of course not.", Captain Vergh interjected. "He's not here. He's at the Reman camp. Do you take us for fools??"

"No. But discretion was of utmost importance, and I wanted both you and Director Leto to hear this. And the other representatives, too.", She directed her gaze on one of the Remans.

"Where is my officer, Lieutenant?"

This time, it was Director Leto's calculated voice that prevented Iniara from proceeding. Iniara signaled Saul, and the latter entered the hovercraft which brought the Starfleet party to the scene. Moments later, loud swears in Romulan could be heard, and the Hovercraft's original driver stormed out of it. A wild, mocking laughter emerged from the Klingon ranks.

"Is this how you repay our hospitality?", The Director's voice was still cold and measured, a typical Romulan reaction. "I demand explanations."

"And they will be provided. Lieutenant Bental."

Saul activated a holo-projector which was placed on the sand in advance. Images from Artim's EVA-suit camera appeared in mid air.

"Ah! A movie! Rof, bring me another bowl of Gagh!", Captain Vergh commanded. "Anyone else wants Gagh?", He asked. "It's fresh!"

He forgot about the Gagh long before the new bowl has arrived. "What is this??", He demanded, as the playback reached the point where the inside of the Delilah module could be seen, the weapons are missing.

Iniara answered.

"Settling your Nerves with Zev"
By: Pilot Aren Furai
Ensign Zev Raynor

==--

Aren Furai gazed at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, brushing her hand nervously against the white fabric surrounding her upper physique. Her tunic was unzipped at the collar, and her coat hung loosely over her shoulders. A small golden bar lay dressed across the right of her torque.

In some small way Aren felt as though she was stepping into shoes far too big for her own. In a matter of less than an hour, this young girl would be reporting to her first flight brief as a member of the Vanguard squadron. She and the others would be briefed on their mission, and only moments after would deploy in their state-of-the-art Banzai starfighters. Having only completed training yesterday, even with flying colors, there was a sense of nervousness about her.

There would still be much for her to learn, and she would rely on the experience of the others to gain that knowledge. Of course she would have to deal with her tentitive love/hate relationship with Ember Lansky, who had rode her hardest ever since she decided to become a fighter pilot. Even during the ceremony, Ember had the least words to say... none, in fact. There was only the cold, yet absent stare from a woman who had lost everything she had.

Ayden.

His capture had been hard on many, with his charasmatic and enjoyable presence no longer residing within the corridors of the USS Galaxy. But no matter how pained Aren felt, she was certain that it couldn't possibly compare with that of Ember's. She... loved him, truely. There was no doubt of that.

Aren could understand why Ember would become so hostile, seeing Aren's transfer as a futile attempt to fill Ayden's slot. That hadn't been what she wanted her new assignment to represent, but it was painfully obvious that Ember had taken it as such. Ember and Aren had never been friends, but this choice only seemed to extend the length of time it would take for them to be.

Pushing her reservations aside however, Aren pulled her collar up before zipping her coat completely. Forty-seven minutes until the flight brief, and she only had a small breakfast for her nerves to cope with during what would no doubt be an exciting experience. Even with the blessings of the 24th century, being a fighterpilot in a cockpit was by no means comfortable.

Part of her looked forward to it, part of her was concerned that she'd embaress herself out there in some way. Heaving an internal sigh, Aren pushed those fears aside. The faint hint of a purplish glow returned across her freckles, and while most of the crew couldn't be able to comprehend how the degree of saturation within those freckles related directly to her mood, she still wished they could be a little brighter.

It wasn't fair in how she truly was an easy person to read. Of course there were small differences from one Hiigaran to another, but it all usually related in some way. Bright purple usually meant she was in a good mood, happy, or very excited. But when very intense it could also mean she was either very angry, or even... aroused. When dark it usually meant she was depressed, disappointed, moody, or in this case; a little nervous. Few pilots have commented on how they changed in intensity during more intense moments of her training, and she was almost grateful. Being an the equivilant of an openbook wasn't easy.

"Oh well..." she muttered, attaching her commbadge to her uniform. Everything about her appearance was as good as it was going to be, but she still hesitated. Giving herself one last lookover before leaving her quarters, she realized that there was something she wanted to do before she went to the briefing room.
To visit an old, yet peculiar friend who had somehow found himself in the brig.

* * *

"I've paid my dues -
Time after time -
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime -
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face - But I've come through..."

Zev was singing to pass the time... he hardly noticed his vistor at first... but then, turned to see her. "What brings you to my little corner the ship?" he asked.

Aren looked at him with an amuzed quizzled look as she leaned against the bulkhead immediately adjacent to the forcefield. "To tell you that you really shouldn't give up your day job... you'd make a tribble run with that voice." She teased him, gently grazing her fingers across the forcefield to reveal the scattered shimmers of electric-blue energy. Thankfully it wasn't at a high setting, because that would have hurt even with a slight graze of the fingertips. This level seemed more intended to simply contain him, not hurt him. "How are you doing?"

"It's a nice get away... plenty of time to sleep, and think, and hold it in while realising this intrepid style brig has no washroom... so you know..." Zev joked. "What's new with you? You seem different..."

Aren shrugged lightly with a small grin, the glow in her freckles increasing slightly as she felt better with his presence nearby. "It's the white uniform. I've had a change of assignments, I'm a fighter pilot now..." her words droned off slightly, as the nervousness in her eyes gave her away. There wasn't any use in lying. "I'm... a little nervous, today's my first actual mission."

"I wouldn't worry about it, they wouldn't of pulled you from wherever you were, unless they thought you were a fine pilot..." Raynor said. "Personally I wouldn't mind to get the cockpit for a joy ride or two... maybe ten... it's been a while since I've gotten behind the stick... assuming that our fighter craft use sticks..."

Aren laughed, covering her mouth as she felt a warm flush of relief overcome her other concerns. "Yeah, well we'll see in a little while now won't we?" She replied with a wink. "Although, I'll have to admit... it's kinda hard stepping into Ayden's shoes. I don't like to look at it that way, but that obviously seems to be the perception about me on the flight deck." Her eyes gazed off for a bit, before returning to his.

"You do realise that his shoes like male shoes and five sizes too big for you right?" Zev asked, grinning. "Look you are you. Ayden is or was Ayden. Eventually they'll realise that you don't have a penis... or at least I think you don't. Not too familiar with your speices umm... crotch area..." Zev said making a slight face at that thought.

Aren punched the forcefield, which caused her to instantly regret it because it actually burned her a bit. Part of her felt like laughing, part of her felt like saying such things about Ayden in the past tense. She knew he meant well at least. Then there was the comment about her... physical attributes. "You make it almost sound like you're curious enough to find out," she replied, biting her lower lip in a bit of tease before pushing herself off the bulkhead a bit.

"Every pilot that ever enters a squadron will always be compared to previous pilots... its just the way of things... I would only start worrying about it if it hasn't stopped a year from now... then you might be doing something wrong..."

Rolling her eyes, Aren chuckled. "Thanks... I think."

"So other than the transfer... any news?" Raynor asked.

Aren shrugged a bit further, almost regretting the fact that there was a forcefield between Raynor and her. "I don't know... not much I guess. I've kinda shut my life off ever since I started training, haven't even taken as much time to breath until I graduated." She grinned, "How about you? Any news as to when you'll be out of this hole? I'm kinda looking forward to going to that 'Angel's' place but would like to have someone around to talk to instead of going by myself."

"You'd have to talk to Commander Dallas... royally pissing her off is what got me this nice vacation time... but if I had to guess... a week on the outside..." Raynor replied.

Aren's shoulder slumped as she feigned pounting, bottom lip and all. After a few seconds she started laughing again. "Well hurry it up then. I need a drinking partner." She replied with a wink before her chronometer chirped. Glancing down at it, she noticed that she didn't have much time until the briefing started. Returning her gaze to Raynor's; "Well I gotta get going, it's almost time for the pre-flight brief and as the newbie I'd hate to be late.

"I would love to be late on the first day... let's boss know that I am not going to take shit from a guy just because I work for him..." Raynor joked.

Aren chuckled, "Makes me wonder what your record is for ending up in the brig." She grinned, sticking her tongue out at him a bit. By now, her freckles had lit up rather reflectively, indicating that all the anxiety she had was surely melting away. "Well Zev... I'll see you later then, maybe after my flight if you don't mind being in the presence of a sweaty woman."

"Cya..." Zev said hand raised in that traditional half hearted wave... he turned to the guard who realised what was coming and his face turned to horror... "Now where was I?"

"The Slavers" Part V

Corporal Falkor Vox
Lieutenant JG Nieca Rey'ol

Continued from "The Slavers" Part IV

IHV THUNDER OF VICTORY: Shuttle and Launching Bay

+++++++

THUD!

Vox and Nieca slammed into the cold steel floor of the Hydran shuttle bay. A jumbled mess of arms and legs it took the two a moment to come to their senses from the high impact fall. Vox took the brunt of the collision, yet he seemed unphased and merely shook off the haze. While Nieca sniffed and wiped at the bloody nose she received, the Caitian also seemed to recover quickly.

A noisy mix of Kzinti blasters and Hydran screams echoed from the far corner of the bay. A single leg or a fragile eye stalk was picked off of a Hydran captive, causing them to howl in pain, their attempts to run only caused them to slip and fall in the slick blood of their fallen counterparts. The Kzinti chuckled at the sight and continued to blast their way through the imprisoned mass of aliens.

The Starfleet crew members lurked through the shadows of the shuttle bay and weather it was skill or dumb luck, the two managed to crawl into an escape pod.

“We might just make it.” Nieca dared to whisper as she slid into the pilot’s seat of the pod.

And perhaps those were the words that doomed them.

The escape pod began to rumble and shift and the attention of the Kzinti shifted to the fleeing creatures inside. But the Kzinti were no match for the pod’s building speed as it gliding along its launching track. Clicking into place the shuttle’s engines roared as it began to barrel forward into the launching bay. As the pod increased its speed a wall of red lights lit up inside its cabin. Before Vox or Nieca could react, sparks flew from the shuttle’s tracks as the tiny pod slid into the launch pad’s slender walls. The Caitian and Lupine inside were rendered unconscious from the harsh impact, causing them to miss the sounds of the Kzinti as they tore open the mangled escape pod.

"Surprise Encounter"

Pilot Aren Furai, Vanguard Squadron
Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counselor.

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

The pre-flight briefing was a simple one. A pair of Vanguards would fly reconnaissance around the system while the USS Galaxy made final preparations to leave. While the official mission statement declared intent to safeguard the ship, it didn’t take much for Aren to realize that this mission was more intended to give the Vanguard’s newest member some flight time. Another big operation was on the way and the more experience she had… the better.

Aren checked her gear carefully, ensuring that her survival gear was fastened to her left leg, and her type II phaser was holstered above her right shoulder. If she had to ditch her craft in space she had enough air to last 48 hours, whereas if she were instead forced down on a habitable planet she had enough rations and supplies to last for several days at the least. It wasn’t like she was expecting anything to wrong in this mission, but nevertheless she considered every possibility. It was better to anticipate a problem, rather than wait for it before considering various actions she could undertake. Even a few seconds to guess could spell disaster.

No, it was much better to be prepared.

Aren gazed into her reflection in her locker, checking the bright shades of purple around her nose. She was anxious, nervous, and could feel her blood pumping in anticipation. Even if a simple patrol, it would also be her first. No nets to catch her if she fell, no ‘freeze program’ to review a mistake. This was real.

At least she had a good wing mate, one who was experienced beyond her years. Even though she and Ember hadn’t quite gotten a long over recent weeks, she was grateful to have her by her side.

Hooking her fingers around her helmet, she closed her locker and turned.

Miramon had reported in, as was required of him, but he wasn't actually due to go on duty until tomorrow, since even Commander Dallas understood that he needed time to get settled in, so to speak, since he hadn't been aboard ship in some time, not to mention that he wasn't exactly moving back into his old quarters, so he had to get used to it. And, then again, he needed to become familiar with the workings of his new department, as well as to review the personnel files of all the new crewmembers that had come aboard in his absence.

Sounded like he had a full day ahead.

But before he headed back to his quarters, there was one thing he wanted to do, and had since he had stepped onto the ship a few hours ago. Sure, he had to catch up with both Saul and Nara at some point, but they could both wait for a little while. He'd left someone else aboard ship, barely having time to say a brief goodbye before he'd departed, and now he was back, he really did have to see her.

Things had never been quite right between himself and Ember. They'd had a single brief romantic encounter and everything had really gone downhill from that point on - and not, he felt, entirely his fault. Ember had wanted him to keep his distance, so they'd just be friends. And he'd reluctantly agreed to that, treating her as a friend, but never really thinking of her that way, at least in his own thoughts. He'd had plenty of work to occupy him on Earth, but even so, he wanted to see her *right now*

And so, here he was, on his way to see if he could catch her on the flight deck - he'd been told that some of the Vanguards were getting ready to engage in some work outside the ship, so it was probably an excellent time to see if she was around. He hurried down the corridor to the deck, his long legs carrying him along with smooth, firm strides. He quickly entered the hangar bay through the large double doors at one end.

It was, perhaps, ironic that this was the first time he'd ever been here. He'd been Chief Navigation Officer prior to transferring; he'd never had reason to come to this specific flight deck. The main shuttle bay, certainly, but never the bay where the Vanguard Squadron's ships were located. For a moment, he almost forgot his reason for being here, just looking around with a curious expression on his usually serene features.

Aren came out of the locker room to see a blue-collared officer obstructing her way onto the flight deck, which made her brows furrow considering that the flight deck was usually off limits to non-essential personnel prior to launch. Stepping up behind him, she realized that she wouldn’t be able to recognize this person by the back of his head alone, yet something did seem familiar. “Lost?” She asked with a hint of playful sarcasm, even still being a far-cry from the quiet young child she seemed only weeks earlier.

When he turned around, Aren’s eyes widened. “Miramon?” she gasped lightly before turning a surprised grin. It had been a long time since she had seen her former supervisor.

"Lost? On this ship? Hardly appropriate for an ex-Senior Officer, don't you agree?" Miramon asked with a smile, although the question was really more rhetorical than anything else. "It's been a while, Aren. Are you keeping well?"

The Bajoran was relatively familiar with all the officers on the Vanguard Squadron, since his old duties as Chief of Navigation meant he needed to keep up-to-date with all officers carrying piloting licenses aboard the ship, although admittedly, he hadn't much been responsible for working with the Vanguards. But Aren had been one of his department officers the previous year, so he was familiar enough with her to address her colloquially - and the opposite being true, too.

This wasn't quite the pilot he'd been looking for, but it never hurt to stop and have a conversation with a familiar face. After all, it wasn't as though Ember was going to transfer off the ship within the next day or two, he supposed. At least, he didn't think so.

Aren smiled with a nod, relaxing her arm a bit so that her helmet grazed her leg lightly. “I’ve been good, keeping busy with training and such. I’m actually going on a mission in a few minutes, nothing serious though… just a patrol.” She paused for a moment as a brush of silence lingered in the atmosphere. “So how about you? How are you enjoying your new job?”

"Well, I've yet to pull my first duty shift, so the jury is, as they say on Earth, still out on that particular question," the Bajoran noted, his voice carrying a slight tinge of amusement along with it - nothing unusual for him, really. "And how are you finding life with the Vanguards?"

Aren shrugged with a slight roll of her eyes. “Staying on my toes I suppose.” she began, “They’re still taking Ayden’s disappearance hard… especially Flight Officer Lansky.” Aren’s eyes carried over to a single occupied Banzai star-fighter; obviously she had already started her pre-flight checks. It was something Aren would have to do in a short while as well. She continued, “So me coming into the squadron right afterwards has caused a little reservation with some of the pilots. Nobody likes a replacement.” Aren finished with another shrug.

After a moment, Aren feigned a smile, although her freckles started to fade slightly.

That was a surprise to Miramon. He remembered Ayden vaguely as the man that was seeing Ember when the Bajoran headed back to do his additional training at the Academy. So he had disappeared, had he? That was interesting, although he had to admit, he never did have much respect for the other officer - he'd not met the man (probably a good thing, considering), but he'd heard stories. Still, it was clear from what Aren said that Ember wasn't in a good state - likely seeing the Bajoran now would only provoke emotions she probably didn't want to play with right now. Certainly her previous inclination towards throwing things at him might return, and he didn't want that.

Still, he didn't want to focus on that right now. Most of the crew had no idea that anything had gone on between him and Ember, and for now he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn't even sure what her reaction was going to be to him being back aboard, so he didn't want to pre-empt that event by any means. And so, that in mind, he turned his full attention to the simple resignation that he was sure he detected in Aren's voice.

"They'll adjust to you eventually, Aren. Remember, all pilots naturally carry egos bigger than most starships, including this one. I do, and so do most of the other flight officers. You are, for the moment, an unknown to them. I doubt it's anything personal, but until they can be sure of you, you'll find a natural reserve between you and them. When they realise that you're one of them, though, they'll treat you that way. It just takes time, is all."

Aren flashed her brows with a faint smile, nodding after a second. “Thanks.” She turned her attention to her own fighter that still needed to undergo its pre-flight inspection within the next ten minutes. It wasn’t going to be a good thing to keep the deck-runners, or Lansky waiting much longer. “Well… I have to get going. Uhm…” she paused for a few seconds, considering whether or not it was a good thing to ask. “…would you like to catch a bite later this evening? It’ll be nice to catch up, that’s all.”

Miramon thought about that for a split second, considering that his night was supposed to be spent reading officer profiles and catching up with the events of the past few months before he went on duty. Still, it couldn't hurt to agree to Aren's request - after all, she would likely be able to put a more 'human' face on whatever had been going on around here, at least.

"Okay, Aren. Shall we say 2000hrs in Ten Forward? I'm available all evening, so if that's not a good time, just say so."

Aren smiled brightly, swerving around Miramon with a twist to her physique. “It’s a date.” She replied with a wink, clasping her helmet in both hands. It was rather nice to finally enjoy some human contact after spending weeks buried in fighter simulations, and she only realized now how long it had been since she had any; with the exception of Zev earlier today of course. “Just kidding… but yeah, I’ll see you at twenty-hundred. Later.”

Departing with a wave of her hand, she jogged over to fighter while putting the helmet over her head and sealing it. The technician helped her into her cockpit and the duo started to go over the checklist for pre-flight launch. Aren was exhilarated, but she couldn’t help but glance back over to Miramon for a second. A slight smile crept to her face, as she recalled how once upon a time she hadn’t liked him very much, based just on what she had heard about the love-triangle between him, Ember, and Ayden. But after meeting him in person months ago, he didn’t seem that bad.

After completing her pre-flight she tapped her communication switch. “I’m ready for launch.”

Miramon stepped back as the two craft raised into the air and shot out of the bay, leaving it feeling empty and barren. He stayed a moment longer, to see if perhaps the person he had originally come to find would perhaps arrive, but after a few seconds, then simply turned and walked away.

"The Final Chapter?" (The Rihannsu Tangent)

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas SFMC, Furies Detachment

****

The Starfleet logo on the screen faded away and was replaced by the visage of a woman; a Romulan woman; a woman he had met the day before.

"Hi, it's Steven. From the USS Galaxy. We spoke yesterday."

She smiled. "Yes, I know who you are. You left in such a hurry when you were here."

Steven nodded. "It wasn't of my own volition though. Two Ferengi traders kidnapped myself and the woman I was travelling with."

"That's what Vermlge told me. It pleases me to find you no longer in their despicable company."

"As are we. I just called to let you know why we left so quickly, but it seems that you already know." He paused. "I hope that one day you might find it within yourself to forgive my actions that day so many years ago."

"In time I am sure I will. But I will never forget what you did to my family that day."

Steven watched the monitor as she spoke, looking at the woman to whom he had confessed to the killing of her only, as he had found out recently, son during a time of war so long ago.

"As you said it was a time of war and it could very easily have been your mother that my son spoke to of the death of her son in battle."

"With regret, that could never have happened, for my mother, and father for that matter, both died before I was 2 years of age."

She nodded sympathetically. "I am sorry for your loss."

Steven smiled back reassuringly. "There is nothing to be sorry about. They died before I could even remember them. I have no memories of either of them."

She nodded. "This knife," She held up the blade. "It is a family heirloom, passed down from my great, great grandfather to the eldest son in each generation, and alas, I now have no son to pass it onto again." She wiped the tears from her face. "Thank you for returning this. My eldest daughter is with child, a boy I hope, that I might be able to pass this onto."

"Truth be told, It looked so beautiful that I originally took it as a memento, but in the last few years, I started feeling like it should be returned to his family. So I sought you out. I have one more thing to give you."

"Something for me? What else could you have that you would give to me?"

"Your farming colleague, I assume he was this 'Vermlge' you mentioned, was attempting to buy an Inductor Coil, for some reason, from the two Ferengi. After escaping from the Ferengi, I found the coil and one of our engineers managed to get it working. It should be arriving at your plantation in the next few hours."

She smiled. "Thank you. Vermlge will be most pleased. Thank you."

"Farewell and good day to you." Steven said before shutting off the connection.

Throwing off his uniform, Steven pulled on his PJ's and climbed into bed.

"Computer, Lights Off" he called out to the computer.

Within a minute he was fast asleep, and for the first time in many months, he slept, without the nagging nightmares that had plagued him for so long.

**** Ki Dirguse Farming Plantation ch'Rihan ****

In the old decrepit building that served as the home for the farmers, the warmth from the heating system kept the chill air from the cold autumn night at bay. Operational again, thanks to an Inductor Coil delivered from a Federation Marine, the farmers snuggled in their warm beds as the evening wore on, allowing them to wake feeling refreshed and ready for the day's work that lay ahead of them.

**** Rihannsu Naval Intelligence Detention Center 3 ch'Rihan ****

The disrupter blast hit the Romulan soldier square in the chest, killing him instantly. More blasts came from the two distinctive beings as they made their escape from the under staffed compound. It was fortunate for the Ferengi that the majority of the guards had been called in to assist with the protection of the Senators and senior government figures that were attending the state funeral of Ramir Omar. And with a little luck, they would be out and onto some transport away from the hellhole those two huuuumans had put them into. Revenge would be sweet, Jek was very sure of that.

"All Must Fall"

Lieutenant Saul Bental

Also featuring…
Lieutenant Tarin Iniara
Commander Kol

Shouts echoed across the Cheron desert. Weapons were exposed and drawn from their holsters.

At the epicenter of the confrontation were Captain Vergh and Director Leto. Iniara stepped back unconsciously, almost recoiling at the violence present in each syllable pronounced by the two opponents.

The situation was escalating, fast.

"You!", Vergh shoved a finger toward the Director's face. "Cowardly Partosh! Thalaron weapons? Thalaron? Bah! Coward's weapon! They should've used it on all of you rather than just your skirt-wearing breast-sucking senate of Targ!"

"Using such a crude weapon seems to be more appropriate to you, bipedal beasts! We would never use such a weapon. You, however, would sing songs of victory about other people's misery, you mindless animal."

Leto slanted his eyes toward Iniara, making sure she understood that his words were also directed at her and at the organization she was representing, whose previous incarnation dared to arm one of its ships with the primitive version of the atrocity that wiped out the Romulan senate.

"And what is for you, using Thalaron against 'animals'? I have more honor in my shit than all your 'men' summed together! I bet you intended to plant the device in the Remans' camp, and claim it later to be an 'accident' that the device detonated. Bah!"

"How interesting that you came up with that plan so quickly, especially given your dull mind.", Leto hissed, then looked over the Klingon's shoulder, at the two Remans. "And you, it seems you got yourself a new master instead of the old one. And let me tell you, your old masters are much, much better than these drunkard ra-"

Iniara missed the rest of the banter because a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, not too delicately. It was Kol's. "You should have informed me right away, LIEUTENANT."

"We couldn't inform you while you were at the Klingon camp, because if the Klingons did posses the Thalaron weapon, we did not want them to intercept the message before we had the chance to hold the confrontation."

The speaker was Saul Bental. He stepped forward, standing between Iniara and the Klingon commander towering over her. "Lieutenant, neither me nor the counselor managed to detect anything. For all we can tell, all factions were surprised of the weapons' existence.

"You don't TRULY think that my people would be the ones responsible for exploiting these weapons, do you?", The Klingon commander scowled. "Go back to your tactical simulations, Lieutenant Bental. You have much to learn before you start tossing accusations here."

Saul recalled his talk with Miramon, about becoming angered. His face did not turn red, and he showed no sign of irritation. Instead, he turned to face Iniara, totally ignoring the Commander's presence.

"If it's neither of them, we should put an end to it right now."

"Obviously.", Iniara approved. She and Saul watched the Klingon and Romulan leaders exchanging some more pleasenteries, and interjected just as Captain Vergh seemed to lift his fists.

"Gentlemen, you have to consider another option."

Both Leto and Vergh turned their heads toward her. They looked like two boxers, waiting for the referee to renew the battle.

"I think that neither of you is responsible for the sabotage or the disappearance of the weapons. I think we need to consider an option that one of the camps contains a renegade group which may be responsible."

Of course, that claim was immediately denied by both Vergh and Leto, but Iniara did not let this stop her. "What I suggest is that the Starfleet team will be used as investigative force, since we are the closest thing to neutral observers we have."

"I don't think so, red-head.", Vergh snarled. "You were brought here by the Romulans. You're their lackeys."

"I won't have it either." Leto spoke up. "Our people are the victims of the sabotage. Do I need to show you photos from the spire crash incident? No. I will not have people led by HIM comb through my camp."

He gestured toward Kol, letting Iniara know exactly who 'HIM' was.

"We'll have none of that! I intended to contact our regional HQ to send some reinforcements and do some order. If you treacherous P'tahui try to pull anything, we'll slay you where you stand."

"You'll find that your gruesome presence will no longer be tolerated, animal.", Leto replied. "You were fortunate for the Star Empire to consent with your presence so far, but any reinforcements you send will be wiped by our birds before the drunks on board will finish the first batch of liquid excrement you call 'Blood Wine'."

"I'm afraid that's unacceptable, gentlemen."

The new voice boomed across the wilderness, incorporeal. Romulans, Remans and Klingons raised their weapons, trying to locate the new source of intervention. Soon, however, these weapons began to drop as one after the other overloaded.

"Treachery!", Vergh's voice roared over the panicked rest, followed by the metallic sound of a drawn Bat'leth. Saul saw that Leto was holding a knife too. Two other Romulans flanked him, ready to disembowel Vergh if he makes one wrong move.

They didn't get their shot.

All of the sudden, the sand beneath Saul's feet seemed to changed formation and texture. It was as if it could no longer carry Saul's weight, and he began to sink in, rapidly. All around him, men of all species were drowning in the sand as well, and a wide funnel formed in their midst.

Saul reached upwards, trying to get himself to safety, but his extended arms caught nothing. He swiveled sharply, but it only made him drown faster in the sand, which by now swallowed him up to his torso.

Then, the world turned black, and sand penetrated his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils…

The next thing he saw was a cavern. His mind began to slowly process what happened. If he was in a cavern, this means that he was alive. But how could he see where he was? Weren't caves supposed to be devoid of light? The cave below the surface of Mirusa was black, but here…

Then he realized the wide subterranean space was lit by dozens of flashlights. One of them now came near, heading directly toward him and the two men sitting next to him.

Leto and Vergh, he identified.

He looked up. The ghastly light revealed a face, just above the lightning source. Half of the face was black; The other – white.

"None of that, gentlemen.", The voice repeated.

"Who are you?", the demand came from both Romulan and Klingon in unison.

"I am someone whose homeworld you have violated, fools. I'm going to take you to meet someone now, and you will tell him that your people will withdraw from Cheron at once and never return."

"And if we refuse?", Vergh folded his arms. "We will not take instructions from-"

"If you refuse, you will be executed, and your people - each blaming the other for their leaders' disappearance - will wipe each other and do the work for us.", The Cheronite said simply, his terrible words hitting home. "Either way, Cheron remains ours. Forever."

"They Say Time's A Healer - Part 5"

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering specialist

Private Alliya Yhwalyan
Marine, (APC, Written by Dru)

*** Deck 11, some corridor ***

Michael stood there before Alliya and thought about what he should answer. "My place?" he finally said. One advantage to that; was that there wasn't any alcoholic drinks in his quarters anymore. Not even a single drop. So, no risk of getting drunk and do something really stupid.

Alliya smiled; a slightly devious one. This evening was proving to be a lot more enlightening than she had first thought. He was defiantly more daring than she had previously assumed. "Yours it is then." she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

"Good. Shall we?" Michael replied and smiled back. He stepped aside, thereby allowing Alliya to go first. Michael followed her on her heels and was walking beside her the next moment.

Alliya smiled slightly, "So what do you have stashed away to drink in your quarters?" she asked grinning slightly as they proceeded down the corridor towards the turbo lift.

"All but alcoholic stuff. I got rid of the rest." Michael said. When he tried to think back at what had transpired yesterday and this morning nothing came to mind, apart from Alliya barging into his quarters this morning and the chaos in the living room which he'd stared at for some time after he got sober. Michael turned serious again. He felt ashamed that he lost self-discipline. "I'm sorry for what happened this morning. I..I wasn't myself."

Alliya nodded, "It’s understandable.” she commented as they stepped into the turbo lift.

“Deck eight.” she instructed without pause, “If I had been old enough to drink when my parents died I would have had my liver replaced by now.” A faint smile of understanding crossed her lips as she glanced up at him briefly.

But she wasn’t about to linger on the topic – “Does this mean that I’m going to be stuck drinking tea or something else just as vile all night?” she asked, her nose wrinkling at the thought.

"There's Syntahol, but something tells me you find that just as vile." Michael said, now more at ease since she did seem to understand why he was drunk this morning. "That means we do need to find something we both like drinking. Any ideas? But, before you answer, I rather not get drunk again."

Alliya ran a hand through her blond hair and frowned, “Something that we both like, that’s not alcoholic.”

She looked up at him as the turbo lift doors opened, “Dose a substance like that actually exist?” she asked him.

Michael thought about what she said. Nothing came to mind when he tried to think of a drink they both would most probably like. "You got me there. This doesn't look very good, does it? You have any idea? I'm open for suggestions...and can be fairly open-minded." His last comment went with a slight grin.

Alliya spun on her heals to look at him, walking backwards as she did. “I’d save that for the bedroom tiger.” she replied with an even bigger grin than his.

That comment caused Michael to look utterly surprised and blush from ear to ear. His eyes diverted to the ground before him. Right, of course his hint was an ambiguous one and could be explained in more than one way. "Heh, yes...I should've said something else." He finally said.

She smiled and turned around; there was nothing else to say to that. As she continued walking down the corridor slightly ahead of him she wondered momentarily what he thought of her. And then she paused and thought about him. ~Nah~ she shook her head after a minute, ~Never he’s a fleeter.~

As they approached the door to his quarters she paused and looked back at him, “If you’d rather be alone..” she offered leaving her question unfinished.

To Michael her offer did sound somewhat tempting. To be honest, the nearer they got to his quarters, the more nervous he became. But, on the other hand, why stop now? Why would he send her away? Others would call him crazy if they would find out. Just about anyone could've seen them together by now. He could already envision the embarrassment when he would walk into Engineering. No, he won't risk that. "Now, why would I do that? Okay, we had an argument. But I was hoping we got passed that?"

Alliya frowned at him for a moment, “But I thought…” she began looking down the hall from the direction that they just came in. She paused for a moment wondering just exactly what she thought. She had gone to him that morning found him in his drunken state, ripped him to shreds, called him worthless, amongst other things. Then after at least a good half hour of that she left him in his pile of alcohol and he had come looking for her – as she had expected. Then again he left without helping her and then she went to try and fix the problem on her own and he had shown up. They had shared an interesting afternoon/evening and chatted some and then on the way to his quarters innuendo was made with almost every word tone and inflection. And she knew from the redness in his face that he wasn’t interested in her, and she wasn’t interested in him…. So this was a harmless sit down after work drink with a colleague, nothing more nothing less. Right?

“Never mind what I thought. Lets see what you have to drink, and what weird concoctions we can get the replicator to come up with.”

"I'm all for that." Michael said. A smile began to form on his face. The funny comment did break the tense atmosphere a bit. He opened the door to his quarters with his personal access code and entered the room. "I always have been curious what you can do with it, that is, beyond normal use."

Alliya smiled her eyes flashing back to Michaels form behind her. Was it just her or was everything laced with innuendo? She just couldn’t get her mind off that one train of thought at the moment. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been in a relationship, well… not ever really. Most of her encounters were mainly for instant satisfaction and that was all it was about. She shrugged and followed him in, lingering behind him as he crossed the room.

"Computer, lights...eighty per cent." Michael took off his jacket and dropped it on the couch. "What's your first suggestion?" There was an ever so slight devious grin. "Maybe we should try and get Champagne? Or do you know something better to start with?"

“I thought you said that you didn’t want to drink any alcohol?” Alliya asked slightly confused.

Right. She had a good point there. He wondered how that had ever slipped his mind. It was like his mind decided to throw all memory of that out the window now it was fully concentrated on Alliya. The 'no alcohol' rule did seem trivial now. It was not like he was out to get really drunk again. Not after the head ache he experienced this morning. "Yes, I did. Thanks for reminding me." Michael said, not quite knowing what to say next. "Then again, I don't know what else we can try out. Tea is out of the question, so is coffee,...what else is there? I'd hate this evening to get boring. What about you?"

Alliya looked around the room for a moment, it was the first time she had really seen and paid attention to the items it held. The furniture was all Starfleet issue; behind the couch were a few cargo crates, a bat’leth hung on the Starfleet standard grey walls and a couple of string instruments rested in a corner, covered in dust. Apart from a few bits of crockery; the odd mug left on the desk and the coffee table, a water bowl and three empty food bowls on the floor covered in animal hair; the room was empty. It held no life, no memories were displayed by picture, no taste was displayed through the décor, it was lifeless, devoid of sentiment.

“I have to ask; who owns these quarters?” Alliya finally inquired as her eyes widened to the point that they actually began to hurt.

The sudden change of subject surprised Michael. His eyes went from the Replicator to Alliya. "I do. Why do you ask?" He had thought of starting with 'Technically Starfleet owns it' but decided the humor of it was too dry.

Alliya shrugged, “No reason.” she replied lightly as she sat down on the couch smiling sweetly. “So yeah that replicator problem.” she shrugged again, “Aint got a clue. You don’t have to drink to get drunk, so we could enjoy some. Or,” again she shrugged not really knowing what to do now that they were here, “We could sample the replicators complete range of tea?” it was actually a serious suggestion, said in a way which could be taken as either. She had to make sure that her hard ass reputation was not ruined, even though she did actually enjoy drinking tea.

"The complete range of tea." Michael chuckled when he repeated what she'd said. "Why not make that tasting all variants of Synthahol? How's that? There are more than enough to try out I bet."

“Alright.” Alliya replied after a pause, she really couldn’t think of anything else to do so why not? Give everything a try at least once. It was a good motto to have.

"Good. Then let’s start from the top." Michael said while he turned towards the Replicator. "Synthahol ala Champagne, or it says. I wonder if it really tastes like that." He punched in the sequence that would give the desired beverage instead of giving the command by voice.

"Running Into You"

By Miramon Terrik and Ember Lansky

There were times when it was hard, then there were times when it was harder. Letting the spray of the warm water wash the grime and sweat off her face, Ember squeezed her eyes close, wishing it was as easy to block out her mental eye and the thoughts that pervaded her heart. This was one of those times. Working the duty shift with Aren Furai, and spending all those hours in her presence -- with Ayden's replacement, had been an impossible agony. When they returned from their joint patrol, she hadn't waited to get out of the Flight Deck. She couldn't wait. She tore off and ran… every step of the way, back here to her quarters.

But if she thought she could find sanctuary here, she was wrong. She had privacy, but if she wanted to forget about Ayden, the sight of the rooms where they spent so many countless hours together, only made it worse, and just when she hadn't thought it could get worse. Yet, it wasn't always so hard to endure. Between all these periods of pain, there were blessed moments of numbness when she could almost feel nothing. This was what she prayed for now -- numbness, but it was far from coming, the swell of emotions choking her throat and making it difficult to breathe. Tears slid down her cheeks, mingling with the water until it was indistinguishable which was which.

Ember inhaled deeply, taking time for several deep breaths, before she reopened her eyes, and slowly, snapped back to the present. The shower spray was turned off and using a towel to dry herself – to dry her tears, she gave herself a few moments, just waiting, waiting for nothingness. The turmoil wasn't as easily swiped away as the droplets of tears. She was a woman who had lost her balance. Swung from her equilibrium, she was aware of little more than her stark plunging into the deep, dark depths. She was weak. She was also desperately in love and in pain. Where was her relief?

It had been a few hours since he'd opportunity to engage once again in his particular search for the woman he'd been thinking about for quite some time. It was, really, a strange thing, or so the Bajoran tended to reflect, since half of their relationship (at the very least) had been spent with Ember screaming at him or treating him with a cold disdain that indicated she wanted him to keep his distance. Certainly the memory of those feelings wasn't affecting Miramon's judgment for the time being, since he was anything but deterred.

The computer had, at last, indicated that Ember was in her quarters, so he'd hopped on a turbolift and headed up to the appropriate deck. And now, he stood outside her quarters, working up the nerve to hit the door chime that would announce his presence to the occupant. Whether or not she felt inclined to receive him now wasn't something he could speak to, but given what Aren had said about Ayden O'Connor, he might almost have been surprised if she wanted to see anyone at all. Still, he could hope she would not object fiercely to his presence.

He took a deep breath, inhaling and first letting his diaphragm contract and then allowing his lungs to expand, filling them with sweet air. He waited for a few seconds, then exhaled, as slowly as he had inhaled, his anxiety washing off of him as though carried by the air expelled from his body in that single breath.

And with that, he reached out and tapped the door chime, awaiting a response.

It might have seemed natural for Ember to want to be alone, but right now, even the presence of a stranger was welcome. She needed to draw some light into her cold, sunless world, and some measure of human interaction might be just what she needed to accomplish that. Just as long as it wasn't Aren. So, she opened the doors after she got dressed, clad simply in a tank top and a pair of shorts. The person that she saw surprised her, and the mute silence that she greeted him with seemed to broadcast her shock loud and clear.

"Hello Ember. I trust you remember me?" Miramon asked, half jokingly, of course, the soft smile on his face radiating his usual sense of amusement at the world, his way of expressing his inward sense of optimism that was the only thing normally to mar his state of calm.

She still didn't say anything. It had been so long since they last met, and yet, in that space of time, everything had changed. This was so familiar - standing here face to face with him, and she could still remember the incidents long ago when she treated him with bristling hostility. But they were so distant, they could be from a different lifetime. Nothing was the same anymore. Things were different, altered to a state that was beyond recognition. Beyond words. She took a step towards him, but rather than punching him - which might have been what he was expecting, she hugged him. Tightly. Almost desperately.

Miramon looked startled as the human woman enfolded him in her embrace, utterly surprised by this seemingly amiable action - although whether it was a result of being glad to see him, or simply because she needed the comfort, he wasn't sure. And, inevitably, he didn't care. He returned the hug firmly, then released her and gently nudged her back into her quarters, the door closing firmly behind them.

"It's good to see you again, Ember. It's been longer than I cared for, even though it hasn't truly been that long. Time seems to stretch infinitely in unfamiliar surroundings, I guess. How are you doing?" he asked, although he had a feeling he knew the answer to that already. Still, he wasn't going to let that get in the way - he was here as a friend, despite the uniform that indicated he was also a counsellor. In all likelihood, it was possible she needed both right now.

There was only a ghost of a smile on Ember's face as she brushed back the stray strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead. Ayden used to tease her about the short length she preferred to keep her hair in -- it was less fuss, and certainly easier since she had to be in and out of a helmet often. Now though, it had grown longer, and she had neglected to cut it.

She gave a shrug, slumping back into the sofa as she glanced up at Miramon. She didn't know where to start about the heavy weight in her heart because she had never really talked about it. So instead, she asked about something else. "You were gone for some time?"

"Yes, but I'm back to stay now. I had to do some retraining, but Starfleet wants me back at work now, and so here I am. I have to be honest, I wasn't certain that they'd assign me back to the Galaxy, but they did, so I'm not going anywhere, at least for the forseeable future."

Miramon moved smoothly over to the sofa that Ember had sat down on, taking the liberty of sitting down opposite her, even though she hadn't indicated that he should do so. It was presumptuous perhaps, but that had never stopped him before, and he doubted Ember would object.

"You look tired, Ember. Moreso than last time I saw you," he said, although he noted inwardly that his image of her within his mind's eye might simply have been distorted by the passage of time. He didn't want to ask her directly what was on her mind, since he really already knew what was bothering her, and he wanted her to take her time, to talk about it when she felt ready to do so. Pressuring her was only likely to convert her emotional energy into anger, and he'd had that particular fire directed at him once too often, and had no desire to provoke it once more.

"I'm glad you're staying," She offered quietly. For all that she had lost, this was sincere and genuine. With the spiral of emotions she was plunged into, she hadn't expected a familiar handhold to appear in the midst of all these, but here he was. And she was glad. Glad, and grateful, even if all he did was just to sit here with her, and accompany her, without saying anything more.

"Isn't it frustrating when it's other people who get the bigger part of the decision about what happen in our lives?" Ember asked suddenly, the question seeming like it was sparked off from his comment about how he was back at work because Starfleet wanted him to... but then again, it might mean something else.

The Bajoran smiled at that, wondering why she had chosen that particular line of discussion. Not quite what he'd been expecting, but he wasn't going to push the idea aside to try and get closer to her emotional issues, to see if he could help her. A lot of his work consisted simply of listening and allowing the people he talked to to come to being able to discuss their issues of their own accord. And so, he would wait.

"I don't think it's that frustrating in this context. When we joined Starfleet, we did so to serve, and thus, we do so at the direction of Command, who tell us where we might best do that. And, in all honesty, coming back was my choice, Ember. If I had not wanted to, I would have refused the assignment, regardless of what Starfleet wanted. Nobody but you has control over your own life and actions - it is simply a case of deciding how much of that control you want to relinquish to others."

Hearing what Miramon said seemed to strike a nerve. She shook her head adamantly. This was the first time that he was beginning to see any real rise of emotion in Ember other than the uncustomary placidness which she had been fronting. "They never gave me any choice. I never wanted to come back, but I was made to. Forcefully made to without my decision. And now I'm here...somehow, I'm stuck here." Without Ayden, she wanted to say. But those words did not manage to make it out of her mouth.

She drew in a breath, pausing as though she had just inadvertently realised she had admitted too much. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't be telling you these."

He shook his head, disagreeing with everything she had said, and waving off her apology as though it didn't concern him. "That doesn't matter, Ember. What you choose to tell me is up to you. I'm simply here to listen to you. It's not something I've had the pleasure of doing in a while, and I'm not going to stop you now. Only you can determine whether you continue."

Miramon wanted to say that, despite her misgivings, Ember had still managed to make a life for herself aboard ship, finding her niche and oft walking around with a smile. She had not, so he remembered, been a woman that could do anything less than live life right now. He couldn't really picture her maintaining regrets, or worrying about what was going to happen next. And, to an extent, he understood. Sometimes it was necessary to be so much in the moment that everything else evaporated but the particular circumstances of that time. That thrill, for him, had often come from piloting, as, he suspected, it did for Ember. The difference being that he was content with his life, whereas Ember was a woman constantly striving to change, whether inwardly, or whether she wanted the world around her to alter in some way. It didn't really matter how.

"But, tell me, would you be happier without the burdens of your commission, so that you could do anything you wanted without them weighing you down? You never struck me as someone quite that capricious, Ember. You joined Starfleet for a reason, and you probably should remind yourself of that from time to time."

"It's a way to make a living," She said, trying to answer dismissively, but he had hit closer to home even without her needing to say much of anything. That was always the thing about him. He had an uncanny knack at reading her... at reading people, and it could sometimes be frustrating and mind-rending. But it was also his perceptiveness that she cherished, and maybe that was the reason she even began sharing anything at all with him in the first place, other than the fact that she felt like she was about to burst with the incomprehension and suffocating burden of it all.

"I thought... I thought I believed in all these, you know... the pretty ideals. Exploration, justice, equality..." She continued. "But where's the justice when he's taken away and we can't do anything about it?" Miramon no doubt knew that the 'he' she was referring to was Ayden. "I'm just supposed to sit back, and wait for the arm of justice to make this right?"

"What else can you do about it, Ember?" Miramon asked bluntly. "Do you know where he is? If you did, how would you go about retrieving him? Could you be certain he would want you to endanger yourself in doing so? Saul told me once that all choices are based on knowledge - when we lack intelligence of a situation, we cannot clearly determine what consequences our actions will have. It's frustrating for you, but it's a situation you can't do anything about. And you know the crew - if there was something they could do, don't you think they'd risk everything to do it if there was a chance some good could come of it? But we're all helpless this time - you simply feel it more because of how close the two of you were. It's something we all have to face eventually."

Those were all truths she didn't want to know or face. Truths that he was pointing out to her, now. And as brutal and as painful as it was, she needed that cold, hard shot of logic. It didn't make the grief and emotional trauma any easier to bear, but it seemed to inject some sense into the knots of overwrought distress she had tied herself into. "Perhaps," She said, sounding rather subdued. It wasn't a full admission, but at least it was a partial one. She was still as stubborn as ever, it seemed. She let the silence fall back between them, and then, a small smile curved her lip -- a gesture she was all too unfamiliar with, all of a sudden. "So, you think I should be fixing an appointment to see you again, Counsellor?"

A joke. She couldn't remember the last time she made a joke, no matter that it was un-funny.

"That depends if you want to, Ember. During office hours or after them, I'm always open to having you drop by," the Bajoran's smile flashed into view again, a wry sense of amusement passing through him. "Cliche though it may sound, my door is always open to you, if you want to talk about whatever is on your mind."

"Are you sure? I think I've traumatised the last few counsellors I saw pretty badly," She quipped gently. But she was also aware that in this instance, Miramon's concern for her extended beyond professional interest. She had found a friend in him; it was something unshakeable and real. "But, thank you. Maybe I will." And in Ember's case, that was as good as a promise as he was going to get.

"Cat and Mouse"

2nd Lt Branwen London, XO Furies and staff psychologist
Ensign Robert Mathieson, PhD
Mervaan, Reman NPC

Tunnels, Planet Cheron

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

"The two of you make more noise than a squad of Vergh's men after a case of bloodwine!" came the Mervaan's muffled hiss from the darkness.

Two hours of shuffling, bumping, hushed cursing, tripping and other sounds of blind movement had given the Starfleet officers a number of minor scrapes and the Reman a case of patience worn dangerously thin. The only light was the pale, green luminescent glow from some of the medical instruments in Mathieson kit, and the occasional beam of a focused search lights from their pursuers. Despite the dimness, Mervaan could see the scowl on the old human's face quite clearly.

"Give us a mo' there Mervaan me lad. I'm forty years past doin' forced marches, an' I think we've earned a bit o' rest. An' if I've not earned it, I'm takin' it anyways - let's call it the 'prerogative of old age' an' be done with it", he fumbled in his pack and brought out a half-empty canteen. Wiping his bald, sweat-covered pate, Mathieson took a quick swig of the tepid water.

Branwen didn't say anything. Normally she could easily take something like this, and even move around in the dark without tripping. But even with the medicine, she was still feeling the effects of the radiation poisoning. So she was very glad of the chance to sit down.

Mervaan, still agitated, gave consideration to the physician's words. "'Prerogative of old age' - that's something I'd like to experience, Doctor. It does, however, hinge on surviving to see tomorrow. Speaking of seeing - Lieutenant London, can you tell me anything about your captors? You've told us about how you were captured, but perhaps words were said while you were blindfolded?"

"They didn't. But they behaved very strangely. They took us all prisoner, but the leader kept stressing they were not bad guys. And when they took me away they promised they would let the rest of my people go" she told him.

"But definitely not Reman, Rihannsu, Human or Klingon voices?"

She thought for a while. "I am not sure. Definitely not human or Klingon I would say."

Finishing his water, Mathieson caught the look of concentration on the tall Reman's face. "Wot'cher gettin' at lad? If it's neither Vergh or Leto's people behind this, and I *know* it 'aint ours - who's doin' this, an' why?"

Mervaan cast a quick, sharp look at both the doctor and marine, and then again at the search beams in the distance. "We Remans have toiled in the darkness for many generations, Doctor - our night vision is excellent, but what we've seen doesn't make sense. The group hunting us seem human for the most part, but speak no human tongue. They appear to be wearing camouflage paint, but applied in a manner that makes no sense."

"The ones who took us were hooded. They never showed their faces." Branwen said.

"Yer talkin' riddles, Mervaan", Mathieson growled quietly. "What d'ye mean their cammo paint makes no sense?"

The Reman hesitated, still looking at the blackness before them. "Human proportions - smooth ears and round faces, half of which appear as black as the darkest night, Doctor. The other half - as white as the dead. We catch glimpses of them only; they hunt us, and show signs of being experienced trackers. Only from our centuries of enduring the Rihannsu yoke are we still free of them, but they're getting closer by the minute - your 'prerogative of old age' has run out", he said, drawing the short human to his feet. "Unless you have no desire to get any older."

"Let's get moving, Doctor. I have no desire to be a prisoner twice in a day." Branwen said to them both. "You can lean on me if you need."

Mathieson grumbled thanks, angry at both their mysterious hunters and at relentless time, which had robbed him of the dignified endurance of a younger man. Together, the three faded into the perennial darkness of the ancient tunnel as the sound of organized pursuit grew louder.

====

"Report."

The hooded figure glared at the questioner, but answered quickly. "Three targets bearing fifteen degrees. They've been fading in and out of the scanner's range, and one still appears randomly. The two are Starfleet, I'm sure - the other, one of the original invaders."

A sneer, and a glance of utter contempt was the reply. "Pathetic. You should have had them by now! One of the humans is approaching their geriatric stage! MOVE! There's been enough delay from your incompetence!"

A ghostly white right hand roughly grabbed the tunic of the order-giver, hauling him closer to the hooded tracker. "Careful, Melech", came the whisper from clenched teeth. "We are your lackeys no more! You keep your damn *orders* to yourself, and make future *requests* in a more respectful tone!"

Blue lightning sparked from an ebony right hand, sending the hooded figure hurtling back against a grey stalactite. "Unhand your better, Uren - and know your place! I swear against all that's sacred, once the invaders have been repelled..."

Melech's tirade was cut short by Uren's bitter laughter. "Oh yes, by all means! When the invaders have been dealt with, we can be rid of your oppression once and for all! The sweetness of that day haunts my dreams, Melech."

"Just find them, Uren", Melech growled, his right hand tightening to a fist of deep jet. "Now."

====

Mervaan frose, signaling Bran and Mathieson to a halt. With a hand signal in the near darkness, the Reman ordered the two humans to hide, then proceeded deeper into the inky black.

Branwen acted quickly pushing the elderly Doctor into an alcove making sure he was well out of sight. She gave him a sign to be silent. And then found another niche for herself.

For ten minutes they hid, hearing the random sounds of the dark tunnel and seeing the occasional dim light. Twice, they heard a scream after a blue-green flash. From their alcoves, they saw the dark silhouette of a tall Reman lit up against what seemed like small ball-lightning, then the darkness was replaced by the sickly blue-green of ruined night vision.

It was during the temporary blindness that new, alien voices came from nearby. "Lieutenant - the chase is over. Surrender and we'll treat you and your elderly companion mercifully." The piercing voice echoed in the large chamber, then faded as it mixed with the absolute darkness.

Branwen had no weapon, no means of defending herself and Mathieson. So she did the wise thing and stepped forward. "I will hold you to that." Then to her companion. "Better come out Doctor."

There was no immediate response in the darkness, other than some amused laughter from the new voice. Seconds later, a shower of white-hot sparks preceded a loud "bloody-'ell" as the circuitry in Mathieson's tricorder overloaded. The short Englishman erupted from his alcove, quickly dropping the sputtering and smoking scanner.

"Stand down doctor. I don't want you hurt." Bran said again.

"A wise decision, Lieutenant" came from a grinning, unnatural face, bone white on the right, pitch black on the left. "Now, I believe you're familiar with what comes next." Others resembling their new captor emerged from the deep shadows, blindfolds in hand.

She nodded tersely. But there was nothing she could do.

The tunnel's silence was jarred by the echoing sounds of mocking laughter and loud, belligerent Cockney profanities.

"Alfredo Says Eat Me"

Lt. Gianna Crestine, Chief Science Officer, USS Challenger
Ensign Robert Crestine, Science Officer, USS Challenger

*****USS Challenger, 3 hours before crash, Science Office*****

Gianna folded the note and put it in a drawer. If talking wouldn't work, she'd just shove that in his hands. She stood and stepped out and walked over to Rob, "You're taking your lunch early, Ensign." She gave a wink and small smile, hoping to start the process of smoothing things early.

Rob looked up at Giana, surprised. They hadn't said a word to each other in the last twenty four hours, and now Giana was there, winking, smiling, like nothing had happened. He felt partly relieved, partly grateful that they were going to do something about what had happened between them.

Of course, it also partly pissed him off, as if there was nothing to be upset about. But Rob tried not to let that part show, at least, not yet. "Okay," he said simply.

She whispered to him, "Meet me at home." She saw he had a PADD and would let him finish that. "I'll get things ready."

Rob nodded and continued working on the PADD as she walked around. It didn't take that long, and that disappointed him a little. He was. . .what? nervous? irritable? hungry? He was something, anyway, and a little discontent that he had nothing to procrastinate his lunch break with. He didn't like feeling this anxious about just talking with Giana. But he didn't want to make things worse. . .and even though he was generally an optimistic person, he was also a firm believer that anything could get worse.

But things could get better too. There was always that nagging issue.

Rob sighed and left for his quarters. He hoped he didn't screw this up.

****

USS Challenger, 2 hours and 40 minutes before crash, Crestine's Quarters

Chicken Alfredo sat on the dining table. Replicated, but she had tweaked it a bit to add her own touch to it. She sat in a chair, biting her nail. Both Delilah and Rob ran around in her head, chasing each other, threatening her to choose one.

For one hour, it would be Rob. Maybe longer. She smiled thinking of how they've made up before and usually it took a bit longer than an hour.

Rob walked in and raised an eyebrow at the dinner table. "Now, that's not fair," Rob said lightly. "You're using deliciously good food to lull me into being more agreeable. Minx."

She smiled at him and stood, coming closer, "I was hoping to be forgiven. I've been a very neglectful wife." She looked down, "I can't promise it'll get less hectic," she looked back into his eyes, "But I will try to make up for it." She reached her hand toward his.

Rob thought about taking his hand back but thought it'd be petty. Instead, he took her hand in his and looked directly at her. "Giana," he said, "I don't know that this has any easy fix. Chicken alfredo's great and all but after dinner we still have all the same problems."

She frowned and nodded, "I think if we could start over I never would had taken the promotion." She shrugged, "Or at least agreed to work on Delilah." She looked at him, "But once it's done, I'll be back to normal and if there's still issues, I'll ask to be taken down to Assistant Chief. I think Lt. Greg Tremine would be a better Chief sometimes anyway."

"What? Tremine's an idiot! He couldn't tell you left from right if it wasn't specifically stated in a manual somewhere. I don't like taking orders from that guy when I have to work with him, much less all the time."

Rob shook his head. "Giana," he said, "I never had a problem with you being the Chief Science Officer. I don't mind that you've have higher rank, and I don't mind that you have higher clearance. I'm not a particularly old-fashioned kind of guy---I've got no problem with you wearing the pants in the relationship. . .as long as I can get you out of them occasionally with some replicated champaigne. But Delilah. . .I just wished you hadn't lied about it. You didn't have to tell me exactly what it was, just. . .I just don't like having secrets between us."

"I didn't lie. I just didn't say anything." She smiled, but it faded. "Well if I said, 'There's a top secret project I'm working on, I'll be home late,' you would had just left it at that?"

Rob couldn't help but laugh. "Probably not," he said, "but I'd have preferred it to what did happen."

She smiled at him, "OK. Next time I'm stupid enough to take on a top secret mission, I'll at least give you that. Are you hungry?"

Rob raised his eyebrows. "Who do you think you're talking too? Of course I'm hungry." He picked up his fork and was about to shovel a truckload of alfredo into his mouth when the red alert sounded. Seconds later, Giana was summoned to the bridge and Rob ordered to the battle bridge.

Rob sighed. "I guess it's happening," he said. "Finish this later?"

Gianna looked at him mournfully. Even when she tried, there was never enough time. She nodded and kissed him quickly before heading out. "I love you."

"I love you too, Gi," Rob said quietly to himself and then followed her out of their quarters to the battle bridge.

na Faelirh, na Dianvm (The Son, The Brother)

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Three Years Ago =
= dohhae Ahalaen =
= ch'Rihan =

Aendeh Tal Vriha tr'Ahalaen looked up from his work to see who was intruding upon his library. As a rule, no member of the family was allowed in the room while he was in it - at least not without permission. Tal's predatory eyes narrowed, preparing to spear his unwelcome visitor with an angry glance, when they were met with an obsidian gaze that looked exactly the same as his own - like a feline predator watching its prey, ready to lunge.

The elder Romulan rose to his feet to greet the younger man entering."Arham faelirh," he whispered softly, "You have returned."

The long, graceful strides of the youth brought him closer to Tal. He was broad of shoulder, compact frame coiled around by corded muscles and an easy confidence that understood what dominance meant. His black hair was, unlike the helmet of the Aendeh, shoulder length and straight. The faint beginnings of a beard decorated his handsome visage - a visage in which the head of the tr'Ahalaen family could see how he himself must have looked a hundred odd years ago.

An arm's reach away, the boy - for he was no more than twenty-seven - stopped and saluted Tal. He spoke. His voice was low and sibilant - the sound of many waters - but had something ominous about it - like the first warnings of a storm. "Jolan'Tru." A charming smile finally slipped onto his lips, "Hru'hfirh. You sound like you doubted my return."

"My son." Vriha tr'Ahalaen repeated, "My Sienovan. There are many dangers for our family in the halls of the Senate. I had some fears - and they were rational. It isnt very often a retired officer is asked to report to the Senate."

"I am not a mere retired officer."

That much was true, Tal knew well enough. Not even in his thirties yet, his son was considered a bit of a hero by the Romulan people due to his military expliots. Now the young man was also the center of political intrigue. Aerv had retired from the fleet after his time of compulsary service had terminated. This was not unusual by itself. Many had followed this path. However, few were the heirs of a rich and powerful clan and fewer still reeked with the glory and honor Aerv had accumulated. The enemies of the Ahalaen family naturally saw some ploy in this, afraid that Aerv would use these credentials for political gain. And well...that was true enough, he probably would. Still it meant that Tal's son had to tread carefully for there were traps for him everywhere.

"Yes well...jolan'tru, jolan'tru. It is just that I would hate to lose you, Aerv. I enjoy looking at you - it is like gazing upon a mirror that takes away time."

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen bowed deeply to his father and upon rising said, "If you say so, Hru'hfirh. I do rather believe, however, that you are flattering yourself."

Tal laughed. It was something he had not done in the few months that the boy had been away, first visiting some minor houses to gain support and then dealing with the politics of the Senate. But now the boy was backhis own load would be lighter. And Aerv's burdens? The Aendeh shook his head slightly - but the day had come - the day every father hoped for, the day every father dreaded. Still...children must grow and learn.

"Mother said that there are problems that have developed."

"There are always problems," the eldest tr'Ahalaen replied, "But you will get used to that." He walked over to a table in the corner and poured out two crystal goblets of orange citrus juice. He handed one to his son and nodded for the young man to be seated. "You should have gone to your rooms - relaxed and changed."

"And miss seeing you in a moment of doubt?" Aerv asked slyly as he sipped his drink, "I think not, Father."

"Indeed. So what is the word?"

The smile on his son's face disappeared, "I am to be an ambassador for the Empire."

"Ambassador?" Tal spat out, his lips twisted in distaste, "What...what is the meaning of this? Ah...Aehkhifv tr'AAnikh said it was something sour but this...you are a war hero. This post...it is an insult."

"Indeed," tr'Ahalaen said quietly, "But it is the Senate's insult. We must bear it."

Tal whistled softly, "They must truly be afraid of your potential. What have you been doing these past few months?"

"Being myself - which is probably why I have been getting attention. That is, after all, something nobody does any longer."

"By Jaeih." His father cursed, downing his drink, "You have a strange sense of humor. Do not worry - it will be temporary. Wheels are in motion."

"I was not worried," Aerv replied dryly, carefully setting aside his drink, "So what are these other problems of which Mother speaks?"

"Yes," Tal said wearily, "Believe me, Laehval - I would not add to your burdens - and indeed they are ill deserved - but there are thorns in my heart, faelirh, and they ravage all flowers that begin to blossom."

"I am here." Aerv replied, "I am ready."

"Yes - and you are also best equipped to deal with this. Your mother had tried but. S'harien won't listen to any of us."

Aerv thought of the girl with boundless energy and untamed life that was his sister and smiled. "Nothing new there, Father."

"This time it is serious. She says she is in love."

"Love?" Aerv chuckled, "That is not serious - at worst it will last a few weeks at most. You had me worried."

"No, Sienovan. You speak like a man of flesh - who has experience now. Your sister is but sixteen. She really believes she is in love - and so does her...accomplice."

"Someone I know?"

"I hope not. A Gai`Shian."

Aerv frowned and leaned forward slightly, "Gai`Shian? S'harien thinks she is in love with a Gai`Shian? A lowly peasent recruit?"

"She is in love. She does not see that as a problem."

"No." The younger man picked up, "But a commoner would see this as the perfect opportunity to better his fortune and bloodline. A hnoiyika. Preying on the affections of the innocent."

"Exactly. And the daughter of Ahalaen house consorting with a farmer's son whose highest inspiration is to be a poet? Who is a weakling - I cannot imagine what will be said."

"What does S'harien say?"

"She thinks he is some kind of genius. But she is an innocent, if headstrong child. He could tell her that he was an elemental and she'd believe him. She is completely under his spell."

Aerv sighed. "Have you met him?"

"No. But you will. If reasoning with S'harien does not work then I want you to take care of this. Clean it up with as little noise as possible. Buy him if you must."

"It shall be done, Father."

"And Aerv?"

"Yes?"

"I need not remind you of mnhei'sahe."

"No." Aerv smiled, "For I reminded of the code of honor every time I look at you and remember how you have lived."

Tal laughed. "Oho - my son does me great honor. A new trend."

"You will get used to it, Father. I intend to make certain it is frequent."

= Later = = Aerv's Rooms; dohhae Ahalaen =

The Ahalaen home was sprawling mansion that had been crafted several centuries ago with the use of the finest black marble. Lavished with expensive rugs and plush carpets, rare paintings and beautifully detailed sculptures, scented candles and blooming flowers of all kinds, it was a beautiful place in which to live. Grim, yet elegant - beauty hidden within beauty, light within darkness. In short, the home was completely Romulan.

Except for the rooms of Aerv tr'Ahalaen.

A man of eclectic tastes, the youth had put together a stunning collage of luxury for himself. Carpets from Orion, stunning abstract sculptures from Risa, rare Andorian texts of ritual and mating bound with soft human leather, bladed weapons from every imaginable place in the world - an extremely rare delta quadrant Hirogen blade, a dagger fashioned out of a now extinct El-Aurian metal, a Jem'Hadar sword from a fallen First and knvies embedded with Endari glass beads.

There were books - actual paper books of every description: volumes upon volumes on tactics written by Zakdornian generals, texts detailing the sexual secrets of the Deltans and Orions, literature from across the universe including - aside from the Republic itself, of course - Earth, Vulcan and Trill. Detailed readings about religion, philosophy and painting - covering everything from the alchemists of Earth to the Passions Priests of Andor. There were Ferengi texts on commerce, rare Gorn discussions of aesthetics, Naussican drawings of combat techniques - even after so much of his time had been dedicated to these tomes, Aerv had not been able to read all the works he had gathered.

Also there were rare wines and spirits, colognes and fragrances. He had clothing made from materials of different planets - all things difficult and expensive to acquire, sometimes even purchased off theblack market. Due to these treasures, no one from outside the family was allowed access to his chambers. It was not that Aerv feared theft. He simply had no wish to be admired or, like some vulgar Ferengi, rat off the prices for which these things had been bought. He wanted access to knowledge and pleasure and sensation - he wanted, as a human author had so brilliantly put it, to become "a dream of form in days of thought."

He showered and then changed. He picked out a woolen, full sleeved midnight blue tunic with the small gray symbol of the Aanikh on embossed the right breast. With this he wore a pair of grey slacks with a matching leather belt worn over the tunic. It was time to go down to meet the rest of his family.

= Later =
= dohhae Ahalaen =

His sisters were dancing when he arrived. As he had everyday as far back as Aerv could remember, the Dance Master was present in the home. All of the children of the family, even the men, had been forced to learn this art. He watched them - S'harien and Ael. The first in the bloom of youth and beauty, exceedingly lovely - and the second still a child of eight making exasperated noises at her teacher along with despairing gestures of exhaustion. It was the teacher who noticed him enter and bowed. Laehval bowed back even more deeply to show the man his respect. This exchange, however, did not go unnoticed.

It was not S'harien who noticed him first. Going through a difficult routine of constant twirling and spinning, her concentration was completely engaged in her movements. Ael, however, screamed with delight upon turning to see who had entered. "Aerv!"

The child came running towards him and he lifted her up in his arms, laughing despite her protests that she was too old to be carried about. Kissed her on the nose and when he finally put her down, he found S'harien waiting. He embraced her, twirling her slightly in the air, and kissed her on the forehead. "You look lovely enough to inspire poetry."

She caught the reference and averted her blue eyes (she had taken to an eye color pigment as was currently popular). "Aerv, I - "

He put a finger to her lips. "Wait, e'lev." Then he turned to the Dance Master and said, "Afweirrea - do you think that your pupils have learned enough on this day? They must be tired. Perhaps tomorrow they shall be quicker to appreciate your wisdom."

The old man nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think that you may be right, Erien. I will come back to tomorrow."

Ael hugged on of Aerv's legs. "I love you, Dianvm."

S'harien chuckled and slapped the girl lightly on the back of the head.

"Will you join me for some wine, Afweirrea?"

"You honor me, Lhhai, but I am certain your sisters are anxious to speak with you. Perhaps some other time." The man bowed, "Jolan'Tru."

Aerv saluted the man.

"You do more honor," the aged Romulan said softly, "Than my aged shoulders can support.'

"Then you should have been wiser while you were earning it."

The teacher smiled. "You always had a sharp wit."

"And you always remarkable patience. Jolan'Tru, Afweirrea." Then the young warrior turned his attention to his youngest sister, crouching down besides her, "And while we are talking about food and drink - if one can find it, there is some human chocolate in my rooms."

"No." The girl gasped delighted.

"Of course, if you do not want to go look for it...."

Ael squealed her protest and ran off with such speed that he almost felt sorry for interrupting her dance lesson. Shaking his head, he turned to S'harien. Touching her arm lightly, he urged to walk with him, leading her towards the gardens of the place. "It is really good to see you," he said finally, "I was beginning to grow lonely."

S'harien flashed him a laughing glance. "We have heard about you, Dianvm - always surrounded by people, always invited to parties. Come - let there be no lies between us."

"I did not say I was growing alone, e'lev. There is a difference. You on the other hand have been too busy, I hear, to think of your brother."

"Father spoke with you about Faehtan?"

"Faehtan? I thought his name was Adel tr'Neral...." He broke off seeing her blush. "Of course," he said softly, "Does he also know your fourth name?"

"Yes." She whispered.

He said nothing, his handsome face expressionless as if carved from stone. "Have you slept with him?"

"Sienovan!"

"Answer the question, S'harien. And 'let there be no lies between us'."

"How can you ask...."

"Answer me." tr'Ahalaen roared his voice echoing loudly across the grounds, scaring away the birds. He had never spoken to her in this manner before. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"Ie Eri'hfirh," she replied formally, "But it was not wrong. He touched my heart."

"Then I will touch his," Aerv answered coldly, "With my own hands."

"Sienovan - no," S'harien pleaded, her voice tearful, "Please. Don't hurt him. He isn't like you - or father. He's not made for fighting."

"Those who do not fight," he answered, "Are easier to kill."

"I love him. Surely you know what that means - you taken many mates I've heard - you must understand how I feel."

"No. I do not. I known lust. But I have known love for only fou...three women in the universe - and all three are of my family. I honor them and love them. I honor you and love you. No one else even matters. Doesn't even compare. I had hoped you would understand that."

"I do." She insisted quietly, "But I also know this is love - and it will break my heart to turn my back on it. Is that what you want? For me to weep? To feel sorrow? Please, Sienovan - at least meet him. Like an equal...."

"He is not my equal."

"You both have my love. And between the two of you, I will be completely torn. For me, Sienovan. For me. Just talk to him. When you see how good he is, how kind and gentle he is, how true he is - you will understand." She waited for him to speak, but when he said nothing, she went on, "Father says that people will talk. I know that. I know how important reputation is. I was raised with the same principles you were. But this is also important. What is it you really care about? What society says? What is written in some old tome no one reads? Or about me? Please - just see him."

There was a long silence. Then finally he nodded stiffly, as if with great effort. "For you. Only for you."

A cry of relief broke from her lips and she embraced him, weeping with fear, love, tenderness and hope.

"Childish Evasion"

Aren Furai and Ember Lansky

These days, Ember did not relish reporting for duty.

Just not too long ago, there was a steely determination about her, a passion for her job that translated into the ungrudging long hours she was willing to put in, the untiring zeal as she volunteered for extra assignments and the relentless attitude that made sure she always got the job done, and done perfectly. Now, she couldn't wait to finish her duty shift so she could get back to her quarters. There were rumours floating around that she had lost her edge. Some of the comments were malicious and mocking, others pitied her for the state she had landed herself in. She had heard them all, but if there was anything about her that was still the same as before... she didn't care.

None of them understood what she was going through, as she forced herself to get up out of bed and into the uniform every single morning - none of them understood what it was like. They only thought they knew. Every day that she reported for duty, she was made to confront the enormous gap that Ayden had left behind, inside of her. It was a void she simply did not know where to begin to fill. A void she wished she was blind to.

Standing in the turbolift, Ember looked down at the floor, willing the time to go a little faster. She hadn't yet started her shift, and she was already dreading it.

* * *

Aren rushed through the corridors with a small PADD in hand. Her flight jacket was unfastened and carried the air behind her as she jogged towards the nearest turbolift. While in all respects she had some time before her shift started, Aren tended to prefer showing up at least fifteen minutes in advance to ensure she wouldn't miss anything. Right now it was looking more like she was going to be right on time.

Inwardly she cursed, growling at the crewman who while fixing a nearby console managed to lock her inside her own quarters.

Finally she made it to a turbolift, and tapped the claxxon just as she heard the light hum of the turbolift nearing the entrance. ~Good timing~ She thought as she waited for the doors to open.

~Bad timing~ She thought, as soon as they opened. It was Ember Lansky, still existing with the absent gaze that so many had grown accustomed to over these last several weeks. Even what little conversation Aren could hold up with Ember, particularly about Ayden; couldn't help.

It wasn't like she could wait for the next one. She got in, and moved to the other side of the lift. Checking the screen, it was clear that the turbolift was already heading towards the pilot's briefing room.

It was just her luck that the last person she wanted to see, would show up right in front of her. Ember averted her eyes, exchanging nothing, not even a wordless nod of acknowledgement with Aren except the suffocating silence that filled the turbolift. But because she consciously avoided looking at the other pilot, it was obvious that Ember was painfully aware of her presence. She was impossible to miss... she was after all, Ayden's replacement - the term had stuck in her mind ever since Aren joined the squadron, something she could no more erase than she could forget.

Aren glanced towards Ember on a few occasions while her mind tried hard to concentrate on the console indicating how much longer they had until arriving in the conference room. Inwardly, Aren wanted to *try* and make things better with Ember, but having known her for these few months she knew any such attempt would be futile. Ember would be more likely to storm out of the turbolift irregardless of their location, or take any verbal encounter to a painfully physical one should Aren strike any of her buttons.

No, it was better that she remain silent. Ember needed time to heal, even if in Aren's mind Ayden was alive, and that all it would take was time before they could be reunited. This was why the military arm of any organization despiced politics, because especially in this case it was that which was keeping these two apart. Negotiations would soon be underway as soon as the Federation received 'Proof of Life' from the aliens who took him.

Even Aren would rather fly into combat and pull him out forcefully.

After what seemed like too long of a wait, the turbolift finally came to a stop on the appropriate deck. The doors hissed to an open, and Aren decided to wait, to pause before rushing to exit. If anything, she wanted Ember to know that she wasn't afraid of her... not anymore.

Except Ember waited, too. If she thought about it rationally, Aren had nothing whatsoever to do with this; she was innocent, and had done nothing. She didn't deserve the resentment that she was targeting at her. But, yet Ember simply couldn't remove the association that she was Ayden's replacement quite so easily. It wasn't like Ember to be so cruel... and deliberately so. But by stepping into shoes that she had no place to fill, she was already making a mistake. Aren could never be Ayden. Could never be as good as him.

So, it seemed almost bizarre, the two of them standing in the turbolift, with the doors open, but neither of them budging a single inch. Perhaps it was juvenile, but she could be patient if she wanted to, and right now, she didn't have any inclination to move. Between her options of closing the proximity between them and walking past her, she would rather stay where she was. Aren could step out first; she should have.

After a while the frustration started to outweigh her motivation in the first place. Unconsiously tapping her foot lightly against the floor while keeping her arms crossed and glaring towards the open corridor, Aren decided to put an end to this childish game. "Fine..." she muttered, realizing that this had turned into a competition between the two.

The last thing Aren wanted to do was be another thorn in Ember's side, but at the same time she wanted... recognition from a woman who she looked up to, even when the only thing she saw was hopelessness.

Pivoting on her heel, Aren stepped out of the Turbolift with a heavy weight to her steps.

“Take me to your leader!”

(A bit of a back post)

Starring Lt. Raven Darkstar, High Chief of the Navigation Department and Captain Leo Streely, USS GALAXY.

Also including unauthorized appearances by Captain Cassius Henderson and sundry members of the USS GALAXY bridge crew.

Previously: After holding his very first meeting with his newly revamped shuttle crew, Raven Darkstar found himself stunned to see that a clerical error by someone in the Starfleet Collective Uploaded Recorded Verification Yield (SCURVY) Department had mistakenly listed Leo Streely’s rank as ‘Captain’ rather then ‘Ambassador at Large’.

Eager to avoid a stint in the brig, and against all sensibilities, Raven ceded to Captain Streely’s orders.

Location: Turbolift, en route to the Bridge

“Captain Henderson will have you shot on sight.” Raven Darkstar said with a growl, from where he stood next to Leo Streely in the turbo lift. “You will not make it more then four feet onto the bridge.”

The little man in the replica Starfleet uniform paid him no heed. He simply fingered the oversized T.C.B. medallion that hung from his neck.

“Do you know how many times I have had sex in the turbo lift?” he asked as the elevator hummed along, bringing him closer and closer to the Captain’s Chair. “Not this particular turbo lift, but turbo lifts in general?”

The nearly tangible gloom that radiated from Raven grew impossibly thicker.

“Of all the infinite mysteries in the universe that I may find myself pondering, your copulation habits…” he started before Leo cut him off as if he hadn’t even registered the man was speaking.

“I’ll tell you how many…NONE! Not one time! Not even so much as a sloppy…”

“LEO!!!’ Raven roared like a mountain lion challenging for supremacy of the pack.

“OK, OK, OK! I’m just sayin.” he said, letting no more then a half a second pass before he started lamenting his current dilemma once again. "Kira Murphy once claimed to have been naked on every floor on this ship. Kirk’s unauthorized biography says that he actually got some trim off one female from every charted species he encountered. I haven’t even gotten laid in the elevator!”

“I find that hard to believe” Darkstar said sourly.

“Oh, it’s true. It’s damn true, OK? I have even had sex on the hull of the ship when it was in dry dock for repairs but never in the turbo lifts.”

“I'M TALKING ABOUT KIRK'S BIOGRAPHY.” the Indian said through tightly gritted teeth, a sign that his patience was wearing rice paper thin. “Like he would sleep with a Tholian.”

“When they moan, they echo.”

“Bolians?”

“Ironically relieved his blue balls.”

“Crustaceans?”

“Said it gave him crabs.”

“Leo, crustaceans are crabs."

"You would think he would have known that, being a Captain and all."

"Apparently brains are not a requisite to Captancy." Darkstar quipped dryly.

“Maybe your mechanic. Dakota Willis? That topless chick? She really an exhibitionist?”

Raven groaned and flexed his large fists repeatedly until the bones cracked.

“Dakota Willis wouldn’t have even been born during the era in which the Admiral allegedly sowed his wild oats.”

“No, I’m talking about hosing her in a turbo lift. Think she’d be up to it?”

“Computer, hold turbo lift.” Darkstar said coldly. Their ascent to the bridge suddenly stopped with out so much as a jostle. The Navigation Chief turned to Leo. “You do realize that Captain Henderson will have you shot on sight and then thrown into the brig if you insist upon going to the bridge.”

“Fear not, Lieutenant. Until such time as the source of the ‘alleged’ error in my rank is ferreted out and rectified – if such an error exists – or until Fleet Admiral Bhrode himself returns from his “TOP SECRET” mission to develop a Borg defense system - or so I hear, I am afforded all of the privileges that are afforded to a Starfleet Captain. With Henderson reassigned and no other captain named, by default I now have access to the bridge should I choose to exercise that right.” Leo said in a startling moment of clarity that disturbed Raven.

“Besides, the Fleet may opt to have two captains on this boat.”

“WHAT? Leo, no ship in Starfleet has two captains.”

“The Excalibur.”

“That is Calhoun’s ship.”

“But for a brief stint, Shelby and Calhoun were both Captains. Turbolift, resume.” Leo ordered, hands behind his back. “Hey, what are you going to do with that big red horned Jem Hadar that was hounding you a couple of posts ago? Did Joe forget that plot thread? Dallas or Toothpick wouldn’t.”

“Joe? Plot thread? What are you talking about? What is a toothpick from the planet Dallas?’ Raven asked genuinely puzzled.

The turbolift chimed to a stop and the doors slid open.

Leo paused before crossing the thresh hold. “What no swoosh when the doors open? They always swoosh. Did Engineering swing by with an oil can all of a sudden”

Then he bounded across the carpet and onto the bridge, he folded his arms behind him and announced his presence by passing gas.

Extremely loudly.

“Captain….. on Deck!” he said, as all eyes turned towards him. Darkstar hid his face in his hands as if not seeing this spectacle would somehow remove himself from the situation.

“Shall I notify security?” Nicea Reyol purred from the Tactical arch..

“ There will be no… need. You can……. verify my rank on the computer. Speaking of rank, In the past, bottles…. of champagne have been used to…. christen ships going on their maiden voyage. And so it is with my…. accidental, yet highly symbolic… fart that we usher the ship into a… new era! As the lingering heady, meaty, noxious smell of my gas dissipates, so too does the… era of the …other old farts who have captained this boat." Streely said with a strange cadence, reminiscent of Kirk but more exaggerated his hands twitching in the air spasmatically as he spoke.

He walked over and stood before the Captain’s chair.

“Let us…boldly….go where..no man has gone before!” he announced then plopped down in the oversized chair tugged his tunic and crossed his legs. “Make it so!”

At that moment, the doors to the Captain’s Ready room swished open and Captain Henderson strode out for what would probably be the final time. He had packaged all of his personal effects from the ready room and soon they would be transported to his quarters awaiting his transfer.

He had been slightly torn emotionally. Part of him would miss the USS GALAXY, but at the same time, a part of him, the part that initially led him to a career in Intelligence, was alive again with the mystery of this new assignment lying ahead of him.

Seeing Leo Streely sitting in the Captain’s Chair immediately cleared his head.

“Mr Corgan, please take your side arm and shoot Mr. Streely until he falls from that chair.” Henderson ordered.

:::(OOC: Cue the Dukes of Hazard Music):::

Well, everything turned out just fine after all.

Leo still has his rank, despite strong protests by Captain Henderson, Lt. Darkstar and 100 other men and women who signed an official petition of investigation.

Starfleet formed a new organization who’s purpose is researching the matter: “Verification & Understanding Leo’s breVet Assignment” department. (or VULVA for short)

Henderson agreed not to have Leo shot or pushed to a forced transfer to Captain of a Federation pleasure cruise liner specializing in alternative male lifestyles, providing that Leo stayed in his cabin for the duration of the GALAXY’s cruise to STARBASE ATLANTIS, where Henderson was set to await his transfer, thereby making Leo the problem of the next Captain – rumored to be the returning Darren M’Kantu who was cleared of his legal woes.

And Darkstar, well, that ol boy’s life continued to be full of suprises.

::: Deck 7::::

The Indian stood impatiently waiting for the turbo lift doors to open. The ship had just docked at Starbase Atlantis and he was eager to stretch his legs after a long cruise.

When the doors silently slid open, Darkstar was nearly knocked over by the exiting Leo Streely, still in his Captains uniform, but wearing pants that appeared to have been hastily put on backwards.

“They never swoosh!” Leo laughed to the elevators remaining occupant. He winked at the Indian and mouthed, “Mission accomplished.” Then he walked away, leaping into the air and clicking his heels together.

Filled with more dread then when facing a horde of Cardassian Shock troops, the Chief slowly turned around to find the smiling Dakota Willis inside holding the door for him, sweat visible on her topless body as if she had just exerted some tremendous physical effort.

“Quite the sweet bloke. Who would have known? ” she asked with a hint of an English accent. The Indian simply crossed the threshold and waited for his floor to chime.

He prayed silently to his ancestors to keep the woman from even speaking to him during this awkward moment.

As usual, his prayers went unanswered.

“Did you know that Kirk claimed to have sex in every elevator of every ship he had been in? It was like his fetish.” She asked as the mortified Raven willed himself to no longer exist.

"Fists Closed" - Open Fist finale

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Ensign Robert Mathieson, PhD

Also featuring…

Lieutenant Tarin Iniara, Cheron delegation leader, USS Galaxy
Commander Kol, Executive Officer USS Galaxy

2nd Lieutenant Branwen London, Executive Officer, Furies
Captain Vergh, IKS Darchak
Director Leto, RSU District Representative

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Move!" The command had the accent of the business end of an ancient disruptor as it jammed into Doctor Mathieson's back.

The prod jarred the old man's already unsteady pace. "Easy, lad. Easy", he grumbled. The shuffling of their feet and the intermittent commands from the mysterious black and white figures were no longer echoing as the sounds became less reflected - there were considerably more people in the smaller chamber they had been led to.

Blindfolds were roughly torn from the faces of the three newcomers, and each recoiled from the harsh, artificial light that shone on them. As they became used to the glare, familiar faces came into focus. One of the larger ones managed a feeble attempt at humor.

"Leech", Vergh said while struggling against his restraints, "when I asked you to treat the Remans, this wasn't the 'house call' I had in mind." His outburst quickly earned the large Klingon a disruptor-rifle butt to the side of his head. Animal-like, he snarled viciously at the alien, white and black guard, but said nothing more.

The other prisoners were similarly bound with plastic restraints - Klingons, Rihannsu, Reman, Human, Bajoran. Their guards seemed alike in appearance, but closer examination showed some with a white right side, and others colored the opposite. The tension between guards seemed the same as with and amongst the prisoners.

Doctor Mathieson looked to the other side, and noticed that he was sitting next to the Galaxy's Tactical Chief. On his second day on board, someone told him that Saul Bental was the guy to come to if you needed to get anything from outside the ship, but that more or less summed up his familiarity with the man.

"Cheron natives! I thought they were extinct.", Saul whispered toward him.

"Blimey lad, I thought they were friggin' made up!" came the physician's hushed reply.

"Be quiet!", One of the Cheronites instructed, raising his wand toward Mathieson and Saul. Since both saw how the same wand was used to subdue a fleshy Klingon earlier, they decided to follow the man's 'advice'.

Two men entered the cavern. Both had brown hair, and divided facial colors. The black color on each face was on the opposite side. The taller had a slightly wild, excited look to him while the shorter, older being bore a more reserved, patrician air.

The man with the left side of his face colored black spoke up. "Gentlemen, my name is Lokai, and my contemporaries name is Bele. Our men gave you our ultimatum, and we now demand your answer."

Vergh snorted and spat at Lokai, and was quickly subdued to a state of semi consciousness. Kol, only slightly more restrained, gave a deep fang-filled growl as he too struggled futiley against his bonds. Branwen was more cautious than the Klingons; having tensed her fists while being restrained, she now relaxed her hands, allowing the bloodflow to return to normal. As her wrists and hands slowly drained of excess blood, the sweat on her skin helped to lubricate the plastic cuffs -she was careful to make no movement and draw no attention to her, praying that the warrior's belligerence would last a little longer.

Bele, arms crossed in a gesture of disgust, sneered at the struggling aliens. "I see their powers of rhetoric resemble yours, Lokai. You need to ask the right questions to the right people." He walked carelessly to hover over Leto and Lieutenant Iniara, a smug expression on his black and white face. "These are the leaders in question, the others?" He cast a look of contempt and disdain at the Klingons, but lingered on the other Cheronian leader, "Merely those who obey orders - the dogs of distant masters."

The red-head Starfleet officer looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Bele. "For someone who presumes to have excellent rhetoric skills, Bele, it's odd that you didn't just come forward and asked us kindly to leave."

"We preferred our existence to remain unknown.", Bele shrugged. "There was no point in drawing more attention to Cheron. You left us no choice, though, by refusing to leave the planet despite the 'streak of bad luck' your allies have been suffering. So what is it going to be?"

Iniara tried to shrug, but the restraints prevented her from doing so. "I don't have any interest in interfering with a culture that wishes to remain in isolation, Bele. But the planetside camps don't belong to the Federation; We are here merely as observers."

"Unlike our 'allies' from the Federation.", Director Leto spoke up, trying to maintain his dignity despite the restraints, "We will not surrender to the whims of cowards bearing Thalaron weapons."

"I don't understand what you mean, Director, but I take it--", Bele began, but was interrupted by Lokai.

"Thalaron weapons?"

Saul, watching the events closely until now, saw the opportunity. And always the sharp-minded businessman, he pounced on it.

"Of course, the weapons your men dismantled from the Starship Challenger a couple of weeks ago.", He said. "Now it all fits; The traces we found must've been of Cheronite origin. Yes..."

Needless to say, it was an outright lie. The expedition found no traces, DNA or otherwise, on the Challenger's bridge or the Delilah module. Just bones of Human officers long dead, rotten by time and radiation.

But it was enough to convince Lokai that something was utterly wrong. "What weapons?", He demanded.

Bele folded his arms, looking self important. "Just another tool we intended to use for the 'silent revolution'. I didn't think it was worth bothering you with it. Just like you did not want details about crashing the spire on Ur Luan city."

"You were going to use those weapons - against me and my people. Genocide!"

"Ridiculous."

Lokai blinked. He looked as though he saw Bele for the very first time. He extended both of his arms forward, placing his hands on Bele's chest.

And then, he shoved.

Bele's sneer became an expression of defiant anger. "Imbecile! Think for once in your useless, misbegotten life! We need each other if Cheron's ever to become ours again! They're using you, Lokai, and you're rising to their bait."

Lokai's face reflected Bele's anger perfectly. "Cheron has never been my people's world, Bele. We were your churls, slaving at your people's whims, dancing to the tune your twisted song - but no more. We are slaves no longer."

From the prisoners, a calm, deep voice rose above the discord. "Slaves? It's something we have in common at least, Lokai. My people were the slaves of the Rihannsu until recently", Mervaan said, nodding towards Leto. "We've been their thralls for many decades - but we're free now, and we even cooperate when given the chance. The place, the Cheron you have been fighting for, was our first attempt at true coexistence, " he said, his eyes squarely fixed at the Romulan administrator "and it was working."

Confusion and horror mixed on Bele and Lokai's mirrored faces. "You can't be serious?", Lokai asked in disbelief, abandoning the Thalaron issue for a moment. "They oppressed you, enslaved you, and yet - you seek peace with them? You forgive their injustices?"

Bele's sickly expression was fixed on the Reman, but he addressed his ally. "It's a trick, a deception. Look at them, Lokai - LOOK AT THEM! How can you trust them? Their thoughts, their beliefs are alien to us. All they want is our planet and they'll use every lie, every deception, every trick to sway you. Keep focused - our plan's working just as we thought it would. Don't let it unravel just as we're getting close!"

Lokai was silent, glaring first at the Reman leader, then at his conspirator. "It *is* our planet, Bele. Ours - your people and mine, and what the pale one says merits careful thought. Before we proceed, I want to consult with my followers and discuss the new developments - *after* we see the new weapons you've decided to keep from us."

The other Cheronian simply grinned at Lokai. "You don't need to see them, you can see the effects. As soon as the Klingon leader here refused the ultimatum, we've detonated a marginal warhead on the hills at the edge of the invaders settlement. Current reports suggest complete casualties in the Klingon camp and significant fallout into the rest of the colony."

A stunned silence fell on the chamber, and a hoarse whisper came from Lokai. "My forward scouts... they were monitoring the Klingon activity... are they..."

Bele frowned at his ally's response. "This is war, Lokai. Sacrifices must be made if we're ever to achieve victory."

Lokai froze in horror, but his men reacted as they had for centuries. Lethal disruptor fire arced, blood flew, and people screamed and died. Still restrained, Vergh and Kol sprang at distracted guardsmen, knocking them down and attacking their throats with their teeth. In the din of the chaos, no one noticed the squirming of a marine second lieutenant as she wiggled free of the plastic shackles. Grabbing the ka-bar knife strapped to her shin, Bran went to work on the plastic bonds of the other prisoners, Iniara first.

As Cheronians died, energy weapons became available to the prisoners. Soon, the room was littered with black and white bodies - of Bele and Lokai, there was no trace. Bran and Iniara, cautiously, released the blood-soaked Klingons each trembling with the ecstasy of battle and bearing wounds. Vergh's good eye was bleeding, but he saw well enough to bellow into his communicator.

"laQ!"

A red glow filled the room, and soon all that were left were the dead and dying.

Main Bridge, IKS Darchak ===================

"Shields up" screamed L'Teer, seeing that her captain was safe, but a deep growl from Vergh cancelled the order. "Belay that and open a channel to the Romulan warbird. NOW!"

The thin Romulan appearing on the viewscreen in no way veiled its hatred. "Klingon filth! Vermin! We knew you couldn't be trusted! Look at what you've done! Thalaron weapons! You..."

"It wasn't the Klingons, Captain", Leto managed, wounded and being supported by Mervaan. "It wasn't the Remans, and it wasn't the Federation. Please, I beg of you, work with the Klingons quickly - transport the surviving colonists as quickly as you can!"

"Administrator, I..."

"Captain! Look at the Klingon compound on Cheron! It's been annihilated! Look beyond your distrust! Think of the wounded!"

The Romulan captain's face looked distrustful as he scrolled through the incoming data. "I... that is...even with both ships, we can't move so many! We'll have to call the fleet for re-enf... I mean, additional transport."

Vergh's usual growl was replaced with a deep, calm voice. "I think I can help you there, Captain." He nodded at his first officer who sent a signal to the surrounding area - two other Vor'cha cruisers decloaked unarmed and shields down.

* * *

"Lieutenant Saul Bental's personal log.

In war, everyone loses.

I tried to think what each of the parties had to gain, in contrast of the sacrifices made. And none of them – not Bele's men, not Lokai's men, not the Klingons, the Romulans or the Remans, not even us – none of them could gain more than they actually lost.

The Klingons got the worst of it. I can visualize some Klingon grunt, sitting at his grunt post, lazily watching the surrounding desert when all of the sudden his body begins to decay in the cellular level, the radiation causing necrosis. That's a very cold, analytic way to analyze the suffering he endured in those last moments. And for what? To prove a point? To get some more leverage for the Klingons? Is it worth it?

And the Romulan scientists, in those final moments when that spire crashed upon him and his group. Should his life be forfeit just because Bele and Lokai wanted some privacy to keep on fighting privately? As they did for the past fifty thousand years? And for what?

As Chava put it, 'I'd just take half the planet, and leave the other guy the other half.'

Pointless.

When we studied Terran history at the academy, I had to read through all of the Israeli wars of that century. There was one conflict, somewhere around the turn of the century, where over a hundred Israelis and a thousand Lebanese were killed. The cause? A terrorist organization based on Lebanon didn't settle for Israel 's complete withdrawal from the country merely six years before, and kidnapped two soldiers without provocation. Their excuse? Israel was still holding a couple of squared kilometers, which belonged to Lebanon thirty years earlier.

A couple of square kilometers, two soldiers, and the result? Lebanon in ruins, northern Israel taking a blow, and over a thousand dead on both sides. Was it worth it? I think not.

Back to the present, we have recently departed from the Cheron system.

Treating the wounded continues, in a rare cooperation between all those who are involved. Our own Doctor Mathieson is pretty much working his ass off, and even Doctor Artim got his chance to return to old habits and practice some medicine to aid the wounded.

Both Leto and the Reman expedition leader contacted their superiors. The common decision was to abandon the collaborative research on Cheron for now, but attempt future scientific collaborations in safer locations.

It was also proposed that in, the future, a joint team will return to Cheron and see if the Cheronians will agree to establishing a Romulan/Reman research station on the far side of the planet, even temporarily.

If they'll still be there to provide an answer.

End log."

"na Aensai'llaisnen (The Tactician)"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Three Years Ago =
= dohhae Laehval =

"He is here, Lhhai."

"Of course," Aerv answered his servant with a small smile. Slowly tr'Ahalaen rose to his feet - his laziness was like that of a sated lion who cannot be bothered with a mouse scampering by. "Send him in then, Teral. And make sure everything is ready."

The servant bowed. "As you command, Lhhai."

Moving out from behind his desk, Aerv wandered over to the shelf where he had last placed the Adel Faehtan tr'Neral's collected poems. Picking them up he wandered back to his previous place.

His own home in ch'Rihan was not as impressive as the family state - or even as lushly decorated as his rooms there - but it was still more than functional. The entire home was designed to impress people of Aerv's own age or perhaps a bit younger. It was more militaristic in style than his actual room. He tended to move materials here from his library and back instead of making this their permanent spot. Instead of a large number of books in the study then, there was an elaborate computer system. Paintings were replaced by weapons, sculptures by wild green plants.

The door opened and Adel tr'Neral - his young sister's poet love - walked in. Aerv sighed at the sight of him. He was indeed a pathetic figure of a man, slightly bent and stick thin. Military service had made Adel wary rather than strong, anxious rather than tough. For the life of him, Sienovan could not see what his sister saw in the 'poet'.

"Lhhai." Faehtan said bowing deeply, "I am honored by the invitation."

Aerv inclined his neck slightly with marked disdain. "Yes. I should imagine so. Come inside, poet. Sit." The man did as he was bid nervously, "Do you enjoy tranya?"

"I...I don't know, Lhhai. I have never had...."

"Of course. How could I have forgotten?" Walking over to a small bar, he opened a bottle of orange liquid. "I think you will like tranya. From an empire known as the First Federation. Rather quaint name." He handed a jeweled goblet to the Gai'Shian.

The man sipped at his drink and closed his eyes with pleasure as he swallowed. "This...this is very good."

"Yes. I thought you might like it. You see - I know everything about you, Faehtan - may I call you that?"

The man gave a nervous jerk of his head that passed for a nod.

"Good. You see...I know you. Everything about you is plain to me. And do you know why? Because I have read your poetry."

"You...you did? What do you think?"

"Trite. For the most part simply things that have been done. There were a few particular references I especially enjoyed. To the human Bible, I think, in your 'Ode to Knowledge' - Kahless in 'The Republic' - I think you threw in a few Deltan texts here and there. Even Surak. You are well read."

"I never use Surak."

"'But say what thorn in me is / Not a thorn in also you'. Remarkably bad line that - but I do believe it was Surak you said that 'the spear in the other's heart is the spear in yours. You are he'."

The poet blushed. "One of my earliest works - I must have forgotten...."

"You see, Faehtan," Aerv interrupted, "I am also exceptionally well read. In fact, I have probably already read more than you ever will. And you know what I have found?"

"No, Lhhai."

"Poets are fools. A human named Eliot once wrote: we wear masks to meet the masks we meet. But a writer - especially a poet - will put his soul on paper. And if you can decode it, you will know the man's essence. That is how I learn tactics, you see - by the aesthetics a the people. The art of a civilization is like a poet's poetry on a larger scale. It will tell you who they are. And once you know that - you know how to defeat them. But pardon me for going on so."

"Not at all."

"So glad you are entertained." Aerv took a drink of his beverage, "I too am an artist. I am also the subject of my art. Look around and tell me what you can about myself."

Adel studied his surroundings. "I...do not understand. You are a cultured man. Rich. Good taste."

"Now you're just stating the obvious - that is, by the way, what I found most droll about most of your work. What you should have learned, is that you are in the presence of the man who will kill you. And you will not even put up a decent fight."

"So you intend to kill me?"

tr'Ahalaen shrugged and continued to drink his tranya calmly, "You slept with my sister - a young girl of tender years. You soiled the daughter of Ahalaen with your dirty hands. Took advantage of a girl's innocence a good heart. Now I admit that I myself do some of those things at times...but that is entirely different."

"I love her."

"But you cannot. Why do you keep forgetting who you are? You are a farmer's son. Why - the only decent poetry you've ever done has been since you've met S'harien. I love the piece where you ponder the wealth she might bring you and if your affections for her are tinged by that prospect. Now that was original."

"If you know my soul,' Faehtan said earnestly, "Then you know that I rejected that idea completely."

"Yes. I thought it rather compromised the poem."

"tr'Ahalaen," the poet said passionately, recklessly abandoning the honorific 'Lhhai' in favor of one of Aerv's names, "Have you no sense of how wonderful S'harien is?"

"Faehtan - have you no sense of how low you are?"

tr'Neral shook his head. "I cannot change who I am."

"Yes. Well - everyone's life must have one great tragedy, I suppose."

"My poverty is not my tragedy. My love is."

"Yes, yes. Always back to that. Look - I do wish to kill you. Murder isn't my style - well...sometimes it is.... However, right now, I give you two options and five minutes. If you have no answer by the end of that time - I will see you buried."

"I understand." Adel whispered.

"Excellent. Your first option is to name your price and simply walk away. You're rich, you never S'harien again but you can write poetry about the sorrows of parting or something equally droll. Or you fight me for her - how I know you wouldn't last very long in physical combat, so I've thought of a game we can play. You can gamble for my sister's love with you life."

"I will always choose the second option."

Aerv sighed, completely bored with the man's ardent displays of affection for S'harien, "Yes - of course you do." He clapped his hands and the door opened once more. This time a servant walked in with two men and a silver platter containing a box.

"These gentlemen," tr'Ahalaen said, rising to his feet, "Are lawyers who will witness our contract." He opened the wooden box on the platter and retrieved an ISD - along with a strange weapon. He smiled at it. "This is an antique firearm from Earth. I believe it is called a revolver. It works on a simple premise - it has six chambers each capable of carrying a lead projectile. You press this lever here and that triggers a chemical reaction propelling the bullet with great force. You get the idea. I do so love old weapons - they are so wonderfully barbaric."

Faehtan licked his dry lips, "What are we to do with it?"

"This weapon is loaded with only one bullet. In a version of an old Earth game, we will each take turns putting the nozzle on our foreheads and depressing the lever. None will know which chamber the bullet is in. Whoever lives gets to decide the fate of S'harien. Humans...you have to love them." He handed the ISD to Adel, "Read it and sign it."

The young poet took the document with trembling hands and simply affixed his thumbprint on it without bothering to read it. "I...I'm ready."

Aerv took the pad back from him and dropped it onto the platter. Then he walked back to his seat and spun the circular chambers of the weapon to randomize the position of the projectile. "Would you like to go first? Or shall I?"

Adel simply stared at the gun, transfixed with horror.

"Faehtan?"

"I...uh...Lhhai...I am not feeling all that well."

"Well - you certainly are sweating. Come. I'll go first." Saying that Aerv pointed the gun at himself and depressed the trigger. An empty click. "One." He said, putting the gun in the middle of the table.

The poet reached for the weapon, his hands shaking. Closing his eyes, he whispered a desperate prayer to the Elements and pressed the trigger. He sighed with relief when nothing happened. "T...two."

Aerv did his part in a matter-of-fact manner. Nothing. "Three."

"I...I really...I...may I please go use the lavatory."

"In a moment. Go on."

"We need not do this. It is madness. There has to be another way...."

"Do you forfeit?"

Faehtan considered. Then he shook his head took the gun and quickly pressed the trigger, crying out at the hollow sound. "Four," he whispered.

Aerv lifted the weapon off the table. Slowly he aimed at himself.

"Don't." Faehtan begged, "This is...for S'harien, don't. She loves you so."

Aerv fired. Nothing happened.

"Five."

Adel sighed in relief until he realized what had really happened. The revolver came sliding back in his direction. He swallowed. Then swallowed again. And again until it seemed like he was a man in a desert trying to extract water from a burning stone.

"Tell S'harien I love her."

Aerv nodded and turned to the servant. "Call an ambulance. Tell them there is no hurry to come."

The man nodded and left the room.

Faehtan pointed the weapon at himself. And, without another word, fired.

Nothing happened.

Adel collapsed in his chair with relief. "Wha...what?"

Aerv smiled. "A test, poet."

"I...do not understand."

"Of course not. I told you already - you are fool."

"I am in love."

"Yes," tr'Ahalaen drawled, "However, it would appear that both those states are one and the same."

= Later =
= dohhae Ahalaen =
= ch'Rihan =

The sky was bleeding. It was dusk and the beginning of a beautiful night. Aerv tr'Ahalaen lay contemplating it from the windows of his vast chambers, a book bound with black sheepskin leather upturned on his knee. Across from him, in a large glass cage a bird alien to the skies of ch'Rihan was singing in a sweet, melancholy tune.

"Dianvm?"

Startled, Aerv turned around to see S'harien standing in his doorway, smiling a brilliant smile. He motioned for her to enter. "Finished with your lessons?"

"I know what you did." S'harien declared with a happy grin.

He stood and walked up to her, leaning forwrd to kiss her on her slightly ridged brow - it was, like all of their family, almost flat - something rather rare among Romulans. "No. You do not."

It was true. Adel had probably told S'harien about how tr'Ahalaen had convinced their father pull strings to get Sharien's lover into The Algerian Conference of Poetry - many an artist found universal recognition there. Aerv had done this because he thought Adel would love his sister and keep her happy. If Adel gained fame and success, then the poet would be able to elevate himself enough that he might gain S'harien's hand.

What neither one of the lovers knew, however, was that the 'contract' Aerv had asked the poet to sign before playing their little game with the human weapon, had actually been a suicide note. In the note Adel confessed to realizing that he is a second-rate poet and clamed that he was killing himself because he could not live with that knowledge. Having read Adel's poetry, Aerv had realized that he was not the kind of lover who read contracts...and he had taken advantage of this insight. If the poet failed, he would die...by his own hand, as far as the universe was concerned. No matter what happened, the future of S'harien was secure.

"I am not arguing with you after what you did for me." She paused and said more softly, "Thank you, Dianvm."

"Yes well," tr'Ahalaen said wearily, "He will read his pathetic work at the interspecies art symposium, it will be considered the height of Romulan love poetry by critics too blind to consider the fact that the government feels their little get together is a joke. Afraid of being politically incorrect, the Federation - or someone with an equally diluted sense of aesthetics - will declare it to be sheer genius, reasoning that it probably loses something in the translation. He will become famous. Then rich. And you can go ahead and marry him without any interference from Father and Mother."

"But?"

"But," Aerv continued, "I have lost all respect for your sense of discretion. Never shop alone for my nameday present."

S'harien laughed and moved to draw him into a hug, "I love you, Dianvm."

"And," he said, holding up a hand to stop her, "You are never to say that again."

"What? But...I mean - you are not still angr...."

"No. He is worthy. You, however, have committed the one unforgivable sin."

"Fornication?"

Aerv rolled his eyes, "Of course not. You have proven you have bad taste. Nothing, my dear S'harien, can ever atone for that."

= End Log =

"One distraction in particular"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG

Sitting at her desk, Faylin gave a cursory glance to her new surroundings. 'Adequate' she thought. Since her arrival, she had not had time to decorate her office as she wished. Smirking, the woman thought about him. He penetrated her mind constantly, making it extremely difficult to focus on anything except him.

A coy, yet knowing smile came across her full mouth. Faylin knew exactly what she was doing when she accepted this assignment. Knowledge of the crew was an important aspect of her job. She recalled when she viewed his name on the manifest. It was as if she had been blown down by a guest of wind. It was then, and only then that McAlister knew she had to see him again.

Their relationship was purely physical, but had some emotional ties to bind it together, at least on her end. It was hot, period. It was the kind that only came around once in a lifetime. She had seen the chance to flare it up again when she saw his name. Faylin wasn't one to take chances, except when it came to this one man.

Clearing her throat and her mind, she set to work on the case load that awaited her. Mostly, it detailed review of new intergalactic law. Boring stuff to some, fascinating information to McAlister. It's then that she heard the chime to her office.

"Enter."

A young ensign, not many years her junior, came into the room. "Yes Ensign?"

"I have more information."

"Thank you, just place it….anywhere." Faylin sighed. Angel Moon was not going to see her for a while. Her job was more important to her than sitting at some bar, looking at man candy. At least…..while she was on duty. After her shift was done was a whole other story all together, outside her one major commitment.

Tucking in a strand of reddish blond hair back behind her ear, she resumed her reading duties on Starfleet Tort law. Few things had changed since she started her JAG responsibilities. The law was set after years of trial and error, yet there was always room for improvement, especially with tort cases. It basically revolved around proof. If the plaintiff could prove the allegations, and if the defendant had adequate affirmative defense it would make for a most interesting situation. Out of all areas, tort was her second cases to hear, with criminal law coming in first.

It was basic, the Federations stance on torts. Brining out a padd, she made notes to re assure herself her remembrance was solid.

Starfleet tort law involves the investigation, processing, and administrative settlement of claims - both by and against Starfleet - interplanetary under statutes, treaties, interplanetary agreements, Starfleet directives, and Starfleet regulations.

(1) The bases for claims against Starfleet include:

(a) Damage or injury caused by the negligent or wrongful acts or omissions of Starfleet personnel acting within the scope of their employment.

(b) Damage or injury caused by non-combat activities; i.e., activities that are essentially Starfleet in nature and have little parallel in civilian life.

(c) Loss, damage, or destruction of personal property of personnel or civilian employees under Direct Authority of Starfleet; e.g., the loss, damage, or destruction of household goods during a permanent change of station move.

(d) Unique or special claims provisions.

(2) The bases for claims in favor of Starfleet include:

(a) The negligent or intentional infliction of damage to Federation property.

Yep, she still had the basic information. McAlister nodded to herself in the quietness of her work environment. Pushing her chair back, she stood and made her way to various people to introduce herself. Faylin smirked as she stood, JAGs had a reputation that proceeded them. It made it difficult to make friends; however, the woman was willing to try.

BARBARIANS AT THE GATES

"Barbarians At The Gates"
Prologue One: "Ambush"

-----------------------
Six Months Ago
Tal Shi'ar Headquarters
Ki Baratan, Romulus
-----------------------

It wasn't easy for a Starfleet Intelligence operative to embed themselves so deep in a foreign Intelligence service - let alone an organization such as the Tal Shi'ar. Despite the ongoing rise of the RNI - Rihannsu Naval Intelligence, and despite it's own losses a decade ago in that disastrous attempt to exterminate the Founders - the Tal Shi'ar was still an organization to be respected.

And feared.

It required a deep and abiding commitment from the operative in question. Deep cultural embedding, Long-term development of prospects and assets. Agents often became so subsumed, it wasn't uncommon for them to begin to completely identify with the culture they were supposed to be spying upon.

At the least, it creates a somewhat flexible sense of loyalty.

That was how it was for Commander Jonathan Keller. Not that he'd gone by that name for a very long time. For almost two decades, he'd been known as Vartek ar'Triae. Now Major Vartek ar'Triae, an analyst in the Tal Shi'ar's Headquarters processing center - one of a very few agents assigned, and trusted, with the review and classification of all operative intelligence reports to come in.

He was also an agent that, unknown to the Romulans - and Starfleet - had been compromised.

So when he saw the report from a Major Rikanna come in that the Breen had equipped Hydran vessels with cloaking devices, he quietly deleted the report, all references to it, tagged Rikanna's team as compromised and ordered a Tal Shi'ar hit squad to.. take care of them.

And then he went about his day.

---------------------
Three Days Ago
Judaris Prime
Border Territory between the Romulan Star Empire and the Hydran Star Kingdom
---------------------

Admiral Trevan tr'Khellian walked the decks of his mighty flagship, the Kerchan-Class Warbird Dovarici with all the well-earned pride and arrogance of a man in his position.

Decorated many times over, the Admiral's pride - and the Dovarici's reputation - had been well paid for in his people's coppery blood. Battle time and again, in the conquest of new worlds for the Empire, in the Great War against the Dominion, and so on, for the entirety of his career.

That brought him here, today, along with all of his command. The Romulan Second Galae. One-hundred and twelve warbirds of the Empire, a devastating force.

They were not here for the Judari, of course. The "People's Republic of Judaris" was a puppet government, controlled by the Empire, for the express purpose of providing a buffer at this little corner of the galaxy where Hydran, Romulan, and Breen space met.

His trusted right hand, Commander Talra tr'Milnae stood at his side. "Your fleet is ready, Admiral."

"Our intelligence is confirmed, then?" he said, not breaking his gaze from the viewscreen.

"By both RNI and the Tal Shi'ar." the Commander nodded briskly. "The Hydrans have amassed forty warships on their border with the People's Republic. Their course will take them here, and then, straight into the heart of the Empire."

Trevan scoffed. "Our Federation.. allies.. may be content to sit back and wait for the Triad to attack, but the Empire will not do the same. I assume the fleet is still cloaked?"

"As per your orders, sir. The Judari Fleet.. such as it is.. also stands in readiness."

"Good." he nodded. "We will allow the Hydrans to close in. That will pacify the Federation. And then, when they believe Judaris is theirs for the taking, we shall tear their pitiful little strike force apart. When will they be here?"

"Three hours."

"Ready the fleet, then, Commander. All ships to Battle Alert." the Admiral ordered, and took his throne-like command seat at the center of the warbird.

-----------------
Three hours and sixteen minutes later....
------------------

The Hydran strike force had cut like a swath the the Judari defenders, destroying vessels and defensive emplacements left and right. As the Romulans and their Federation and Klingon allies had not sat idle in the two years since Havras, neither, it seemed, had the Hydrans. Their Hellbore cannons, particularly, seemed to have increased in gruesome efficiency.

Still, the trap was set.

Trevan smiled. "All ships, this is Admiral Trevan. Decloak and fire at will."

It promised to be a slaughter.

It was.

Just not in the way Trevan expected.

One hundred and twelve warbirds decloaked and began attacking the hydran agreessors. The battle moved swiftly, the Hydrans deep-purple ships vanishing under the onslaught of Romulan disruptor fire and plasma torpedoes.

"Registering massive subspace disturbance." Trevan's science officer called out. "Multiple vessels decloaking and.. something else!"

Trevan's head whirled about. "What?"

"It's.." the officer was speechless, and could only point at the screen.

A massive creature filled the viewscreen, all writhing tentacles and oblong shapes. It defied description, so staggering was it's size.

"By all the elements!" Talra swore under her breath. "A Star Beast!"

"All ships!" Trevan quickly called out. "Concentrate fire on - "

He never finished the order, as a tentacle struck out, slamming his flagship into a nearby Judari cruiser. The Hydran vessels - which outnumbered his own forces two to one - cut his forces to ribbons, but they were nothing compared to what the Star Beast did.

Ten minutes later, it was all over.

Judaris burned. The Romulan Second Galae, pride of the Imperial Fleet, was destroyed to the last man.

The Hydran war machine pressed on.

"Narrow Escape"

Captain Christopher Summers, CO, USS Miranda

Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor, CO, Deep Space Five

--------------------
Bridge, USS Miranda
Deep Space Five Local Space
--------------------

"Captain's Log, Stardate 60103.9. Captain Christopher Summers, Commanding. The Miranda has arrived at Deep Space Five with a dual purpose. Three days ago, the Hydran Star Kingdom attacked our allies in the Romulan Empire, completely destroying their second Fleet. With the political turmoil on Romulus in recent years, they've requested Federation aid to protect their capitol while their fleet engages the Hydrans. So far, they have not requested full military assistance."

"From what I'm hearing, it's not even sure the Council would grant it, treaty obligations aside. It's been all over the feeds, the uproar over the council. This "Hawks vs. Doves" nonsense has finally blown into full-blown chaos. The President has her hands full just keeping the Council from killing each other, and I hear Murdock's having the same problem with Admiralty. It is not, as they say, a good sign."

"Still, Miranda has been assigned co-command of a task force consisting of ourselves, and the starships Arizona, Concorde, Typhon, Texas, Mukaikubo, Icarus, Thunderchild, Akira, Hood, Vigilant and Sao Paolo. Several of these vessels accompanied us here from Atlantis, the others, we pick up here, all save on. Sharing command of this mission with me will be Captain Daren M'Kantu, recently returned to command of the Starship Galaxy. Picking Daren up is the other reason for our stop here at Deep Space Five - the Galaxy herself has already been on-station at Romulus for several months now."

"I don't know if this is the beginning of the war we've been fearing for so long now. What I do know is that this is something I never thought I'd live to see - the Star Empire asking for the Federation's help. Strange days."

"Still, it'll be good do see Daren again. Haven't seen him since the Anchorage and the Valdemar ran that mission to Ivor Prime. Still, best put and end to this log before I ramble on anymore than I already have. End log." Summers finished, and passed the signed PADD off to the Yeoman.

Loocking to his right, he saw a glint in his XOs eye, indicating a silent agreement with the alst part of the Captain's log. "Nothing from the peanut gallery, Mister Jaxom."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir." the Trill first officer of the Miranda replied.

From her her post at the communications station, Commander Dakota Harris "ahemed" to get their attention. "Deep Space Five is hailing, Captain. Admiral Proctor is on the line."

"Joy." Summers muttered under his breath, and adopted a falsely cheerful expression as his bridge officers tried to hide their amusement.

"Put her on screen, then." Summers nodded to Harris, who complied. As the Admiral's.. charming.. visage appeared, Summers gave that smile again, hoping his beard hide it's false quality. "Admiral Proctor, it's a plea-"

"You're here to alleviate me of Captain M'Kantu's delightful presence?" Olivia had made sure her return to DS5 was not on the same ship as M'Kantu, which necessitated diverting one of the larger starships in the sector to the station before its intended supply run.

It also left a border station with the only defense of Border Patrol vessels and the Andorian Imperial Guard. M'Kantu had arrived later. Proctor made sure to limit his security accesses to civilian centers only. She had no desire to allow the incompetent access to her precious station. And now a task force was arriving. This both filled her with pride and irritability, knowing the Galaxy Captain was going to be sharing command duties instead of her.

Summers was an unknown to her; she'd read his file, but it gave away nothing of his intents. But since he carried a small fleet with him, and was heading into Romulan space, she was content to believe he may just do the right thing. And if not? Well, she was only a few days away at warp. She would do the right thing.

"I am, Admiral." Summers replied. "As well as arriving here to pick up the rest of my task force. I regret that I can't stay and meet with you longer, but as I'm sure you understand, we are on a very tight schedule."

"I'm sure the Romulans can wait, Captain, but if it's that important to not have lunch with the Commanding Officer of the sector, than you go ahead and run along. Keep me apprised of details daily." She wanted to show the Hydrans the strength of forces in the area for a time, but she also wanted the Galaxy CO off her station. His very presence was an anathema to her ability to be authoritative. The mockery of a hearing on Earth had made its way out here as well; the sooner her bane was gone, the better she can discipline and reign in malcontents on the station.

"I'm glad you understand, Admiral. " the Miranda's Captain nodded, seizing the opportunity to avoid meeting this woman in person. "If you'll direct Captain M'Kantu to the nearest transporter room, we'll grab him and be on our way."

"Are you ordering me to proceed, Captain?" Proctor was already short on patience, and this man was not helping. His arrogance was shining through the aged exterior. "I sincerely hope that is a not a heavy hand you are showing me. Or are you patronizing me? I don't like to be talked down to, mister."

"Not at all, ma'am." the Captain replied with a shake of his head. "If you like, I can have my communications officer contact the Captain directly. But I didn't want to be presumptuous."

"Now I know you're patronizing me, Captain. Am I not up to your standards because I command a station rather than a God-fearing starship analogous of your manhood? You're pushing your limits, Summers. I won't tolerate insubordination from you as well." From behind the diminutive and plain woman, someone was attempting to gain her attention by handing her a PADD that floated on the screen between them. Distracted by the person, she tore her gaze from Summers, cutting off any reply.

Her fierce eyes drive through the PADD, then threw her hand with it out past the limit of the screen, mumbling something incoherent to whomever had passed it, then turned back to the Miranda CO. "M'Kantu is in Transporter Room 11. Don't screw this up, Captain, or I'll make sure the 300 Jem'Hadar colonists taking up valuable space on this station are assigned to your newly re-assigned colony ship for transport to a world extremely far away. And trust me, that ship will be small. You'll be best friends in no time with the entire group."

"So noted, Admiral. Have a good day" Summers replied with a nod, and made a gesture indicating Harris should cut the communication.

When the overbearing Admiral was gone from the screen Summers breathed a sigh of relief.

"Another narrow escape, eh, sir?" Commander Jaxom chuckled as Chris fixed a mock glare on him.

"You have no idea, number one. Now, let's go down and meet Captain M'Kantu. Commander Harris, signal DS5's transporter Room we are ready to receive Captain M'Kantu, and inform the task force to prepare to move out. I want to put as much distance between us and that woman as fast as possible, Mister Ramirez, so best possible speed once the Captain is aboard."

"On Her Way, Part Two"
By Ensign Regenna Holmes
OPS

Also Starring: Barry Lando, reporter/owner "Truth Times: Where NO Journalist Has Gone Before", NPC

Location: USS Frankford, en route to rendezvous with shuttle, day fifteen of a supposed six day journey, 2000 hours

Regenna stood by the door inside her temporary quarters and took a deep breath. Her hand hesitated over the locking mechanism as she debated the wisdom of going to the mess hall. While she was VERY hungry, she couldn't eat in her quarters since her replicator was on the fritz. But leaving her sanctuary meant taking the risk of running into HIM. It had been bad enough when she had thought she would only be able to be bothered by him for 48 more hours but due to warp drive problems, she had been on this ship of the damned for nine extra days so far.

She had been told that they would finally reach the rendezvous coordinates tomorrow morning but she still needed to eat. She hadn't been to the gym since day six when he happened to be there for the second day in a row when she showed up. She had eaten her meals in her quarters from day six until day twelve when her replicator had malfunctioned and thanks to the engine problems and the fact that the mess hall was available, her repair was a low priority. Today, she hadn't eaten anything except some leftovers she had brought back from dinner last night. But she needed sustenance. She stood there, debating.

-----

In a nearby alcove he stood, watching her door. She was truly different. She had changed her routine numerous times. She barely left her quarters anymore. He couldn't understand the behavior she was exhibiting. But it fascinated him. SHE fascinated him. He still wasn't sure what her function was but he was drawn to the unusual, and she more than qualified.

----

Regenna finally pressed the lock and the doors slid open. She looked down the corridor towards the turbolift. Empty. Turning her head, she looked the other way. No one there. She released a breath. Hopefully he had given up on waiting for her. She exited the room and walked to the lift, pressing the call button. She quickly looked behind her. No one was there. She shook her head at her jumpiness. The door to the lift opened and she nearly turned to run. The small man beamed at her.

"Wow! I was just going back to my quarters Reggie. I thought you were skipping dinner. On a diet? Not that you need it. No way. You have a great bod. Man, I'd love to see it out of uniform. Hah! I bet I could make a lot of money if you would pose for some pictures for me. We could make a calendar. You could pose in all kinds of outfits and then we could sell them. I be those Marine guys would love it. Or some smucks on a lonely outpost. Oh, yeah. You'd be famous, Reggie. Just leave it to me. Or I could get you into some holo-films. I bet you'd love it. Come on, I'd only take forty-fifty percent as my cut. Not interested. Well, think about it, okay. I could get huge distribution. You know I'm always on the move. Here, there, everywhere digging up scoops for the TT. I really do get stuff no one else does. You'll see when you get the next issue. There's a story about an underground society on Vulcan that eats bats! And another story about --"

As they reached the mess hall, Regenna tuned him out and strode over to the replicator.

"... where they lay eggs that hatch into Changeling hybrids. I met one who told me that--"

"Cold water, 2 degrees, and four ham and cheese sandwiches on rye bread with mustard." The requested items appeared in the slot and Regenna picked up the glass of water. She turned around and dumped it onto Barry's head. "Don't call me Reggie." She grabbed the sandwiches and walked out as he sputtered.

----

He stood outside her quarters as he waited for her return. He wanted to get inside and stay with her. She was unique. Different. She would understand him. He turned his head as he heard her step exiting the turbolift. He spread his legs and put his head up, tilting it to the side as she approached.

Regenna stopped a few feet from her door and smiled. "Well, hello there, big fella. What are you doing here? You are beautiful. I could use some company. Want to come inside?" She pressed the door lock and as it slid open, he walked inside. She sat down on the bed and patted next to her. With a leap, he landed on the bed next to her. She ran her hand over his head and down his back and he purred.

"Who do you belong to, huh, boy?" The cat just curled up on her lap and meowed.

"I better check the computer files on you. I bet your owner is wondering where you are. Computer, list crewmembers who have feline pets."

<No crewmembers are listed that meet search criteria.>

"O-kay. List all felines that are listed as being on board."

<No felines are listed.>

"Hmmmm, so who are you, boy? Computer, send a note to the OPS officer on duty requesting information on felines on the ship." Regenna then stood up and dislodged the cat from her lap. She grabbed one of the sandwiches and tore off a piece of ham, holding it out for the black cat while she ate the rest of the sandwich and then another. As she walked into the bathroom, she heard a beep from her terminal.

--
TO: Ensign Regenna Holmes
FROM: Ensign Yancy Peters, OPS Duty Officer
RE: Felines
There are no crewmembers who have a cat. Although there have been reports for the past couple of months since a major refitting of the ship that a black cat has been seen on the ship. If it does exist, which I assume by your query that it does, you may keep it. The common belief is that it snuck aboard and has been living on scraps and a few times the food stores have had things missing. The cat is all yours. It will relieve me of a hassle. Thank you and good luck.
--

"A stowaway, are you. Well, I'm leaving tomorrow but you're welcome to come with me. Now, I have to name you. Hmmm. Okay, I have an obscure one but I love it. I don't know if anyone will pick up on it since it isn't in this canon but Spellbreaker, you are. Now, I just have to get to ship's stores and get a cat carrier and some food and we are set."

And so, Regenna finds a new friend and the newly christened Spellbreaker gets his wish.

"When Darkness Falls" Part III

(Brevet) Lieutenant Teyri "Rockstar" Jen (PC, Becky W.) Vanguard 5/Sqn. XO
Lieutenant "Fuzzball" Kettch (PCC, Pat W.) Vanguard 9
Plt Niki "Pebbles" Reeleese (NPC, Ian D.) Vanguard 12
Plt Xiaz "Zee" Padma (PC, Kate M.) Vanguard 6

Appearances by:
FOfc Ember "Orphan" Lansky Vanguard 10
Plt Ayden "Tater" O'Connor Vanguard 7
Plt "Thundercat" K'Rem Vanguard 14

Sub-Director Sular, Romulan Representative

Klorgh, Klingon Imperial Diplomatic Corps

Laseill, Reman Ascendancy Observer

*** Romulan/Reman Settlement Cheron ***

Sular sighed, even in the gusts, it could be heard as a whisper on the wind. "And also disable all electronics within a hundred meters of the epicenter? I hardly believe this gods-forsaken dirt could do all that at once, and repeat it several times."

"Well, maybe it's just a coincidence that - " Teyri began, turning towards the Romulan with a palcating tone of voice, but was cut off almost immediately. She turned to look and had to brace herself to keep from taking a step backwards.

"And yet you still blame us!" All eyes turned to the new arrival. A Klingon, standing almost as tall as Kol, but twice the girth, rumbled towards them, a Reman in tow.

"The acts have been focused on the Romulans, Klingon! None have made their way to your camp, have they? You are too uncivilized to have thought to cover your tracks better. You flaunt it in our faces because you know we cannot defend ourselves against you!"

"My name, p'tak, is Klorgh. Ambassador Klorgh, to you." he rumbled and let loose a loud burp. "And if you cannot defend yourselves, then perhaps it is time your empire became the jegh'pui we've always beleived you to be!"

Teyri closed her mouth, realizing that it was very unbecoming for her to stand there with it open. Plus, with the way that the wind was blowing and the dust was kicking up, she had to shut it, simply out of self defense. She turned back towards the Romulan, and opened her mouth, but then immediately shut it again as the Klingon's voice boomed out.

"We do not hide under the skirts of females, like some races. Go slither away back under your rock, petaQ! Throwing rocks and breaking equipment is not what Klingons do. We would simply kill you and be done with it!"

"In Rihannsu space? I think not."

The Klingon grinned, his teeth sharp and long even as his hair was whipped around him.

"Would you like to be the first to test that? I haven't killed anything in a while. Warm blood and a beating heart in my jaws is a taste I've been hungry for time for."

"Whoa, whoa," Jen shouted, stepping forward and putting her hands up between the two of them. As she did, she was suddenly very conscious of how very small she was... and how very big the Klingon was. He could run right over her on his way to Sular and never even notice. She shot a pleading glance over to her pilots for assistance, then turned her attention back towards the three representatives. "Everyone needs to just calm down right now! Back up, sir!" she shouted, turning towards the Klingon, who had still been advancing towards Sular.

Kettch looked up at the Bajoran woman. "Are you sure we should be stopping them?" he whispered. "After all, I really don't want to become that Klingon's next snack."

She shot him a glare that said 'Well, we have to do something!', but kept most of her attention on the advancing Klingon. She steeled herself not to move backwards as the large male came closer.

O'Connor, K'Rem and Lansky dropped their hands to their side-mounts, about to intervene if need be.

The point was rendered moot as a third representative - the first Reman woman Kettch had ever seen - approached. She had silky long black hair, and as delicate features as were possible given the bony growths and mottled skin of her people. She narrowed her eyes, and instantly, both the Romulan and the Klingon froze exactly as they were.

"What'd you do?" Kettch piped up.

"Some Reman females are much more powerful telepaths than our male counterparts." she supplied readily. "I "suggested" they stop. I appear to have overdone it."

"I'd say so." Furball snorted, and started poking tentatively at the big Klingon's knee.

He keeled over with a thunderous crash. Pebbles shook her head.

The Reman woman - who identified hersel as Laseill, an observer from the Ascendancy - approached Teyri. "You are the leader of these officers, yes?"

"Yes, that's me. Er, I. Um... yes, I'm the leader," Teyri said, shaking her head briefly to get her hair back out of her eyes. It didn't do too much good with the wind blowing as it was. She reached up her hand to smooth her hair back out of her eyes, peering at the Reman woman.

"And yet they follow." she said enigmatically.

Okay, so she wasn't at her best. Still... Jen took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Yes, for some reason, they do. I'd like to thank you for your most opportune intervention. Things were about to get... fun." She bowed in the Reman's direction. "I'm Lieutenant Teyri Jen, and this is my flight. Can I ask, how long are they going to... be that way?" she finished, cocking her thumb in the direction of the other two representatives. Not that they wouldn't get more done with them in the condition that they were in, but it might not be the greatest idea to let things stay the way they were.

"They should be coming out of momentarily." As she finished her sentence, the Romulan was the first to blink. The Klingons burly hands also clenched and unclenched soon after, his eyes burning into the Reman as he waited for his motor skills to return. He wondered what the consequences would be if he strangled her?

Meanwhile, another Romulan was ambling towards them. The dust was kicking up more fiercely now, and he kept a hand on his head to prevent the kerchief from blowing away. The cries of the workers in the distance were almost lost in the wind.

Selar had come out of the paralysis, temporarily distracted by the aide whispering feverishly in one ear. He pulled his scarf up around the strong features, covering his face from exposing his thoughts and emotions.

"He is anxious about something." Laseill leaned into Teyri, who was taken aback by the sudden closeness of the Reman who was sharing details the Klingons should be getting favored with. "They lost their survey shuttle."

Teyri narrowed her eyes at the Reman, not in suspicion of her, but in sudden thought. "They lost the shuttle? Did it have something to do with the loss of power, or something else, do you know?" she asked quietly. Not that anyone could have heard her over the increasingly loud rumblings coming from the giant Klingon.

Selar turned to face the Starfleet group, his anger and agitation increased. Klorgh's growls soon became vocals as he uttered curses and epithets in Klingon at whoever was listening, which decidedly was no one. His eyes were on the Reman woman, but kept darting back and forth between her and the Romulan.

Klorgh, his motor control back, stomped across the dirt and took her by the arm. "If we weren't standing on Rom-u-lan dirt, Reman, I would have your head on a platter for tonight's feast."

"I'd like to see how you'd accomplish that, Klorgh, after I've killed you with my brain."

Klorgh hesitated, grunted, and let her go. But he also took a few steps back and away from her. Just in case.

Sular was arguing with his aide in Rihannsu, in a dialect the UT couldn't discern.

"Okay, wait a second here," Jen said, stepping forward again as the conversation headed in the direction fo out of control once more. "What can we do to help get this matter resolved? Within reason, our ships and pilots are at your disposal." She openly watched the Romulan consider her offer, only moving her gaze occassionally to the others standing around her. She noted once more the quiet forms of hr pilots, standing at attention, hands near their sides just inc ase such as action might be merited.

The Romulan was suspicious of the offer, naturally, but what other options did he have? It was either the Remans or Klingons causing the problems, not Starfleet, but Romulan arrogance was high, and their desire for isolation equally important.

He weighed his options carefully. Take their help, or lose another resource. They only had two survey shuttles left. And nothing on the site was working electronically, either.

"If you're lying about Director Leto sending you here, I will have you all killed. Leave one of your ships here, so I can confirm with him."

"What do you mean, leave one of the ships here?" Jen asked him, ignoring the threat towards her and her team.

"I had mentioned this happened before. Part of the damage control teams assigned out here carry backup control packs for low-power use. The Science Institute hasn't seen fit to give us any reasonable budget or grant, so we've had to make do."

"All right..." Jen replied slowly, waiting to see if he would continue, or if he expected her to reason it all out herself.

"The point is, the survey shuttle that was assigned to the perimeter for security once communications went down, has dropped off sensors. The control teams had established base power to short-range communications before the shuttle was lost. Before the shuttle disappeared, they detected a large mobile mass of lifeforms and equipment approximately 100 kilometers west. They also detected scattered lifeforms of unknown, but humanoid, nature scattered about the outskirts of the outer perimeter. They are approaching the camp.

"Ah," she said, nodding her head as the connections were made. They would need at least one ship to stay here for either protection from the approaching lifeforms, or to call for help if the camp was overrun. Although Selar had not specified, it was probably safe to assume that the incomign lifeforms were hostile.

After all, everyone was hostile to the Romulans.

"We've been able to determine a direction of the shuttle before its tracking beacon ceased abruptly. We need to verify the condition of the craft, and retrieve its crew. It would also verify who the culprits are if we can obtain the sensor logs. Send one of your ships. My aide will go along."

"All right," Jen replied, finally turning to look at her pilots straight on. "O'Connor, why don't you take the aide and head in that direction. K'Rem, you stay here for... insurance that the sub-director seems to require of us." She gave him a pointed glance, one that said 'Don't make things worse!' She turned broefly back to the glowering Klingon and the quiet Reman.

"Obviously, we have more ships at our disposal. What else can we do for you?"

"Stay out of the way."

****

Thirty minutes later, contact was lost with Ayden O'Connor's starfighter. When the rest of the squad flew to his crash site, there was nothing left of the fighter except smoking scraps of metal. The Vanguards searched the area for several hours, without success.

Ayden O'Connor was gone. And they would not recover him in time for the evacuation of the planet. He would be officially listed as MIA.

Jen wondered how Rex would deal with her losing a pilot on her first mission.

"Shuttling"
By Ensign Regenna Holmes
OPS, USS Galaxy

Also starring: Lieutenant, j.g. Adron Morrolan, Shuttle Pilot, USS Galaxy (NPC)

Location: USS Frankford Shuttlebay, 1400 hours

Regenna entered the shuttlebay carting her two personal bags and her brand new cat carrier with its burden of her new black cat Spellbreaker inside. She approached the shuttle labeled USS Galaxy and the door lowered. Inside was a dark-haired man was seated in the pilot's seat. "Well, come aboard, then, ensign."

Regenna nodded her head and entered the shuttle. The door closed behind her. "Regenna Holmes." She walked forward to the co-pilot's chair and sat down.

"Yeah," drawled the young man. "I know. I read the info on my mission. Didn't want to pick up the wrong ensign, now, did I?"

Regenna sighed. "No, sir. I was just confirming my identity, sir."

"Well, sit back and enjoy the trek, Ensign Regenna Holmes. It's gonna be a long trip. Total flying time should be about 16 hours. Take a nap if you like. Read. Whatever. Just don't talk to me. I don't like talking to women. So go in the back and do something, but keep the mouth zipped. Got it?"

Regenna nodded and stood. "Got it ... sir."

Frowning and grumbling in her head, Regenna walked to the rear compartment of the tiny shuttle and sat down. She looked in on Spellbreaker who was fast asleep and got out one of her PADDs. As the shuttle lifted off of the deck, she immersed herself in the study of Dewan.

-----
FIVE HOURS LATER

"Alright, Ensign, you can let that blasted whiner out of the carrier. It's driving me crazy with that mewling."
Regenna opened the cat carrier and Spellbreaker came bounding out. She went to the onboard replicator and ordered a feline supplement and bowl of water, placing them on the floor near the carrier. "Would you like anything, sir?"

"Get me a cup of coffee and a bowl of fried rice. With chicken. And no onions. And light on the soy sauce. And heavy on the peas and carrots. And a pork egg roll. And a bowl of lo mein. Just ask for Meal Morrolan #6, ensign."

Regenna rolled her eyes and turned back to the dispenser. "One Meal Morrolan #6 and one large tuna salad hoagie and a cold water." As the food emerged, she picked up the lieutenant's and carried it to him. He took it and began to eat.

She took her food to the chair and ate it while she went back to her studies.

-----
ELEVEN HOURS LATER, APPROACHING THE USS GALAXY

"Wake up, ensign. We're on approach to your new ship. You might want to take a look at her as we arrive."

Regenna sat up, shaking the sleep from herself as she slowly rose to her feet. Sleep had claimed her about four hours before and she had dozed off, solidly. She returned to the front of the shuttle and glanced through the front screen, watching as the shuttle rounded the hull of the great ship and approached the bay. As they were grabbed by the tractor beams, she got the cat back into the carrier and closed her bags again.

The shuttle touched down on the bay floor and its pilot stood. Regenna looked up and up and up at the incredibly tall young man. "Welcome to the USS Galaxy, Ensign. May your time here be interesting." He grinned. "If you ever need a shuttle pilot again, ask for me. You were a very good passenger. I'm Lieutenant Adron Morrolan. I'll probably see you around. Good luck," he chuckled as the shuttle door opened and she breathed the air of her new assignment for the first time.

"Studying Newbie "
By Ensign Travis James "TJ" Rollins
Medical Officer, U.S.S. Galaxy

Standing in his newly assigned quarters, TJ stood stairing down at the Romulan homeworld. It was the first time that he'd actualy seen Romulus, other than pictures from school and the such. He had been aboard the Galaxy for two days now, and she was still just as unfamiliar to TJ as the second he stepped aboard.

Why was this ship soo different from the other ships that he had lived on? 'I was much younger and wern't allowed to visit many places' he thought to himself as he thought back to when he used to live with his mother. Now, he was an Ensign in Starfleet, and things were much different now than they had been back then.

Sitting down at a table, TJ picked up a padd and looked at it closely. On it had a map of the Galaxy, showing him the quickest route to sickbay. Being a doctor, that would be the spot on the ship in which he would spend a good persentage of his time. If he could get that route memorized, he could explore the ship on his off duty hours and get familiar with the layout. He just hoped that they didn't goto Red Alert before he had the chance to become familiar with the ships layout.

"na Rihan" (The Romulan)

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Present Day =
= dohhae Khnialmnae =
= Romulus =

dohhae Khnialmnae was nothing like the lavish and comfortable Ahalaen home. House Khelliana was often too mired in conflict - both external and internal - to invest any meaningful time or effort into the accumulation of wealth. These were the warriors of the Empire, the furious heat of Vulcan still burning in their veins. They had never really needed wealth to have political power. Khelliana drew their social status from their military accomplishments.

However, it was not only the modest nature of the home that set it apart from the Ahalaen residence. In dohhae Khnialmnae everything spoke of violence and blood. The decorations were dominanted by animal head and skins. Weapons were displayed proudly on every wall. There were no paintings, no silks, no carpets. There was nothing soft to the touch or pleasent to smell. The place was austere in the extreme. Aerv quite hated it.

Despite the fact that this home offended his cultivated sense of aesthetics, Aerv had spent quite some time here in the last few years, learning from Ambassador Hrini Kaleh t'Khnialmnae. t'Khnialmnae - a warrior turned peace monger - had been serving as an ambassador for nearly two centuries. Her skill and wisdom had been invaluable in helping him learn. He hadn't quite learned to appreciate her complete lack of patience and tact though. Then again...if you lived as long as Hrini had, even the oppressive bounds of mnhei'sahe became a little flexible.

In fact, his new assignment as an Ambassador to the Federation had been orchestrated entirely by t'Khnialmnae. In these volatile and unpredictable times, sending a young and inexperienced dignitary to a post this important was not the kind of risk the Rihannsu were keen on taking. However, Hrini's influence ran deep and she was respected everywhere. She had promised the Senate she would train him for the post...and she had made good on that promise.

"Three years under my tutelage and you still dress like a fairy, tr'Ahalaen. No one will ever take me seriously again." Hrini Kaleh t'Khnialmnae joked as she walked in. She was an extremely aged Rihanna, withered like a fruit too long unplucked, with wild and long grey hair and tired, grey, cataract plagued eyes. Even so, she wore a thick brown tunic that looked more like a dyed Galae uniform more than anyone else. Aerv's dress, on the other hand, was immaculate. He had chosen a long grey coat with threads of silver embroidery on the cuffs, collar and the front. It was a design of brambles and leaves. He was wearing a pair of black slacks and boots. His dark hair was done up with a black cord in a high ponytail. It was the latest fashion.

A few years ago, that kind of harsh comment would have irritated Aerv - especially because there was nothing he could do about it within the bounds of civility and duty. Now he had grown quite used to this kind of playful insult...he even thought he would miss it. With a charming smile, he bowed deeply to Hrini, "I am willing to take that risk, Ambassador. Jolan Tru."

"Blade of the Declared...are you ready to make peace?" Hrini asked in her hoarse, raspy voice.

"Yes, Ambassador. I stand for the Declared."

Hrini snorted with some contempt. "I would say that the Declared are in a considerable amount of trouble then, Aerv tr'Ahalaen. In my day, the Blade was reserved for real men and warrior women. Not mere boys with pretty faces and pretty clothes. An Ahalaen pup claiming to stand for the Declared. Elements! What days have come."

Aerv laughed softly but said nothing. These were all things he had heard before. A servant came in with two clay goblets and a bottle of ale. Hrini poured out a drink for herself and sipped it. Then she filled Aerv's goblet. It was an old custom for the host to drink first, designed to assure a guest that he wasn't being poisoned. In this home, all the old ways were observed. Aerv drank. It was not very good ale - the stuff of commoners - the worst drink he had had in years. To refuse hospitality, however, was a grave insult.

Hrina studied him in silence for some time. "You'll do fine."

tr'Ahalaen shook his head, amused, "Are you trying to reassure yourself or reassure me, Lhhei?"

"Myself. You have more than enough groundless confidence already. Just remember to smile when you meet new humans - you family with your flat foreheads look enough like Vulcans to really...what do the humans say?"

"I believe the correct phrase is...'freak them out'."

"Yes. You go ahead and freak them out. That's the first rule of good diplomacy."

Aerv smiled into his ale. "I will be sure to remember that."

"And I got you a neutered tribble. Its name is Kahless."

tr'Ahalaen frowned. "I have never heard of that kind of creature."

"Don't worry about it. I had it sent to your shuttle. You just remember to take it with you when you have to deal with Klingons. Works wonders."

Aerv nodded at his eccentric teacher. "Of course. In the name of your wisdom, Lhhei."

There was another silence - long enough this time to make tr'Ahalaen uncomfortable. Hrini was not one to hold her tongue for long. There was always, the old woman seemed to feel, something wrong with the universe that needed to be criticized. It occurred to him then that this legendary ambassador of the Rihannsu might not be good at saying goodbye. Perhaps there were skills one never mastered, no matter how long one lived....

tr'Ahalaen cleared his throat. "I have decided to take Lhohnu t'Noramei with me as my aide."

Hrini scowled at him. "That is a very pretty, well endowed choice."

Aerv grinned. "Everyone has their weaknesses."

"*I* do not."

"Of course. I had quite forgotten."

Hrini harrumphed. "So...lhohnu. I admit that she is one of the most beautiful creatures I have seen in some time...."

"Not as lovely as you were in your youth, I am sure."

t'Khnialmnae ignored the wry comment. "However, she is so shy...and do not forget that she is a mere commoner. Also, she young...and also adores you entirely too much. Have you seen her hair? She has grown it. Who ever heard of such a thing.... Such an innocent sylph of a thing that. She will be quite overwhelmed among aliens."

"I will take care of her."

"I am sure you will corrupt her horribly, tr'Ahalaen. However, I will not question your choice. You may live and die as you please."

There was another long silence. Finally, Hrini spoke again, her voice oddly strained. "I have never asked you about your past, Blade of the Declared."

"Never once," Aerv confirmed.

"I've never spoken to you about your personal politics."

"You have been most discreet."

t'Khnialmnae nodded slowly, "Where my discretion ends, tr'Ahalaen, yours must begin. Even I, I am afraid, am forced to abandon the old ways. I am forced to question you about certain matters now that...that I would not have asked a visitor to my home in a better world."

Aerv nodded. He understood. The peculiar structure of the sentence, the unnatural stresses on certain worlds like 'forced' and 'question' were more than enough to signal to him that they were not alone. Either the Tal Shiar or the RNI had demanded that Hrini question her apprentice before sending him to his assignment...and they were listening. If he were not a Blade, he would have probably been questioned directly - in fact, Aerv had been expecting it. Apparently, though, there were still titles that even the Tal Shiar and RNI honored...at least a little. Maybe there was still hope for the Rihannsu yet.

"Ask your questions, Lhhei. I am, as always, yours to command."

Hrini nodded, her shriveled lips twisted with distaste at her task. "Several years ago...you were in possession of a Vulcan slave?"

This too was something Aerv had been expecting. The most powerful leaders of his house had used the full extent of their considerable influence and power to supress all evidence of that particular chapter of his life. Even the Tal Shiar and RNI would have had trouble finding information about it - even though they probably did know everything else about his life. It was natural for them to be curious. "She was not my slave. I rescued her from a rather...unfortunate fate."

"Commendable. Did you turn her over to the authorities so that she may be questioned?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Aerv smiled. "It did not occur to me."

Hrini laughed softly, "That I cannot believe. Come, tr'Ahalaen. Let us speak true."

"She was too beautiful to be questioned."

"Your vain heart will be the end of you."

"As long as the end is beautiful, I will not complain."

Hrini shook her head, "That is your entire excuse?"

"No. The authorities were under the impression that I was the one who had purchased her from the Orions. I could not safely turn myself in."

"So you ran...and you managed to smuggle this Vulcan woman back to the Federation?"

"Yes."

"There are some...some who say that you were in love with this Vulcan woman."

Aerv was silent.

"She must have been something, Aerv," Hrini said in a quiet whisper.

"Yes, Ambassador. She was...quite incredible."

The old woman nodded, then paused, obviously trying to remember what she was supposed to ask him next. "Did you mate with her?"

"No."

"Why not? Denying himself pleasure is not what Aerv tr'Ahalaen is known for..."

Aerv chuckled. "True...but I defy you to bring me a single Rihanha who says I have not always lived with mnhei'sahe."

"That has never been said."

tr'Ahalaen bowed to accept the compliment.

"However, does the Ruling Passion deny you pleasures from the flesh of a Thaessu?"

"No...but mnhei'sahe does force me to keep earnest promises."

"And she was asking for promises?"

Aerv smiled, "She asked for no words at all. However, I could not bear to take her and not give her all my promises in return."

"A woman who made Aerv tr'Ahalaen actually care? Incredible."

He laughed. "So I said."

"You do realize that if this so-called misguided unification movement were to succeed, you could have your love."

"No...she sent for me when Pon Faar came upon her. I did not go. She had chosen another."

"That is...tragic. However, the thought must have occurred to you."

"It did."

"And you rejected it?"

"Yes."

Hrini nodded, "Good. Why?"

"The unification movement is a Vulcan dream. It is a dream of assimilation. The individuals who subscribe to it believe that Romulans must become more like Vulcans. However, there is much about us that is unique and beautiful. We have many qualities that the Vulcans would do well to embrace. Besides, the idea of everything being the same...it offends my sense of aesthetics. I could never stand for such a movement that made the universe a more boring place."

"That's a clever answer."

"I have been blessed with good teachers."

t'Khnialmnae rolled her eyes. "Flattery, tr'Ahalaen?"

"Whatever works, Ambassador."

"Very good," the old woman agreed, "*I* believe your heart is good and your words are true, Aerv. Perhaps - hidden behind those pretty clothes of yours - the old ways still live. Go then...and remember what a great Romulan diplomat once said: 'a warrior of peace, is no less a warrior'."

"Actually, I do believe a Klingon said that."

Hrini scowled. "Don't be ridiculous, Child. I would never quote a Klingon. Now...hush - and get out of my sight. Go."

tr'Ahalaen knelt before the Ambassador in a gesture reserved for the greatest among the Rihanha - especially when made by someone of Aerv's social rank. The old woman, quite speechless, simply nodded her blessing and goodbye. Aerv rose and tried to find the right words to thank his aged teacher. He was certain he would not see her again. Death had been kind go her so far, however, it would not be patient for very much longer. All of Romulus would be poorer by the passing of t'Khnialmnae.

In the end, despite all his years of reading and all his wit, he could think of anything adequately clever to say. The only words he could find were ancient and sincere. They were the words that had never changed on Romulus and still echoed true in Hrini's heart as much as his, in the hearts of spies and liars, in the hearts of the elite and the common - these words were still the spirit of his people, no matter where they were, no matter what they were did.

"I stand for the Declared."

= End Log =

"Impromptu Arrangement"

Ensign Faylin McAlister, JAG
Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

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

1930hrs, Ten Forward

McAlister meandered her way through the busy corridors of the Galaxy. Her morning had been hectic, filled with the usual responsibilities that were required of her. Stealing a moment away, Faylin found, quite by chance, Ten-Forward. 'Go figure.' She thought her herself sarcastically.

Ordering her favorite coffee always brought a smile to her face. A mild French roast with a creamer of caramel and vanilla. It always lifted her spirits, calmed her, and gave her just enough of a kick to help her through the rest of her duties.

Sitting alone, Faylin concentrated on the padd that she brought with her.

The double doors of Ten Forward hissed open at the approach of another officer. As was his custom during the earlier hours of the evening, Miramon had arrived to sit down with a hop cup of Jumja tea and simply watch the stars out of the viewports to the rear of the lounge, allowing him to gather his thoughts and simply enjoy the openness of the place.

Plus, of course, Aren was supposed to meet him here a little later so they could talk over dinner. The Bajoran had yet to return to his old custom of dining with Saul, since it was far more likely that the Intelligence Officer ate with Nara and Saia these days. Besides which, Miramon had yet to go and hunt down his old friend. That, he decided, could wait until tomorrow.

He picked up a hot mug of tea from the bartenders - most of whom were quite used to the practice by now, or at least, had been prior to him returning to the Academy for retraining purposes. But, seeing him back, even in a different uniform, they'd known exactly why he was here, so hadn't thought to comment on the fact. He'd smiled gently, as he so often did, then turned away from the bar to see who else was occupying the large crew lounge.

Despite the time of evening, the place was nonetheless almost empty. Not so strange, really, given that most of the events held in Ten Forward tended to occur on different nights, and many people were just coming off their duty shifts, while others were attending to those which were just about to begin. There were, as a result, only a few people in the room - three off-duty officers drinking together, and a woman sitting off by herself, reading a PADD and drinking a beverage he couldn't identify at this distance.

Since he had nothing to do for the moment himself, he closed the distance between them, heading up to her table and walking around it so that she could see him, since her back had been facing him while he had been standing at the bar.

"Excuse me madam, but you realise it's rather unusual to come into a large communal area like this and sit alone, don't you?" His blue eyes flickered to the collar of her uniform shirt, noting the single gold pip there that denoted her rank as Ensign. He hadn't known what term of address to use beforehand, so had switched to something neutral.

She rose her green eyes slowly, partly to finish comprehending what she was reading, partly because of the affect it had. Faylin's face softened just a slight bit, suggesting a rather mischievous thought. "I was waiting for you." McAlister motioned him to sit, impressed by his manner of addressing her. She held out her hand, signaling a greeting. "Faylin McAlister....and...you are?"

The Bajoran gave a short laugh at the reply, amused by the smooth way the woman had dealt with his original observation. He took her hand in his in the traditional human manner, clasping it firmly but with not enough force to cause her pain, then relinquished his grip after a brief moment, moving to take a seat opposite her. He put his mug down on the table, then gave a soft smile.

"Miramon Terrik. I won't salute if you won't. You can call me Miramon and, with your permission, I shall call you Faylin." His smile deepened at the thought. When he'd first been promoted, he'd enjoyed the notion that anyone of Ensign rank or of the enlisted ranks would address him as 'sir', but that had quickly worn off. And, as a counsellor, he had to admit he preferred it when people called him by his name. It allowed for a level of familiarity which set people at ease.

"May I ask what you're reading? Something interesting, I hope. Vulcan philosophy, or a gripping novel designed to invoke passionate feelings or that will capture you and pull you into the scenery. Of course, you won't be," he said, his tone changing to something slightly less emotive, instead reflecting a sense of wry amusement. "It'll be a mission report, or a duty roster you need to familiarise yourself with."

Faylin chuckled. "Actually, it's a trashy Terran romance novel. I need some light reading every now and then." She arched her eyebrows at his expression.

"Marimon, what do you do on board the ship, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It's Miramon. Swap the 'i' and the 'a'. And I'm one of the ship's counsellors, those little individuals that sit you down to discuss all your problems. And if you didn't have any before you came to us, well, generally you have at least one before you leave. All part of the service, really," Miramon noted in a voice that suggested he was utterly serious, even though it was clear that he wasn't. "And how about you?"

"I'm JAG. So, if you ever get in trouble, you now know who can help you out. Which reminds me, I'm up for a psychological evaluation. Can I schedule that with you?" Glancing down, Faylin frowned as she viewed the level of her coffee getting low.

"Sure, although you might need a medical evaluation too, in order to ensure you've not suffered any trauma to the head. Why do I say so? Well, you did just ask to schedule an evaluation with me, which indicates that either there's a direct medical reason for your insanity, or I now have a lot more work on my hands." The smile did, however, smooth away when he finished with those remarks, the Bajoran's expression returning to his usual calm repose. "I can fit you in now, if you'd like. My job isn't one that stops when duty hours change."

"Oh, thanks...but no. I am going to have to go back and get some rest before my next shift. It appears that there are a few people that have been naughty as of late."

The Bajoran chuckled at that. One thing he'd learned about Starfleet was that whenever a person was 'naughty', it usually had to be something serious. Insubordination and minor offenses were just noted on the record as being a reprimand, which wasn't something a Judge Advocate would have to deal with. So, generally, their duties consisted of bigger things, so anything that had been done to draw her attention had to be somewhat bigger.

"Not a problem, Faylin. I think my office hours are generally less busy than yours, so just feel free to drop in at any time, and we'll do that evaluation of yours."

"I will certainly do that." McAlister stated as she stood. "It was lovely meeting you, and I hope that we can talk at length at another time." She smiled mischievously, impressed at the man's calm demeanor. Faylin had her experience with counselors and most had a calm way about them. It was required of the job. She had great respect for their field, it required an amazing amount of patience. A wondering thought crossed her mind. McAlister was sure that counselors got hot under the collar, but she had yet to view that side. They were interesting people, and this man was no exception.

Miramon watched as the woman left Ten Forward, noting her confident, firm way of walking. She was, for all intents and purposes, an interesting one. He looked forward to seeing what other aspects of her nature he would discover when that evaluation came around. He smiled to himself in amusement, then took a sip of his tea. Yes, it was always interesting to meet new people for the first time.

"A Friend in the Darkness"

By Writer X

Why do I see these dark images? What is the meaning behind the beast?

I awoke once standing in the middle of a long hallway. I couldn't remember how I got there.

There were beings everywhere. Some I recognized, some I didn't, but I knew I hated them all without understanding why.

When I looked down, trying to stop the beast from taking over, I became curious at what the ground was made of. Kneeling down, I reached with fingers not my own and touched the terrain, withdrawing my fingers in shock at the rough touch.

What is this? Where am I?

The ones I want to kill with hands not my own look at me with curiosity. One stopped and asked me something, and I didn't respond. They go away, and I don't care.

On my left, I saw grey sheets, coursing up to meet the bright lights drifting from above. Images superimposed over the lights as they countered the darkness in my heart. I saw the beast again, reaching out for me. It desperately wants to consume me; I realize that.

Was it speaking to me?

The images are so terrifying, yet comforting. It is my friend, the only one I have in the darkness. And I don't mind.

I've been hearing whispers lately. A clamor of voices in places I cannot see. I've tried to search them out in the places I hear them, but they escape before I can uncover who they belong to. They laugh from around corners; they speak in hushed tones about a person whose name they don't utter. They argue about places and things I don't recognize.

I just want the beast to escape and kill them all.

It feels like the hatred awakens me from a deep slumber of which I rarely dream. I certainly don't remember most of them. Those that I do, they make no sense. It doesn't matter. Dreams are for those who are unable to cope with the real.

As I explore all these places and things, I can't help but feel all of it is itself a dream... or nightmare? I see things that can't possibly be true, yet the scenes I fall upon bear no memory for me. It's quite surreal.

I once found myself walking through a very large area, filled with grey beings with bumps like pebbles encased under their skin. I was surprised to find they gave no hint of acknowledgement to the beast walking alongside me, as it almost always does when I find myself in strange places. Many tried to speak with me, and my mouth moved in response. I could not stop it.

I did not understand what was happening, but chose not to question it, or take back coordination. I will observe. And discuss what I see with my companion that no one cares to notice. We haven't spoken yet, but the time is now to take action, and now that it has walked with me silently for many a time, the signs are there to broker a dialogue with it.

I believe it has the answers to my unending questions.

This is what I am questioning when it comes to the line between the subconscious display of imagery, and the realtime.

How does one feel not in control of their own motions? That is why each instance of existence on waking is questionable.

I will have to make a decision soon.

I have to face the beast on my terms.

"Change"

Principal Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Saul Bental

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

Change.

It was amazing how that single word could send otherwise rational and wise men into the depths of rash stupidity. People that had trained and planned for the unexpected could be totally undone by simply altering a single line on one form. Rationality and training went out the window and the primal brain took over, venting frustration and anger in ways that the individual would never have considered when thinking clearly; violence both verbal and physical.

Since her refitting and relaunch after Captain Price's promotion, the Galaxy had reeled under changes both physical and personnel-oriented. She'd changed commanders, swapped officers around in what seemed like a maniacal frenzy of that ancient game he'd played decades ago in the Academy where you put hands and feet on different colored dots as dictated by the spin of a color wheel, and been rebuilt more times than any ship in the fleet except the Enterprise. And out of all of that change, out of all those problems, she'd never once succumbed to the need to vent her frustration.

It was, Daren reflected, a sad day when one was not as composed as the ship he commanded.

Ignoring the coffee that was still dripping down the wall by the door to fall onto the remains of the coffee cup that had carried it there, he turned back to the form on his LCARS panel, reread the message there, and leaned back into his chair.

=/\=Request Denied. Incorrect Entry In Block Seventy-Three Of Line Sixteen In Section Eight.=/\=

Who had designed this form? The Q? Was this one of their petty little games? No, Daren decided as he forced himself to relax, it wasn't the Q. Even they had standards, and working for the Forms and Requisitions Design Bureau of the Starfleet Quartermasters Corps was too demented and evil a task even for them.

Truth be told, he wasn't even certain what the form he was engaged in a war of wits with was actually for. Cassius Henderson had filled out the original while he was acting Captain aboard the Galaxy, and Daren could only assume that it was connected to replacing something aboard the ship that the engineers had been forced to rip out and destroy in the process of undoing all the sabotage that the Hydran clone-spy had committed. Since Cassius had been gone to his new command - one of the fleet's expanding number of Intrepid-Class ships, the USS Vor'kaan - three days ago after Daren had been brought back aboard the Miranda, Daren had been sifting through paperwork and trying to catch up on what had happened - and was happening - aboard his ship. He was not, he decided, going to call Henderson after 72 hours just to ask what a single form was.

His LCARS beeped, notifying him that he had an incoming personnel request. With a grimace, Daren minimized the demonic form and called up the request. Thirty seconds later, he smiled as he realized that in the time-honored tradition of command, he could pass his frustration on to another.

=/\="Lieutenant Bental to my Ready Room."=/\=

****

Saul reached the bridge quite hastily once Captain M'Kantu's summons arrived.

He'd been expecting it.

The second which took the doors to the bridge to succumb and open was enough for him to regain his composure, so that when he entered the officers on duty could see the regular sly, self-important grin smeared on his face.

He quickly exchanged greetings with Iniara, who was occupying the Captain's seat at the moment, and crossed the bridge.

"Come," M'Kantu's voice sounded over the speakers at Saul's thumbing of the door signal.

As the inside of the ready room emerged beyond the heavy-set doors, Saul contemplated that he had very little connection with the Captain of the ship he'd served upon for the last couple of years. Most of his day-to-day needs, and even his two promotions, were handled by Captain Henderson. Saul was an independent officer, which required very little 'maintenance' on behalf of his superior officers, so Henderson usually sufficed.

Now, however, at the most critical moment of all, Henderson was no longer there and he had to have a 'four eyes chat' with the Captain himself, for the first time since he was promoted to department head.

"Sir.", Saul prompted, all sign of wryness or self-importance vanishing from his face.

"Lieutenant Bental," Daren waved towards one of the two chairs opposite his desk. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Orange juice please, thank you." Saul took the seat, watching the Captain with anticipation.

Daren replicated the juice for Saul and a mug of coffee for himself - perhaps he wouldn't feel the need to throw this one across the room - and returned to the desk. Once Saul had his juice, and they both were seated, Daren started without preamble. "Would you like the good news, the bad news, or the news that I expect will irritate more than the other two, Lieutenant?" Taking a sip of his coffee, Daren wondered which it would be.

"I prefer to hear good news only, but if there is bad news we might as well handle those first."

Saul braced himself. The only bad news he could think of would be a refusal to grant him personal leave. He needed that leave more than anything, since the REDISTRIBUTION was scheduled to happen soon. "On second thought, good first," he added.

"The good news, Lieutenant, is that your promotion to Department Head has been confirmed," Daren told him. "You'll need to audit the necessary certification classes, but I don't think that will be a problem."

"Sir? I don't understand.". Saul didn't think that his position as Chief of Tactical needed to be confirmed by anyone, since he'd been doing it for several months now.

Interesting - Bental didn't know about the transfer. Daren slid a padd across the desk. "You've been transferred back to Intelligence and confirmed as the Galaxy's Department Head for the branch, Lieutenant. Congratulations."

Saul blinked.

Chief Intelligence Officer.

He was... but no, there were more important things to discuss now. And he realized that his fear might soon come true.

Daren took another sip of his coffee. "The bad news is that I'm afraid that I have to deny your request for personal leave. Galaxy has too much going on for me to allow my department heads to be absent - especially a brand new department head who's still learning his way around the job."

"Sir - with all due respect, this is very important to me. Tactical can run very smoothly without me, as they had during my time on Cheron. In fact, I relied a lot on my experienced officers ever since transferring the Tactical. And Intelligence... I'm sure Cora wouldn't mind holding the job for another couple of months, and if not you have Eve, Novitz, Yuuri... even DiMillo and Raynor could temporarily hold the position."

Being given transfer back to intelligence, his home turf, still didn't sink in. But the fact that Saul was willing to let Paulo DiMillo - the nearest thing he had for a sworn rival on board - take the post, even temporarily, was enough to show how pressed he was for getting the leave.

Years of careful planning and countless efforts depended on it.

"Lieutenant," Daren repeated quietly. "I said that your request for leave has been denied. There's too much to do here to allow you the luxury of personal leave. As a suggestion for future reference, when your commanding officer makes a flat statement like that and follows it up with an explanation for his reasoning, you might do well to consider the issue closed."

"Luxury..." This was no luxury. There was no way he could make the Captain understand. The damage done here will require amending, but that will have to be done after the conversation is over.

Saul's first reaction was to just leave the room, and get off the Galaxy the first time he got. But that would mean losing all that he has gained so far, especially the new promotion to the position he aimed for from the moment he sat foot on the USS Galaxy.

The decision will be made. Later.

"Yes, sir." He replied flatly, denying the urge to further beg for leave.

"And that, I believe brings us to the item I believe will irritate you the most, Lieutenant." Daren set his coffee down. "Before we discuss it, I'd like you to please note that while I tend to allow my officers and crew a certain degree of latitude in talks like this one I have my limits. Understood?"

"Yes.", Saul said simply, still deeply frustrated by the Captain's refusal. He even considered telling the Captain that his mother died, just so he'll let him go. With his luck, the woman will finally find the time to send him a message.

"Good," Daren nodded. "I'll get straight to the point, then: intelligence operations. It's your job to run them as the Galaxy's department head... and it's my job to approve or deny them. All operations will be cleared through me before they pass out of the planning stage. I've worked with, for, and supervised too many men that I've seen ruin careers and lives - theirs and others - by setting up their own little intelligence empires. That means, starting from right now, all private operations will cease and no new ones will begin, Lieutenant. Are we clear on this?"

Saul raised an inquiring brow. "Of course, sir. I have only one semi-personal operation going, related to the terrorist attack on Trill last year. I'll send you full report. I certainly have no intention to sit on the throne of my... 'little intelligence empire'. All I intend to do is my job - to provide you and the rest of the crew with quality, accurate intelligence."

"I'll review the operation and let you know whether it will be proceeding or not within 12 hours of receiving the report, Lieutenant," Daren promised. It looked like he was going to go back to 'Ensign Hours' and forgo a regular sleep cycle for a while. It was just as well, since all he'd do was dream of June and be disappointed when she wasn't there when he awoke anyway. "You're going to have to hit the ground running, Lieutenant. Will the rest of your department be able to keep up with you?"

For the first time since he stepped into the ready room, Saul's smile was genuine. "I know each and every one of them personally, sir. Don't worry. It's one of the largest and most skilled ship-board departments in the fleet, and I guarantee that they'll reach even higher peaks."

"Good, because we're going to need it, Lieutenant." Daren pointed to the padd he'd slid over. "There's a full report on the situation - including items that have not been transmitted to us because of the situation with the sabotage. You have..." Daren looked at the LCARS panel in his desk "...sixteen hours to disseminate it to your staff, absorb it, and get back to me with recommendations."

"Sixteen hours is plenty of time."

Saul saw that the Captain began to organize his PADDs, a clear sign that the interview was nearing an end.

"One last thing, sir..." He debated whether to say this or not, since the Captain came down on him hard after he protested about the vacation. Then again, there could only be profit here, no damage.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"It's good to have you back in the Captain's chair, sir."

"It's good to be back, Lieutenant," Daren acknowledged. "Although my wife is going to kill me if I get the ship shot up again. Let's try and avoid that, shall we?"

"Of course sir. But that, I suspect, is mostly up to the NEW Chief Tactical officer."

"Perhaps, Lieutenant," Daren conceded after Saul exited the room. "Butt before he can address that, he needs to know who - or what - to shoot. And that appears to be subject to change without notice right now."

"Triumphant"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer, USS Galaxy

"… owe you all an apology. I'm not a man who tends to break a promise. But in this case, I did."

Saul was standing in the midst of the briefing room, hands placed firmly on his thighs as he addressed the Tactical department. Many pairs of eyes focused on him. Some were disappointed, some were curious, others indifferent. Only Nyoko's eyes seemed horrified. He was going to change that soon.

"You're leaving.", said Chase Remur, stating the obvious.

"I know I promised that I'm here to stay, but higher ranking people don't want you to get attached to one Tactical chief for too long, I suppose."

Murmurs filled the room. "It is the sixth time we're switching department heads since relaunch." Chief Dorningham complained to a fellow NCO.

"Seventh."

The Alpha Centaurian began counting with his fingers. "Bah, you're probably right my good man."

"Anyway, gentleman, you all know my replacement. He'll be taking Tactical in addition to navigation."

The murmurs turned into cries of horror.

"Not Darkstar!", G'Bat'ea yelped. Saul thought he never saw a Nausicaan so terrified. "Say it ain't so!"

"It ain't so.", Saul smirked. The sighs of relief were audiable. "After he informed me of the transfer to intel, I asked Captain M'Kantu to take good care of you. I'm confident that whoever replaces me will be a capable officer, and surely will require less babysitting.", He added, eyeing Chief Renora.

It was well known that since he had no previous experience as a Tactical officer, the Bajoran Chief helped him train. Unknown to him, this made the department view him in a much more positive light, and complaints about being led by an outsider who doesn't know anything were reduced to minimum.

"Until he or she arrives, Lieutenant Yuuri will be responsible for administrative issues and Lieutenant Remur for professional issues. It has been been a pleasure, ladies and gentlemen. Godspeed."

There was no round of applause, but only because the Tactical officers still needed to slow their heart rates after being told that Darkstar is back with vengeance.

* * *

"Aren't you taking me with you?"

Nyoko's question had an innocent tone in it. Saul could almost imagine her as a small, wide-eyed Japanese child, asking the exact same question. It was strange to think of someone who's four years your senior that way.

"I thought you enjoyed doing Tactical analysis. You said you were good at it."

Nyoko lowered her eyes, scraping the floor with her heel.

"Well, yes, but…"

"Nyoko."

He reached for her chin, gently making her look him in the eye.

"Do me a favor."

"Oro?"

"Spread your wings – and fly."

* * *

The USS Galaxy's Chief of intelligence.

His chest almost burst with pride. Chief of intelligence. Commander of the ship-borne intelligence team, responsible for relaying up-to-date, accurate intelligence information to relevant officers, and utilize the ship as a platform for intelligence gathering.

When the words came out of Captain M'Kantu's mouth, everything suddenly fit in place. All of his reservations and concerns, the internal obstacles he faced since coming on board, perhaps even since graduating from the academy, now faded. He was exactly where he wanted to be, from the very beginning.

Chief of intelligence.

He felt a surge of power and control he did not experience when he was given the Tactical department. Tactical was not his home turf. He could not make a major decision there and know with absolute certainty that he was right. He was simply not in the right place, with the red collar and the ship's weaponry at his disposal.

Black, on the contrary… black felt right.

It felt like being a mountain climber who conquered the most fearsome peak, and now gazed at the spectacular view ahead, all the way down and toward the horizon. Head in the clouds, you could call it. A sense of achievement unmatched even by the Master's degree he earned earlier that year.

Finally, he was where he truly belonged. And when he got there, he tapped on the entrance panel.

A short while later, the officer on 'door duty' – Boris Shtazai – appeared in the doorway. The inner door closed behind him, hiding the intelligence CIC from the eyes of a random nosy visitor. Door duty was established so that such visitors without clearance won't come in uninvited, and Saul himself had to pull it many times before transferring to Tactical.

"Bental!", Boris' Russian accent boomed, "Ah, I'll let the guys know you came to visit. They'll be right out."

"No need.", Saul told his Technical officer, feeling more triumphant than ever. "I'll just come in."

Boris' mousy eyes landed on Saul's collar as he opened his mouth to speak, and then he understood.

"The Clown's Mask"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Ensign Zev Raynor
Intelligence Officer / Terran telepath

"Darkstar?? They must've peed in their pants!" Saul beamed at Ensign Novitz. "I think even the ETH nearly crapped herself. I swear I saw her flicker."

"If you ever try that on us, Lieutenant, I'll tell my friends at spec-ops that you need to... disappear."

"Boris, didn't you hear? The KGB is out of business.", Saul clapped roughly on the technical officer's shoulder. "So where's Raynor, anyway? I need a word with him."

Silence fell on CIC.

"Don't tell me.", Saul sighed. "I am not going to like this, am I?"

* * *

If there was any justice in the universe, the first time Saul Bental would see the brig should've been as a detainee.

Instead, he waited patiently until the officer on duty finished her immediate work, and stood up to usher him inside. Instinctively, Saul's eyes scanned the section for any weak point. Even on your own ship, you never know when such knowledge may come handy.

Captain M'Kantu – who was imprisoned by the Dithparu, and whose ready room Saul left merely two hours ago – would surely agree.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he's restricted to the brig until further notice under the instruction of Commander Dallas.", The officer explained.

Saul let his stare land upon her golden collar, and loosened his facial muscles. It was a common technique on the streets of Napoli , which immediatly made you look much more dangerous that what you really were. The security officer recoiled a bit, but not too much. Somewhat expected reaction, when you're in the same department with one Victor Krieghoff.

"I vouch for him. I will see to it that he does not repeat whatever crimes that led him into your containment cells.", Saul recited. He sounded like a fool in his own ears, especially since he was referring to a man which was older than him and also was, in the past, a department head.

"No can do, sir. You'll need Commander Dallas' authorization or higher."

Saul sighed. "I am his...", He was about to say 'superior officer', but the very words reminded him too much of his previous CO, Commander Stom. "I'm his department's head. Please notify the Commander that I asked his release. I'm sure she'll talk to me if there's any problem."

The security officer rolled her eyes, and reached for the control panel. She was probably wondering what took so long for Saul to let her know of his position on board the ship. The truth was, it took him so long because he still didn't believe it himself.

"Come out, Zev." He called toward Raynor's cell, once the force field sealing its entry faded away.

Raynor had been sleeping, but of course it didn't look like sleeping. He was standing, his eyes were open, and aside from a slight change in breathing, you could hardly tell had switched states at all. Raynor was weird because he slept with his eyes open, and moved around in his sleep. Sleep walking didn't quite describe it though, because he could snap out of it at any time, and some level of conscious control over it, something he was trained to do since his early childhood.

Still taking a split second to make the switch he lost balance for that time before regaining it, and turning to face Saul. He stepped out of the cell and asked, "Um... okay what's so important that you had to interrupt my nice vacation? Not that I'm not thankful or anything..."

"You have a good eye for details. You tell me."

Raynor ever playing the idiot made an over obivous look at his collar... "Ah Crap... So your transfer is enough to bust me out of jail?" he asked sarcastically.

"What do you know. Basically, I came to say 'told you so'," Saul grinned viciously. "But that aside, we got work to do."

"Work? Me? I positive I didn't hear that right..." Raynor grinned. The running joke of course was that he hardly showed up, on time if at all, and gave all the signs of laziness. What most of the department didn't know was he got all of his assignments done and done well. "Must be big if you came for lil'ole me."

Saul sighed. "No bigger than usual. And Zev, I'm afraid you've already wasted that trick on me."

They began to walk, Zev kept up the act a little, "Darn, and okay how about you pull my..." The door closed behind them. "Okay seriously what are we talking about right now?"

They were already out of the brig and the security officer's earshot. "I'm talking about playing dumb and pretending you're allergic to work when that little survey you made about the Hellen Five incident should be hung on the

walls of CIC as an example for how to do things right."

Raynor cocked an eyebrow. He was being praised... that was... different. Hellen Five was something he didn't particular want to remember at the moment though.

"You don't expect me to buy the show after you've given me the whole 'why I'm acting stupid' lecture back when I returned from Vaden. Do you?"

"Not really, but it wasn't for your benefit," Raynor explained. "The guard had listened to me go through the entire collection of Queen in my worse possible voice... When one assumes a personality of idiotic behaviour you general try and keep it up even when you don't have to... makes it harder for you to be caught acting out of character. And until I'm given any real responsibility, and I have to use my more serious no-nonsense type crap way of doing things... I can keep it up. More or less, until the situation calls otherwise."

"Queen was an excellent band." was all Saul had to say about this.

"So what's the job?" he asked finally, as they rounded the corner to the turbolift.

"There's a war brewing out there, the department needs any man we got. But more specifically, with DiMillo and Dobryin transferred, guess who's the most experienced officer in the department, with twelve years of service - three of them as department head."

"Me." Raynor made a simple statement, after a split second of thought. "And even more if you count my pre-Federation record... but that's not too important right now... so what do you need from me? Gather Intel? Do some analysis? Watch the gackle of kids that we got hanging around though when I meet them I'll probably pretend that I didn't even know they were on board... What?"

"Worse. I want to offer you the Assistant Chief position. If I'll give it to any of the younger officers, it'll only mean that I don't think you're capable of it, which is simply not the case."

The stupid grin had been on Raynor suddenly dropped. His jaw wobbled a bit... his eye had the a look of surprise, accusation, and horror all at once. "Request permission to curse loudly sir..."

"Go ahead."

"GOD MOTHER FUCKIN'-" a loud and long rant of inane babble ensued, much of which contained curses not heard since the 20th century on Earth... this continued for the rest of the turbolift ride, and just before the door opened, he managed to calm himself down within a few seconds and said... "Okay, I'll take it."

"I'm sure that god and his mother will be delighted to hear," Saul chuckled. "And I don't even bother to ask you to do a serious work. I have two requests to make, though."

"And what would those be?" Raynor asked, candidly.

They reached the doors to intel's CIC. Saul leaned against the wall, not entering just yet. "First, if after a while you see that this doesn't work for you, talk to me about it. I can substitute the position with several projects needed to be done, probably without hurting your 'prestige'."

"Sir, the clown has been more or less shot in the face..." Raynor explained. "The Assistant Chief anything is a leadership role, and I'm going to have to start acting like a leader. More or less... the men and women in the Intelligence department will have to feel confident that any decision I make will be a good one at the very least. I can't seem to be the lazy irresponsible hack I have been portraying for these last months. In other words I'm going to have to start acting like the real me..."

Raynor paused a moment lost in thought... he had been running from who he really was for a long time... he became a clown because he didn't want to be a monster... but it was the monster who was the Ronin... the warrior... the soldier... and he would have to become that monster in order to be a leader.

"Tough I'll probably make change gradually," Raynor continued. "Just because I don't want to make it seem that no one really knows me. A posed character evolution if you will. Which will be annoying because of the constant 'You've changed' that I will be constantly told can get annoying."

"If anyone annoys you too much, let me know and we'll put 'em on Intel systems operator duty, double shifts. I'm sure petty officer Kwntz could use some extra free time. Now, as for the other thing..."

Raynor sighed... he wasn't going to do anything to spite anyone esle in the department... but then another point was about to be asked, "Yes?"

Saul looked miserable all of the sudden. "I.. forgot."

"My long rants tend to do that did have anything to do with beer?" Raynor asked.

Saul shook his head. He did have something important to say, but his mind went elsewhere. He was thinking of HER again. He found himself thinking of her more and more since Angel moon. Those eyes...

"No, it has nothing to do with beer," Saul lied. "Although I have a feeling I'll need some tonight. Anyway, I'm sure I'll recall during the briefing."

"Briefing you say? This is the first I've heard of it..." Raynor said with a state of confusion.

"Didn't that nice and incredibly intelligent guard on the brig told you? Intelligence department meeting will take place in..." He glanced at his chronometer, "Twelve minutes."

"Does money grow on trees?" Raynor asked before taking a sniff. "And should I shower before then or go as is?"

Saul tapped on his companion's shoulder. "Nah, we'll take you as you are. Even if it stinks."

Zev grinned, "Shall we?"

“The Next Chapter”

Ensign Cedric Blair
Engineer, USS Galaxy

***Starfleet Academy: Cadet Cedric Blair's dorm room- Three Months Ago.***

After four hard years of exams, professors, classes, training exercises and every little and major event that makes up the life of a Starfleet cadet- graduation had finally arrived. Cedric, or Ced as his close friends called him, had spent the better part of his final day on campus packing up his dorm room. He had always been a bit anal when it came to organization, so packing up his belongings wasn't as daunting of a task as it would be for some cadets. His roommate for example.

The ceremony was to be held that evening in the traditional setting of the Academy's main mall. Cedric couldn't wait to walk with his fellow graduates onto the grounds and listen to the Admirals and other dignitaries speak about their futures. It should be a great moment in his life but he couldn't help but worry about his assignment, or lack thereof. His marks were excellent, his professors had high expectations of his career and he almost made Red Squadron- had it not been for a stomach bug that struck him the day of his physical examination. If there was one thing that could be a negative which would prevent him from getting an assignment, atleast as far as he could reckon, it was his perceived shy nature. It's not that he was literally shy, his friends knew he was far from it, however he spent a great amount of time in thought which led people to believe he is quiet and thus led to the shy 'label.'

The sudden chirp of his door chime brought Ced out of his thoughts. With just five steps, dorm rooms were so small you could cross it in about twenty, he was in front of his door and pushed the control to slide it open. His visitor was his father, Captain Samuel Blair of the USS Maxwell.

"Dad, I thought you were coming with everyone else later tonight?" Cedric inquired looking beyond his father to see if he had any other visitors.

"I was, but you grandfather handed me some information that might be of interest to you." Sam replied. The Captain was speaking of Admiral Chester Blair, Associate Director of Starfleet Personnel; "Go ahead, take it." The elder Blair offered a PADD to Cedric.

Cadet Blair took the PADD and looked at the cover page, "Is this..."

"It's your assignment; I think you'll be pleased"

Cedric took in a deep breath and then pushed the access button on the PADD, his eyes scanned the document for a ship name and registry number. A second or two later his eyes found what he was looking for...

"Congratulations, son." Captain Blair stated, his voice filled with pride.

“The Galaxy? .…I was expecting them to put me on some clunker out in the farthest reaches of the Federation.” A wave of relief washed over Cedric as he glanced over the rest of the information in his orders.

“You’re a Blair, they hardly ever put us on clunkers” the Captain joked. It was true; the Blair’s have a strong family legacy in Starfleet and have played critical roles in its history. The entire family has a prestigious reputation within the organization, therefore many posts always try to have at least one Blair around- which is easy to do since there are so many of them. “Is there something wrong?” Sam asked, after noticing a puzzled look on his son’s face.

Cedric scanned his orders one more time, “As side from the ship’s history, why does the Galaxy seem so familiar to me?”

“I believe your cousin Troy served on the Galaxy before the war.”

“Hmm, maybe that’s it. I’ll have to contact him before the ceremony.”

Captain Blair nodded his head, “Might be a good idea…” He paused for a moment as he realized the time; “Your mother’s transport is due to arrive within the hour, so I better go meet up with her. We’ll be standing by the Dominion War memorial after the ceremony, alright?”

“Got it.”

*** Student Union, Starfleet Academy- two hours before graduation ceremonies***

The Union was not a place Cedric frequented on campus, it was too noisy for his liking but it was the only place Cadets could use sub-space communications. He was ready for the ceremony and his entire life was packed up and ready for transport, so all that was left was to kill time. Something the soon to be officer did very well.

Ced took a seat behind one of the terminals and opened a link to the USS Valkyries, the current assignment of Commander Troy Blair. As he waited for the system to establish connection he watched the Federation splash screen with a new sense of pride. After today he would be more than a citizen of the Federation, he’d be helping to protect it and serve it.

The screen briefly went black before cutting to the face of an officer in his early thirties. After leaving the Galaxy Troy’s career sky-rocketed, he was thrice decorated during the Dominion War and served the Valkyries, also as Chief Tactical Officer, while she performed ‘mop up operations’ at war’s end. Now he served the Akira-class vessel as her Executive Officer and probably soon as her Captain- if the retirement rumors centered on Captain T’nea prove to be true. But no matter how successful Commander Blair became, he tells others he owes his good fortune to the Galaxy and his first commanding officer Captain Price.

“Yes, hello Troy. I’m not sure if you remember me, I’m Cedric…one of your cousins.” Ced announced, hoping he would have to play the ‘this is how we’re related’ game.

“Of course I remember you man! I gave you pointers on how to pick up women at the Academy two years ago at the family reunion.” During Troy’s Academy days and his early days on the Galaxy he was more of a ‘frat-boy’ than an officer. These days he was quite the opposite; however he still kept his light hearted attitude which makes other officers willing to work with him.

Cedric blushed a little and smiled, he never used Troy’s advice and hoped Troy wouldn’t ask if any of it worked. “Uh..ya. Anyways, um I was contacting you because I was just assigned to the Galaxy and wanted to see if there’s anything you can tell me.”

“The Galaxy?! Oh man, that takes me back.” Troy leaned back in his seat, it was obvious he was re-living his memories; “What was the name of that Delphinian…oh ya..Ronni…hmmm…now if onl…oh…sorry. Needless to say I enjoyed my time on that ship, she’s one of the best- next to my own ship of course.”

”Is there anything you can tell me about her? Anything I should know?” Cedric was never one for idle chit chat- he always wanted to cut right to the chase.

Troy thought for a moment before replying; “She’s a different ship from when I served on her, I highly recommend Ten Forward- that place always seems to attract the beautiful women. Oh and if you’re ever in Jeffries tube seven in section four beta near the tactical office, look at the main strut near the plasma conduit junction, I left something there a long time ago…”

*** Runabout Dionysus en route to the USS Galaxy- 3 months later***

What they don’t tell cadets after graduating is that it is not unusual to wait a month, two months, three or more before you ship out to your posting. While that is aggravating it does, however, allow for a much easier transition from the life of a Cadet to the life of a commissioned Starfleet officer.

“So I says to the guy, ‘Hey! That’s not a woman buddy…” Unfortunately for Cedric his trip to the USS Galaxy was anything less than pleasant. The Lieutenant JG that was piloting the runabout was a grizzled old veteran, probably someone who enlisted at eighteen and worked his way up the ranks over the years. But that wasn’t the bad part; a man of his experience could have given him wisdom that would be useful to any green officer. However, this ol’ vet had no wisdom and preferred to spend most of the trip gabbing about crude and obscene events that transpired during his many years in Starfleet. “I tell ya, kid; if you ever come across an Orion slave girl, just stay away! You’ll piss all kinds of colors you’ve never seen before...”

Out of all the runabouts in the fleet, he had to catch a ride on the one piloted by an officer and not an enlisted man. He was stuck listening to this crusted pilot for the entire trip. “Alright, I gotta tell you ‘bout the time a buddy and I bought a couple Cardassian whores. Durin’ the war we were talkin’ ‘bout what it would be like to be with a spoon-head. They got all those ridges; we wanted to know if they had them…”

Cedric sighed.

“Looky that…the Galaxy is in sensor range. Just as good too, I don’t like being in Romulan space in this tin can. You know those Rommies will display your body in the ship’s mess hall if they kill ya? Doesn’t matter if you’re guts are hanging out or not...” Only a few more minutes and this hellish three day trip would be over.

*** 20 Minutes Later, Main Shuttle Bay- USS Galaxy***

The runabout’s door slid open to reveal a Vulcan female wearing the Engineer’s yellow. The pilot was first to step off; “Got your latest supply shipment and this here new officer for ya.” He proclaimed, handing the Vulcan a PADD. As she studied the information contained in the document the pilot eyed her over.

When Cedric came to the door of the runabout he stuck his head out to look around. It was impressive to say the least, a large bay with several shuttlecraft scattered about and personnel going to and fro. He took a deep breath then set one foot outside the tiny craft and onto the deck plates of the Galaxy- he had arrived.

His eyes continued to take in his surroundings, the more he saw the more impressed he became. His training cruise was onboard an Excelsior-class vessel which was nothing compared to the Galaxy. This was going to be a whole new experience.

“Remember what I said about those slave girls, kid.” The pilot said to Ced, nudging him on his arm. Ensign Blair didn’t really pay attention- he was still captivated by the Galaxy’s shuttlebay.

“Ensign Cedric Blair.” The near monotone voice of the Vulcan Lieutenant brought Cedric out of his trance.

“Yes, ma’am. Ensign Cedric Michael Blair, reporting to the USS Galaxy.” Came the quick reply as he snapped his body to attention.

“Ensign, your quarters are located on deck seven, section delta. You’re to report to Main Engineering for Beta shift.” The Lieutenant stated, then gave Blair the ‘dismissed’ look that Vulcans can pull off better than any other species.

*** 15 minutes later, Ensign Blair’s Quarters***

It took him a while to find his quarters since he refused to use the computer for directions. He felt he would learn the ship quicker if he used his own mind, instead of taking the quick way out. It use to frustrate his friends to no end when Cedric would do things ‘the hard way.’ But that’s how he was, he wanted to learn on his own and he certainly didn’t want someone to tell him how do to things if he was capable of figuring it out himself.

When the door to his new quarters slid open Cedric took a step inside and laughed to himself. He had come light years from Earth after spending four years at the Academy, only to discover his quarters were almost the exact same size as his old dorm room.

“Well, looks like I’m home” and with that he set his bags down on the floor.

"Simon Say's"

Primary Characters;
Lt Ella Grey Assistant Chief of Engineering
Lt (Jg) Naranda Sol Roswell engineering officer
Lt Jiiles engineering officer (written by Dru - as always!)

***USS Galaxy, various locations***

Jiiles shook his head and closed the com channel. Taking a deep breath he wiped his eyes once more and reached out to the isoliner chips with shaking hands.

Pulling out all three chips at once he gulped, almost choking on the air, his eyes tight shut as he awaited his immediate death.

After a beat there was nothing, no noise, no sudden screams, just silence.

He opened an eye just a fraction and saw the countdown timer flashing 58 seconds remaining. He breathed a sigh of relief, a bit too soon it seemed, suddenly like a toy gun a little flag shot out from the control panel, Jiiles didn't get the chance to read the message as he flushed a shade of pale blue and promptly fainted.

Ella wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but didn't dare. "Nara?"

"I had garlic toast for lunch. I have to brush my teeth first." Kissing Ella wasn't on her to do list, but Ella promised. Might as well make it less enjoyable.

Then Nara shook her head realizing she was talking of the bomb, "Oh. Um. Well, I think mine is a bit less dramatic." She reached her hand in again and her face fell seeing lights flashing by buttons. "What the hell?"

"It what?" Ella snapped.

"Lights, flashing by buttons. Looks vaguely familiar. Like a game in grade..."

"Oh for the love of...." Ella trailed off.

"Simple Simon?" Nara moaned, "This clone was a fucking psychopath!" The shriek followed by a sigh, "I never played it really, but I think the point is to touch the buttons in the same order the lights hit?"

She watched the dance of lights a few seconds, "Ten buttons and it seems like a long pattern."

"Can you do it?"

Nara laughed, "Child's play." She frowned seeing the lights blinking faster, "Trying now." She tried pressing the button as the lights kept going, but received a nasty shock, "Damn!"

"What was that?" Jiiles almost shouted as he came too, still stuck inside the workstation. Slowly he looked around him and assessed where he was, his memory quickly came back to him. Squinting he read the message on the flag; "One down, three to go!" For a moment he stared at it, frowning. Ella had disarmed one bomb, he had done the other; at least he thought he had. Nara was playing with another; that made three!

She concentrated and waited for the pause and quickly typed in the sequence. The lights died and a humming stopped. She looked at the clock, "Thirteen seconds to spare." She rested her damp forehead against the wall."So we got them all now?"

"I certainly hope so because I really think I might be sick." Ella replied, allowing her body to relax as she lay down on the floor.

"I feel like beating the hell out of someone. Or their clone anyway." Nara replied dryly, beginning to remove the atrocity.

Jiiles smiled slightly, "So they are all disarmed right." he stated finally able to breathe, "As soon as someone beams me out of here I'll be requesting ring side seats for your show girls." he informed them as he tried to move, wiggling himself out of the position that he was in. Boy was he getting stiff in here!

"Oh, yeah." Ella replied. "I totally lied."

Nara sighed again, "I think that's almost as relieving. No offense Lt., but kissing woman just doesn't do it for me."

A loud groan was audible over to com line followed by a series of crashing sounds and then a thud.

Jiiles' voice could be heard though the din though exactly what he was saying was lost as the universal translator couldn't translate the dialect of Bolian he cursed in.

*backpost- before M'Kantu gets back onboard

"Light my way home"

Andrus Suder, pcc
T'aeben of Romulas, npc

**** USS Galaxy ****

He snuck into the Cargo Bay, waiting until the last minute because he figured if he tried sneak in any sooner a higher power would just point at him, laugh, and then somehow make it bloody impossible for him to find a way in *until* the last minute.

Such was his luck lately, Andy figured.

The container took a minute to open, the false bottom a minute longer, and then T'aeben of Romulus was free and Andrus could finally let go of the breath he'd held since he had boarded the Galaxy.

"Took you long enough, Human." The Romulan teenager snapped irritably as soon as the oxygen mask was unhooked.

Andy thought he'd be a little irritable too if he'd just spent several hours stuck inside a bucket; he reminded himself for the millionth time that he was due for a very long vacation.

"I'm Betazoid, T'aeben. The eyes."

"Whatever." The Romulan said and then stretched. He grunted as his back popped audibly and then told Andy that he was hungry.

The kid probably had to piss as well but Andrus had found that Romulans tended to be closed-mouth about anything regarding embarrassing bodily functions.

"In a minute." Andrus said, throwing the boy some clothes. "Change into these first and then we'll get you some food."

T'eeben looked down at the uniform in his hands and cracked a hint of a smile, which was almost startling to Andy given the boy's home world. "Just an ensign?"

"I think they'll catch on faster if we give you Captain." Andy replied, politely turning his back so T'aeben could change. He actually thought it was a better idea to have the kid stay in quarters until they reached their pick-up but also knew the chances of a teenager doing such a thing would be like trying to get a Klingon to paint their prized bat'leth bright pink.

In other words, it just wasn't going to happen.

"How do I look?" T'aeben asked, prompting Andrus to look around. The kid hadn't quite finished his growth spurt so the uniform looked a bit big in the shoulders but Andy thought it would do.

"Looks good." He said. "I'd pretend to be a Vulcan while you're here though. Not a lot of Romulans in Starfleet."

"I can do that." The kid said in an infuriating tone 'I can do anything, stupid' that was a cross between Romulan and teenager.

"Swell." Andrus said dryly.

He cracked his knuckles, wondering if that was going to be his new bad habit as the desire for coffee was quickly fading, and then gestured for the kid to follow him.

So far M'Kantu's hall pass had left the ship open to him with no questions and Andy was going to use it while he could.

"Let's order a large meal from the replicator, T'aeben." Andrus said. "Anything but Romulan."

T'aeben grinned.

"Kate" – pt. 1

Cmdr. Karyn Dallas
Chief Counselor

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 10 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

"How did you convince her to come here?" Brian asked as he and Karyn continued down the corridor to the transporter room. There was excitement in the Betazoid's voice, not entirely unlike a kid on Christmas Eve.

Karyn beamed. It was no insignificant thing to arranged for the Federation's foremost expert in military psychology to drop by in person – in Romulan space - to present a workshop for her staff, and the chief counselor was deservedly proud – even if they *were* old friends.

"Oh, pulled a few strings, dropped a few hints, called in a few favors . . ." she replied with a laugh. She was behaving like someone with a closely-guarded trade secret, giving purposefully vague answers so as not to dispel the air of mystery and amazement.

Her assistant chief just rolled his eyes and smirked.

"Any word, Chief?" Karyn asked the crewman attending the transporter console as they came through the sliding door.

"She just signaled. Bringing her up now, Commander." With the right combination of inputs and a slide of his hand, a blue-white curtain shimmered to life on the transporter pad.

A few seconds later, a five-foot-five-or-so, forty-ish looking woman stood before them – looking nothing like Elessidil had expected. This woman was thin and somewhat boney in structure and her hair was long – almost to her waist – and loose. Beneath a simple loose-fitting lavender blouse, she wore a floor-length gauze skirt with a multi-color swirled pattern all through it, only the toes of her sandal-clad feet peeking out from below.

Brian smiled pleasantly at the sight of someone so real and down-to-earth; someone not wearing a uniform. She would have looked completely natural skipping around the arboretum with a tambourine in hand and a ring of daisies around her head.

"Karyn!" the woman called out upon seeing Dallas in her anti-grav chair. Smiling, she and her skirt swirled down from the transporter pad and gave the counselor a friendly embrace.

Karyn's smile was equally bright. "It's so good to see you, Kate. How have you been?"

"You know how it is," she answered with a dismissive wave of a slender hand. "Sneaking a nap between conferences, stuffing down a meal before a lecture. Whatta pace . . . I think I've forgotten what Earth even looks like," she chuckled, slowly shaking her head. "But I have to admit, getting to Romulan territory is something of a treat."

Karyn grinned in response before gesturing to the man standing next to her. "Kate, this is Brian Elessidil … helps me keep the sanity around here." She looked up at Brian and winked.

The woman extended her hand. "Yes, you told me about him. A pleasure to meet you, Counselor . . . or do you prefer Doctor? . . . or Lieutenant Commander?" she asked, spying the three pips on his collar.

"'Brian' will be fine, Doctor North," he replied, warmly returning her handshake. He was immediately struck by the surprisingly strong grip such a delicately-boned hand could give. "It's really a privilege to have you here."

"I see you drilled him in all the proper professional etiquette," she said with a conspiratorial expression to Karyn. "Please, Brian, call me Kate."

Brian nodded his assent.

"Why don't we get you set up in your quarters," Karyn began, "and then the three of us can get something to eat. I think you'll be impressed with the dining facilities here, Kate – not those bland protein supplements they get in the trenches." She turned her chair toward the door.

"Dinner – best idea I've heard today," Kate responded. "Think we might get you to indulge in a little wine, Karyn?"

"Weeelll . .. maybe the occasion merits a glass or two," the counselor said with a good-natured laugh.

Brian knew how rarely Karyn drank alcohol. Her willingness to indulge this evening confirmed how happy she was to see her friend, and he was glad she would have the opportunity to do so. He turned his attention to their visitor again. "Doctor . . ." he chuckled at the habitual slip back to the formal title – but she was, after all, still a brilliant and well-respected teacher and practitioner in their field. "Kate," he corrected himself, "can I help you with your carry-ons?" he offered, gesturing to the two small duffles she had dropped on the floor beside her.

"Oh no," she started, snatching them up by their handles. "I'm no spoiled academic . . . and I'm afraid if I let people start waiting on me I may very well become one. Just show me where I'll be staying and I promise to be as self-sufficient as Starfleet regulations will allow," she laughed good-naturedly.

Brian smiled. It was doubly thrilling to meet someone with her background *and* personality. She had a sparkle in her eye that indicated a clear zest for life. Yet another pleasant surprise.

"This way, then," he said, following the women out the door.

As the three continued down the corridor to the guest quarters Karyn had procured, Brian caught up, walking side by side with the intriguing woman. Kate caught the surreptitious glances he made her way. Finally, she stopped and laughed, shaking her head slowly, her long hair waving back and forth like a field of wheat in a gentle breeze.

"Have I scandalized you, Brian?" she chuckled, giving a look to Karyn as she turned her chair around to face them.

"'Scandalized'?" he laughingly echoed. "No, not in the least. It's just that you look so-"

"Unexpected? Earthy? Non-professional?" she said, throwing out a few suggestions to complete his sentence.

"Well . . . now that you mention it, all three, actually," the now somewhat red-faced counselor admitted. "I have a few of your books and you look nothing like your picture in those."

Both women laughed.

"You've never heard of a professional persona? I clean up pretty well when necessary, and unfortunately, when you do the lecture circuit it's almost always necessary."

"Kate's always been something of a free-spirit," Karyn chimed in. "But she knows how to play the game."

North grinned in agreement. "Books, Brian? Do you mean actual paper, hard-bound, books?" she asked with some interest.

"Yep. That's correct," he confirmed as the three resumed their course through the corridor. "I'm something of a bibliophile. I like to get book print editions whenever I can. Says a lot about your research that your writings make it to actual hardbound editions."

"Yeah, they're easier to burn that way," she replied with some self-deprecating humor, causing them all to laugh in response. "Truth is, it's because I knew I could step out of strict professional mode around Karyn that I was eager to do this workshop here. I'll probably gussy-up a bit for the actual sessions, but I'm going to let my hair down – literally and figuratively – as much as I can while I'm here."

"You've come to the right place," Karyn agreed with a glance over her shoulder to the other two. "We don't much stand on ceremony around here."

"Yep, you'll fit right in," Brian agreed, already glad she had come aboard.

"Kate" – pt. 2

Cmdr. Karyn Dallas
Chief Counselor

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 10 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

Spread with a white tablecloth and appointed with a pink Andorian rose and an unobtrusive candle, the table was laden with all the trappings and signs of a comfortable dinner among friends. There were scattered dishes and glasses, a three-quarters empty bottle of wine, some obviously hand-torn remnants of a crusty loaf of bread, and at least two spots indicating where wine or a sauce of some kind had spilled in the course of lively conversation.

And there was plenty of laughter all around.

"Okay, okay . . ." Kate North actually snorted at least once while trying to catch her breath. "I'll admit . . . few people get to see," she laughed again, "much less laugh at, an Admiral with his pants down around his ankles. But wha- what was I supposed to do? He thought . . ."

She was interrupted by her own giggling, her long hair completely obscuring her face as she bent over in stitches, not managing to resurface until a few moments later.

"H-he thought I was there to give him I don't want to know *what* kind of examination!" All three diners were red in the face and by now had tears streaming down their cheeks from their uncontrollable laughter. "How do you delicately tell an Admiral that *that's* not the end you're interested in?"

Twice already during the course of dinner Karyn thought she was going to fall out of her anti-grav chair. The comedic anecdotes, like the two bottles of wine the trio had gone through, had been flowing non-stop since they sat down.

Brian was certain they were going to get thrown out at any moment for causing such a disturbance, but it would have been well worth it as far as he was concerned. If Doctor North's lectures were even half as brilliant as her storytelling he'd gladly listen to her all day without a single break.

After a good twenty or so seconds, their laughter had died down enough for Brian to ask a question that had been on his mind since he'd first read North's work. "Kate, I've wondered many times how someone could rise to such pre-eminence in your specialty and manage to understand the military and its environment so well without actually being part of it. I know there are many in Starfleet who can be pretty isolationist when it comes to its culture and attitudes."

The woman smiled knowingly. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten the question.

"Well, I could go on about years of observation in the field, endless hours of individual counseling with people from every branch of the military, mountains of research from sources going as far back as the Napoleonic Wars, blah, blah, blah. But I prefer to sum it up with something one of my psychology professors said to me when I first expressed some interest in the field. He said," she cleared her throat and adopted a highly affected accent of English nobility, "'Miss North,' – he was very formal -- tweed jacket and all the rest," she rapidly interjected with a wave of her hands. Then she sat up straighter, grabbed her wine glass with her little finger extended, and pursing her lips sourly, resumed the affect. "'Miss North . . . if you intend to succeed in the field of milit'ry psychology, there are *two* things you must keep in mind at all times: the milit'ry is ultimately accountable to the civilian authority, *not* the other way around, *and* . . .' then he makes this grand pause like he's going to divulge the secrets of the universe, '. . . you do not have to be a cow to know what milk is.'"

Raucous laughter erupted around the table again before she could continue. "I honestly didn't know whether I had just heard sublime wisdom or the babbling of a complete nut!" The laughter rose and died down yet again. "To his credit though, that advice has helped me knock down a lot of barriers that otherwise would probably have sent me packing to another specialty."

"To your professor, then!" Brian toasted, the women clinking their wine glasses to his in response.

Karyn finished off the last of her wine, then laid her hand on Kate's sleeve. "You're as much fun to be around as you've ever been, Kate," she said warmly. "But it's already been a long evening and I still have a report or two to dash off before I get to sleep. So, if the two of you will excuse me . . ."

Brian sighed as if he'd just been reminded of a curfew. "Yeah, you're right. I should probably get going too."

"Aw, you too? I haven't even gotten to my best material," Kate good-naturedly objected.

"No, stay, Brian," Karyn insisted. "Somebody should stick around and be the good host, and besides, I've already heard Kate's 'best material'," she said, smiling. "I'll see you both at the first session at ten hundred hours." Then she glanced at the empty wine bottles. "Or maybe we should make it eleven hundred?"

"We'll be there at the appointed time, Counselor," Kate promised.

Chuckling and shaking her head, Karyn turned from the table, leaving Brian and Kate staring after her.

"She is truly a consummate professional; one of the best in the fleet," Kate said seriously, a hint of awe blended into her tone.

"I couldn't agree more," Brian concurred. "I don't know if I'd still be in this field if it hadn't been for her. She gave me the support and encouragement I needed in my first assignment, to this ship, in fact," he added, turning again to face their guest. "And it's because of her I asked for a transfer to return as her assistant. She's been an excellent mentor and friend."

"She told me you gave up a Chief Counselor and second officer position of your own to come back to the Galaxy. That's a pretty atypical – some might even say brash – move."

"Sometimes I miss the command opportunity being second officer often provided," Brian admitted. "But ultimately I'm in this field because I want to help people. Whether they call me chief counselor, assistant counselor, whatever -- that isn't what really matters to me." There was a sparkle in his dark eyes, the one that always returned when he spoke of his chosen field. Kate recognized it immediately.

"Do you *know* what an example your love of couseling is?" she asked, unconsciously moving her hand on top of his. She was clearly impressed by his passion.

Brian smiled in response. "Well…I don't know that it's- "

"No, I mean it," she interrupted. "It's a lot less common than you'd think. From what I've seen, I'd say that for every counselor in Starfleet with your kind of passion, there are just as many others in it because it seemed like a good way to get to explore space. You and Karyn are the ideal, the kind of caring and dedicated professionals everyone in our field should aspire to be. She's lucky to have you working at her side."

Grinning at such effusive praise, Brian awkwardly lowered his gaze to the wine glass in front of him.

"You're embarrassed," Kate observed with some surprise. There was something especially endearing about an over six-foot man blushing at a compliment.

"Hey, who's the empath here, anyway?" he countered.

"That must be such a useful ability to have in our line of work," Kate segued, her hand finally returning to her almost empty glass. "I wouldn't be lying if I said I'm a little envious."

Brian raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the remark. "It can be something of a two-edged sword, Kate. It's true that empathy and telepathy allow for some helpful insights when you're counseling others, but it also makes a *lot* of people uneasy. Heh – you know better than anyone how particularly resistant to counseling military types can be. They say a counselor can clear a marine barracks faster than a loose grenade – that goes triple for Betazoid counselors." For a moment, he reflected back on what he'd experienced at DS5. "You have to exhibit a lot of self-control, and it can also make you…vulnerable…to things and in ways that non-telepaths aren't."

"So would you 'turn it off' if you could?"

Brian looked at her for a moment, seriously pondering the question. "No…no, I wouldn't," he finally acknowledged. "It's not just something that can be used to help other people, it's also part of what makes me…me. It's like asking if you'd… I don't know… cut off your head or something."

Kate laughed out loud. "Cut off my head? That's a tad more extreme, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah…okay, so it was a bad analogy," he laughed back. "Sue me."

They were smiling broadly at each other, each tacitly recognizing the interests and traits they shared: good food, good wine, laughter, intellectual curiosity, mutual admiration, . . . passion.

Brian was the first to break the gaze. "Don't you think if you're going to lead a productive workshop tomorrow you should get some sleep?"

"Sleep? What's sleep?" Kate smirked. "You forget, I spend most of what little sleep I get these days on transports and shuttles, going from one engagement to the next. Sleeping on a Galaxy-class starship is going to be a luxury."

"Well then I recommend you make the most of the opportunity to indulge in that luxury, Doctor North," Brian advised with a gentle smile.

Kate found herself enjoying the playful banter. Sleep wasn't the only thing she'd been missing lately -- genuine and entertaining companionship was not something she saw a lot of as an "Expert".

"You know, indulgence is an underrated habit, one that I've found many in Starfleet have forgotten," she said pensively. "I hope you advise your patients differently…Doctor Elessidil," she teased back.

"Every chance I get," he replied. With a wink, he raised his glass and downed the last of the wine.

OOC: Takes place right before the Miranda leaves Atlantis.

"Race Day"

Commander Jaal Jaxom
XO

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete
Assistant Chief of Science

==================
USS Miranda
==================

The day was bright without being too hot. The blue of the sky defined cerulean, defying any wayward clouds to mar its flawless expanse. Somewhere, surely, birds sang. Somewhere people laughed and talked while retreating to points of shade. But here, on the loops of asphalt ringed by banks of dirt, nothing could be heard other than a machine roar, growing and diminishing as a few bikes raced around the track, kicking up bits of dust and grit. Exhaust spilled out in their wake. Were it not for their self-generated breeze, they might have been riding on puffs of clouds - fenders gleaming chrome in the afternoon light and the light catching on the cyclists' helmets providing the requisite halos.

Although Erastus couldn't recall any afterlife that presented its denizens - angelic or otherwise - in such terms. Turning her gaze away from the race, she found Jaal working on his Ducati in the pit. Slipping down to sit on the bench near by, she watched him in silence for a moment. When they'd last spoken, things had been awkward. Understandable, given how close they'd become only to have her suddenly say she was going home and might not be coming back. She could have handled that better - 'should' have handled that better.

"Jaal!" The bikes continued to roar, and though she'd spoken loudly, her voice easily lost out against the background noise. "Computer: freeze program." The races stopped instantly, the sound disappearing back into the holodeck speakers. "Jaal."

The sudden pausing of the program and it's requisite noise started the Trill. He was torquing a the bolts on the bikes clutch cover when it happened. He looked up as his hand slipped from the wrench and he scraped his knuckles against the cooling fins on the piston housings. "Era...ow!"

He shook the pain off and stood up examining his hand. There was a small trickle of blood from his middle knuckle on his right hand; no big deal. "You came back," Jaal smiled at her.

"Oh damn, I'm sorry," Era stood up too and reached out for his hand. She grimaced at the cut, small as it was, then looked back up at him. "I decided I'm in the right place, right now."

"Nah, don't worry, happens all the time," Jaal let her take his hand. "I am glad you decided to come back." He beamed at her.

"Yes, well, there are certain things Starfleet has to offer that home doesn't," she smiled, wiping away the small bit of blood that had risen from the cut. "How've you been?"

"Like me.. dare I say it?" he replied playfully. Jaal watched Era wipe off his hand. "I've been good. How was your trip?"

"For one," she agreed, kissing the wound. "It was decisive, I think is the best way to put it. Some things were the same, the usual things had changed, but more to the point, I had changed." She thought back for a moment on the small gang that had chased her, not quite large enough to be considered a mob, and sighed. "But I saw old friends, and that is always a pleasure."

Jaal smiled, "Yeah it is... I for one am 'very' glad you came back." He used one fore-finger under her chin to raise her lips to his and kissed her.

Era wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him to the kiss for a few extra moments. Being with him was definitely something she had missed while away. When finally the kiss broke, she leaned back a little and smiled. "Up for a race?"

"Always," Jaal's eyebrows playfully went up and down a few times. Since they'd started their relationship, Era had learned the ins and outs of racing bikes rather quickly. It wasn't surprising when one considered that her people ritualistically suicided at age 60; they 'had' to learn things fast. "You can even pick the track."

"Transferred"
Lt. Commander Erigone Aello
USS Miranda
With a brief appearance by Christopher Summers

Prior to arrival at DS

= = =

It started with an urgent message from Heinrich Torvald, congratulating her on her new post. He'd been most insistent on seeing her and talking to her after he heard the information. She'd accepted his invitation to dinner out of curiosity more than anything else.

"How long have you been working on this, Eri?" He'd persisted. "I knew you'd kept things close to your chest, but I didn't think you'd keep something this good to yourself."

The dusky centauran had shrugged. "A while," she'd answered evasively.

"I was going to ask you to be my XO, but there's no way you'd take it when you've got a prime assignment like this." He had lifted his glass of Bajoran Spring Wine and offered a toast. "To the most plum assignment in the universe."

Aello had nodded and sipped from her glass. The rest of dinner was spent in small talk and a romantic overture on Rick's part that Aello pretended to miss. Aello hadn't the heart to tell Rick she wasn't interested. She had even less inclination to give up her mystique and admit that she didn't know what in Hades' name Rick was talking about.

The next had been Senator Zephrim Thrace, the head of the Thrace clan and patron to the Aello, when there had been more than one Aello left in the universe. "I had been thinking of offering you a colonial governorship for a new colony when I heard the news. While I'm disappointed you won't be available to head the Scorpius IV effort, I can't say I'm disappointed at where this places your career, either."

"I'm not certain I understand, Senator," Aello admitted slowly, still trying to feel her way through the information being thrown at her.

"With both my heirs listed as deceased, I've been planning on formally adopting you as my heir. I've been prevented from doing that for the obvious political reasons. I'd planned to give you Scorpius IV to bolster your standing, but your career growth within Starfleet certainly offsets any concerns that some may have had about your drive and abilities."

"Senator, I'm flattered. . ."

She hadn't been able to finish the sentence.

"Of course you are," Thrace had cut her off. "I'll take care of the formalities on this end, daughter of mine. You keep up the good work on your end. We'll talk when I come to tour the research facilities."

The screen went black.

There were research facilities involved? That was at least a bit more news. She still didn't know what in Hades name anyone was talking about.

Aello shook her information chain. She got congratulations, but no one gave her any more information than she'd gotten something really good. She was just about to break down and ask, when Captain Summers called her to his office.

Summers, it seemed, was just as confused as her. "Well, girl, were you going to even tell me about this?"

"Permission to be frank?"

"As long as you don't expect me to be earnest."

"What exactly are we talking about?" her tones were curious, but guarded. "There are a good number of things that I don't tell people about, so I'd like to make certain we're talking about the same one."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Dammit, Aello, I'm talking about you transferring to Wolfson's R&D team without so much as breathing a word of it to me!"

"I am?" She looked at him quizzically. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"Of course it is." he muttered under his breath, and practically shoved the PADD across his desk and into her lap. "I'm about to take this ship into a war zone, Aello, and now I've got to assign a green lieutenant as my ops manager!"

She read the PADD with interest. "I didn't apply for this transfer," she remarked as she began to read. She spoke conversationally, her growing surprise evident as she continued to read. "I've been transferred out from under you."

Summers leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You really don't know anything about this, do you?"

"No." She rubbed her lips as she considered the orders. "No, sir. You could put in to keep me for hardship reasons, at least until the current crisis is over."

"No." Chris sighed. "No, this has been flagged at immediate, and the order source is classified."

"Someone wants you on this project, Aello, and they want it bad."

She frowned. "I don't like not knowing what I'm getting into, Chris." Her eyes darted toward the replicator and she imagined making a cup of the strongest Klingon coffee she'd ever drank. "I could protest the move, but I don't know how far that would get."

"Way this came down, kid, I don't think you'd get far at all." he frowned. "What do you know about Wolfson?"

She shrugged. "Not a whole lot. I met a Wolfson once, a long time ago. Can't be the same person though. She was a shuttle pilot aboard the Yorktown." Aello glanced at the replicator again. She really needed that coffee.

"Get it." Summers said absently.

Aello crossed over to the replicator and ordered her usual stress beverage. "I don't get it. The only reference they're making is to a paper I wrote in the academy that got me laughed out of any chance of entrance to the Vulcan Science Academy for advanced studies in computer science." She took a sip of the hot java and didn't bother hiding her grimace at the foul taste. "Why would Atlantis want anything to do with that?"

"Maybe your paper wasn't as laughable as they thought at the time." Chris shrugged. "This assignment - you know it's to their R&D field team here aboard Miranda, right?"

She nodded. "With a fancy title to go with it." She didn't sound altogether convinced that this whole thing was on the level.

"We'll have to go along with it, then.. until we figure things out." Summers shook his head. "You want to be the one to tell Maivia?"

"That's the thing; figuring it out." She took another gulp and grimaced again. "Congratulations, Maivia. You're now chief flunky in charge of not letting Summers get himself killed. I'll be in the science lab. At least this way I'm still around and if you really need anything, I'm sure I can keep this Wolfson character bamboozled and out of the way while I take care of it."

"Then that's the plan we'll have to go with for now." Summers nodded. "For now.. we've got the Romulans to deal with."

"At least they don't want to turn us into drones for their Wehrmacht or process us into spare parts. They just want to kill us. Given the other two options, I'll gladly take Romulans any day of the week." Aello took another sip of the tar like substance in her cup, and Chris knew the prospect of Romulans didn't thrill her any more than it did him.

"Indeed."

Aello finished her coffee in silence before heading off to find Maivia. She didn't like being the last person to know. She didn't like it one little bit.

"na Draes" (The Man)

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Present Day =
= USS Galaxy =

Lhohnu t'Noramei could not find any words to describe the strange mixed emotions coursing through her slender form. She was nervous, frightened, anxious, happy, giddy, excited and worried all at the same time. Never before had the young woman been so keen to succeed or so afraid of failure. Never before had so many people smiled at her or treated her kindly all at once. Never before had she been among aliens, even though she had always been something of an alien on her own world. She was accepted, yet separate; so close to home and yet so far away from it.

So when the human officer who had been assigned to work with her had asked the her how she was feeling, it was all Lhohnu could do to simply force a quick smile and mumble a quick 'Jolan Tru'. Anything more, the exceptionally young aide to Ambassador tr'Ahalaen feared, would cause her voice to shatter into a million little pieces.

If the human officer took offense, he did not show it. Instead, he simply nodded - perhaps he had never really wanted to know the answer to the question - and went about directing the arrangement of the VIP quarters assigned to Aerv tr'Ahalaen in a remarkably efficient manner. The humans had granted the Ambassador's request that his aide be allowed onboard before him in order to help arrange his living space and properly place his belongings. Though t'Noramei had was nervous about being alone among humans, Aerv had insisted that she complete this task.

Lhohnu looked around at the work area with some dismay. It looked like it would never be ready...even if it were, she was certain it would never match the majesty of dohhae Ahalaen. She had not been to that house since she was a child, so everything about it - about *him* - was still larger than life for her, embedded forever in her memory as one of the happier places of her miserable childhood. Nothing could compare to the pictures in her mind...not even, t'Noramei suspected, the actual place itself.

At first, she had been relieved at the detailed instructions Aerv had given her about how to arrange his quarters. However, now she was beginning to realize that there were a great number of details, all very important to the tr'Ahalaen, and Lhohnu was sure she would forget something and disappoint him.

Worse...t'Noramei was terrified that Aerv tr'Ahalaen would disappoint her. And that was something Lhohnu was not certain she could bear....

= Twelve Years Ago =
= dohhae Ahalaen =

Her father's name had been Egaesih tr'Noramei. Even as a child, Lhohnu had realized that he was not a good man. She had not cried when he had been executed for being a traitor to the Empire - for traitor or not, the man was the worst kind of vermin: a killer, a thief, a keeper of slaves. Egaesih tr'Noramei, as far as his only daughter was concerned, deserved to die a hundred deaths. He had never been of any use to anyone...except one young nobleman: Aerv tr'Ahalaen.

Egaesih had a knack for acquiring rare and illicit substances, difficult for anyone else in the Empire to obtain. In other words, he was a smuggler...and a rather successful one at that. For years, most of Egaesih's income had come from transporting narcotics and other such substances across government borders. Aerv tr'Ahalaen changed that. tr'Ahalaen was interested in books, scents, art, sculptures - he was interested in things from the 'clean' world that had slipped between cracks and disappeared into the cesspool where vermin like Egaesih dwelled. So the two had formed a kind of discreet alliance - in fact, in many ways, Egaesih had been a kind of teacher, patiently answering all kinds of questions about his life on the 'fringe' of society that tr'Ahalaen asked...of course, Egaesih demanded payment. Money, however, had never been an object of concern for Aerv. It was a good symbiotic relationship.

It had been a beautiful day on ch'Rihan - the sun, the wind, the weather were all fair - when it happened. It was a lazy spring day and her father sitting on the ground, regaling Aerv with improbable tales of his adventures and impossible plans. Egaesih could conquer the Federation in a day in his plans. It was only when it came to putting food on his family's table that these plans never seemed to pan out.

Family. How jealous Lhohnu was of families. How she hated Aerv tr'Ahalaen's young sisters - one around her own age - who laughed, played and joked with their brother. How different their lives were than her own.... Her mother hated her, this Lhohnu knew...she had always known this, even when she was a mere babe at her mother's breast. Lhohnu did not even remember the Deltan woman's name. Whoever she was, she had once been beautiful...before the Orions, before being purchased by Egaesih tr'Noramei and being kept locked away in his home...before she had killed herself.

Lhohnu's Deltan and Romulan halves had combined to produce a rather potent touch telepath. That is how the young girl had come to realize so early that her mother hated her. That is why no one ever held her or played with her...that is why she was always so alone. How she hated the part of her that was Deltan, that part of her that gave her her startling blue eyes and beauty, the part of her that had given her such a heavy curse....

That day on ch'Rihan - in the pretty gardens of dohhae Ahalaen - Lhohnu sat in a corner, as usual, watching the other children play. Idly, she picked at the dirty, torn rags that passed for her dress, trying not to listen to her father's slimy voice as he droned on, trying not to listen to the laughter around her, when one of Aerv's sister had screamed out in delight, rushing to show Aerv something that she held in her hand.

"All done, Dianvm! Isn't it pretty? I made it myself. Come on, Dianvm - raksha-bundhan!"

Raksha-Bundhan? That was not a Rihannsu word. Lhohnu listened. Aerv was explaining it to her father.

"...an old Earth custom...I read about it in a book you found. In parts of what is India - there was a special day, where young girls would tie a thread around the wrist of any of their brothers - or friends they considered to be brothers. It really was like a blood relationship of choice - this thread, if accepted, signified a promise to the young woman that the man was bound to protect her as if she were his own sister - and in return for this gift of her trust, he usually gave her some kind of token gift. Quite fascinating, really...these people really took this quite seriously. Marriages between girls and men bound by this thread were as taboo as those of actual brothers and si...."

tr'Ahalaen's sisters were losing their patience and urged him to hurry up.

"Of course," Aerv said dryly, "I don't think the tradition will catch on here on Romulus. Romulan girls are more interested in the human chocolate that is their token gift, than the gravity of the promise they extract from me. Isn't that right, S'harien?"

"Dianvm pleeease!"

tr'Ahalaen laughed and extended his arm. His sister eagerly began to tie the small, knit wool bracelet she had made around his wrist. It really was a pretty thing, Lhohnu had to admit - Aerv had made his sisters earn their prize. A good way, perhaps, to encourage them to work on their crafting skills.... As the other children bounded off, tr'Ahalaen turned his deep black eyes upon Lhohnu. She looked away quickly, shrinking within herself to take up as little room in the universe as possible.

"What about you, t'Noramei? Will you not have me as a brother then?"

"Lhhai," Egaesih protested, his slimy voice shrill and on the verge on panic, "My mongrel daughter is not worthy. She is...you cannot let her touch you."

Lhohnu looked up at tr'Ahalaen. She saw none of the fear that was so evident in the eyes of other Romulans when she was round them. The Rihannsu, who had a few of the mental powers of their Vulcan cousins and fewer of their disciplines, did not trust telepaths. In a society based on secrets and intrigue, such individuals were lethal to the social order. Everyone had something to hide. Everyone avoided her like she had some kind of strange plague....

Except for tr'Ahalaen? It did not seem possible. Then why was he inviting her to touch him? Lhohnu rose to her feet. She hesitated. She was certain that this was some cruel joke. The moment she was within reach, he would pull away and laugh at her foolishness and audacity. Still...how long had it been since someone had touched her? When she stumbled in a crowd, did anyone help her up? When she was frightened, did anyone dare to hold her? She could not resist. Slowly, she walked towards tr'Ahalaen and his outstretched hand.

Then she stopped and whispered shyly, "I do not have a pretty bracelet for you, Lhhai."

tr'Ahalaen smiled and said - perhaps for the first and last time in his shallow life, "Any rag will do."

A piece of cloth from the dirty hem of her long frock was coming apart anyway, so Lhohnu knelt down and tore it off. Her father protested weakly, but then fell silent. Solemnly, Lhohnu looked up at Aerv. "I will be careful not to touch you."

He smiled.

More carefully than she had ever done anything before, Lhohnu tied the worn piece of cloth to a lord's wrist. There was a long silence.

"My blood is more beautiful now, a'rhea. For this gift, I pledge to always be like a brother to you; I am your shield and your sword."

Lhohnu had little memory of what happened next. He kissed her gently on the forehead and she was overwhelmed. She could see inside him - the brewing darkness, the gentle light; the fury, the passion, the control, the beauty - what a strange creature, full of pools both deep and shallow - a demon, an angel and everything in between.... The intensity of his heart, the mnhei'sahe, courage and kindness of his simple gesture, left her shaken. She sank to her knees and struggled not to weep.

"You have been blessed with a beautiful daughter, Egaesih."

Her father laughed. "How much will you pay for her, Lhhai?"

The rage that Lhohnu had seen deep within Aerv came to the surface. He was little more than a boy then, but he struck Egaesih with such force that he drew blood. Then he spit on the man, turned and walked away.

Egaesih grabbed her hair and dragged Lhohnu away.

That was the last time the beautiful mongrel ever saw dohhae Ahalaen.

= Present Day =
= USS Galaxy =

"Miss? Miss...where do we put these books?"

t'Noramei realized that the human officer was addressing her. Quietly she pointed in the proper direction. The work went on around her. Lhohnu chewed her bottom lip miserably, paying little attention to the task she was so anxious to do well.

What was she doing here?

She...the daughter of a traitor, a twenty year old girl - a child by the standards of her people - with little education and no social status, no real training in diplomacy or...anything else but being a kitchen scullion.... How had she become the aide to an Ambassador? Why had she been taken from her grim world and placed within the stars?

Other servants in t'Khnialmnae's house had mocked her when the news of her selection had come. They had said she had no qualifications - which was true - that she would make a fool of herself. Ahalaen's Whore, they called her - little more than a pretty concubine he would bed at night, whenever he wished, and ignore when he had no use for her. It matched his reputation - it was said he had a great weakness for beautiful women - and no one had ever denied that t'Noramei was exquisitely beautiful. Of course, no real Romulan would touch her...but they said that tr'Ahalaen was an odd one - who knew what went on in that strange mind of his?

Lhohnu tried to hold on to hope. Had she not seen the good in him, all those years ago? It was possible that he remembered. Yet...he had never spoken of it. In fact, he had seen her working for t'Khnialmnae and ever once acknowledged her. Over all those years when she had struggled to fend for herself, alone and frightened, he had not come to her aid. He had never been there she had needed a shield. So why now? No...he did not remember. She knew that time changed a man...and she had also seen the darkness of his complicated, conflicted soul. She had learned that the universe seldom rewarded hope. Maybe all she was to him truly was a beautiful object to be used. She shuddered at the thought, images of her bruised and weeping mother springing to her mind.

And yet, a timid part of her clueless heart still dreamt that anything was possible...that a single rag given as a gift could change one's fate for forever and always; that an ancient, alien ritual could give an orphan a family....

"Look at all these clothes and...all these minute details...." the human officer cried out, throwing his arms up in the air, quite aggravated, "What kind of man is this Aerv tr'Ahalaen of yours?"

t'Noramei looked at the human, her weltering blue gaze dim with unshed tears. She managed a small smile and whispered her heart's one truth: "I wish I knew."

= End Log =

"4."

Benajmin Grace
Dakota Harris

--

It would be a massive understatement to say it had taken him a while to work up the courage to approach her on anything other than professional level (and let's face it, even in those cases it wasn't so much that he approached her as in he occasionally stole a glance across the table/room/corridor when she wasn't looking). Grace liked to see himself as the affable, easy going, come-what-may type of guy, and to a certain extent, he could be. But when it came to interesting women, he was thrown off balance. It was like getting hit from behind by a charging Klingon and then trying to pass a sobriety test while winged targs buzzed around your head.

Not that there were such a thing. At least, not that Grace himself had ever seen. Still, it created accurate imagery.

Dakota Harris had done just such a thing to him. He wasn't sure why, exactly. Sure, she was attractive, but so were most women (in their own individual and unique ways), and especially most of the women on that particular ship. She was smart, but most Starfleet officers had some resemblance of intelligence. She was successful, but that could be as bad a thing as it was good. Of course, they did have things in common: single Starfleet parents with young daughters, an anxiety about doing the "right thing" for that remnant of family that was, frankly, more important than life itself. Their senses of humor seemed to fit, at least a little, at least, as far as he could tell from that one real conversation.

One conversation. And here he was, completely twitterpated.

So it took him a while to work up the courage to track her down, to officially make that first move women often appreciated but that men sometimes forgot could be a good thing.

He hadn't made a first move in a decade at least. He seemed to attract the women who knew exactly what they wanted, went after it, and then were done.

Maybe that was something else about Dakota.

Of course, Grace was quickly coming to the conclusion that he thought far too much about it and, perhaps, should test to make sure his estrogen and testosterone levels were where they should be. While he was of the opinion that men could over think things just as much as women (they simply didn't publicize it because of fear of demasculisation), that frame of mind could easily have been the result of 1) too many mental-health electives and psych rotations during medical school and residency and 2) his need to feel normal.

So there he was, standing outside her door with a cup of coffee that was rapidly getting cold from the little coffee shop on Atlantis where they met. It was in a mug with a lid to "prevent spillage" which he thought was a rather cute (cute in that masculine I'm trying to impress a chick sort of way) gesture.

"Just go for it."

He finally talked himself into pressed the call button of her quarters before he could talk himself out of it again because this was too brazen an action.

*****

The object of Dr. Grace's affection - or at least interest - was currently sitting on the couch of her quarters doing nothing. Well, not precisely nothing. She was sitting on the couch, PADD to the side of her, temporarily forgotten, recently emptied hypospray directly in front of her. A disinterested observer might have taken one look at the picture thus presented and decided that Dakota was currently riding the chemically induced high of whatever it was she had just injected into herself.

That observer would have been only partially correct. It was true that she had recently, only just, injected herself with the hypospray, and it was true that it made her feel about 1000 percent better then she had been feeling in the past hour. But the interested observer would have not known that she had only done it to rid herself of the pounding, debilitating headache that had struck her while she was working. Dakota had left the Communications office with vague instructions to another officer to continue what she had been doing. She had waved off his half-hearted attempts to direct her to sickbay - half-hearted because they had gone down this road before, with the same amount of success each time - and stumbled to her quarters.

Luckily she had not been seen, wincing underneath the too-harsh lights, stumbling against the walls a time or two when she tried to close her eyes to keep the light out. A small group of young teenagers had passed her, but she had stopped for a moment, pretending to be interested in the PADD she was holding, praying that they would keep their voices down from the raucous screams they were currently using. It reminded her of a flock of crows.

Finally, she'd made it to her quarters, where the lights could mercifully be dimmed until one could barely tell that light was present at all. A soothing white noise was generated shortly thereafter, one that blocked out all other sounds. Dakota had thrown the PADD to the couch, then dug out more of the headache reliever from her room before dropping gracelessly to the couch, narrowly missing her PADD.

She'd injected the meds, smiled slightly as she felt the soothing coolness spread through her veins and her head begin to return to normal size. She was debating returning the lights to normal and maybe, just maybe, actually moving around a little bit, when the door chime sounded.

"Enter!" Dakota called out, stowing the hypo underneath a cushion on the couch. It wasn't like she had anything to hide, but it was easier then having to go through the whole argument for the umpteenth time about why it was necessary. Easier just to pretend that it didn't happen.

She stood somewhat cautiously, but was relieved to discover that her head no longer threatened to wobble off her neck and roll across the room.

The door swished open to reveal a surprise.

"Dr. Grace! What a surprise!" Dakota said, feeling a moment of relief that she had hidden the hypo. "Um... what can I do for you?" She made her way to the door, feeling more like normal with every step that brought her closer to the doctor. He watched a grin of mild trepidation spread across her face as she moved toward him. But despite her uncertainty, he felt a small wave of relief. First, because that meant she was every bit as wary about this whole thing as he was -- misery, of course, loved company. A second because, trepidation though there may be, the grin was nonetheless becoming of her.

"I brought you coffee," he said, offering it toward her, "as a sort of apology for being an absolute dick for the past several months. I should have stopped by, at the very least as a friend, and I didn't, so… apologies. And I promise to do better, if that's okay, of course. If you would rather stay as far away as possible, I certainly understand."

Dakota smiled and took the proffered cup. She curved her hands around the warmth from it. "No. I don't...want to stay as far away as possible. And it wasn't just you being a dick. I haven't commed you either," she said to him. "So don't blame yourself."

He laughed. "Okay. Maybe so. But I'm trying to be chivalrous, Dakota, by accepting full responsibility. Allow a guy his moment, will ya?"

She chuckled, then stepped all the way back, giving him room to step inside. "Please, come on in."

Grace didn't need to be asked twice, and stepped further into the woman's quarters. He supposed her daughter was at class or a friend's or somewhere, because there were no tell-tale markings of a pre-pubescent girl being on the premises. The quarters were a little cluttered, but certainly not a mess. Padds decorated the coffee table in the livingroom. There was a glass or two in the reclamator. It made his and Ellis' living space look like a bomb went off.

"Having headaches again?" he asked, smiling slightly as he settled down on the sofa.

"Uh... no, not at all. They seemed to have to.. tapered off for right now, I guess. Why... why do you ask?" She turned and headed back to the couch, sipping cautiously at the hot liquid in her cup.

"The lights are low -- it was either that, or I'm interrupting a romantic afternoon."

"Oh," she replied, giving a silly laugh, hating herself for it. It sounded *so* insipid. "No, I was just... relaxing after working so hard for so long. Madison is at school and then going to a friend's quarters, and for the first time, I don't have any... extra people... under foot. It was nice," she said haltingly. "But, no you didn't interrupt anything. Have a seat," she said, sitting down on the couch.

"Thank you," he said, grinning in her direction. "Relaxing is good, and once upon a time I would have told you all the ways that relaxing is beneficial, but I'm older and more matured and my daughter tells me it's terribly unimpressive when I ramble on like that, so I make a concerted effort not to. Sometimes." He cleared his throat and decided it best if he sipped his coffee. "Ellis hates school."

It was the only thing he could think of, the one thing he know they had in common: daughters.

"Really? From what little I've heard about her, that surprises me. Why does she hate it?"

"She thinks all the other students are morons. Her words, not mine. Especially this kid named Korvin Smith. She says it's a terribly unfortunate thing: he's a half Bajoran with a Klingon name whose blood parents recently got married by accident. I don't know what the hell that means, but it drives Ellis crazy."

Dakota chuckled. "Ellis definitely sounds... precocious. For all that there is three years between them, I think she could definitely give Madison a run for her money. S is this Korvin the only one that she talks about at home?" Dakota leaned in towards him, as if imparting a deep secret. "It's my favorite part of the day, when Madison comes home and brings me all the gossip from the Miranda school. You wouldn't believe some of what goes on up there!"

"The only name I can remember," Grace said, shrugging. "Which, if I remember correctly, probably means she doesn't find him entirely disgusting. And honestly that concerns me, a little."

"What? At six, you've already got to be concerned for her and boys? My, my, she truly is precocious, isn't she?"

"You can never start being an overprotective father soon enough. Already charging my phaser rifle."

Dakota laughed out loud at the sudden mental image of Grace sitting in his quarters, lovingly polishing a phaser as a small Korvin - who she did happen to know, if only by reputation - came paying court to an equally small Ellis. Oh, the fun that he would have with this one!

"I don't think that Madison has quite discovered that the opposite sex can be... fascinating," she said, looking up at Grace for a moment, then dropping her eyes away. "She still thinks of them as playmates, and that's as far as it goes, thank goodness. Somehow I don't think that mom brandishing a phaser at prospective dates is as quite as effective as a dad doing it."

"Somehow I think you're right," Grace said. "So..."

"So..." Dakota took another sip of her coffee, casting around for another topic of conversation. It was interesting how comfortable she could be around this man, yet at the same time... She felt on edge, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop or something. It made her slightly restive.

"So is it just me, then?"

"Is what just you?"

He mumbled something under his breath with a small shrug.

"I don't know."

Dakota frowned at him slightly, and then shook her head. "You have to help me out here. I'm not a telepath. Is what just you?" She bit her lower lip slightly, waiting for him to say something. She reached out her hand towards his knee, then hesitated, pulling it back slightly.

"I think you're kinda cute," he said, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her. "Don't know why. But I do."

"You don't... know why?" she said. "Kinda cute?"

"Kinda cute. Anyway, I should probably get going, just wanted to bring you some coffee, say 'lo."

"Oh. Well, hello then. Thanks... for the coffee and everything," she said vaguely, still looking at Grace slightly oddly.

"Right. Not a problem." He stood, smirking. "Don't be a stranger, Dakota, if you want, stop by sickbay sometime. But I have to get back, meet Ellis when she comes back from school."

"Yeah, sure. I'll be sure and do that. Um, thanks again... I guess." Dakota stood as well, following him over to the door. This wasn't going the way that she expected, in the slightest. She had thought that there was something there, something clickling between them... Apparently, she was the only one that felt it. He thought she was kinda cute? Kinda cute?

"Good, I'm a..." An idiot. An absolute idiot. "I'll look forward to it." He turned and moved toward the door. "Take it easy, Dakota, have fun relaxing."

"Wait. Just... stop moving for a moment. What the hell is that? I mean, was I wrong? Was there nothing? Did you feel... absolutely nothing? Is that really it?!" Dakota asked him, her voice raising in agitation. She moved closer to him, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Cause if so, then wow, I have really been out of it for a while."

He stared at her in shock for a moment, then moved, pulling her in and kissing her. Hard. Maybe passionate. Definitely lustfully.

Music should have crescendoed. It was all very...

"Sorry," he mumbled as the kiss broke, their faces still bare centimeters apart. "I, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I find you kinda cute." He grinned again, unable to help himself.

She looked at him for a moment, her lips still tingling. "Well, I think you're kinda cute, too," she replied, pulling his face back down to hers.

"Something Ornery"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG Officer

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

She lowered her head just a tad as she viewed her prey. God, he still looked good enough to devour. The years had been kind to him overall, and it was all she could do to contain herself from leaping up on his lap and riding him like a cowgirl. Shaking her head, she brought the drink up to her lips, attempting to quelch her snarl that decorated her lips.

Narrowing her eyes a little, she was still hot under the collar for the way things ended up so long ago. Even if she thought he was a little sleazy, it was a good little sleazy. Pray Saul, pray I don't get you alone in some god forsaken corridor on this ship....Faylin thought.

And the prey, like a deer staring into carlights, came right toward her.

"Fay-fay."

He sat on the stool next to her, not asking if he's welcomed - as always. At first, he said nothing, since anything that would come out of his mouth at that time would have something to do with her stunning eyes. Those eyes were the first thing that caught him, even though they were narrowed with irritation back then.

"What are you doing here?", He asked simply, the question he intended to ask ever since she surprised him when he was with Nara.

"Um...Duh Saul. I was assigned here. However, if I knew that you were here, I would have most definitely asked for another assignment." Faylin steadied her gaze on him, knowing damn well it what drove him crazy. "So, why didn't you acknowledge me when we met earlier?"

Acknowledge? Saul wished he only acknowledged her. Her mere sight was enough for his mind to explode with memories, some which sent shivers down his spine or in other, more obscure parts of his body. And those eyes...

"I was pretty sure you guessed already.", He confided. "But let me spell it out. The officer at Angel Moon, the one who told the story, Nara? She is, well..."

He sighed. "She has girlfriend status."

"Ohhhh." She paused. "What?!? You, in a committed relationship? You are lying to me. The Saul I remember.........." Her eyes flashed at the memories. Some people had chemistry between them, Saul and Faylin had so much back then they could have caused a star base to explode instantly.

"... was a sleazy cheater who got stabbed in the back by his comrades and nearly ended up as an archivist for SFI, spending his days seven hundred meters below the fair city of San Francisco."

McAlister blinked once. "That's not what I remember." Her voice raspy enough to give away what she was thinking.

"So what did you reember?"

"Lust. Pure, unadulterated lust. Plain and simple." She arched an eyebrow at him, remembering just how fun it was to seduce him. Men were simple creatures, and if a female knew what made an individual male tick, she had him. "You remember?" Faylin purred.

"I remember...". Two eyes, in the darkness, watching him, following every contur of his body. These eyes didn't merely observed. They embraced, they stroke, they made love. Just by looking at you.

Just as she did now.

"Can I let you in on a Federal secret? But it's for your ears only."

A coy, yet captivating smile crossed her lips. It was a juicy bit of information, and anything secretive, Faylin loved. "Yes, of course."

"I couldn't get you out of my mind since Angel Moon, Fay-fay.", He confessed. "I made a fool out of myself in front of my new assistant and this other negligible guy who has four pips on this collar and runs the ship, just because you distracted me. Now, from all the ships in Starfleet, Faylin McAlister, don't tell me you just 'happened' to step into this one."

She sat back somewhat, crossing her legs and moving her shoulder just a tad so she exposed the graceful line of her neck. "Maybe I did 'happen' upon this ship, maybe I didn't." Her eyes flashed yet again, secure in the power she held over him. She slowly brought the glass mug that held her coffee against her lips, taking a sip, she made sure he was watching.

"I don't believe in coincidences.", Saul said flatly.

"It's rather sad you have someone close. We could have had......good times."

"We had..." her words reflected his thoughts, and he couldn't resist saying, "If only you came earlier... I don't know what to say, Fay-fay. I really didn't expect... and then there's Naranda, see? She's a good girl. She might not be proficient at, you know, but I can't just introduce her to the trash bin, not even for something so... promising."

"I'm impressed, it seems you have grown in maturity." Sliding down from her bar stool, Faylin came around to the side of Saul, just close enough to whisper in his ear. "I'm around now........find me when your ready..." Closing her eyes, she blew softly in his ear. McAlister leaned back, just enough to see the expression on his face.

"I'll keep that in mind, Faylin. But knowing you, there won't be waiting for too long. Just like after the case was over.", Saul pouted.

She stayed silent as she brought the French manicured index finger up and traced his cheek. "If I remember correctly, it was you that disappeared. We've both changed with the years. More than you know."

"I didn't realize that so much time had passed.", He said, trying to remain still. Three years, yes... three years can change a person. But some things, like her beauty or like the lust she aroused within him, seemed to change slower than others.

"Yes." McAlister paused for a moment. "I have to go. I just remembered something I needed to check on." She stated softly.

"Of course there's something. I'll see you around.", Saul straightened up, unable to resist a smile.

Faylin looked at him with a solid gaze. He still did it to her, and she hated that. Something that she thought would be fun, had turned out to be something she did not want. 'But, I do still want him.' She thought to herself. "Bye Saul." The soft smile she offered him was gentle, yet laced with a longing Faylin could not help. McAlister prayed that he got the message, girlfriend be damned.

"Changes in Aura"

Nara & Faylin

*****Dolphin Moon Pool*****

"Come on now! It was a joke!" Nara sat on the edge of the pool. She had said something about the size of dolphin brains. Particularly Star's. The sillier of the pod made a nonsensical joke and Nara teased back. Well, that's a bad idea.

Since they simply left the moon pool and not pushed her out, she figured she was still welcome there. Star was the only one who stayed. Nara looked at her, "You know I was only joking."

There was a nod and several clicks and whistles before the translater kicked in, "They thought you meant all dolphins."

Nara rolled her eyes, "Great, now I'm a racist." Star sqealed in joy and jumped. Nara looked at her strangely, "It wasn't a joke." Then Star nodded toward the entrance and Nara turned.

"Hello there Nara and....dolphins." She stated enthusiastically as she walked confidently into the room. "How are you.....?" McAlister wondered out of curiousity for the most part.

Nara vaguely remembered the woman, and it was evident in her facial expression and her tone, "I'm fine." A click from Star reminded Nara of her manners, "And this is Star. Star this is...I'm sorry, I don't recall your name."

"Hi Star." McAlister stated with a smile. She turned her attention to Nara. "Ensign Faylin McAlister. I was in Angel Moon when you were telling your fantastic story." Her eyebrow rose somewhat as she mentally sized up the woman by the pool. Faylin's mind was doing cartwheels right at the moment.

"Ah." Nara nodded, "I'm not always such a bitch." She felt a nudge and knew what it meant and laughed at Star, "Ok, you got me back."

She raised her head, giving the room a cursory glance. "This is amazing. I bet the dolphins are very therapeutic."

Nara smiled at Faylin, "Well, yes, but I don't think there are any that are counsolors on the Galaxy. Star here works with Sciences and the others are mainly with Engineering. Though, I ticked them off and they swam off in a huff."

"There's nothing wrong with being a bitch." Faylin stated. "Most people percieve me as one as soon as I walk into a room."

Nara raised an eyebrow, "Oh, I don't get that at all."

"I've met one counselor, and he does not seem too bad....although, I think I would prefer telling my troubles to some thing that clicks and whistles at me." She chuckled. "Can I.....will they let me touch them?"

Nara looked at Star, knowing Faylin didn't quite understand. Nara nodded toward Faylin, "I'll let you explain."

Star nodded, "We're not pets. But you can come play."

Nara looked at Faylin, smiling.

Faylin's mouth dropped open, with her finger pointing in Stars general direction. Closing her mouth, she just shook her head. "I gotta lay off the hooch. Care to explain?"

Nara laughed.

Star clicked and whistled some more and the translator got to work, "We are not the mammals who just swim and play. We know things. We can work with you if you modify things. We are people, not just animals. We have been on the star ship for years."

McAlister shook her head once more. "Very cool. Confusing as hell, but cool." Faylin turned to Nara. "Everything is okay? You appeared a little irratated when you were telling your story. If you ever need anything....perhaps...a little justice...look me up. K?"

"Justice? What department are you in?"

"Well, I could be a security officer with a very large ego, or...a jag officer. Lucky for you, I'm the jag." Faylin stated with a smile, eyeing the dolphins cautiously.

Nara thought a moment and something changed about her. The way one's aura changes when a demon peeps it's head around the corner, "You're about to get involved in something then. I have a message partially set up to send to your office to set up something. Not sure how to phrase things though."

She lowered her gaze for a sheer moment before raising it up. Faylin studied the woman beside her, noting the change in her voice and her demeanor. The switch in McAlister's head turned over to reveal the seriously of the Jag officer. "Don't worry about phrasing it, just tell it."

Nara nodded, "Then I'll come visit your office sometime soon."

"Showmance"

Arel
James

For the most part, being married had not been too much of an hardship for Arel during the month or so it had taken to get home.

The laughter had, for the most part, died down in her department, her brother didn't scowl quite so much, and James hadn't done anything to dishonor her family other than swap lewd stories with the Klingons on occasion.

"Quit being exotic." She had told him at one point. "I don't want to have to prove I can do that."

"So long as it doesn't involve any more Klingon rituals involving being strung up on thumbs. Hey, wasn't I supposed to have a bachelor's party? You know this ship would be a-rockin' with a Mitchell fest." He scratched his chin.

"Prove it? You mean we have to put on a public showing? You know, with that g-string you thought you'd hidden from me in your quarters last month, you'd get a fair amount of latinum strips crammed into it." He padded Arel's rump before being slapped away. "Lots of room."

There had been little inconveniences, of course. One of Korvin's teachers had gotten the children in his class to call Arel "Mrs. Mitchell" (payback for increasing the number of security drills, she thought), knowing that Arel wouldn't slaughter the woman in front of all those young children.

"If anyone should change their name it's you." Arel had snapped at him.

"Why? You should be honored to carry my name. Did you know there is a small planet only a few light years away that worships the Mitchell name? You'd be a goddess to someone. Though, they are a pygmy species, with testicles attached to their foreheads. Kind of handy in some cases, you know. They tried to kill me once..."

Then there was the explanation of why they didn't share the same quarters which took some creative storytelling on Mitchell's part. Arel had just explained that it didn't matter much; they didn't use the bed in either.

It was more romantic (in James' eyes) and reputable for him to say they were working in (or on) all the acoustic sections of the ship, first. Marking territory, winning bets, etc. Of course, he didn't tell her that. To her, he just fibbed a bit in saying their quarters weren't convenenient for each other's accessibility to their departments. The last thing he needed was For'kel whining that James' was negligent in not bunking near the flight jockeys.

Of course, that was the hard part of the marriage, Arel had decided. The necessity of being seen by the Klingons with Mitchell meant that she actually had to spend time with Mitchell.

"We're not loading that program again." She had told him two nights ago.

"Why not?" He tossed the isolinear rod up and down, flipping it end over end while grinning.

"It's pornography!"

"Think of it as a training course in orgynomics."

=====

Arel sat on the edge of his desk and watched as he went through a couple of computer PADD's. "Wow. Your desk is worse than mine."

"Since Teodoro got herself killed before being so kind to fix my desk back, I had to toil hard and deorganize it myself. It was difficult." Tossing a padd here and there whispering a categorical method known only to him, he was distracted by Arel's curvaceous legs curling over one corner.

"Koloth and the others should be gone in a few days." Arel told him. "Thought you'd want to know."

"Let's have sex. Right here. On my desk."

"Sure, Sparky." Arel drawled without looking up from one of his computer PADDs. "You kill the lights and I'll make sure that no one's looking."

"Computer, douse lights." Once the lights were drawn, the unmistakable sound of a zipper reverberated through the room. "Arel, you're still dressed. I was serious about getting it on."

"I *know* you're serious, Mitchell." She said with a laugh.

"Then stop playing hard to get. Come on. I know there's some pent-up aggression in there."

Arel sucked in a breath. "It's not a good idea, Li."

"Why? Did Cole give you an STD?"

There was a very audible 'oomph' sound as Arel knocked him out of his chair.

"You're right." She said as walked out the door. "I do feel better."

From somewhere below table level, a gasping voice called out, "If you'd wanted to wrestle beforehand, all you had to do was say so! I'll give Anjoli a call and we can all head to Orgynomics together. Whaddya say?"

The slam of a door was the only response he got.

"I'll meet you there! Now, where'd I put my pants?"

"Kate" – pt. 3

Cmdr. Karyn Dallas
Chief Counselor

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 10 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

For the entire morning and most of the afternoon, Brian Elessidil found himself losing all track of time, enthralled in the first day of Kate North's workshop. It wasn't merely her brilliance and incredible insight (both of which were eminently clear with virtually every word she spoke); nor was it simply her easy, engaging style (her unexpected instruction to everyone to sit on the floor in a circle had raised more than a few eyebrows).

It was just . . . her.

"She's amazing," Brian said, leaning over to whisper to Karyn while Kate recapped some of the unique complications inherent in counseling Vulcans in a military setting. "I swear, she knows more about life in the military than I do, and I'm living it."

Kate cleared her throat. "Excuse me . . . is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mister Elessidil?" she asked with mock severity. "Talking is not permitted in my lectures."

Despite knowing that North was only taking the opportunity to inject some humor into the session, Brian still found himself blushing, as if he'd really been caught by the teacher.

"No, no . . . nothing at all . . . please, continue."

Kate laughed. "It's about time for us to wrap up today anyway. See everyone again tomorrow at ten hundred hours? Oh, and Mister Elessidil, you will stay after class today and clean erasers," she added with a smile and a wink.

As the others gathered themselves off the floor and started leaving the room, Karyn and Brian approached their guest.

"Hope I didn't bore you all *too* much today," Kate said in that self-deprecating way that always managed to get a laugh out of the people who knew her.

"Kate, if that's boring us I don't think I'll even have the mental capacity for when you're trying to impress us," her newest Betazoid fan rebutted.

"Yeah, you were marvelous, as always," Karyn added. "I could tell that you engaged a lot of people in the department on an intellectual level that, well, frankly, isn't required around here on an everyday basis."

She just smiled appreciatively in response. Despite Kate's more professional attire today – her hair was neatly tied up with decorative hair sticks and she wore a relatively simple but conservative navy blue pant suit – Brian saw the fun, free-spirit he'd met just yesterday every time she smiled.

"Well what do you ladies say about dinner again tonight?" he cheerfully invited.

The chief counselor waxed apologetic. "I'm really sorry; but it's replicated something-or-other for me tonight, I'm afraid. Between our lengthy dinner last night and the workshop all day today, my work'll be backed up from here to the Delta quadrant if I don't spend some time in my office. Tomorrow night, I promise."

"We're going to hold you to that, you know," Kate said warmly. "But I understand. Better to miss one dinner tonight than five a week from now."

"Exactly," Karyn agreed, turning her chair toward the door. "Have a couple glasses of Cabernet for me," she instructed. With a parting smile to both of them, she smoothly took her leave.

"So, where'd you like to go tonight? You want to introduce me to the haut cuisine served in the enlisted crew's mess hall?" Kate turned to Brian and inquired, that glimmer in her eye again that said, "I'm not really serious but if you decide to take me seriously that's ok too".

Brian chuckled. "I think that cuisine would be too 'haut' even for you."

"Oh you'd be surprised the things I've eaten and the places I've had to eat them in during the course of some of my research," she countered as they walked together to the door.

"Uh, let's save that story for some time when we're *not* having dinner, okay?"

Kate's laugh announced her agreement. "Fair enough."

"Hmm . . ." Brian thought out loud, mulling over the different, though still limited, options available to them. "How about this great little jazz club I know? Great ambience, excellent food . . . you'll love it."

"The Galaxy has a jazz club?" Kate asked, wide-eyed and genuinely surprised.

Brian laughed at the thought. "Not exactly . . . but I've kinda built my own . . . in a holodeck program."

Turning to look at him, Kate stopped. "You know, I don't think I've ever gone to a holodeck program for dinner."

"You don't know what you're missing," he temptingly retorted.

"Then I have to try it. Why don't you let me go back to my quarters to freshen up and get out of this 'business suit'?" She uttered the term drearily, as if her clothes had been made of sandpaper and then attached to her body with pins and tar.

"By all means," Brian agreed. "Let's meet back at the counseling suite in . . . mmm . . . an hour?"

Kate beamed. She had enjoyed dinner with Brian and Karyn so much last night that the thought of having dinner with him again tonight was, so far, the high point of her day.

"An hour it is. I'll see you then," she said, then headed off to the nearest turbolift.

As he watched her go, Brian was similarly thinking that having dinner with her would be the high point of his day too.

"Kate" – pt. 4

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 10 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

It was odd, Brian thought, to be feeling that peculiar blend of excitement and nervousness that usually went along with meeting someone for the first time; but as his churning stomach and slightly moist palms reminded him, the reaction was almost always beyond direct control. He decided just to dry his hands on his pants for the third of fourth time and try to ride it out. This was Kate, after all, Doctor North, a professional colleague, a well-respected figure in the field. This was nothing to get emotional or irrational about.

But then, there was a lot about his whole reaction to this woman that was very atypical for him; a pleasant but perplexing fact of which he was becoming increasingly aware.

"What are *you* so nervous about?"

The female voice that sounded from somewhere behind startled him. Telepathic or not, it was easy to miss lots of things when distracted by one's internal dialogue.

"Kate," Brian exhaled, "you did it again."

"Did what?" she asked innocently, smiling over the small victory of having caught a Betazoid off his guard.

"Read my feelings – are you sure you're not empathic?" he asked with suspicion.

Stepping a little closer to appear all the more defiant, Kate smirked. "If I were, I wouldn't tell you -- even though you should be able to figure that out on your own." She was having fun with this.

Brian just shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. "You look great. Happy to be out of your 'business suit'?"

"Like I've been liberated," she said, her tone saying even more than her words. Her choice of apparel clearly supported the statement. Her sandy-brown hair, long and flowing once again, looked every bit as loose and natural as the flax-colored skirt and collarless chocolate brown top that lent a sense of grace and freedom to her lithe frame. Brian's eye was particularly caught by a brown, ribbon-like choker, with a pattern of horizontal off-white ellipses that not only accented the olive-toned skin of her long, graceful neck, but somehow added a sense of motion to her free-flowing style.

But the real surprise came when he looked down and saw two small, equally graceful bare feet just below the hem of her skirt.

"You're not wearing any shoes?" he chuckled, more amused than shocked.

"Nope," Kate triumphantly confirmed. "Much more comfortable this way."

Brian smiled, his entire being filled with a warm feeling that was something between amusement and awe – or maybe a little of both. He realized there were so many things to learn from this woman, things that had nothing to do with counseling.

Without a word, he slid his feet out of his tan loafers, raised one foot and pulled off one sock, then the other, leaving them in a pile just inside the door of the counseling suite. Then he gestured for them to start on their way to dinner.

As the two strolled the corridor like a pair of picnickers on a sun-drenched cobblestone walk, Kate realized that this was the first time she had seen Brian out of uniform. The dusty blue t-shirt and ivory linen pants and jacket he wore nicely complimented her own ensemble.

"Don't get to dress like this often around here, I'll bet," she said, her brown eyes not-so-subtly appreciating his sufficiently-toned six-foot-one frame.

"You're right about that. Spend at least seventy-five percent of my waking hours in uniform. Other than the occasional social event, the only time I'm not is when I'm at the gym or in my quarters."

Casual chatter filled the time it took for them to get to holodeck 4, which ended up feeling more like ten seconds than ten minutes. As they arrived at the door, Brian activated the control panel and instructed the computer to run the appropriate program. The heavy doors rolled open, and as they entered, Kate immediately expressed her approval.

"Brian . . . this is marvelous!" she gasped. Her eyes and ears were already taking in the sight and sounds of what appeared every bit like any classy – but not stuffy in the least – jazz club on Earth. A heavy layer of conversation filled the dimly-lit room, while dinner jacket-clad servers darted to and from the tables and kitchen.

To Kate and Brian's left, a long, ornately-carved wooden bar stood magnificently about forty meters away, inviting all who would quench their thirst with its vast array of wines, liquors and beer. Virtually every libation in the quadrant was available for the asking, a fact that kept the three bartenders more than occupied with the requests from the many smartly-dressed patrons who sat, stood, and leaned around the mahogany oasis.

To their right, past a sprawling section of tables with solidly-built chairs surrounding burgundy tabletops, a small stage rose maybe half a meter above the main floor. A shiny grand piano dominated the spotlighted area, a weathered man of African descent seated behind the instrument, cajoling it to sing the lush, mellow harmonies he created at its keyboard.

Barely had they sufficient time to absorb the ambience, when a smiling young man with black, sharply-styled hair and wearing an equally sharply-pressed tuxedo approached and shook their hands.

"Welcome, welcome," he cheerfully greeted. "We have a table waiting for you," he informed, and then gestured for them to follow him through the sea of burgundy. Stopping at a candlelit table only a few meters in front and to the right of the stage, the charming host pulled out a chair for the lady. "Please, sit, relax, and enjoy." After ensuring that Kate was comfortably seated, he smiled at the pair and darted off, to be replaced only a moment later by one of the servers, who welcomed them a second time, filled their water glasses, then disappeared as quickly as his predecessor.

Kate leaned in toward the center of the table. "You did all this?!" she asked, her eyes sparkling with giddy delight.

Brian smirked self-consciously, but beneath the bashful facade he was thrilled. "Well, I had some help from the ship's computer banks."

She dismissed his humility with a swish of her hand. "Oh, you know what I mean. Brian, this is incredible! The lighting, the décor, the music, the people . . . I don't think you left out a single detail."

She was right. He hadn't.

-----

"MacKenzie Todd"

Lt. Cmdr. MacKenzie Todd
Petty Officer Ksenos Kouklakis

-----

Lieutenant Commander MacKenzie Todd was not an intimidating person. She was fine boned and built small, in a way that made her relatively normal height appear almost on the short side. It was also in how she carried herself, with her narrow shoulders tight and her bony arms usually hugged around her as she nervously shifted her weight back and forth. She wasn't shy necessarily, just awkward and unsure of herself. She would fidget and stare, like an owl or a cat or a deer caught in the headlights: saucer-like brown eyes unblinking staring at you, bearing into your very being… Her nervous intensity often got other people nervous.

Petty Officer First Class Ksenos Kouklakis hadn't quite understood what the Lieutenant was talking about when she warned him about the ‘Commander. But in the twenty-two hours since they left the last Federation base before the former Romulan Neutral Zone, he had begun to figure it out. Lieutenant MacKenzie Todd was just strange. She would have been better suited as a scientist or one of the SCE geeks: nervous, obsessive, too smart about strange little things.

In the beginning, she tried to start conversation, chiming in every so often with random factoids about Romulan history or culture or trivia about how it compared to some other vaguely similar culture. Kouklakis didn't really listen too hard, only nodded vaguely, tried to find some way to build off of and usually ending up only with a story about his extended family that caused the woman to tilt her head bird-like and stare at him as though there were lobsters crawling out of his ears. Then he had the idea of playing chess, but that didn't work out well. It only took her something like seven moves before his king was toast.

After that, she pretty much drifted into silence, picking up a padd from her duffel in the back and concentrating on it so hard he thought it might burst into flames. Every once in a while she would mumble something under her breath, though it wasn't directed at him; instead, it was in a manner more similar to a cadet attempting to memorize procedures.

He would know. But he failed out of the Academy.

Part of him wondered if it was all an act or if the lady really was this bizarre. He'd flown some strange people over the course of his career, but she took the cake. She wasn't anything like she was purported to be. Scuttlebutt on the station said she was a spook-turned-tactical weenie who was one of the closest things Starfleet got to an expert on Romulan tactics and otherwise. Frankly, Kouklakis had a hard time imagining her talking herself into walking out of her quarters every morning, much less going on missions or being on the bridge in the heat of battle.

But again. It could all have been an act. But he didn't think so. It was too damn consistent.

“I'm going to be out of a job,” she muttered.

Kouklakis looked backward at his passenger sitting behind him, though to term her exact position as “sitting” was a stretch of definition. Her butt was in the chair, sure, but she was leaning so far over it barely counted. Her elbows rested on knees, her long fingers interlaced and hanging only inches from the floor. Todd’s owl-like brown eyes stared past him, over wide-set cheek bones, to the view screen. Kouklakis was again amazed by the fact that she appeared to be in a near constant state of shock and awe. She never seemed to blink and stared at things with a wide-eyed wonder.

“How do you mean?”

“If this all holds, and Federation citizens start touring Romulan cities on regular basis?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow. “What’s left for a Romulan tactical specialist like me?”

“You’re a Starfleet Tactical ‘Commander,” Kouklakis said. “A little bit more than just a specialist.”

“People are too impressed by all the wrong things,” she mumbled. “Sure. Little bit more than a specialist. But that’s just because I didn't want to be a civilian consultant. My parents did that, sometimes, it’s a terrible job.” MacKenzie scratched the tip of her nose. “I've made a career out of a shitty relationship between the Romulans and the Federation. So if anyone can walk in there and see what I've seen and learn what I know, what good am I? I can't be a diplomat. I can’t… manage my own interpersonal relationships, much less the relations between two interstellar powers.”

She turned her gaze from the viewscreen to her pilot. “Up for another game of chess?”

“Oh no. I don't think so. I haven't been that humiliated since freshman year of high school.”

“What happened then?”

“Kelly Ri-- uhm. Nothing.” He felt the blush on the back of his neck. She cocked her head to the side and watched him carefully. “We’re going to be there soon.”

She frowned slightly, turning her attention back toward the viewscreen. She could see the vague but familiar view of the Romulus System far off in the distance of space. MacKenzie would know the appearance of the system anywhere.

She sighed. “This used to be a little more fun.”

Kouklakis shook his head as the ‘Commander pushed herself up and disappeared into the back of the roundabout. MacKenzie glanced back at the doors to the cockpit as they closed behind her. It was exactly like every other high-end Starfleet runabout: a couple bunks, a nice little replicator with enough power for any foodstuff one wanted, a well oiled transporter for two people at a time, an industrial replicator for spare parts or other necessities.

She'd taken one of the bottom bunks, kept the privacy shade pulled. Not that she'd really slept, and it wasn't because she didn't trust the Petty Officer. She just hated runabouts. Runabouts. Transports. Small spacecraft of any sort. It wasn't necessarily a fear that bothered her, more the sheer ridiculousness of it all. In short, MacKenzie Todd didn't believe in that David versus Goliath story. True, it wasn't always the size that mattered, though that old idiom was more accurate in the ways of sex and other interpersonal collisions. When it came to space objects, MacKenzie was a big proponent of Might Makes Right. No matter who was behind the controls of the smaller ship, it could be butchered by a larger craft any day of the week. Give her all the excuses: maneuverability, firepower, etc. She just didn't buy it.

MacKenzie settled on the floor and leaned against her footlocker. Honestly, she wasn't a huge fan of being on a ship, full stop. They were small, cramped, with too many people and yet too few at the same time in too cramped of quarters; ships were places where everyone knew too much (but not enough) about everyone else and were far too concerned about it. They were also the types of places that, in one wrong move, could see an entire family of hundreds (thousands?) obliterated.

She spent half her career in the field, theoretically wearing a black uniform; it was largely on Romulus, with pointed ears, engineered blood, and she found herself thinking, breathing, living everything Romulan. She was so far in she sometimes forgot that was not where she belonged. Part of the problem. After, she was in school on Earth, and then back along the Neutral-Slash-Formerly-Neutral-Zone with a red uniform, camping out on large stations or planet side. Her activities were largely academic, based on scenarios and conjectures, mostly creating new methods of combat or speculating on other such things.

Now, here she was, going toward her first ship assignment… Ever. On the Galaxy, one of the ships of the line, under a controversial CO. She was to be stationed on the first Federation ship to be invited by the Empire to take an orbit. Its crew was taking shore leave in Romulan capital cities.

That had to be a thing to see.

“You don't want to be here,” she mumbled, softly, brushing a hand over her face and back through her hair, resting both hands over her face, elbows on her knees.

So why did she let them talk her into it?

"Timestorm - Part 9"

Ensign Keldan, Operations Officer

Michael McDowell, Civilian Engineering Specialist

Keldan felt as though he had been slammed into a rock wall. Ironically, this was not far from the truth. He lay sprawled on the gritty surface of a cave floor, every muscle in his body threatening to spasm from the method of transport. After mentally taking note that all of his body parts were working correctly, he attempted to rise. He thought briefly about the future crew of the Galaxy and wondered how it was playing out for them. Probably not well. But he didn't have time to worry about it now. They had to succeed, or the sacrifice the future crew had made would be for naught. He and McDowell had to make sure that would not be the case.

McDowell.

He suddenly realized that his presence was the only one he could detect in the cavern. There was no light, so he had no idea who else might be lurking out there. He started with a whisper. "McDowell, are you there?"

When he got no immediate response, he spoke a bit louder. Perhaps if the transport had been successful they would already be showing up on the Unificationists security sensors, who would be arriving any minute to take him and McDowell into custody.

No such luck.

Stuffing the small charm he still held in his pocket, he pushed himself up off of the floor, patting along the side of the wall for its rocky face. He had no tools, no tricorder, and no clue as to which direction to take. Fortunately, there were only two, so he decided to go with the one that seemed to be sloping upward.

He didn't realize it at first, but over the next few minutes his calm calls for McDowell were turning into full-pitched yells. It wasn't until he started hearing the echoes reverberating back to him did the thought enter his mind that perhaps there was something down here besides Romulans. But it didn't really matter. He also realized it probably wouldn't matter whether it was the Unificationists or some other Romulans who found them. At this point it was simply imperative that *someone* find them. If it was the Unificationists, that would make a difficult task a bit easier. If not the Unificationists, it would be a little harder.

He tried not to think about his little jaunt into the future or the fact that not very long ago, he was in his quarters about to begin work on his computer console. Now sweat was rolling in his eyes and covered in dirt from scrambling along a cave wall. And the fact that he hadn't been to bed after his last shift was starting to press down on him.

He shook the thoughts from his head, remembering the number one rule of survival. Don't panic. Number two....stay positive. The tunnel continued upward, and he walked for what seemed like hours. Several times he thought he heard scuffling coming from up ahead, only to realize it was the echo of his own boots along the rocky floor. Nevertheless, he continued onward and upward, hoping that eventually there would be someone or something to lead him out of the darkness.

And there was.

* * * * *

Meanwhile Michael was dealing with his own puzzle of trying to figure out where he was. He'd found himself lying in a pool of mud after he'd materialized. However, that was the least of his problems. It appeared that Keldan had been transported to another site. Michael had whispered, and even shouted, the name of the Operation Officer but got no reply.

The cave was completely devoid of light and he was now tracing the stone wall with his hands to see if there was a way out. "Couldn't they find a better place then this?" he muttered.

At last he found out that there was only one way out and that was via a tunnel that went down. Michael started his descent, carefully choosing where to place his feet. It took him about 30 minutes until he got to the end of the tunnel. He rested a few minutes and listened to the few sounds that he heard. He only heard his own breathing and the sound of drops of water falling down from the ceiling.

If only he had a Tricorder. That would sure help him a lot. But no, no gadgets from the future were allowed. Not even something as standard as a Tricorder. Although it made sense, that simple rule was fast becoming a pain in the you-know-what.

Michael lingered a few moments longer before he finally started walking into another tunnel that stretched out before him. The small pad moved upward this time. All the time he had to literally feel his way through the tunnel. It was just like he was blind. Only after what must have been at least 30 or 40 minutes later, did he see some light. In addition to that he heard footsteps and a someone mumbling to himself. He recognized the voice.

"Keldan?" Michael said with a low voice. Then, a bit later, he called him again. "Keldan? Are you there?"

"Timestorm - Part 10"

Ensign Keldan - Operations Officer

Michael McDowell - Civilian Engineering Specialist

Keldan stood in a roughly circular cavern section. The ceiling gently sloped into a dome of solid rock illuminated by a series of lights spread around the perimeter. Numerous other tunnels seemed to branch out of this cavern, which no doubt meant a lot of traffic in the cave system would have to pass through this area, eventually.

At the moment, however, Keldan's attention was more focused on the Romulan standing across from him in the cave, with a disrupter pointing directly at him. Keldan cursed himself for carelessly entering the room, but then the whole point *was* to be found...hopefully in time to stop the assassination.

His rescuer couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen standard years old. He held his disrupted pointed at directly at the Operations officer and Keldan noted that his hand quavered more than a little. He really hoped he wasn't about to be accidentally vaporized.

Keldan raised his arms, hoping the Romulan would take his sign of non-aggression for what it was. "Please, I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Keldan. I'm a Federation officer."

The Romulan stood, silent and unmoving. After a moment, however, his attention was drawn to the mouth of one of the other tunnels leading out of the cavern. Keldan turned to see McDowell stagger into the bright room. The engineer's eyes squinted at the bright light, and he looked about as well as Keldan felt. His uniform was caked with dirt and mud, his face lined with sweat.

Their 'rescuer' pointed his disrupter at the engineer, waving him over to join the Talarian. "Get over there," he commanded, no small amount of stress in his voice. Keldan gave a half-smile at the engineer, glad to see that they had both made it through the caves, albeit a little worse for wear.

"Please. This is McDowell. We are on an extremely urgent mission. We need to find Ambassador Spock with all possible haste."

When he still didn't get an answer from the Romulan, Keldan started to get a little impatient.

"Look..., er, what's your name, kid?"

"You don't need to know my name." The young man was obviously a little high strung. "All you need to know is that you're my prisoners and I'll decide what to do with you." He tapped a communicator he had attached to his sleeve. "Kraichek to DeVore."

Keldan looked to McDowell and tried unsuccessfully not to smile at the Romulan's gaffe.

"I've found two tresspassers claiming to be from the Federation coming up out of the deep caves. They say they need to talk to Ambassador Spock."

A stern, concerned voice came over the comm. "The Ambassador is preparing for his address to the Senate and is under no circumstances to be disturbed. Take them to the holding area in Shaft 3. T'Vek and I will be down immediately to interrogate them."

T'Vek. Keldan looked at McDowell, who silently returned the acknowledgment. If they were lucky, perhaps they'd have their chance to put a stop to this business before it could even begin.

"Timestorm - Part 11"

Ensign Keldan - Operations Officer

Michael McDowell - Civilian Engineering Specialist

with

Kraichek - Romulan Unificationist Security Officer
DeVore - Romulan Unificationist
Security Chief T'Vek - Romulan Unificationist Liaison

They waited. Keldan couldn't tell if McDowell was as nervous as he was. If he was, he was doing a good job at maintaining his facade of calm. They had no idea how long it was until the conference, and the young Kraichek, who now stood guard outside the forcefield keeping them confied, had refused to answer any of their questions like a good Romulan soldier. For all they knew, Spock was already on his way to the conference now.

No...that couldn't be right. If T'Vek was on his way down to see them, he couldn't be part of the Ambassador's entourage. They still had time.

Kraichek had insisted on silence, so Keldan and McDowell spent the interim quietly contemplating their situation. Keldan had managed to inquire through hand and body gestures if McDowell was injured, to which the reply was negative. In response, he had asked by writing a stardate on the sandy floor of the cave if Keldan knew what day it was, to which he could only shrug. Their exchange was interrupted as sounds started coming in from outside the cell.

"Kraichek, open the cell."

The forcefield deactivated, and for a moment Keldan felt the urge to rush them. But he remained seated, watching as two Romulans entered. The first was tall and broad shouldered, wearing what must have amounted to civilian clothing among the Romulans. The second was not quite as tall and much more gaunt than his fellow. His face was sunken and he seemed sickly. He was guessing the first was DeVore, the other T'Vek. Keldan eyed T'Vek warily. This was the man who with one act of terrorism would bring the Federation to its knees?

"Who are you and what were you doing in the deep caves? What are you doing so far beneath Ki Baratan? These caves are known only to the Unificationists."

Good, Keldan thought. At least we're where we're supposed to be. He looked over at McDowell, wondering briefly if he had any diplomatic experience. Any amount of diplomatic experience would have been more than what he himself had. A few tense moments of silence passed and Keldan knew that somebody better say something soon, and it had better be good.

"We were sent here to attempt to contact Ambassador Spock." Keldan looked at T'Vek, trying to gauge his reaction at his next words. "We have information that someone may be attempting to sabotage the Ambassador's address to the Senate."

"Outrageous," bellowed DeVore. But T'Vek seemed unusually calm. Whatever was going on behind those grey eyes, the facade he presented was one of total composure. "This information could have been transmitted through diplomatic channels...to the Ambassador himself."

"There wasn't time, sir." Keldan hoped that his respectful tone would earn him the Romulan's favor, no matter how small. "We only just came about this information. We felt the only way was to attempt to contact the Ambassador directly. The lives of millions could be at stake."

Still no reaction from T'Vek. And DeVore looked thoroughly unamused.

But it was T'Vek who was the next to speak.

"Tell us the information, and we will judge as to its credibility."

Keldan remained silent, desperately trying to figure out what to do next.

"Our information is that someone, possibly a member of the Unification movement, will detonate an incendiary device in the Senate chambers during the course of Ambassador Spock's address."

Keldan waited. T'Vek's countenance returned to its former coldness, his face about as lively as a stone pillar. DeVore's expression seemed to border on disgust, but also extreme anger.

"And what is the source of this information?" T'Vek asked in monotone.

Keldan looked at McDowell. "We would be more than happy to explain the source of our information," and Keldan added to himself that he would absolutely love to fill out pages of reports and countless visits from the Temporal Affairs Office after the whole mess was cleaned up, "but at the moment it is vital that you take the information we just gave you to Ambassador Spock."

DeVore was about to interject, but Keldan interrupted him. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out the charm that his future self had given him.

"Give this to the Ambassador as a sign of our good faith," he said holding the charm aloft. "The Ambassador will know what it is."

"That's preposterous," DeVore said, but T'Vek held up a hand, indicating silence. The lean Romulan leaned over and took the charm from the Talarian, looking it over.

"DeVore, go see to the Ambassador. He should be making his final preparations for the conference. Tell him of our guests and their...dilemma. I will join the Ambassador's entourage just as soon as I extract some more information from our guests. You know how persuasive I can be."

DeVore let out a sound that seemed a cross between a snort and a chuckle, and his mouth turned into a sadistic half-grin. "Very good, T'Vek. Kraichek, you're with me."

DeVore sauntered out of the cell and the young Romulan guard followed closely behind.

T'Vek sat down on a bench facing the two men, his cold eyes glaring. "Now, my good Federation friends, we are going to have a little chat. But first, I think there is something that I should tell you."

(OOC: A little side story that ties in with the mission)

"The Chain Gang"

khre'Arrain (Lt Cmdr) Vaebn RNI Operative (NPC - Stuart)

****

Time had no meaning anymore. Days, nights, dawn, dusk it was all irrelevant now. Vaebn knew that. He had no idea how many days, weeks or months had past since his time on Cheron where he had openly admitted to the leader of the Starfleet marines that he had been sent to observe them for Rihannsu Naval Intelligence. He hadn't seen an issue with it at the time, as his role hadn't so much been to spy on them as to ensure they hadn't noticed the other RNI operatives observing them from their nearby cloaked vessel. And he had done his job exactly as requested. Which was why he had been stunned, shortly after he got back to ch'Rihan, by his arrest on charges of treason against the Rihannsu Star Empire.

Week upon week of prodding, interrogations and their repeated questions and yet he hadn't broken once. He had been trained to resist, and he was doing so every day while in captivity. And it seemed it was creating much angst for these dha'rudh.

Vaebn believed that they had tried just about everything; water torture; extreme cold and heat; threats to his shikaen and even the breaking of fingers. His fingers were twisted and warped having been broken and crushed on numerous occasions. His back had failed to heal after the many whippings he had received and now the remnants of the skin from his back hung in strips of skin plastered to his back via dried blood. Each time had been more painful than the last, but he had withstood them all in defiance. There was bound to be some infection there, or if not, there likely would be in the coming weeks.

He knew not who his captors were, nor to whom they swore allegiance. There were too many people and groups he had made enemies of in his lifetime and any of them could have arranged this. Was it the Tal Shiar or the Tal Diann or even the RNI thinking him a traitor for some unknown reason? Perhaps it was the hru'Hfirh of the house of Aanikh for his indiscretion with his eldest daughter Jhu. Or the Senator with whom his father had a blood feud many years ago... The list went on and Vaebn couldn't be buggered to think of any it anymore. All that he wanted was out of the cell he was in and some kholhr against his captors.

His thoughts turned to his family as he lay in the small cot in the tiny cell he now called home. Slain so long ago, most as they slept, his family were butchered by a group of well trained assassins, and it had been only by sheer luck that Vaebn had survived at all. If little Nuhir hadn't awoken and screamed when she saw the assassin, he wouldn't have woken and been able to fight back against the deadly assassin. Clothed head to toe in dark garments, after defeating him, he hadn't had the time to peel the layers back to see who it had been as he heard booted footsteps running towards his room and had fled. Nuhir had only been seven, a beautiful angel and the being the only child, her ri'Nanov had dotted on her. And they were all dead. And nothing would bring them back.

Lying on his back, despite the intense pain it caused him, Vaebn stared up at the ceiling. They were watching even now. And to show them the pain he was feeling, or to give an indication of such, by lying on his stomach or side, would, no doubt, be his undoing. So he gritted his teeth and accepted the pain that raked his back with every breath.

The looks on the faces of the marines, as they were held captive by the strange sand people, stayed in his mind, even though he felt nothing for them. The ease at which they had been captured had shocked Vaebn, but then, most of them had been suffering from sickness at the time, and he had even been feeling a bit odd himself. That might have been for the loss of blood he had sustained during the short fight rather than the "radiation poisoning" that the doctor had said was the cause. But the sight of the men willing to protect the woman called London had impressed Vaebn, as had her strength of character and willingness to lay her life on the line for those same men... and women.

What had given him the most pause, though, was the way the sand people took their 'prisoners' back to the Federation camp and let them go. It had been a strange thing to do, especially after the ease at which they had captured them. Vaebn had watched them go from his hiding spot nearby and once they had left, he signaled for the cloaked observation vessel to pick him up. The small ship watched from their protected vantage point as the marines started marching to camp. They had then followed London in the small ship, but once she and her captors entered the caves, it became obvious that it was fruitless to try and follow. They were bound to have guards following the main group in case they were followed. He trusted that she would be alright through it all.

The clanking of metal brought Vaebn back to reality and indicated that the door to his cell was being unlocked. It was time for yet another beating. And boy did he love those.

(OOC: Translations for anyone that is interested:

dha'rudh: Fools/Idiots
shikaen: Family
hru'Hfirh: Head of House
kholhr: Vengeance
ri'Nanov: Mother

See http://atrek.org/Dhivael/rihan/engtorihan.html or http://www.pfrpg.org/RH/names.htm if you want more info)

"Risk Management"

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Intelligence Officer

Set one day after "Impromptu Arrangement"

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

Sleeping well was always a problem when you lived with a cat, especially one that was more obstinate than the person that 'owned' it. At least, such was ostensibly the case, although if one were to translate a cat's verbal communications, it was pretty likely that the cat would be of the opinion that it owned the Bajoran that lived with it. But, of course, this became mostly evident when sleeping. The humanoid would go to bed, safe in the knowledge that they would wake refreshed, 6 hours later. Of course, the cat had other ideas. 20 hours of sleep per day, at least, generally somewhere warm and comfortable. And where better to sleep than on the top of the one piece of furniture in the room designed specifically for it?

And so, since he tended to sleep on either side, Miramon had found it impossible to move due to the presence of a particular feline right behind his back. If he wanted to change orientation, well, he'd have to roll over the cat. And that was not advisable given the existence of teeth and claws. So, he had to wake up to move, and on so doing, the cat would also wake up and hiss at him. Thus, sleep hadn't been that peaceful for the Bajoran counsellor.

He'd showered, had a quick breakfast and changed and got down to work. Or at least, he'd started to. And then he'd put down his cup of hot tea and grabbed his jacket. He'd been meaning to do something else, beyond talking to Ember for the first time since coming back. For one thing, he still had other people to see. There was Nara, Aristi, a few other people from the Flight Control department. And, of course, there was the one guy that he'd known longer than the lot of them. And so, he was first on the list.

Saul was pretty much supposed to be on duty 24 hours a day, by Earth Standard. Well, not quite so, but he had to be on call and, from what Miramon could gather, was liable to be doing work at any time of the day. He knew the human had always take time in the evening so they could eat dinner in Ten Forward, chatting about whatever was going on aboard ship or, as had often been the case, Nara. Fortunately, once the two had gotten their act together, the friends had found less reason to discuss it, much to Miramon's amusement.

Still, he should really have gone and found his friend earlier, but since he had the day to catch up on personnel profiles, various happenings aboard ship in his absence and, of course, the people he worked with, he figured it was as good a time as any. The Bajoran walked up to the Intel offices with his usual firm steps, using the small amount of exercise to stretch his legs and clear his mind. Probably just as well. He'd never known Saul to be slow to sharpen up, and he didn't want to end up being half-asleep.

The officer on door duty that day was in fact a cadet. She was black-haired and olive-skinned, and had a pair of mischevious green eyes which made Miramon wonder if she was trying to think which prank to pull on him.

He stated the purpose of his visit. The girl ushered him in, giggling. The Bajoran raised an eyebrow at her as he stepped in, but didn't bother wondering what exactly it was that she found amusing. He wasn't an intel officer himself, so he wasn't employed to solve mysteries. Nope, his work was far more straightforward.

She showed him where Saul's office was, and kept a close watch on him until he entered.

Inside, a familiar face looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, Mister Terrik, I only hold sessions with counselor Brian.", The Galaxy's chief of intelligence prompted, but his sly grin gave him away.

"Not so in my experience, Mr Bental. I remember a certain ex-Tactical Officer sitting on the couch in my quarters complaining about Life, the Universe and Everything. I'm sure I could pull up some holos of the incident, if you don't believe me," Miramon noted, his own face marred only by a half-smile, although whether he was simply humouring his Human friend wasn't something he was about to reveal.

Saul stood up, circled his desk, and grabbed Miramon by the shoulders.

"It's good to have you back, Miramon.", He stated simply.

"It's good to be back, Saul. I see you've followed my lead and had a change of career. Came upon that decision independently, or was it just not in you in resist walking in my footsteps?" the Bajoran asked, his smile growing wider. They'd bantered like this for as long as they had been friends, first meeting when they were on assignment to Bajor aboard the USS Valkyrie. It was what came naturally to them both, he supposed.

"The Captain made the decision for me, but I didn't resist too much. You know I've been dodging for this post ever since I came on board.", Saul admitted. "So, finally revealed your true colors, have you? How was Starfleet's couple therapy course?"

"Not sure I've quite got the hang of it yet. I can solve relationship problems between people like yourself and Nara, but for some reason, I can't quite manage it for myself. Probably indicative that I'm the in the wrong profession. Again."

Well, that wasn't quite true. There had been Ember, but since she had started dating Ayden, he'd not been sure about where he stood in that regard. And with Ayden now missing in action, he was even more confused. He didn't reveal this to Saul, who had long pestered him about his status as a batchelor - even going so far as to make suggestions to the Bajoran as to who he should approach next. Not that Miramon had ever taken such advice, but that was typical, really...

"Speaking of which, you two are still together? No broken bones, damaged furniture etc?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Yes, would you believe it.", Saul replied. "I half expected her to get rid of me once she learnt to know me a little more - but she didn't."

A shade crossed his face, and he could almost imagine a strand of dirty-blond hair in the corner of his eyes. HER hair, as wild and disorganized as it always was after another night of lust and passion.

"At least, not yet."

Miramon have an exagerrated roll of his eyes and a soft, exasperated sigh to go with it. The two of them have gotten together and managed to weather out storms this long. How much time did it take for them to figure things out, he wondered? Or at least, when was Saul going to stop thinking Nara was going to come to her senses any minute and disregard him? Ah, it was a puzzle.

"Well, give her time and she'll soon see you for the workaholic that you are. Then we shall see fireworks, I suspect," he said, only half-joking.

"Define 'fireworks'." Saul said, a mischevious glint in his eyes.

Miramon's eyes narrowed at that, and waved a finger at his human friend. "You're very much mistaken if you think you can pull *this* Bajoran into that one. What goes on between you two is entirely your own affair."

"And anyway, as if life wasn't complicated enough, there's another problem."

"Uh-oh. I can see it now - months of complaints over Nara's disinclination towards marrying, or your reluctance with regards to children, or perhaps it's that you the Captain won't sanction a month-long vacation for the two of you to Risa," Miramon said with a wry smile. He was never actually bothered by Saul's discussions in that vein. Frankly, he had always found it enjoyable.

Saul suddenly froze in place. Miramon obviously didn't know that Saul actually had his leave request denied, or what the implications were.

"You know what? Now that it's actually your job, I refuse to force you to do counselling sessions during your free hours."

The Bajoran Counsellor chuckled at that, then shook his head, a gentle, negating gesture.

"Trained counsellor, yes. But also a friend, remember? What do counsellors do that a friend cannot? They add technical terms and professional expertise to a problem that could be solved by either one of the two. Besides, I'm standing in your office, Lieutenant. Now, what's bothering you, Saul?"

"Nothing really."

"I don't believe you. You might be a good intelligence officer, Saul Bental, but you can't lie to me. You've never been able to do it, so give it up," Miramon said, his tone both firm and authoritative

Saul gave up. "But it stays between you and me. I've got enough material to extort you, mister, and you know I'm capable of it."

The Bajoran raised an eyebrow at that. Although he knew it had been meant in jest, Saul had never threatened him before, even jokingly. That was surprising. Of course, Saul should have known better than to think he'd breach confidentiality - he would never have done so even before taking the teal uniform. Indeed, he was almost offended that the human would think so, but stepped on the sudden surge of indignation. Now was not a good time to start letting his own equanimity be shattered when he had need of a clear head.

He gave a small nod to show that he acknowledged Saul's point, but didn't bother replying to it verbally. He wasn't sure he could have given a civil response to it, anyway.

"It's really silly. I happened to speak with an old acquaintance of mine, the other day." Saul hesitated, glancing at Miramon like a catholic outlaw would at his priest during a confession. Forgive me father for I have sinned. "Actually, she's a former lover. It was short, non-committing, and had enough lust and passion to last a decade. She also saved my career, though I'm not sure she's aware of that."

"And how does this serve as a problem?" Miramon asked, since though he got the gist of the nature of that relationship, he really didn't see that it had much of an influence on current events. "You're already involved with Naranda, so presumably you know full well that there are certain boundaries you're not supposed to cross. Or is the problem that you want to, but don't want to cause Nara any pain?"

"The only problem is that I can't seem to get her out of my mind.", Saul admitted. For someone who was proud of his self control, and of his ability to seperate external events from influencing his emotions or thoughts, this was a defeat. "Told you it's silly. I'll get over it."

Miramon gave a soft smile. He knew how that felt sometimes, given everything that had happened with Ember, but even so, he wasn't engaged in a relationship, so he was allowed to do that, since he ran no risk to any partner he might have in so doing. Saul, on the other hand, had issues with this one.

"Most people that say they'll get over it are usually being too flippant about it, so don't do anything to resolve the issue and, thus, don't get over it. Be careful that this isn't the case with you, Saul. I'd hate to see you and Nara fighting with one another over an old flame."

"Easier said than done. And if that's not enough, she - the 'acquaintance' - is a man eatter. Even if Nara was out of the picture, making a move on HER would be futile."

A sly grin emerged on Saul's face. "But it would be fun as long as it lasts. Like last time."

Miramon's blue eyes rolled briefly in their sockets. The last thing they needed aboard ship was competition to rival the amourous endeavours of 8-Ball. Still, putting that thought out of his mind, he returned to the current issue.

"I'm not so much worried about you making a move on her, but instead worried about her making a move on YOU. I'd think you could resist approaching her because you have that wonderful quality known as guilt, which means as long as you and Nara are still dating, you likely won't think of other possibilities. But if she decides to come after you, I have to wonder how you'll respond."

"Bentals don't feel guilt. They do risk managment.", Saul pointed out.

The only response Saul was going to get to that was going to be a slightly raised blonde eyebrow. Miramon didn't believe that and, in truth, neither did Saul. Just his way of shrugging off the accusation, he supposed.

"But truthfully - I have no idea how I'm going to react. And besides, who said it'll happen?"

"Nobody, but it's something you've thought about, otherwise you'd never have brought it up. Although I more worried that you want it to happen, just to see how you react and to find out where things go from here. All I'm saying is that you should be careful of this acquaintance, and remember what you and Nara have. That's not something you can easily throw away."

Saul sighed inwardly. Miramon had no idea how close he was to throw everything he had with Nara - and on the ship - away. It was only the Captain's arbitary decision and the current crisis that kept him here.

But while he's on the Galaxy, he better enjoy what he has.

But what did he have?

"Risk managment. Just what I said."

(OOC: I am not quite sure of the correct spelling of Councillor, so I went with what they used in 'Articles of the Federation'. Also, Ardana is the planet featured in TOS: The Cloud Minders. A Federation member from before the UFP had humanitarian standards. You can find more details at: http://memory-alpha.org/en/wiki/Ardana )

"A Winged Demon"

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have an ungrateful child.

- King Lear; I,iv,295

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

Natalie Valora "Picasso" Frost
Pilot Currently Unassigned

= Present Day =
= Romulus =

It had been some time since Aerv tr'Ahalaen had received his last highly classified, priority one message. It was simply not the kind of thing that happened to civilians - quite a pity, actually, because the thrill, anticipation and dread of such a missive was simply a wonderful sensation...and Aerv did so adore wonderful sensations. So the newly minted ambassador was quite looking forward to the next great galactic calamity that would result in him being contacted in this most urgent and demanding way. A world or two might have to perish, of course, so that the decadent Rihannsu could experience this right of passage - and that would be unfortunate, of course - but the event itself would be quite exciting.

Imagine his unmitigated glee when - before he even got a chance to leave ch'Rihan - tr'Ahalaen was contacted by a member of the Federation Council itself. Of course, Aerv was aware that the whole thing would become quite a nuisance by the time that the RNI and Tal Shiar got around to asking their questions about this matter - whatever it turned out to be. However, there were times when even a tactician and ambassador - beset perhaps by a rather childish notion - was willing to ignore the future consequences of an action in order to simply enjoy the moment.

The caller was a severe humanoid woman with silver hair and gorgeous blue eyes. Most individuals would have thought she was human. Aerv, however, noted the flowing red gown she wore and identified the fashion rather quickly. His caller was from Ardana; more specifically, the famed Cloud City of Stratos. The lines of worry that had begun to appear on the woman's aging visage, however, were not typical of the dwellers of that idyllic metropolis. Then again...these were trying times for politicians.

"Ambassador tr'Ahalaen. I am Councillor Xante Astrate of Ardana."

"A pleasure, Councillor."

"Under normal circumstances, Ambassador, I am certain it would be. Right now, however...well, I cannot thank you enough for taking my call."

"Then do not thank me at all, Councillor," the decadent Rihannsu replied with a charming smile, "Tell me: how may ch'Rihan help Ardana?"

The woman blushed, obviously flustered with the question and the weight of the words. "It...it is not an official matter, Ambassador. I am afraid I require your assistance to deal with a more personal matter."

Aerv sat back in his chair. "Of course...please proceed."

Councillor Astrate managed a small smile, looked away and then shook her head. "I...don't know quite where to begin. I have made a great many mistakes in my life, Ambassador....none greater than my choice of mate. You see...I - well, there is no other way to say this - I married a Terran." The Councillor paused after this momentous announcement, as if expecting some kind of reaction from Aerv. It quickly became obvious to her, however, that the gravity of her mistake was lost upon the Romulan. "My parents, my people, all warned me it was a blunder but...you know how it is with young love...."

tr'Ahalaen smiled. "Everyone knows."

"At any rate...my husband turned out to be a most unfortunate person. He had no use for libraries or books. The whole intellectual force of Stratos was utterly wasted on him. He was always off adventuring and - well, doing whatever it is that Terrans do." Seeing that Aerv was about to interrupt, Astrate continued quickly, "The point, Ambassador, is that my union was not entirely without fruit. You see - I had a daughter, of sorts...."

Aerv blinked. "Of sorts?"

"Yes - Natalie Valora Frost - a vile name - but then she was always her father's daughter, even as a babe, and so I thought it fit rather well. Well, Ambassdor tr'Ahalaen, my little girl - she is still quite young, you know - around one and twenty...or so I think. I will have to do some calculations. The thing is that she also up and joined Starfleet and flew around goodness knows where...."

tr'Ahalaen was beginning to wonder if this entire business was really worth a high priority message.... Still a morbid curiosity compelled him to ask: "Flew around?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, yes - you see, apparently this child with her vile name and horrible father - she was some kind of prodigy, really - at flying things. She won all sorts of little awards and things, you know - worthless garbage, really, I always told her. Who ever heard of an Ardanian pilot. A ridiculous notion. However, she would not be dissuaded, Ambassador. I tried all the usual things, you know, banishing her to her room or threatening to send her to mine zenite with the Troglytes. It was, after all, inconsiderate of the child to have a talent in such a field. Painting or literature - now that would have been quite different.... I could not, of course, approve of her *flying*. It is simply not a done thing."

"Of course," Aerv murmured, wondering by now how to extract himself from this conversation.

"So then the stupid girl - one would think she had inhaled too much zenite from the way she acted - just runs off and joins Starfleet. They called her 'Picasso', apparently - a horrible, horrible thing to say about such a wonderful painter, don't you think? I have no use for Starfleet. They fly around too much, you see, and that is not a done thing. The reason I call you, Ambassador, is that a few months ago my daughter left Starfleet...."

"Left?"

"Yes. She just decided...well, to leave, you see. And she did just that."

tr'Ahalaen frowned. "No one just leaves a military organization, Councillor. Either your daughter resigned or she left without permission, which would mean that she is in rather serious trouble...."

"Well...no one leaves Stratos either, but she did. Yes...she's always been trouble, that one. Never sat down, as a child, you know. Always jumping around. Now, mind you, a city in the clouds is good for many things, but not for having children jump around, you see. Unfortunate things happen, you know...it is simply...."

"Not a done thing," Aerv finished wryly, "Yes...so I guessed."

"You're a very astute man, Ambassador. I always liked Romulans. Very astute people. Now, where was I? Ah yes, jumpin...ah yes, you see - you were saying that girl...Natalie, that is, might be in trouble. I am afraid you are right, Ambassador. The demon child has indeed gotten herself into trouble with the authorities...on Romulus."

"On Romulus!" Aerv exclaimed, "Madam, you should have informed me immediately."

"Well, I did," the woman replied with a withering stare, "I'm a very good mother, you know - I heard about the girl for the first time in years, and there she is on Romulus, and I got up from a very important meeting, you see - something about plants and the like - and I called you right away. Please do tie her up and mail her back to Stratos. I will, of course, pay for the shipping and handling."

Aerv rose to his feet. The one thing that he did not need was to have a Federation citizen hurt on ch'Rihan.... "I will look into this right away, Madam."

"Thank you, Ambassador. Please be careful though...the girl - I'm afraid she's not...well, she's not what you would call stable."

"Your daughter is...insane?"

"Worse," Xante Astraste of Ardana replied, her face grim, "My daughter is a hippie."

= End Log =

"Valkyrie Profile - Part 2"

Lt. Erastus Ampete Assistant Chief of Science

Crewman Alexander Yates (npc)

================== USS Miranda ==================

Era caught up to the other three. They were surprisingly quick on their feet, even laden down with armor and strange dresses that at times seemed to defy gravity. She'd been exploring their world for the past hour, going with them first to a small hamlet to speak with a doe-eyed young girl, then to a forest in order to search for her brother. They'd found him just as he lost in battle. The one who had introduced herself to Era as the Valkyrie had sung a haunting song, gathering to her the soul of the fallen warrior, and then they had been off again. In an amazingly short time, they'd run across several opponents and to the amazement of the other three, Era had declined a sword and, faced with a scenario without a phaser as she refused to break the Viking world generated by the holodeck, proceeded to engage in manual take-down. She had been outfitted in greaves, a dress that seemed to float even when she was standing still, and a silver circlet. None of this had been in the book.

When her three guides had run up to face the large, green-black dragon, Era was beginning to think they ought to try explaining things more clearly. She'd found out early on that they were not good conversationalists, tending to speak either in rambling monologues or clipped sentences that only roughly answered your questions. It was a rather crudely designed program.

"Hang on," Era demanded as she came to a full stop behind them. About to continue, she heard the unmistakable sound of the holodeck door sliding open. "Computer: freeze program," she ordered, turning.

Crewman Alexander Yates had always been interested in holo-program design. It was an amateurish pastime actually, though he was rather proud of this program... his best work yet. The holo-programming thing was a lot harder than most people would ever think. It's precisely why there were people who made a lot of good credits designing them...

And someone else was actually running the program. He was at the same time shocked, and flattered. Of all the programs to choose, most people stuck with a few favorites. Stories, holonovels, interactive locales... nothing so... well... amateurish as his little game. The shock came from having one's privacy, albeit minutely, violated.

Curiosity drove him to see exactly what was going on, and who was doing the going ons. He may have been right out of basic training, but damnit he had rights too! Especially as author of the program, there were copyrights and stuff that hadn't been worked out yet! So when the program froze, he was able to easily spot the offender. The tall, blonde, very feminine and extraordinarily attractive offender... who also outranked him considerably. "I... err... ummm... hi."

"Hello," Era answered back, adjusting the circlet on her head and trying not to be otherwise aware of the get-up she was in. "Did you want to use the holodeck?" Her first assumption was that he'd registered the holodeck time and she'd missed it on the schedule.

"Huh? Oh no, no!" He gave a hapless smile. "I was... umm... having fun? I kinda designed the program..."

"You did?" There was a definite note of eagerness in Era's voice. "I've been trying for the last hour to understand it and haven't had much luck. For one, are these clothes authentic?"

"I took a little creative license with certain things... not everything is period specific." In short, he picked the clothing because, well... Era was the perfect example of why. "It was made for fun, not historical accuracy."

Era felt herself getting a sunburn under the rising sun of comprehension. "Oh. I thought... This isn't a recreation, is it?"

He couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm afraid not. I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear in the program description."

"It was late. I really just skimmed it." Era sought for something more positive to say. After all, she was talking to the program's designer. "You've done a good job with it, though. It certainly grabs you and pulls you in." She took off the circlet, glancing down at how she was clothed. "Really pulls you in."

Alex averted his eyes, with a good deal of effort, but averted them none the less. "Thanks... well, if you like it I should probably let you be. If you want?"

"That's not necessary. Now I know it's not real, I can't say I have as much of an interest in it. But... do they win?" she couldn't help asking, gesturing to the three frozen characters arranged before the dragon. "I'm Era, by the way," she added, suddenly remember her manners.

"Alex." He extended his hand. "And of course they do... they're the good guys!"

"Mind if I ask you something?" Era queried, turning back to shake the offered hand. "I realize" now "this isn't fully accurate, but how much of it is? For the Valkyries, I mean."

"Not much. Same names, same monsters, same general mission, that's it."

"I don't remember reading about dragons. Unless that's supposed to be Jormangund.. I'm sorry, this is supposed to be for fun, not research. You probably don't want to be pestered with all of this."

"I'm rather flattered anyone bothered using it." He admitted. "And it's quite all right. It's not very good, I know... but it's sort of a hobby."

"Piece of advice: next time, spend more time on the interactions and dialogue than the.. decor." Era smiled as she said it, even as she unfastened the greaves that for some unfathomable reason accompanied the dress.

"Yes ma'am." Alex offered with shades of embarrassment running over his face. "I'll keep that in mind."

"It's a good program otherwise," the Kaelian smiled. "I'd be happy to test run it for you once you've put in some more hours with it. But I think, finally, I should try to get some of that sleep I've been missing."

He didn't want to say anything, but she did look like she was exhausted. "I'll be more than happy to let you know when it's done."

"It was nice to meet you, Alex." Stifling a yawn, Era left the holodeck, the dress disappearing to be replaced by her regular clothes as she stumbled off to bed.

Say what you want about the graphics, it was still one hell of a show.

"Cheeseburger in Paradise"

Ensign Artim Science Officer, USS Galaxy

Ensign Kiel Apprentice Counselor, USS Galaxy
& the still unnamed 4 y/o Jem'Hadar orphan.

Setting: Ten Forward, USS Galaxy

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

The mismatched pair of most unlikely children, one an El Aurian Starfleet ensign and the other a small Jem'Hadar boy, had come into Ten Forward for their dinner. Kiel had a few late appointments in the counseling center and Ten Forward happened to be not far from the day care center. Or, at least, close enough given the relative size of the Galaxy. They'd only just taken a seat as either had begun to ponder just what they might order.

Artim was strolling into Ten Forward for a quick meal before his shift in the science lab. He had planned to eat alone as was his custom. He didn't know alot of people, perhaps they didn't feel comfortable around him, perhaps he was just that odd. Didn't matter though. He did however spot Kiel at one of the table and...that little devil of his. He walked over to the mismatched pair and said, "So Kiel, now you're teaching him the wonders of drinking?"

"The wonders of drinking milk," Kiel replied, looking back over his shoulder at the similarly short in stature science officer.

"It does a body good," the young Jemmie piped up.

Giving a short chuckle, Kiel motioned at an empty chair at their table. "I was saving that for some really hot Vulcan. But I suppose a dour Miran is a distant... eighth," the boy joked lightly.

"Perhaps you should try the new Romulan ambassador's aide, she's not to bad looking, but I suppose I could be a poor substitute." Artim said as he took the other seat.

"Wha's an ambazzider?" the young Jemmie asked, prompting Kiel to reach over and tousle the boy's black hair.

"Someone who talks too much for a living," Kiel answered simply, before glancing over at Artim. "We were going to eat dinner here, but he can't decide between macaroni and cheese or chicken fingers. Maybe you can help him out."

"Hmm, I generally get a bit more exotic fare, but I've heard they got good macaroni and cheese here. Not sure what the Jem'hadar palate favors

"Just don't say the B-R-O-W-N-I-E word and we'll be fine," Kiel replied, giving Artim a bit of a look as he did. "Did you know there are seventy-nine varieties in the computer? He's been sampling them for weeks thanks to you."

"Then I won't give you the password to my protected files. I got at least another dozen in there I prefer not to share. And I'm sorry, but all kids should experience the wonders of chocolate. So other then that how's the child rearing going?"

"Depends. I'm still trying to figure out who is rearing who," Kiel answered with a smile, before turning back to the Jemmie. "How about you get a cheeseburger. That would be something different."

"What's that?" the boy asked

"Humans love em, I don't particularly like them. And I'm not sure you're ready for the kind of stuff I eat. I'd listen to your dad." Artim stifled a chuckle while uttering the last line...he could barely envision Kiel as a father...or himself as a babysitter

"I'm not his dad," Kiel muttered quietly, giving Artim another look before glancing over at the boy. "They're good. You'll like it."

"I don't like cheeseburgers," the Jemmie declared firmly. The comment causing Kiel to hang his head. He knew where this battle was heading.

Artim looked the Jemmie straight in the eye and said, "Just trust Kiel. If you're good, he might let you come over again. Remember how fun that was?" Artim gave Kiel a look at this point as if to say 'Don't you dare' with his eyes.

"Are you kidding, the next time he asks about You-Know-What I'm telling him you have a whole plate in your quarters," Kiel mumbled, before looking up at the Jemmie with a smile. "You liked the chicken finger basket. Why don't you have that?" To get out of Ten Forward without a scene, the counselor was willing to back down over trying the hamburger.

"And if ya do I'll plant a plate in front of Major Kol's quarters so you can deal with him." Artim said with a grin. "And that's good too little one."

"I don't think Kol's ready for him," Kiel replied, leaning back as he looked over at Artim. "Alright, I think we know what we want, are you ready to order?"

"Yup, but are you sure you want me drinking that sort of thing in front of the kid?" Artim asked

"Are you planning on getting piss drunk," Kiel asked, blinking. The El Aurian didn't drink, as he wasn't old enough by the customs of his own people; but he didn't think casual alcohol use anything worthy of shielding the Jemmie from.

Artim grinned widely and said "In 400 years I don't think I've ever been really drunk, well, maybe once. And I can stick to something without alcohol I suppose.

"Then we're ready," Kiel said, motioning over to one of the waiters. "One chicken finger basket and one bacon cheeseburger, two glasses of milk, and..." the boy ordered, glancing over at Artim.

"And I'll have the Argolian Flounder, preperation 6 and a large cranberry juice" Artim said with a grin

"Argolian flounder," Kiel inquired, quizzically.

"I was in the mood for fish. Pretty good one too, almost as good as tuna." Artim replied matter of factly

I'll take your word on it," Kiel answered dryly. "You don't get into that sushi stuff some humans eat, do you?"

"What's sushi?" the Jemmie asked, piping up again.

"That's for when you're a bit older, and sometimes I do Kiel, but only from the right places", Artim replied

The El Aurian just shuddered. He was game for trying anything. Heck, he'd eaten Ferengi tube grubs before. Still, raw fish sounded like something you needed to be drunk in order to try. "You need mental help," the boy stated finally.

"Make me an appointment with Brian, I'll be down this afternoon." Artim said sarcastically. "ITs actually not that bad, just don't ask what it is until its down."

"Nah. We'll set you up with Dallas," Kiel answered, as their food arrived. As his cheeseburger was set down opposite of the Jemmie's chicken finger, the El Aurian looked over at him. "Sure you don't want to try a bite of my cheeseburger, it's good," the boy promised.

Aritm nodded as his juice and sashimi was set down in front of him. He looked up at Kiel as he took a piece with his chopsticks. "And are you sure you don't want some of this, its good"

"I'll settle for the overcooked dead cow, thanks," Kiel answered shortly, glancing over at Artim with another look.

"I'll sebble for the chicken," the Jemmie declared, mimicing Kiel. With a sigh Kiel glanced down at his meal. This was a losing battle no matter how you looked at it

Artim just muched on his sashimi. "To each his own culinary delight"

"The Quarters"
By Ensign Regenna Holmes
OPS, USS Galaxy

Location: USS Galaxy, Deck 2, Junior Officer's Quarters

Regenna walked into the quarters assigned to her and dropped her bags to the side. The room was as black as pitch. The only light was from the corridor outside the open door which disappeared as the door slid shut behind her. These were junior officer's quarters. No beautiful view of space or planets here. Just darkness.

"Computer, increase illumination to 75%."

As the light level increased, Regenna looked around the room. Utilitarian, spartan even. Typical of quarters for those below senior officer level. The one improvement over her last assignment -- no roommate. She had never liked sharing her space with another person. Either at the Academy or on a ship. It caused her difficulties with shielding. Here, because of the size of the ship, she was alone. Except for the cat. And that was how she preferred it. True, the rooms were small. If you were claustrophobic, that might be a problem. Regenna was not.

Squatting down, Regenna opened the door on the cat carrier and Spellbreaker strolled out. "Well, this is our new home, kittie. We'll be here for a while. I hope. Make yourself comfortable."

As the cat wandered the space, sniffing and peering into corners and under furniture, his owner put her bags on the single bed that was against the far wall. She opened the two bags and quickly unpacked her uniforms and off-duty clothing, placing them in the drawers in the closet next to the bathroom. She took out a picture of her mother and put it carefully on the desk next to the LCARS and sat down at the terminal.

She input her access codes and set up the screen and system to her personal preferences. She checked the duty roster and made a note with the computer for alarm times for her shift. Then she connected to the replicator systems in her quarters and found her favorite dishes, placing them under her name code so they would be quick ordered. She also looked in the files for feline supplements and chose those she felt Spellbreaker would like.

Regenna sat back in her chair and looked around. Still utilitarian, still spartan. It reminded her of her childhood with her father. She had gotten used to not really setting up personal things in her areas of the quarters that couldn't be packed quickly since her father never remained at an assignment longer than one rotation, and sometimes, thanks to his temper, not even that long.

But Regenna had no plans to move on. She didn't want a career like her father's, knowing almost everyone because he had been stationed almost everywhere. She wanted to be stable. Or as stable as possible in Starfleet.

She nodded as she decided to go to ship's stores and requisition some homey touches to make this place her own. She also needed some cat supplies, she realized as Spellbreaker came over and rubbed himself on her ankles.

"Reflections of the Past"

Ensign Faylin McAlister

McAlister gently brought the wine to her lips, savoring the sweetness that the liquid had to offer her. Her bare feet padded softly on the floor as she walked slowly back to where her daughter was sleeping. Faylin leaned against the doorway that led to the dimly lit room. The illumination caused by a little white lamp in the corner by her bed gave Olivia security in a less than secure situation.

Faylin moved into the room, partly out of wonderment of her child, partly also to perform the ritualistic night time check. The woman watched her daughter's chest for signs of breathing. As her chest rose and fell, Faylin studied the child's delicate features. Her brunette hair was tattled, yet held the natural large curls despite the tossing and turning at night. Her nose was small, yet fit perfectly with her face. She was Olivia, and Olivia was Faylin's. The little girl was the reason McAlister got up in the morning. She was the reason Faylin had changed so much these past few years.

Reaching down, McAlister touched her daughter's forehead, swiping a stray strand of hair back from her eyes. The softest smile that could be, crossed Faylin's mouth. Olivia had been her saving grace, ending her days of man eating. Now, she was just a big flirt. A serious relationship with any man had not happened in a while due to her daughter. Once men had heard that she had a child, they were not interested. Their loss.

As she leaned over to kiss her daughter on the forehead, she closed her eyes. Olivia, although just a little over two years, still had that scent that Faylin adored. It was a link between the two of them. Inhaling as she kissed her daughter wistfully, she paused for a moment savoring that moment in time. No one could take Olivia away from her……no one.

"I love you." Faylin whispered to Olivia before leaning back. The little girl had no idea of the power she held over her mother. She had that power long before she was born. Ever since the day she found out she was pregnant, her options had been nill. McAlister chose to have the child, to raise her by herself.

Kronos waited patiently at the door, wagging her tail in pure Pomeranian fashion. It had been fifteen minutes since Faylin had paid attention to the pooch. Which, in Kronos's head was too long to be without her master. A shrill, sharp bark permeated the quarters.

"Hush you!" McAlister stated in a firm, yet quiet tone. She smiled at the dog, which had been her companion for four years. The puppy had been a gift, and at first, the two did not get along too well. However, with time, things smoothed over and a well solidified relationship had formed.

Sighing, McAlister found herself on her couch. Thoughts of Saul kept running through her mind without permission. She thought at first that it would be fun to see him. No strings attached. Yet, she sat with wine glass in hand silently chastising herself for showing any interest what so ever in the man.

Something about their conversation disturbed her. She felt he did not believe that she had changed over the years. Hell, he didn't know the whole story….or surely he would have thought differently. Time and the responsibility of Olivia had forced the woman to grow up quickly. Gone were the mornings of waking up with a strange man in her bed. Now, her mornings consisted of feedings and little smiles. Faylin much preferred the smiles verses the questions of 'who are you?'

As the lust drove her to be with Saul, the reality of the situation kept presenting its self to her. They didn't know each other now. They both ran on emotions from the past, and that's what fueled the interest. She had to tell herself that he still was underhanded and sneaky. Faylin also had to tell herself that she was a responsible mother and on officer of Starfleet. Although all these things rang true, the hidden desire and longing felt stronger than they had ever been. McAlister felt herself caught in the middle of maturity and wild abandonment.

"After Hour Concerns"

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC Battalion
Commanding Officer/ Alpha Company CO 101st Battalion

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete
Assistant Chief Science Officer
USS Miranda

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

With a Battalion exercise focussing on the three defense methods behind them, For'kel was doing what he figured any decent military officer worth their rank would be doing... studying what he could on Romulans, military and civilian as there would most definitely be civilians involved, the leadership and government, which they might have to evacuate if it comes down to it, city layouts, nooks and crannies of which could come in handy should they have to improvise... and most importantly the likely tactics and strategies that might be employed by the Hydrans.

What he was finding was fairly impressive, if only to an extent. The Imperial Guard, who they would undoubtedly be working with, were particularly 'hard core' as Private White would put it. Part of their basic training included measures designed to enhance pain tollerance... although he was less than enthused by the apparent lack of technical training. Three months long was their basic training, on Al'Klei'sh For'kel's recruit training lasted four months, and included lessons in ethics and xeno-technology that was apparently lacking most everywhere else. It was those differences he couldn't help but recount...

Coming off of her bridge shift, Era decided to make a swing past Bery's quarters before heading to the stellarcartography lab. She wanted to do a little more research on the sector of space they were entering, but that could wait an hour or so. It'd been a little while since she'd last checked in on her friend and with Bery's preganancy begining to show, Era couldn't help but gush a little over her friend's good fortune. So stepping off the turbolift, she took a right down the corridor and stopped outside the cabin, pressing the chime. As she waited for an answer, she pondered the merits of getting the Spotteds together for a baby shower.

"Enter." For'kel looked up, smiling when he saw Era enter. Prophets could he use something 'non' digital to look at. "Hey! Can I get you a drink? Ever try cappachino?" The Stagnorian held up a glass. "I don't normally drink coffee, but this isn't 'too' bad."

"Sure, I'll try a cup," Era smiled, coming in and helping herself to a seat. "Is Bery around?"

For'kel took a moment to grab two additional cups from the replicator. "She's in the bedroom, sleeping." He neglected to mention she was up all night. "Ever learn much about Romulans?"

"Only in passing at the Academy, but never to any great depth. This what's keeping you busy?" she asked, angling the screen so she could take a look.

He nodded. "Yeah, I figure it best to be prepared for when we actually head to the surface. We're supposed to be deployed in support of Romulan ground forces... so I've been trying to read up on the culture, the military... anything that might help. Have they been keeping you busy?"

"I was on my way to stellar cartography, make sure all our readings are up to date and check the newest sensor data. Have you been given any of the specifics yet? Or is this just general reconnaissance?"

For'kel smiled at the use of the word 'reconnaissance'. It seemed so unnatural coming from the lips of a scientist. "General recon. My understanding of all things Romulan is lacking... limited to a 2-hour briefing I took quite a few years ago. How was your trip home?"

"Uneventful, until we struck a probe that had crossed our path. No damage to us of course, but the poor thing was demolished. All its data lost."

Something about the way she said it, as if it were the Starfleet version of road-kill, actually made it seem depressing. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any idea how these monarchial systems are supposed to work? The line of secession is throwing me off."

"If they follow a traditional patriarchal system it should be fairly straight forward. Kaelon II had a long series of monarchies before a more republican government was established. What's got you so confused?" Era scanned the list he'd been looking at. "You mean here, where the second cousin is nominated but there's contention from this council?" Era scrolled through three different lists of names. "Here's why. See him? He's got a claim, but only if he can get three to legitimate it. And one of the three required is the second cousin. Who of course isn't going to do that now he has a shot."

This was going to give him a headache... exactly who among these people was he responsible for trying to secure, and who wasn't? Between the actual VIPs, family members, important staff... he was easily at a Battalion's worth of them already. He sighted, scratching his head. "What a pointlessly confusing system."

Era sat back, sipping the cappuccino as she tried to think of a way of explaining it that wouldn't be so confusing. "How large is your family?"

"Now? Technically it's just Bery and I, and my parents." Hers had been killed after all. "Why do you ask?"

"Have you ever tried arranging a family reunion, with all the extended family members? There are questions of which uncle likes which grand-niece and which cousin is getting on the nerves of which sister-in-law.. It's a balancing act, but when you know the players, everything makes sense and falls into place. It couldn't be otherwise. Monarchies, with only a few rare exceptions, are just big families. Who don't like their siblings much."

That made For'kel laugh. "Big doesn't even't begin to describe it. We're looking at quite a few hopper trips just to get everyone we have to if things go badly." Fortunately, if the Romulans were as militarily strong as they had tried to make themselves out to be, that wouldn't happen. Then again, For'kel was a stern believer that the weaker a group was, the more power they tried to display. "Then there's the Reman issue... seems a minor miracle the Empire is still together at all."

Era shook her head. "To my chagrin, I'm not very current with Romulan politics. Especially when the Reman's enter into it. Last I heard there were talks of reunification between the Vulcans and the Romulans."

"There is that." For'kel scrolled down. "If you ask me, it's inevitable. The way of the Universe is unification."

Again Era shook her head, but this time more emphatically as she leaned forward, intent on the debate. "Except that the universe tends toward entropy. It's part of the second law of thermodynamics."

The Marine smiled. "And my people firmly believe that part of sentient nature is a drive to master one's environment, universe included. It's one of the laws of sentient nature." When he got to what little information was available on the Military and Intelligence structures of the Romulan Empire, his jaw almost dropped. "You have 'got' to be kidding. How the hell does any group operate under these conditions?"

"Sentient life can't change the laws of physics. Q's excepted." Era craned her neck to see the new page he had pulled up. "You're the military expert. How would you did it, if forced to be in command of that structure?"

"If there's an exception, clearly they can... maybe you should rethink your 'Laws'." He couldn't resist going with the debate. "And quite frankly, I wouldn't. If the Tal Shiar doesn't get you, the Tal Diann will. And if they don't get you, some damn politician with a political agenda can... it shouldn't work at all!" And yet, as the Empire stood for who knew how long, it did.

"Maybe you need to rethink your laws," Era chuckled, tying their two debates together. "It's like an extention of their monarchy - a constant balancing act where opinion and emotion count just as much as numbers."

For'kel shook his head. "Where I come from, Combat effectiveness is the driving force behind military decisions." Then again, many would consider the Stagnorian method a needlessly strict meritocracy, where family lines truly didn't matter for anything. "This... is a civil war waiting to happen it seems."

"Yet it hasn't happened. I bow to you on the specifics, but you must admit that they're doing something right if they've kept it together this long."

For'kel raised the cup to his lips. "All that means is it hasn't happened yet. Eventually someone will have the courage to challenge things, and then were will be a good deal of trouble."

"That's a terrible way to think about a problem. You're just dismissing it."

"Actually I'm relying on the historical records and common experiences of a great deal of societies to prove to you what I'm saying."

"But how does that help you understand the current situation? Yes, other regimes organized like this have failed, but that's not to say this one will within the next week or even the next month."

"Nor did I say it would." For'kel raised an eyebrow. "I'm merely conveying the fact that I have no 'clue' how all this works, or why problems havn't resulted yet."

Era backed down. "You're right, sorry. Politics sets me a little on edge."

He gave her a small smile and a little nudge. "Don't worry about it, I think it's safe to say they do that to everyone. In either case... all this... 'royalty' and socio-stratification nonsense is giving me a headache."

"Put it aside for a bit. I haven't had the chance to just talk to you in too long." Smiling, Era blanked the screen and settled back with her mug. "How have you been?"

He managed to suppress the yawn with a sedate grin, more then happy to give up on the research project that had been running six hours without end for now. "I've been all right... between Berilyn's increasingly peculiar diet, the uptick in training regimens with the Battalion, and trying to organize everything between Romulan military officials, their respective lackeys, and our comrades on the other ships, I've been staying on my toes. How about you? Did everything go all right with Jaal?"

"Perfectly fine," she grinned, "unless you've heard otherwise? I've been keeping busy with more projects than I really know what to do with. A few of them are coming up for review in the next week, but given our current operation finding time to do that will be more difficult."

For'kel shook his head. "I havn't heard anything different, so I'd say you're definitely safe. I'm sorry to hear about your project issues though, but as they say 'war is hell'." It was a bit sarcastic, but jokingly so. "Take the time off to get some sleep, my sources tell me you've been extraordinarily busy as of late."

"Spying on me?" she chuckled, draining her cup. "I'll do my best. Try to make it an early night, tonight. I'm sure you could use the same."

"I'll do my best." He chuckled, knowing full well it probably wouldn't happen, but honest in his response none the less. One thing was rather obvious to him, they were living in very interesting times. And then, it dawned on him. "I should have left Bery back at the Starbase."

Era's expression sobered. "You know she wouldn't have let you."

"Probably not, she can be too damn stubborn for her own good." For'kel leaned against the back of the sofa. "But I didn't even bother to bring the subject up."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. Knowing her, she's probably thankful you didn't, thus avoiding the argument." Era leaned forward and gave her friend a comforting pat on the knee.

She was probably right, he had to admit that much, to himself at least. "Yeah... we should be just fine. I doubt the Romulans will just allow someone to launch an attack on their homeworld. With any luck, they'll check the advance and counter-strike before we're even needed."

"If so, means I can get back to my staff about their progress," she grinned, rising to her feet. "Tell Bery I stopped by."

He rose with her, figuring it best to walk her to the door. "I certainly will. Take care of yourself, all right?"

"You too." At the door, she paused to give him a kiss on the cheek before heading out. For'kel smiled, and watched the steel gray doors slide shut behind her before taking his time in wandering back to the sofa. At least the relatively light ground forces of the Empire made more sense then the Navy and political situations. His mind couldn't help but drift in the empty echos of silence that his quarters were bathed in now. First to the fact he was about to lead troops in a much more serious operation, an independent one where they weren't simply filling a Starship security role. He wouldn't just be leading a company this time either... he had responsibility for the whole Battalion. Then there were the thoughts about the evacuees... how the list contained only 'the most important' members of Romulan society. Realistically, there was no way in hell they were going to be able to evacuate the planet of civilians... didn't make the fact that a whole lot of innocent people could, if the attack wasn't stopped before hand, be killed. Finally, inevitably, his thoughts turned to the adjacent room. To his pregnant wife who, despite all logic, was staying on to do her duty for the Federation. Prophets protect them all... he knew what his prayers would be about tonight.

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