"Making a Name"

Commander Na'sav Lorem
Commanding Officer

Lieutenant Commander Sorena
Executive Officer

Lieutenant Iannella Naimi
Chief Tactical Officer

USS Vigilant

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

Commander Na'sav Lorem was sleeping in his bunk, dreams of the crazy reason for his ending up 'here' running through his mind. Normally the Captain had his own quarters, but this being a Defiant class ship, he saw fit to take a regular bunk and have his would be quarters converted to a recreation room for the long patrols they occasionally had.

Sometimes, it seemed as if Starfleet knew exactly what it was doing. The personalities of Captains were on occasion perfectly mated with the ship they were to command. Na'sav was a small ship kind of commander. He was a former member of the Stagnorian Coastal Patrol, with ships designed mainly for support operations and policing duties. It meant one had to be creative, assertive, even a bit aggressive when the situation called for it, and above all else, willing to deal with minimum creature comforts for extended periods of time.

At least now he didn't 'have' to go boarding any hostile alien vessels.

When the Dominion War broke out, the Confederacy, at the time no more then a few sparsely populated worlds, immediately signed a Non-Aggression Pact with the Dominion. It was the right thing to do strategically given their position, Na'sev knew... but at the same time he had friends in the Federation. Friends he wanted to protect, and thus a star-struck, adventure seeking, idealistic 25 year old Stagnorian resigned his rank with the Coastal Patrol and joined the Federation. Starfleet had the good sense (and a lack of recruits for the specific mission profile) to keep him on the small ships, Raiders particularly, designed to mainly draw attention away from the Capital ships and occasionally conduct, well, raids against convoys.

And now the 35 year old Stagnorian, who'd given up his citizenship for a Federation one after the war... some how he felt as if he'd 'earned' the Federation citizenship, rather than being simply born into it like his old allegiance... was the commanding officer of a Defiant Class 'Escort' vessel.

And he liked it well enough, usually.

But then someone had to slide the Curtain designed to keep the berthing space shielded by the room's light out of the way, and his eyes were 'definitely' not ready for that surprise.

And he was having 'really' good dreams to boot!

Shielding himself with his arm until the ocular organs had a chance to adjust to the newly lit environment, he managed to mumble, albeit in a cracking, exhausted voice... "If you aren't an undescribably, unbelievably, 'insanely' beautiful woman, you'd better start running 'now'."

"You're in luck." The woman standing over him was moving fast out of her twenties and into her thirties, but refused to abandon the girlish charm she'd held back in college and then the Academy - to the degree that her wavy auburn hair even now was usually worn in pigtails, albeit more maturely styled. She had wide, doe-eyes of that rare brown colour that always appeared to be on the verge of either tears or laughter. The one aspect to mar face was the small white scar that ran along her hairline. A legacy from an accident she would never soon forget.

Iannella Naimi had been raised in space, gone to school in space except for the Academy, and generally preferred several hundred kilometers between herself and the nearest thing approximating "ground." A Terran by way of birthright, she never thought of herself other than as first a girl, then a woman making her way in the galaxy. And she liked doing it while blazing her trail with torpedoes.

The chief tactical officer smiled down at her captain. "Wakey wakey. We're having company for dinner."

Na'sav let out a deep breath, finally giving in to the fact he'd better get up. "You have 'got' to be kidding. Who the hell is coming by at this..." there was a thud as his head struck the metal frame of the bunk above. "Son of a..."

"No no no," she laughed, even as he cursed. "We're going to them. Orders came in."

And that always happened whenever he tried getting out of bed too, especially when he wasn't paying attention. He gave her a poke. "Exactly why are you so chipper at... 01:30 hours?" Damn... well atleast it was Iannella and not Sorena. She undoubtedly would have pointed out that it would be 'logical' to wear a helmet to bed given his propensity for self-induced cranial injuries.

Taking the PADD from her, he allowed a moment for the early morning bleariness to subside before reading it. "Romulus?!" Despite the hushed volume, the tone was clearly laced with disbelief. "What the hell? Have these been verified?"

Used to his less-than-chipper conversation at odd hours of the night, the chief waited him out. "Twice. By rumor and Command." From behind her back Iannella produced a mug of coffee. "We're joining with the rest of the fleet for this one."

"Va ce anjele." Na'sav muttered his gratitude, accepting the coffee into his hands and taking a long sip. "Is Command 'not' aware this was a training mission? Aside from you, Sorena, and Jalos down in Engineering I don't think anyone on this ship has any actual experience at what they do." He waved his hand, indicating it was a question that didn't need to be answered. They probably knew, and the situation was apparently bad enough to warrant their departure anyway. Putting the PADD aside for one moment, he pulled on his shoes first, a list of commands that needed to be given forming in his mind already.

"They survive this, we can dispense with the other month of training we had slated," she grinned. "After the hit the Romulans took, once we're out of this we'll ace the drills. The crew's already on alert. You took the longest to wake."

"Gonna have me lined up in front of a firing squad, Lieutenant?" He smirked, standing up... but not without the obligatory thud of hitting his head, again. Normally when it did happen, once was enough... he was silently hoping this wasn't some kind of foreshadowing. "Ow. So what happened?" He started walking to the door. "You drew the short straw?"

"Sorena volunteered, but I didn't think that face would get you out of bed in a hurry. If I saw it, I'd throw the blanket over my head. No, not hers." As she watched him rub his sore head, she gave him a wink. "Shall I have Jalos to raise the ceiling for you, sir? It'd mean they'd have to bend over double in the mess, but everyone sits to eat anyway."

He laughed, shaking his head. "First off, there is nothing wrong with Sorena's face. She's just as cold as an Andorian winter. Secondly, it's not exactly good form to speak of your superiors in such a way and 'finally', no. I'll learn how to work these things eventually. You coming to the bridge or would you prefer a written invitation?"

"Right, sorry, sir. You'll have the good grace 'not' to mention it to the lieutenant commander?" Iannella followed him out. She had a hard time remembering ranks. Sure, there were those handy little pips that told you where you stood with someone, but when you constantly bumped shoulders on a ship this size, it was easy to forget that the person who slurped their soup could boot you out the hatch, as it were.

"Ofcourse not, don't be ridiculous. Even if I did, Vulcans aren't supposed to be vain, right?" That was a lie, Vulcans could be as vain as anyone else, if not more so, but so was the common perception at least.

"Oh good. I don't think she'd get the joke." Arriving on the bridge, Iannella left his side and took her place at tactical. Na'sav headed for the center seat. It was where he belonged after all. "Status report?" Sorena turned around. As there was no specific station for the Executive Officer of a Defiant Class starship, so Na'sav had elected to use her considerable flight experience and particularly Vulcan reflexes at the helm. She was a self-contained contradiction really, the daughter of a Vulcan Ambassador and a Betazoid Science Officer. The most detached and logical species the Federation had to offer inter-mixed with perhaps the most passionate, resulting in a woman who at the same time wore her brown hair long, wavey, and had unusually icy blue eyes that matched the prima facia coldly logical thought pattern. They were acquainted during the Dominion War, and had been together practically ever since with few exceptions. "We are on course for Romulus at warp 8, Captain. Sensors show no vessels in scanning range at this time, estimated time of arrival is in 12 hours, 17 minutes and 32 seconds." As usual, overly precise. It was something he'd tried to break her of for a while, but never seemed to succeed. "Iannella, arrange for battle drills every other hour. If I gotta get up, so does everyone else." "First drill is already scheduled one half hour from now, sir. You 'were' the last one up," she reminded him. She could feel the excitement already beginning to beat in her veins. Sure war was hell, but the spiral down was one fun ride. She'd never quite got what Dante was all about.

Na'sav blinked. "You woke up 'everyone'?" Damn, normally drills were done by shift, but apparently they were operating at maximum right now. Oh well, it's what he wanted done anyway, why complain? "They're gonna absolutely 'love' you." "Gotta make my name known on this bird somehow." "I can understand that." He smirked. I'll make sure it's put on your grave stone."

"Sweet Venom"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

Natalie"Picasso" Frost
Pilot
Currently Unassigned

= Present Day =
= ch'Rihan =

Despite being quite well versed with the grand events of human history and culture - especially by Romulan standards - Aerv tr'Ahalaen had to do a quick reference learn what the term "hippie" meant. That was the only term the Ardana Representative to the Federation had used to describe her own daughter - at least at her present age - and the Ambassador wanted to know exactly what kind of individual he was going in to rescue.

It was indeed going to be a rescue. It turned out that the message from Earth had come at exactly the right time. Second Lieutenant Natalie Frost - a fighter pilot formerly assigned to the USS Icarus - was creating quite the stir on ch'Rihan. Probably as much as a stir as she created in Starfleet when after graduating from the Academy and being given her first assignment, the girl had disappeared before even getting to the Icarus. Aerv, of course, did not know the details of what had happened there (neither did anyone else, it appeared) - here, however, it turned out that the young woman had taken it upon herself to defend a young thief. The local authorities were not impressed and were raising quite a brouhaha, insisting that they be allowed to shoot the "armed and extremely dangerous human".

When Aerv arrived at the scene, he had to make his way through a rather dirty crowd. He could not blame the poor though, for assembling here in this fashion. Surely, more than anything else, what the poor lacked was good entertainment. Food, Aerv suspected - though he had never really had a reason to find out - one could probably do without. A good opera, on the other hand, was nearly priceless. You see, 'priceless' was not the kind of word Aerv tr'Ahalaen threw around every day. Being a man of tremendous wealth who had made it a habit to purchase rare and exotic items from all over the known universe, he believed - quite firmly - that everything (and indeed everyone) had a price. One simply needed to know how to negotiate properly in order to make a transaction.

Yet when he saw Natalie Frost....

"Wow."

Let us note - in case there is any confusion about the matter - that she was most certainly not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had seen women with greater charms and women with more grace. And yet Aerv tr'Ahalaen had no doubt that he would always remember the day he first saw Natalie Frost.... It was not simply the fact that she was dangling, upside down, from a tree outside a small hovel - probably the home of the young thief she was intent on denying the authorities - with a large, wooden stick in her hand, which was being used to smack any peace officer who came close to the house on the head, with a playful laugh and the slightly crazed admonition: "Bad Rommie...that's a bad Rommie!" Of course, the stick was not her only weapon - she also had a Starfleet phaser with her that she used to stun anyone foolish enough to brave a few whacks to the head.

It was an undoubtably memorable scene. Years later he would still fondly remember that mischevious sparkle of her remarkably clear blue eyes...her shirt had tumbled down (or up, he was not quite certain of his prepositions just then) and snagged on her breasts - that seemed determined, unfortunately, to protect their own modesty - exposing the flat of her stomach...the waves of her light brown hair, dancing happily on a gentle breeze...her long, athletic legs making the whole acrobatic - if slightly insane - display look effortless. However, Aerv had the feeling that he would have remembered her no matter where he saw her - because she was not like any other sentient creature he had ever seen - the Elements themselves seem to respond to her. There was something fey about her...it made one believe that she was connected to everything around her at some basic level, as if she flowed into the universe and the universe flowed back into her....

What struck Aerv most, however, was that the girl simply did not care. He had spent his entire life searching for the perfect phrase in someone else's book, for that one sublime brush stroke in someone else's painting, so he was used to dealing with beauty that was contrived, designed and conscious. He had courted women who had known they were very pretty indeed - they cared about their image - so none of them would had the freedom to...well, dangle upside down from a tree and make an absolute fool of herself in front of an entire city. This woman - Natalie Frost - she just didn't care. She just wasn't aware of herself in that way - and if she had been, he suspected she would have laughed at herself.

"Ever till now," tr'Ahalaen whispered, understanding finally those Shakespearian lines that had eluded him his whole life, "When men were fond, I smiled and wondered how...."

"Ambassador?"

Aerv looked at the rather short, yet sturdy officer who had spoken. The man was rubbing his his gingerly and was quite green in the face. tr'Ahalaen grinned, "Problems?"

"Let me kill her, Lhhai," the officer was quite ready beg, it seemed, "Please. Please just let me take one shot at her...."

"I do not believe it will come to that," Aerv replied, still quite amused, "She is just one, lost girl."

"Girl! That...that is a hellion, Lhhai, an unholy soul with no...."

"Thank you," the nobleman said, cutting off the officer's sputtering, indignant triade with a slight wave of his hand. "I will deal with it."

By now the young woman and seen him. She obviously recognized, probably by his mode of dress and the deference given to him by the authorities, that he was the one in command. So she pulled herself up, somehow twisted around landed on the ground. tr'Ahalaen put on his most official face. There were too many people here for him to be too indulgent with the woman.

Even so, he acknowledged by way of greeting, "That is some trick."

Natalie ignored the compliment. "So...they've sent a pretty Vulkie to deal me?"

"There is no need to be insulting.... I may be pretty, but I am not a Vulcan."

The girl shrugged her slender shoulders easily, "You sure look like a Vulcan. You sorta talk like one too - ya know, all stuffy like."

"Be that as it may...I am the Romulan Amba...."

"So you're not a logic freak?"

"Not at all."

Frost gave him a skeptical look. "You just have a flat forehead then?"

"Yes. I..."

"Prove it."

tr'Ahalaen frowned. He was not sure how he was going to convince this girl to stop this nonsense if she would not let him get in a complete sentence. "How would I...."

"Drop your pants."

Aerv blinked. "Drop my pants?"

"Yeah. I know all the little differences between you elves. Drop your pants."

"Oh...I do not think so."

"Ah-ha," Frost exclaimed, brandishing her large stick around in triumph, "A typical Vulkie response."

"That does not prove anything."

"Yeah...it does."

"No it...." Aerv began, then seeing the snake-eating grin on the girl's face, he sighed, realizing that he was being played. "I am Ambassador Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen."

"Uh-huh. And I'm Picasso."

"I was being serious."

Frost gave him a confused look. "Yeah. So was I."

"Yes - well.... Second Lieutenant Natalie Frost...."

"Aw...shit."

"Yes," tr'Ahalaen declared with a smile, "Indeed. I know exactly who you are. Lieutenant, you are a Starfleet Officer and a Federation citizen on Romulan soil. You are - at best - a guest here. Instead of treating our customs with the respect they deserve, you have come to our world and are obstructing justice."

"No. I'm obstructing the law. There's like...a difference."

"That is not for you to decide."

Frost scowled. "They want to throw a kid into prison for stealing bread."

"Theft is against the law."

"He was hungry. He had no food. There was nothing else...."

tr'Ahalaen shook his head. "That is not relevant. And even if it were, it is not your concern...you have no jurisdiction here."

"I have a really big stick. That means I have jurisdiction. I'm pretty sure they taught us that at the Academy."

Aerv laughed softly, "I am sure that the Federation Fleet will be delighted to hear their teachings have given fruit."

That seemed to deflate her a little. "There's Starfleet here?"

"I am afraid so. The Akira, the Galaxy, the Miranda...several others Starfleet ships as well. Now...either you are going to come along with me, peacefully, or I am going to ask that an armed Starfleet detail take you back to your own people. We may not be able to use force against you...they, however, will have no such problems."

"What? You're threatening me?"

Aerv folded his arms across his chest. "Absolutely."

"Fine. Just...let the kid go."

"No...and please no not make further demands. You are in no position to negotiate."

Natalie Frost - a cute little slyph of a thing - actually managed to snarl at him. "This sucks. People here have nothing - hell, they barely have clean water to drink."

"Well then...." tr'Ahalaen replied with a small smile, "Let them drink ale."

"Fuck you."

"You may do that whenever you wish, Lieutenant, I will remain at your disposal. Now...as you can see, you have no options. Do you surrender yourself to me?"

"Fine." Natalie tossed her weapons at his feet. "Go to hell. Oh wait...you're already here."

"That is quite enough. Too much truth poisons the masses. Come...it is time for you to go home."

= End Log =

OOC: Slight backpost to just before the Miranda left Starbase Atlantis.

"An Empty Return"

Lt. Man'darr Maivia
Chief Operations Manager

Man'darr dematerialized in the transporter room aboard the Miranda. The trip back aboard the USS Apollo had been a long one.

"Welcome back, sir," greeted the transporter chief.

Man'darr hefted the duffel bag onto his shoulder and simply left the room without replying. He felt empty inside...ragining his family honor had cost him everything...everyone he cared about was gone. He was the last of the Maivia Family, and this saddened him greatly. Normally a Capellan Warrior would be happy about his family members dying in honorable combat...but he was not. Perhaps it had to do with him being born and raised on Earth. Entering his quarters, he tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and dropped down into a nearby chair as the lights remained off. The only light that came into the room was from the stars outside. He felt angry...angry at himself for not being able to protect his sister. Jill had much to live for--meeting someone, marrying, having children...and now she was gone...gone because he couldn't protect her. Anger quickly buit up within him. "Why? Why did she have to die?" At that moment, the anger reached its summit as Man'darr stood, lifted the chair and with a single hand, launched it at the nearby bulkhead, where it shattered and fell to the deck as he let out a cry of pure anger and hatred of himself, "WHY?!"

The sound of the chime soon cut through the air, grabbing Man'darr's attention--he ignored it. Then it chimed again. This time Man'darr went to the door, to spot a blue-skinned Lek'twi Female dressed in a flight suit and flight jacket stood at the door, holding a grey container and seemingly fighting back tears. "Hello, sir...we heard what happened to Jill. These are her things from her flight locker. I...thought you might want them...and if I may, sir, I'm sorry. I liked Jill, everyone in Rouge Group did. She was an awesome pilot and she will be missed."

Man'darr took the grey container. "Thank you."

The Lek'twi Female nodded sadly and walked away, unsure of what else to say to Jill's brother.

Man'darr watched the female turn the corner in the corridor and disappear. He stepped back inside and sat the container down on a table and after a moment, he opened the container slowly. Inside the container were pictures, a PADD, and a model of a starfleet Valkaryie Fighter. Man'darr took the photos and looked at them. The first was an old one with a much younger Jill, him, and J'Hakk wrestling with their father in the backyard of their home. The three children were piled on top of his father who was a giant smile on his face. Man'darr remembered that day well as he looked at the other pictures. One was a Starfleet Flight Academy Graduation photo of Jill in her dress uniform, and the others were that of her among her squadronmates aboard the Miranda. Man'darr placed the photos aside and pulled out the PADD, recognizing it instantly as Jill's personal journal. He grinned slightly at the thought of how pissed Jill would be to find him even holding her personal journ! al. It was something that she had always kept private and to herself. However, he didn't think she would mind as he accessed it. Most of the entries were about normal daily happenings during her life. It was strange reading Jill's writing...to him, it seemed as if she hadn't died, and was still around. One entry seemed to stand out as Man'darr glanced more closely at it:

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Jill Maivia's Personal Entry Message 219

I worry about my big, over-bearing, overgrown baboon brother. That harlot of a doctor really hurt him...and this is a guy who dented my mother's frying pan when I hit him over the head with it when we were younger! Its hard to think that such a guy can be hurt...but I suppose love could hurt anyone...no matter how big and tough they appear. My brother may be big and stubborn, but his heart is just as big, a big softy if you ask me. Even though, many people fail to see that and just see some short-tempered capellan. In all regards, my brother has a right, in some respects to be short tempered, after all what has happened to him. I just hope someday he meets someone who will not break his heart and hurt him. Though I don't say it nearly as often, I do love the big lug.

As for me? Well, theres Cowboy. He and I have had a few nights together. Not a bad guy, for a human. Though I don't think he is the settling down type...more of a guy with a girl in every starport type. Doesn't matter, as I'm not in a rush to settle down as of yet. I'm still young with my life ahead of me. Well, flight duty calls, time to log in some boring patrol flight hours.

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Cowboy, he had heard that name before aboard the Miranda...then it clicked as he remembered him as the ship-board ladies' man. "I'll kill him!" Man'darr looked at the PADD in his hand and sighed. Jill wouldn't have wanted that...besides, he had promised her that he would allow her to live her own life...even in death, he would not break that promise. He switched the PADD off and placed it back into the container, along with the photos and closed the container. He looked around his quarters for a place to put it, and after several minutes, he decided to place the container in the closet, in the storage space in the top of the closet.

“Just Another Day”
Cole Slaton

With the trial over, thankfully in the favour of the innocent party, namely him, within little over two hours the El-Aurian was sat on the sofa in his room. Dust had collected over the time he’d been away, with no one to clean his quarters it had that vacant smell to it. Nieja was on the sofa beside him, head resting on his lap allowing him to stroke her as he was doing at this point.

Despite being home, with the familiar surrounding him, he couldn’t shake the unease from the pit of his stomach. It obviously would take a lot to get back into the swing of things, despite it only been a week since he was arrested.

The door chime went off, but it was only the movement of Nieja that cause Cole to notice. It sounded again and rising Cole stepped towards the door. “Nieja, bedroom...” he called over his shoulder. Waiting for the wolf to stroll across the room, almost like she was taking her time - like all women tend to do - her tail swaying back and forth behind her, Cole pressed the button unlocking the door allowing it to hiss open.

Bright light came flooding into his quarters, partially silhouetting the huge frame standing poised to enter. It was a Klingon, his identity hidden by the large coat he wore, the hood pulled up over his head. The rank on the Klingon’s shoulders showed him to be a Colonel.

“Colonel?” Cole asked stepping back allowing the Klingon to step forward. Across his chest, along with that of his house, Cole noticed a torn medallion, the chain long since discarded only the face itself attached to his armour. The blood splattered crest of Chalg’s house, the Klingon who had been so brutally murdered.

A bright flash and green light filled the room as Cole was hit in the chest at point-blank range. The force of the impact pushing him back, like being sucker punched in the stomach driving the wind from his lungs. It had came from within the sleeve of the Klingon’s left arm, a second pulse lashed out pushing Cole further back still. Legs giving out Cole fell back smashing through the glass coffee spilling the cup of steaming coffee onto the carpet.

Eyes open, blinking Cole looked up towards the large frame of the Klingon as he stood over him, the small disrupter emerging as the sleeve of his left arm is pulled back. “His death will not be in vain...”

Pulling his hood back Cole’s eyes grew wide. The Klingon prosecutor! Who had fought tooth and nail to hang Cole for a crime he hadn’t committed. “Chalg was my blood-brother...”

“You killed him...”

“No, you did when you got involved!” the Klingon cursed. “Chalg was always head strong, his bloodlust always quick to rise, and speaking that Blood-oath of vengeance, he wouldn’t have rested until you, or he was dead.”

“And this way...” Cole began understanding what the Klingon had done. “... this way you could guarantee his death would mean mine.”

“He was a fool, and I knew he would never win a fight against you. No matter how much I asked, or pleaded he would not back down. Could not see reason, beyond seeing your blood spilled. I am a prosecutor, a lawyer, there was nothing I could do to help him, but this.”

Head resting on the carpet Cole smiled, causing the Klingon to frown in puzzlement, disrupter rising to finish the job.

=====================
One hour, twelve minutes ago
JAG Office
=====================

Standing in the room was the Klingon judge, who had made the announcement of Cole’s innocence and the dismissal of all charges against him, his name was Kurak, Jeff Carter, the human commander, also one of the judges and who still wore his white dress uniform, stood beside the large Klingon easy dwarfed in comparison. On the other side of Kurak, and sat beside the desk, was Trellin, the JAG officer who had defended Cole up to a little under an hour ago.

“Lieutenant,” Carter said nodding for Cole to take a seat. It was always unsettling when a Starfleet officer asked you into his office and another person, who you didn’t expect to be there, spoke first offering a seat. “It seems we have a slight problem.”

“We do?”

“Quite.” A datapad, which Cole suspected was the same PADD Shuya had given to the judges during the fifth day of his trial, and subsequently led to the immediate dismissal of all charges, was handed to him. A low grumbled erupted from Kurak’s voice, causing eyes to look in his direction. “As you can see, and as my companion is still having a hard time to grasp, there is sufficient evidence to implicate a certain species with the murder.”

“A Klingon?!”

They proceeded to speak to Cole about a possible solution to the problem in finding the true murder. “... You want to use me as bait...” Cole stated interrupting the commander’s flow. Everyone nodded.

=====================
Present,
Cole Slaton’s quarters
=====================

Men burst through the door, causing the Klingon to spin around, firing without waiting. More came in from the bedroom, where Nieja was being held back by Shuya, crouched beside the wolf. The red energy fire struck the Klingon seemingly from all angles, the one finally taking him down coming from a security officer who had burst through the door hitting him square in the chest.

Crying out he fell back over Cole hitting the sofa, bouncing off he collapsed motionlessly onto the ground, pistol still clutched in his hand.

Rising to his feet, brushing fragments of class off him, Cole lifted the jumper he wore revealing the armoured vest beneath. “You ok?”

Cole nodded at the question, watching as the Klingon was checked over. He was still alive, the rifles had been set on stun, and was quickly cuffed and taken away.

Just another day on the Miranda.... At least now he could get some sleep.

"Kate" – pt. 5

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)

When the waiter arrived with appetizers of marinated asparagus spears, Kate was impressed.

When he returned with salads of mixed spring greens tossed with strawberry vinaigrette dressing, she was pleased.

When he brought two piping-hot bowls of forest mushroom soup she was thrilled.

But when he set before them two plates of the tenderest, most mouth-watering, most absolutely beautiful pan-seared, pecan-encrusted Mahi-mahi, she was breathless.

It just so happened – coincidentally – that pan-seared, pecan-encrusted Mahi-mahi was Kate's uncontested, absolute favorite main course in the galaxy.

Of course, she challenged Brian's assertion that this was just a fortuitous quirk of fate, which he eventually confessed to orchestrating with a tip from Karyn. The sublimely sweet angel food cake -- topped with precisely the right amount of Crème Anglaise -- that finished the meal also turned out to be rigged, but by that point how it got to her dessert plate was no more relevant to Kate than the circumference of Neptune.

With the pleasant distraction of an utterly stupendous meal behind them, the two counselors were able to sit back and enjoy a mellow ruby port, some equally mellow jazz standards, and most of all, each other's company. The focus of their conversation covered a significant range of topics through the evening, but each seemed most interested in the other's life story; that unique, fascinating, and deeply powerful narration that always sounded best in the voice of the unique, fascinating, and deeply powerful person who lived it.

"So twenty years later, does music still figure as prominently in your life?" Kate asked, silently marvelling at the many facets of the man who sat across the table from her.

"On a day-to-day basis, no," Brian answered, looking into his glass of ruby port as he pondered the question. "But on another, deeper level, the one that I'd say really matters, definitely. Every bit as much, and maybe more, than it ever has."

"It must have been such a joy to have a mother who was a music professor. My parents encouraged me to pursue music, but they had no real background with it themselves."

"And did you?" Brian asked, his interest piqued.

The joyous sound of her laughter was Kate's first response. "Well . . . I did learn to play an instrument," she then confessed. It was the first time in the past two days that Brian had seen her blush. He was smiling at her again, drawn in with even more enthusiasm at the revelation – and the reticence with which she delivered it.

"What? What did you play?"

"Well . .. it's nothing flashy or anything . . ."

"What??" he insisted, leaning slightly more forward in his chair.

"The lute."

Brian's face immediately lit up. "The lute?! Kate that's great! Why are you so embarrassed, the lute is a delightful instrument."

"Yeah, but I always felt so, I dunno, 'geeky' about it. I mean, nobody -- *nobody* -- learns to play the lute in the twenty-fourth century," she chuckled.

"Of course they do," Brian countered. "Heck, whoever taught you had to learn it, right?" He was completely mesmerized by this side of her personality; the brilliant, self-assured, self-sufficient free spirit could be vulnerable after all. It was a charming contradiction that was almost too wonderful for words.

For her part, Kate was realizing how much she liked being able to relax her strength with this man for awhile, a sentiment clearly reflected in her eyes.

"But okay, so you studied composition and you sing . . . did you learn to play an instrument?" she queried.

"Several," Brian succinctly replied. "But I became most proficient at the piano."

Kate practically cooed in admiration. "What a beautiful instrument – and it's so versatile. It's been around for centuries in almost every style of music I can think of. You know, there's this *gorgeous* nocturne – you're probably familiar with it; it was composed by a Betazoid composer . . . mmm . . . what was his name? . . ."

"Arden Tal," Brian said, easily filling in the blank for her.

"Yes! Arden Tal. He's marvelous!"

"Did you know," Brian began, eager to share some information about his people's most celebrated pianist, "when the piano was first introduced to Betazed from Earth, Arden Tal vociferously fought against it, claiming it would somehow 'pollute' Betazed's native musical culture? He insisted that it be banned from schools, made available in only very limited quantities . . . he even suggested that people be licensed -- *licensed* -- to play it! No one in their wildest imagination would have guessed that within fifteen years he would become the most talented concert pianist and piano instructor ever to come from our planet."

They both shook their heads and laughed aloud at the absurd irony. Suddenly, Brian's eyes lit up and went wide with inspiration.

"I just thought of something . . . "

Already curious, Kate stopped laughing and looked at him. "What?"

He looked at her and smiled, setting his port glass down in front of him. "There's a song I have to play for you!" He spoke as if it were the most perfect, most incredible idea he'd ever had.

"Play a song for me? On the piano?" she asked, glancing up to the stage, which was now vacant while the pianist from before was on break.

"Yes," Brian answered, standing up from the table. "And I'm going to need some help."

"Sorry, I'm afraid I didn't bring my lute with me."

"No, no . . . you're safe. Give me just a minute."

"O-okay," Kate chuckled, watching him as he quickly departed the table.

Trotting to the other side of the room, Brian called out for the Arch. Immediately, it shimmered into existence, the club's holographic staff and patrons completely oblivious to its presence. He entered a few commands to modify the program. A moment later, three musicians – a bass player, a guitar player, and a drummer – materialized out of thin air, with instruments, on the stage behind the piano.

Brian touched the panel he had used to summon the musicians and the arch disappeared. Then he trotted back to the table, removed his jacket and slung it over the back of his now empty chair.

Completely perplexed but amused, Kate chuckled again. "Brian, what are you doing?"

He was clearly pleased with himself. "There's a song, a kind of jazzy, pop/rock tune from Earth, late twentieth century. This is so perfect . . . I can't believe I didn't think of it before," he said interrupting himself. "I learned it when I was in college. Those guys," he said, pointing to the stage, "they're holographic re-creations of some college friends I was in a little band with. We used to play this song all the time for the bass player's girlfriend at the time." Feeling like a kid who knew he was getting – or in this case, giving -- the coolest, most perfect gift ever, Brian paused and beamed at Kate, his expression a mixture of tenderness and excitement. "Just listen and have fun," he calmly instructed.

It took only a couple seconds for him to trot up onto the stage and seat himself at the piano. At that moment, the entire club went quiet as all eyes and ears focused on the little group of musicians. Brian took a deep breath and focused. It had been many years since he'd played this song, but tonght was just too perfect for him not to remember it. The backup musicians at the ready, he kicked the song off with an up-tempo repetition of the first chord for four bars, joined by the other instruments for four more.

As his hands launched into the next pattern of chords, Brian sang the first verse:

"She plays Wipeout on the drums The squirrels and the birds come Gather 'round to sing the guitar Oh I...Have you got nothing to say"

His holographic friends added their voices to the last phrase, then Brian continued solo again:

"When all words fail she speaks Her mix tape's a masterpiece Walks through the garden So the roses can see Oh I…Have you got nothing to say"

Again, the backup musicians joined him in unison on the last phrase, then the trio added harmony as they and Brian picked up the energy for start of the chorus:

"And you can see the daisies in her footsteps Dandelions…(dandelions) Butterflies…(butterflies)

I wanna be Kate! Kate!…Kate!…Kate!

Back at the table, Kate North was beyond speechless – she could barely even think. She knew she was going to like the song just from the intro, but it was the chorus (of course) that completely blew her away. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, all she could do was cover her mouth with her hands and listen as the next verse began like the first two:

"Everyday she wears the same thing I think she smokes pot"

Kate managed a quick "maybe I do, maybe I don't" shrug in response when Brian looked directly at her to deliver the line.

She's everything I want She's everything I'm not Oh I…Have you got nothing to say"

Again, the backup singers harmonized with Brian for the next repeat of the chorus:

"She never gets wet, she smiles and it's a rainbow And she speaks (and she speaks) And she breathes (and she breathes)... I wanna be Kate! Kate!…Kate!…Kate!

Next the melody and harmony shifted into a lively bridge, Brian singing the first two lines, the backup joining in for the third and fourth:

"Down by Rosemary and Cameron She hands out the Bhagavad-Gita I see her around every couple days I wanna see her so that I – can – say…hey… Kate!

As Brian and his little band launched into a sixteen-bar instrumental break, Kate could only continue to marvel at the entire spectacle. She was dumbstruck with amazement at the other counselor's singing and piano ability – and the obvious joy he had expressing it. The song was more fun than she could have guessed: she couldn't stop tapping her feet and moving her head in time to its driving beat. The melody and harmony made her want to sing along, but she was more than happy to listen to Brian handle that along with his backup singers.

Ooh…la la la Ooh…la la la Ooh…la la la laa….

Doo doot dooo…doot Doo doot dooo…doot

By the time the final repeat of the chorus began, everyone in the entire room had long since been totally absorbed in the music, some had even gotten up to dance next to their tables, so infectuous was the rhythm.

She never gets wet… she smiles and it's a rainbow You can see (you can see) I wanna wanna wanna be… Kate!...Kate!…Kate! Naa…naa… Kate!...Kate!...Kate! Naa Naa Naa Naa Naa Naa…Kate!

The room leapt to its collective feet the moment the band landed on the last chord. Brian just smiled a little shyly, then returned to the table as the rapturous applause and whistles continued unabated.

"That was *incredible*!" Kate shouted over the noise as the holographic backup musicians remained on stage for more bows and cheers. "Does Karyn know you can do that?" she asked, still incredulous that he had such talent.

Brian smiled coyly again and shrugged.

"Look, they love you!" Kate added excitedly, gesturing toward the rest of the room.

Laughing, he shouted back to her, "Well, they kinda have to . . . I programmed them."

[OOC: FYI if anyone's interested, the song is "Kate" by the Ben Folds Five.]

"Kate" – pt. 6

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

The sounds of quiet conversation, punctuated now and again by giddy laughter, characterized the stroll back to Kate's guest quarters. Their evening finally winding down, Kate and Brian still managed to stretch out their time together without even trying. The time, like the conversation and the laughter, flowed freely and easily for them.

Still in the middle of a discussion about places they'd been and things they'd seen along the way, it was completely natural when the two walked through the doorway of Kate's room together. Mercifully absent was the common pretense of "Do you want to come in for a nightcap?" and the awkward moments that usually followed as two people either bristled with anticipation or silently prayed for a quick ending. The easy and natural connection the counselors shared transcended all the silent emotional negotiating that was often present in the early stages of a relationship. Yet they had no urgent expectations for any kind of relationship, as what had grown between them over the course of the past two days was completely organic.

"I swear if I ever have to go back to Axanar I'm going to take the biggest flyswatter I can get my hands on." The two broke out in laughter over Kate's retelling of a recent run-in with a rather unpleasant native species of insect. Without even realizing it, they were next to each other on the sofa, both in the same slouched back position, faces skyward, trying not to hyperventilate.

"This has been the most wonderful evening I've had in I don't know how long," Kate finally said once they had caught their breath.

"I had a great time too," Brian comfortably agreed. "I hope I didn't embarrass you."

Kate sat up, surprise registering on her delicate features. "'Embarrass' me?" she asked, smiling at Brian as if he'd said the most absurd thing ever.

"Yeah, you know, with the song and all."

She laughed. It was nice to know that he cared enough to be concerned but more wonderful still to know that she could laugh in his beautiful face about it.

"Well technically speaking, you were the only other person in the room, so it's not like I'm going to be the talk of the ship tomorrow."

"You're right," Brian agreed, smirking at himself for letting the obvious so easily escape him. "Heh… I guess I *was* the only other person in the room."

"Yes . . . you were . . ." There was a marked change in Kate's tone, as if she were just coming to realize something she'd never noticed before. She stared deeply into his eyes, and then without thinking, without saying another word, she leaned over and kissed him.

In that moment, that split second after some obvious shift has occurred in the energy between two people, Brian's head started spinning from everything he felt. He hadn't seen this coming . . . or had he? Deep down, could he really say he didn't understand the dynamic that was at work between them? He was a man, a trained counselor, an empath; it was absurd to think he hadn't.

But this had *never* happened before. Not merely the kiss itself, but the deep and completely natural connection he felt with her. For all his adolescent and adult life, Brian Elessidil *knew* with complete certainty and without the slightest confusion or shame, that his orientation was homosexual. Women had simply never been attractive to him in any way that could be interpreted as romantic or sexual. He knew what that kind of attraction felt like, he'd experienced it many times, but only toward other men.

With this one move – and perhaps only as the culmination of something more significant, something that had been developing for two days now – this other person, this *woman*, had unknowingly taken his entire understanding of himself, crumpled it in a ball, and casually tossed it aside. And it absolutely didn't matter to him. Whether or not he expected or understood it, Brian wanted this kiss right now, and he wasn't going to move a millimeter to stop it. Gently, he brought his arms around her, drawing her closer as he equaled her expression of the passion they shared in this completely new form.

"The Right Choice"

Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor CO, DS5

Lieutenant Bryce Kae, Chief of Security, DS5

Overlooking the vast promenade designed in a manner not unlike Deep Space 5's promenade, a simmering cloud overlooked the smattering of beings that criss-crossed the mosaic patterns of deck-plating on their way to whatever it was that took their business to various ends.

Unbeknownst to the Andorians, Rigellians, Medusans, and any number of species milling about, moving from shop to shop, transport conduit, restaurants, and a number of other ventures, the patterns were not just there for aesthetic design, even though it was one Olivia thought was a nice touch - she'd chosen it herself - it was scanning grid.

Already, it had captured her a broad base of contraband and wanted criminals hoping to escape into the void of unclaimed space the station hovered about. She'd been lucky enough to apprehend a smuggler who had been kind enough to have stocked in his hold a very nice range of expensive wines from around the quadrant. Of course, he had traded his dampening field frequencies that helped the security forces discover the hidden cache for freedom, and she'd given it to him - minus his warp drive. Out here on the fringe of Hydran and Federation space, with the Sheliak, Yanek and Romulans nearby, he'd be hard-pressed to get anywhere in any sort of time. If he wanted to venture into Romulan or Hydran space for his parts, that was his business, and she didn't care.

The sensor recording devices they'd installed on his ship without his knowledge would transmit enough long-range data for their needs. If he was discovered - and they made no qualms in disguising it beyond his own internal sensors - and destroyed, what did she care? It was plausible deniability, and she'd still get what she wanted.

So, now she sipped on a snifter of a rather rare vintage of Centaurian Ice Harvest merlot while she perused the scene, waiting for the next apprehension.

She was rewarded when a large-bodied Klingon had paused to study some form of ugly sculpture by a Talarian street urchin - as she termed the vendors. Most of them were scruffy, dirty, and smelled of something rotten. The moment he stopped, he was descended upon by a half-dozen security officers who had been disguised as customers and civilians on the promenade and arrested on the spot.

Olivia Proctor smiled and turned to her companion, a staunt Bajoran female whose dark features betrayed no emotion, only stared down the Klingon as he was cursing at the deputies, striking out where and when he could. Her jet-black eyes gave nothing away within.

"See why we can't allow these barbarians to pervade our society?" The urge to stop the deputies in their place under the mezzanine while she poured the remainder of her wine down upon the brute's head was strong, but she resisted.

Instead, she kept her focus on the middle-aged Bajoran woman. "Imagine if we allowed the Klingons, Cardassians, Romulans, Hydrans, and any other sneaky, violent species free reign in our midst? We'd be defending our way of life from inside our own territories every moment of our lives. We'd be opening thousands of fronts. You were on Bajor during the Occupation. You saw what the Cardassians did to your own soil, your own people. You had your backs to the wall."

Lieutenant Bryce Kae had just recently come to Deep Space 5, her arrival being part of the last of the personnel transfers that had come with the Task Force to ch'Rihan. She'd been on station for no more than a few hours now, hardly settled in, but had no choice when Admiral Proctor had insisted on meeting the woman she'd specifically requested as her Security Chief. They'd immediately begun a tour of the immense station, with Proctor's focus on prioritizing her personal security concerns.

The promenade was the first stop on the tour. She would have preferred the landing and customs bays, but they were undergoing maintenance for several power failures that had opened the force-shields to open space. No personnel had been lost, as those on deck had been close to starcraft and gotten aboard as the flight deck had decompressed.

The damage controls teams had been stretched thin. A great majority of the Engineering personnel were currently running Level 5 diagnostics on the main computer core and their backups. There had been too many computer failures for her to be comfortable with since the station had come online.

So, skeleton crews were all that was left to go out and repair any malfunctioning operations as they cropped up. They were mostly irritations at this point, but nothing serious. She'd been told by the SCE team leader that it was likely issues caused with the upgraded and replacement parts having incompatibility issues with the old equipment that hadn't been replaced or compromised from the station refit and repairs after the Dithparu had wrecked havoc with the systems.

"We defeated them, Admiral. There's something to be said about humiliating and demoralizing your enemies. Look at the Cardassians now. Completely dependent on the Federation. Pathetic. You can't say the same for those who you haven't defeated yet. If we'd had the means, we'd have chased the Cardassians all the way back to Cardassia Prime and finished them off."

"And yet they are under our control. They are no longer a threat." Olivia raised her flat chin, looking up at the taller woman as she raised her flute to pursed lips and imbibed another flavorful sip. "I take it you aren't of the general outlook on Bajor of fostering friendly relations with Cardassia? Even after Vedek Yevir brought back all of the rest of your Orbs in the spirit of cooperation?"

Kae sucked in her lower lip, obviously contemplating a harsh remark, but biting down in the presence of the Admiral. She had both respect for the rank, and an ear for the gossip that surrounded the woman, as small and non-threatening physically she looked.

"Go ahead and speak you mind, Lieutenant. I'd like to hear what you have to say?" Olivia often used her diminutive size to advantage. People tended to be more open to manipulation by people they don't feel physically threatened by, and even more so when the Admiral planned the escort of six security officers. She wanted Kae to feel safe in her little box and allow her mindset to escape free. There was something to be said about breaking down the walls through deceit. It was a power grab, and they never even knew they were giving over said power when they are under the illusion of holding it themselves. Proctor smiled sweetly.

"I am an Ohalavaru, by his own actions. I'm a proponent of choice, Admiral. I believed in the Prophets up until the Occupation. Yevir's teachings say they are ever-loving, they have a path, we must give our lives to them. The very idea that he has the right to turn around and throw an Attainder on Kira Nerys for 'making a choice' for the people of Bajor to make up their own minds and follow a path of their own choosing is self-righteous and ignorant on his and his followers part. Ohala's prophecies are far more accurate than the ramblings of drug-induced ramblings of the 'Prophets as Gods' followers, and yet he wants to suppress our belief that the Prophets are not gods, but teachers. How is that wrong? Placing faith in the Prophets during the Occupation for no reason other than 'they love us' didn't help me when they slaughtered my family and raped my sister. I can't honestly believe in a system of faith without fact, especially a system that has such a checkered past of failed prophecies. Who is he to determine which are true, and which aren't? Why wouldn't the Prophets tell him that it is acceptable for the Ohalavaru to love them as much as he? Becasue it takes away his power base."

Olivia had been satisfied to let her pour out her thoughts, until the Lieutenant took a breath, her emotions sated. Now they could get down to business and begin the conversion process.

"And how do the Cardassians and their relations fit into this?"

"Because Yevir knew his stance was weakening. He needed a distraction, a reinforcement that the Prophets are speaking through him. Returning the Orbs reinforced his party. For someone so religious about unity Bajor, his encouragement about dividing Bajor's spirituality and its peoples right to *make choices* is sickening. This... friendship is sickening, made under false pretenses. Just to insatiate one man's desperate grab for power. If we'd been allowed to teach them the same lessons they forced on us, we'd have taken back what is ours. We did not *have a choice*."

"You have one now, Lieutenant. You can stop this from happening all over the Quadrant. We can stop it before it happens. Before we all become Occupied by corruption and enemies who care little about our way of life. About our freedom. You can choose to sit idly by and watch it all happen again, or protect what you have fought and lived for all your life. You're the one in control now."

Lieutenant Bryce Rae stopped staring into the habitat ring, and snapped her steel eyes back at Proctor, fury just underneath her dark eyes.

"I make my own decisions about philosophy, Admiral, but I suspected you brought me here for just that. You already know my feelings on certain subjects."

Olivia did not break their shared gaze, but said nothing.

"I'll take it under consideration. Until then, I'll enact security protocols to disallow any 'questionable' species access to the upper decks."

Proctor raised her glass for another sip. The scarlet liquid was almost gone. "Some of those questionable species have commissions in Starfleet. What do you intend to do about that?"

"Lower their security and data access, and assign an escort at all times. Absolutely no access to the Operations Center or top five decks without your direct permission."

Olivia smiled, lowered her glass and leaned back onto the railing to watch the passersby.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. You've made the right choice."

OOC: Unfortunately, this series had to end early (I had hoped to be an 8-10 post series). We'd hoped to go longer with it, but time management by all of us, the big question mark of the Catalyst plot GM participation and when he needed us, and my focus on ending the episodes put this one on the backseat. So, we'll do another one again sometime. Sorry.

"Ground Zero"

Chapter 4: "Delayed Reactions"

By:

Kylar Curran, Chief Liaison Officer

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton Chief Medical Officer

Commander Karyn Dallas, RN Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Ensign Kiel Apprentice Counselor

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A working shuttle would do right about now, or an SCE tech who'd rebuild the downed shuttle in a few moments with nothing more than spare parts and gaffa tape. Checking the meager medical supplies she had she compared what she had to what she needed and frowned, ~ Let's hope your Kelvan physiology is as tough as I've read about! ~ she thought.

He opened his eyes at the sound of a warble stirring him from a restless sleep. It was muffled, and the image was hazy, doubling itself even as his visual periphery was tinged with red, offset by a light around the moving forms near him.

"Who... who are you?" His weak hands tried to curl themselves around the jagged metal he'd used as something to defend himself from the animal that had been prowling. He struggled to tighten his hands around it.

"Doctor Burton," she replied simply, "lay still, don't try to move just yet," she advised as she recalibrated her tricorder slightly, kneeling beside him she used the device and her eyes to scan him, trying to ascertain his injuries.

While it was making sounds to him, he managed, with a certain amount of willpower, to raise the beam a few inches off the ground, turning it so that the sharpest edge faced one of the predators lower backs, then he shot it forward with all the power he could muster.

Seeing the movement out of the corner of her eye Kimberly glanced casually around in time to see the jagged remains of a support strut being thrust at her. Twisting away she managed to avoid being impaled on the metal, but felt instead a searing pain as the sharp and still warm metal sliced through her uniform jacket and cut a deep gash along her ribs.

"Goddess above!" she got out as she rolled away, kicking out she tried to kick the metal out of Currans hand as she lay on the ground, ~ Great, survive the crash, get impaled by the wounded! Is there no end to the irony of tonight ~

Glancing up from where he was foraging through the piles of scrap, Kiel snapped his head around at the sound; taken aback as he saw the doctor on the ground, kicking at what seemed like a metal pole of some kind in the hands of the wounded male.

Karyn heard the scream and shot up with a start, realizing belatedly that she was still trapped beneath her hoverchair. She groaned in pain and fought dizziness as she strained to see before her. "Kimberly! What's wrong?" she shouted.

"Nothing," she let out between gritted teeth, "just a little accident," kicking out again she missed the flailing piece of metal twice before managing to knock it out of Currans hand, ~ What's next! ~

~ That was probably a bad thing to ask! ~

Picking herself up she looked around for her fallen tricorder and the diminutive Ensign who was supposed to be scrounging for her, "I could use some help here Ensign!" she called out as she tried to restrain the waving arms, reluctant to sedate him, either with drugs or a right hook.

And once again, Kiel's directions were changed. Forage. Find some missing guy. Forage some more. And now help restrain the said wounded guy. Wonderful. Wasn't there someone he could just listen to? Wasn't that supposed to be his job? They definitely left this shit out of the Starfleet recruiting material.

Karyn cursed under her breath. Naturally, she wasn't the priority as her injuries weren't life threatening, but trapped as she was, there was nothing she could do. "Kimberly, what's going on?"

"Doc's a little busy at the moment, ma'am," Kiel commented, making his way over beside the doctor as he knelt down beside the injured legate. Now just what was he supposed to do? For being a clueless ensign, the El Aurian wasn't blind however. "You're bleeding, doc," the boy noted dryly with a glance at Burton's side.

Running the tricorder over Curran again she grabbed a hypo out of the field kit she had and stuck in a phial, "Legate," she muttered as she stuck the hypo under his jaw line, "please wake up!"

He felt the cold sting his flesh, and for a moment, he despaired that his life had ended in such an eclectic state. There were such high hopes for him, he knew, and in that instant, he became hyper-aware of everything that had been flashing around him in riddles. All at once.

Then a female's face grew out of the glare, her lips moving, but words not quite aligning with her lips. The eyes were odd; of different colors they were. He'd never seen that before.

"Who are you?" The words came out raspy, and they hurt his throat. He coughed, more blood spittle escaping into the cold night air.

"Relax, the doctor's going to take care of you," Kiel offered the wounded legate, the quiet reassurance about all that Kiel knew to do in the situation. He'd been out of the Academy for what? A month? Maybe a few weeks more than that?

"I don't know you." He tried to shake his head, but found he couldn't. Everything felt heavy. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

"You were in a crash," the boy explained patiently. "Do you remember the crash, legate? You were in a shuttlecraft."

"I don't remember any of it. I'm so tired..."

"It's okay Legate, I'm Doctor Burton," ~ Hopefully his memory is a little foggy, I'd hate to think he's not noticed me in all those staff meetings recently ~ "just lay still, you'll be okay," she tried to reassure him again.

Turning to Kiel, "I'll be fine," ignoring the gash in her side, "stay with the legate a moment, I'll be right back," clipping her tricorder to her belt she stood a little too quickly, cursing as her head impacted on some random piece of wreckage above her, rubbing the top of her head as she walked back over to Karyn, "I need to borrow your hoverchair for a moment," she asked simply as she struggled to right the device, "you okay waiting here for a bit while I see to the Legate?" she asked.

Karyn was about to offer a sarcastic reply about her hoverchair and how much good it was doing her now, but as Kim struggled to right her chair, she groaned as pain shot through her back and a wave of dizziness overcame her. With any luck it was just muscle strain. Fortunately, the dizziness passed. "I'm kinda attached to my hoverchair, doc, literally and emotionally. I should help you take care of the Legate."

The good news was, her hoverchair's controls were still operational. She had to give her chair that, it was sturdy. Unfortunately, "takes a licking and keeps on ticking" did not apply to the chair's occupant.

"Right now," Kimberly got out as she righted the device, "all I need is your chair, I need to get some wreckage off the Legate, and your chair has the closest anti-gravs around, give me a moment to shift it and I'll bring your chair right back," she promised. Spending a moment to figure out the controls she activated the chair and watched as it ran through it's self diagnostics. Guiding it back over to the legate she pondered on how best to free him. While the prospect of simply tying the chair to the wreckage and pulling was partially appealing, it would probably have the unfortunate side effect of killing the legate.

Settling instead for a simpler option, she wedged the chair under a pair of beams that were pinning the legate and most of the rest of the wreckage down and programmed the chair to rise to it's maximum elevation, looking to Kiel, "Ready Ensign, as soon as I give the word we pull the Legate out, assuming the servos on this don't burn out we should have a moment to get him clear safely and slowly, okay?"

"Got it," the youth answered with a firm nod. I think, anyway, the boy thought to himself, swallowing nervously as he reached out to take hold of the legate.

"Okay then, on three," setting the chair to rise slowly she moved back to Kylars side and took careful hold of his right shoulder, "Okay Legate, we're going to pull you out of here, just relax okay," ~ No more hitting me with things! ~ she added silently, nodding to Kylars left shoulder she looked to Kiel, "Ready?" she asked, hoping he was as the chair was about to start lifting, "One, Two, Three!"

Pulling gently but steadily the two of them slowly extracted the Legate from out under the remains of the aft compartment, ~ And here's hoping the tricorder wasn't lying! ~ Kimberly muttered to herself, one small puncture in a major artery or vein and the Legate would be having a bad day real soon!

As soon as he was clear of the beam She set him down and deactivated the chair, letting it settle the beam back down, then turned her attention to the wounded Legate, "Do you want to take the Counselors chair back out to her please," she asked the young Ensign, who by now must have been heartily sick and tired of her orders and demands she realized, "and thanks," she added.

Something about the way that the order had been phrased gave Kiel the -distinct- impression that he was being talked down to, like a child. Not that such a thing would ever happen to him. Go figure on that score. With a quiet sigh, the young El Aurian got to his feet with a mumbled 'yes'm'.

At least Dallas was better company. And it wasn't like Kiel had the slightest idea of what to do to help with the legate's situation, so he was really rather grateful at the invitation to slide the commander's chair back over to her. "How are you doing, ma'am," the youth asked of the chief counselor, edging the chair nearby as he crouched down by Karyn.

"Just peachy," Karyn groaned. At least now, free of her chair, she had rolled herself onto her back. More softly she added, "Thanks for asking. A few bumps and bruises won't kill me, but I'm worried about the Legate. Do we know anything yet?"

"Doc's taking care of him," Kiel replied simply. It was as good of an answer as any and he honestly had no idea just how the legate was doing.

Meanwhile, back at the shuttle, the focus of all the efforts of the others blinked at the female who had been fussing over him. The other one - a child, he supposed - and the woman had called him 'Legate'. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Why do you call me Legate? Is that my name?"

Looking at Kylar with a mixture of concern and confusion Kimberly shook her head after a moment ~ One problem at a time girl! ~ she decided, "No," she said as reassuringly as she could as she worked to stabilize him, "your name is Kylar," she informed him simply.

He twisted his neck to the left, pondering. You could see his eyes groping for recognition.

"I don't remember. Did you put something in me to make me forget?" With obvious anxiousness, he clumsily tried to escape the sudden confining space he was in. He felt the need to get away, to escape.

Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder she tried to restrain him without aggravating his injuries, "Easy there, you've taken a nasty bump to your head so you should expect some disorientation, just relax, okay! Your memory should return, "~ I hope! ~ she added silently, glad Commander Dallas was here, she could have this one, she probably knew him better anyway.

***********

Morning had begun to bring its rays of light over the hilltop, revealing the carnage that had scarred the landscape the night before. The shuttle's forward compartment was a smoldering slab of metal several dozen yards distant, and a debris field lay between it and the rear compartment the Legate had been in. A small blood trail lead away from a spot twelve meters ahead of the group, but nothing showed what it had been. Whatever had been there, it probably saved the Legate's life as he lay trapped under the fuselage by becoming a predator's lunch.

The group had huddled under a makeshift lean-to made of remains of shuttle; someone had located blankets and support braces to keep them warm and the flying predators out. The morning rush of air was frigid. Curran shivered in his bundle of blankets.

He didn't feel much for pain, but someone had sat with him throughout the hours and made sure he did not fall asleep, as he so desperately wanted to do.

Yawning, though only partly due to the missed nights sleep Kimberly listened to the sounds around her and her patient. During the night a few other survivors who had beamed out as well had congregated at the crash site and were now sifting through the wreckage, able to see what they were doing now the local primary had risen.

Leaning over Kylar she checked his vitals again, a routine she had done every fifteen minutes since he had stabilized, ~ I could really use a coffee right about now! ~ she thought idly, looking at the twisted remains of a replicator nearby.

"Ensign Kiel, were you able to locate the emergency beacon in the wreckage?" Dallas may not have been in a position to physically locate and activate the device, but as the ranking officer, she knew how to give orders with the best of them, as much as she hated that part of her job.

"Locate, yes," the boy answered shortly, glancing over at the woman. "And the beacon light is on, but there's no way to no if its transmitting."

Karyn had remained relatively quiet all night as she struggled to keep warm. As much as she complained about her chair being a death trap, she grudgingly acknoweldged that without its hard shell to protect her, she probably would have been crushed. Now that she was upright again, she had been helping Kimberly keep an eye on Kylar. It was just her luck...she had him in one place where he couldn't get away, and he didn't appear to remember a damned thing. She honestly didn't know whether to be grateful or not.

It wasn't but a few hours later that the hum of a vehicle approaching them from the west could be heard.

OOC - Cliff, I hope you don't mind the very, extremely brief appearance of Jaxom in this post, but I considering what goes on in the build up to this brief apearance, it seemed somewhat appropriate.

"There'll be no peace between the Federation and Romulans, not in my lifetime"
Lieutenant John Ramirez, Chief Flight Controller USS Miranda
John Ramirez Sr, Occasional Apparition and plague of Miranda's CFCO

The Starship Miranda seemed to always be one of those ships that everything happened to. Mere weeks had past since returning from a frustratingly long sojourn into the Delta Quadrant - which he had to admit could have been a good deal longer, Miranda was heading up a Fleet on its merry way towards Romulus. Merry was hardly the word to describe it really, after the Hydrans recent attack, The Romulan Star Empire was the last place John wanted to be. The last place any of them wanted to be.

Sat at his bridge console, where he now felt he belonged, like he had a home to occupy at Miranda's forward station, he monitored the ships - and ultimately the fleets - progress towards Romulus itself, the heart of the Empire. Getting ever closer to the system, John couldn't help but feel nervous about what was ahead.

"I don't like it son" a voice said from beside him.

John glanced sidelong, to see his father, still dressed in the dress uniform he had been wearing the first few times he'd appeared to him. Being on the bridge, John did his best to ignore him, it could only cause him embarresment further down the line. That he knew for certain.

The elder man, well, technically he wasn't much of a man anymore, some what closer to an apparition, stuck in the Limbo, as it were, forever attached to his son for some reason. It seemed an interesting way to spend the afterlife any way. John had had more luck with assignments than he'd ever had. He could have been there to help retake DS9, but he had to perform training manouvers with what fleet it was. He could have been there at Havras, had he not been tasked by Starfleet to escort some backward Ambassador to some conference. Admittedly, he hadn't actually known what was going down then, but still, it'd have been nice to have been invited.

He could also have been there during that whole Section 13 thing, the London had even been in the Sol System the week before it all kicked off. If it weren't for some stupid trade agreements that needed to be settled, that Command felt he was the man for the job. Everytime he'd been pipped to the post of the 'ships of the line'. And now, here he was, Dead, and now he was getting the opportunity to be a part of, or witness at least what went on in these missions for the bigger, better ships.

He walked around the console that his son worked at, not that he really needed to, he could have walked straight through it, but it was just force of habit. "I mean it son" he said, looking at the viewscreen, "I don't like it."

"You don't need to like it" John blurted out, alittle louder than he'd intended, garnering a look from the technician making some minor adjustments to the image resolution of the viewscreen.

"These Romulans" the elder Ramirez began, "watch them. They'll stab you in the back given the opportunity."

No longer caring what people around him thought, John took his eyes off his console to give his father his full attention. "But we've been invited. They need help."

"That might be so son" John senior replied, still watching the viewscreen, "but you can never trust them. There'll be no peace between the Federation and Romulans, not in my lifetime."

"But your dead" Ramirez said, again louder than he'd intended. More on the bridge began to notice the Lieutenants conversation with what appeared to be the viewscreen, "you've finished your lifetime. Of course there won't be peace."

"Then why do you look so nervous" the elder Ramirez asked.

"Becuase everytime we do something like this, there's a chance we could all be killed. I'm not ready to die yet, I've got too much that I still wanna do."

The apparition of the former Starfleet Fleet Captain walked round the console once more, placing a hand on his sons shoulder, "Its ok to be afraid of death son."

Looking at his Dad, John replied, "I'm not afraid, I'm just not ready."

"Is everything all right Lieutenant" came a voice from beside him.

John turned to see who the voice belonged to, and finding Commander Jaxom looking at him. He turned again to look back to where his father had been, to find him gone once more. Shaking his head, John replied, "I'm fine sir."

Seeing visions of his dead father was hardly a sign of good health, but it didn't really interfere with his duties, so what difference did it make...

... or so he figured.

In Absentia

Lieutenant Commander Erigone Aello, Assistant Director R&D

USS Miranda - R&D Laboratories

= = =

It had taken Aello all of fifteen minutes to clear her office of personal effects. Maivia had only just returned to the Miranda after travelling home to Capella in traditional mourning of his sister's death. She wanted him to have time to settle in before she dumped the demands of the Operations Office on him.

It felt wrong to her, all of it. Not being on the bridge, Maivia as Chief Operations, the blue on her cuffs after ten years of wearing nothing but command red, the fact that she'd been blindsided by it all. That bothered her the worst, that she'd been caught off her guard. She'd spent a long time building her network of information out of friends and aquaintances scattered throughout Starfleet. She'd devoted nearly as much time to it as she'd spent chasing the Icarus Virus across Starfleet's computer systems.

Anyone else wouldn't have let a surprise like that bother them, espeically after spending the better part of four months missing presumed dead. Aello wasn't anyone else. She had desires, ambitions, and plans. She wanted to captain a starship and that generally happened in logical steps: command track, exemplary service, XO, ship of your own. Nevermind the title and the prestige. This Atlantis piece of crap assignment was derailing that sequence and Aello didn't like it one bit.

At present, Commander Wolfson, the Director of Research and Development, was on an extended personal leave of absense. What Aello had been able to learn confirmed that Wolfson hand picked Aello for this particular job. Without Wolfson available to explain her motives, Aello had to do her best to put things together and make some meaning out of it.

In the Centauran's mind, it meant only one thing: Someone was out to get her. The summers back "home" under the often brutal tutalage of Lucius Vorenus had taught the daughter of the Amazons that conclusion, while paranoid sounding to others, often proved true. Whether that someone was Wolfson, or another hereto unknown individual, Aello had no way of knowing. Centauri Prime gave all sorts of lip-service to the high civilization behind noble diplomacy and the supremacy of democracy and preserving the peace over all else, but her internal politics were anything but civilized and Lucius Vorenus had made certain Aello learned that lesson best of all.

The fact that Zephrim Thrace, Senator on Alpha Centauri in his own right, and currently the top Alpha Centauran delegate to the Federation senate thought he could find some politcal use for this new job Aello found herself in spoke volumes to the young woman. Zephrim Thrace knew political opportunity when he saw it. Adopting her into his clan, proved that much to Aello. To his credit, Aello could not find any trace of his hand in the machinations that brought her to her current post. All her investigations led straight back to on woman: Jerri Wolfson. In abstentia, Aello passed judgement and declared Wolfson guilty, though of exactly what, the Centauran woman could not say.

Aello took the position with the best grace possible, considering it all. She recieved messages from friends she hadn't heard from in ages, all congratulatory. Most suprising of all was the short message one of her former computer science instructors at the academy, a human named Arthur Gates. "With a Centauran that close to the helm of the Atlantis R&D effort, we're sure to have a broad exchange of the knowledge across the Federation." She was suprised he bothered to send congratulations, given he'd tried his damnedest to drive her out of the science department in the first place. He was the reason she'd ended up in operations and not sciences.

His message, however, did not suprise her: it seemed typical of someone of his general level of intellect and maturity. Why anyone believed Alpha Centauri to be the center of peaceful exchange and learning, Aello couldn't really say. Had their human cousins had forgotten that Greece produced the city states of Sparta and Lesbos, taught Rome all she ever knew, and gave rise to the military genius of Alexander the Great, or was Earth's humanity was simply that naive? At times it seemed Earth's humanity was determined to prove both true. It made her want to deny any genetic similarities between herself and most humans just as most Vulcans the Centauran officer had ever ment seemed bent on denying any genetic similarities between themselves and the Romulans.

How ironic then, that the Miranda was hurtling inevitably toward Romulan space. How ironic that just as the Vulcans maintained a standing fleet openly in front of the Federation, despite increasing encouragement for Federation members to rely solely on Starfleet for defense, Alpha Centuari maintained her own standing fleet in secrecy. Aello wondered which one of them had wandered the farthest from the Human ideal, Earther or Centauran?

At the moment, it didn't really matter. Given the paperwork in front of her, Aello figured Wolfson hadn't been in the office for at least six months now. She began reading through the tasks ahead and trying to make some sense of it all. As assistant director, she had to be the voice of Wolfson in Absentia.

Never mind that Aello had never met the woman before in her life. Never mind Zephrim Thrace trying to find some political profit in this happenstance. Never mind the Romulans. Never mind the danger. Never mind Aello's own desires.

Fortune had cast the die. The Fates were spinning the cloth. All Aello could do now was make the best of her place in all of it and drink another cup of Raktajino for spite, which she promptly did.

"Like father, like daughter."
Ensign T'Ashaya, Cetacean Specialist.

USS Miranda
Ensign T'Ashaya's Quarters

= = =

It was the message she'd been dreading, but it did not come from the expected source. T'Ashaya had expected "the call" to come from her ko-mekh, T'Lis, a diplomatic attaché serving on earth. No, she had not expected this call to come from this individual at all.

"Sa-mekh, be reasonable," she twisted a strand of her long blond hair and resisted the urge to frown at her father's image. "You of all people have always been the one to encourage my seeking diversity in all of its infinite combinations."

Her father did not resist the urge to frown. He frowned so hard that the stern lines on his Vulcan visage furrowed so deeply into his face that T'Ashaya believed his flesh might just peel back and reveal a bare skull with burning coals where his eyes had once been. "I have been reasonable, ko-fu. Was I unreasonable when you told us you wanted to follow your heart and it led to the sea? No, it was I who convinced your mother your actions were sensible and your logic was sound, despite the fact that no Vulcan of sound mind has ever truly liked swimming.

"When you nearly drown on Delta and decided to join Starfleet, was I unreasonable then, ko-fu?" His anger and frustration tightened his voice and his volume rose. "No. I was the one who showed your mother just how sensible you were being, abandoning your illogical sport for the pursuit of science. When you were missing, I convinced your mother that your death was logical and reasonable. When you returned, I convinced her that your foolish desire to stay in Starfleet was only logical. I have been nothing but reasonable in all of this: But now it is the time for you to behave reasonably for a change. It is time to come home. You will return home, ko-fu. I have decided it is logical and for that reason alone you will comply. And stop twisting your hair: it is illogical and pointless."

Her hand flew away from her hair, as if she were still a child, though she was not. She thought she heard something in his voice, something familiar and disturbing. T'Ashaya couldn't be certain though. "Is Ko-mekh at home?"

"Do not change the subject, my ko-fu. I did not wish to trouble her with your illogical protests. You will come home now." He slammed his fist down.

From the sound it made, she knew he had damaged the smooth metal surface of his desk. That was not the only sound she heard. T'Ashaya drew in a deep breath as she listened. His voice reverberated in the higher frequencies, just as her own did from time to time. "You do not need to raise your voice My ears have always functioned well, Sa-mekh. Perhaps too well. Be calm, Sa-mekh."

"I am calm!"

T'Ashaya chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. "Why should I come home, Sa-mekh? This, of all times, is the worst possible time for me to leave Starfleet. Have you heard of the trouble among the Rihansu?"

"That is precisely why it is time for you to come home. Times are dangerous, particularly for a young unbonded Vulcan girl aboard a star ship."

"Sef has not rejected me yet," T'Ashaya protested dumbly. Her cheeks burned green with shame.

Her father's face softened and he calmed visibly "He has not rejected you publicly. Not yet, at any rate. But his heart is with another and we both know that. Did you think that I, of all people, would not know? I am your Sa-mekh. I held you before your mother when you were newly born. I cooled your brow when you were fevered and told you stories to lull you to sleep. How could I not know? It is not your fault. Come home, and we will find you another."

"There is no other to be had. I am," she struggled for the right word. "I am inadequate."

He made a sound, a comforting sound. Her mother would not hear it. No human listening to the transmission would have been able to hear it. T'Ashaya was almost certain no Vulcan listening to the transmission would have been able to hear it, but she did.

"Oh, beloved. You are not inadequate," he told his daughter with all the faith of a doting father. "There will be another. Come home and we will find him for you. Someone who will understand your heart and who will love your whales, too."

She studied her father. On the outside, he looked like a Vulcan. He looked like a sociology professor, a professor of Vulcan studies. He looked just as one might expect, despite the enraged outburst. T'Ashaya wondered, though, what did he look like on the inside?

She had not nearly enough evidence of anything to make a confrontation logical. "I am sorry, Father. I cannot come home just now. I am searching for something and I have not found it yet."

She was searching for her missing year. She was searching for the fifteen minutes she could not remember where she might have killed K'aa, were it not for his reptilian physiology. She was searching for something that the medical sensors could neither detect, nor diagnose.

Her father heard the earnestness in her voice. When he finally spoke, both his face and his voice echoed the defeat shown in his sagging shoulders. "I will explain the logic of your choice to your mother when she returns home. She is concerned for you. She believes that the hope of reunification is nothing more than a folly believed by humans and perpetuated by the Rihansu as a means to open the door for conquest of the whole of the Federation."

T'Ashaya raised an eyebrow slightly and inclined her head. "And what do you believe?"

"I believe you would be safer at home, my beloved," he sighed a very un-Vulcan sigh. "I believe you will do what you feel you must, whether I believe it is safe or not. Promise me you will find some way to be safe. Do your best to come home to us. I do not believe I can stand to lose my little girl again."

"I will do my best, father," T'Ashaya raised her hand in the traditional salute and pressed it to the screen.

Her father returned the gesture, pressing his palm flat to the screen as well. Perhaps she imagined it, but she thought her hand fit perfectly within the outline of his, down to the webbing between his fingers. "Peace and long life, daughter of mine."

"Live long and prosper, Father."

The screen went black.

What did he look like on the inside? T'Ashaya wondered. What did he look like in the deep, black waters of the night? She could not say, but she was not without ideas.

"The Plan"

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC Commanding Officer- Alpha Company CO

Major Peter Shaw- SFMC
Executive Officer- Bravo Company CO
101st Battalion

Second lieutenant Branwen London - SFMC
Executive officer Galaxy Furies and Furies counselor

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

For'kel and Pete were hovering over an expertly recreated table-top holographic map of the capitol of Romulus, complete with buildings, causeways, topography... the whole works. Their intel liaison had even checked with sciences on the weather outlook for the week after their arrival, so every aspect of that which they could predict was programmed for easy access while they were planning.

"I think it's safe to say that 'if' we do get deployed, more likely then not a single additional Battalion won't help much. If the Romulan military loses, I doubt they'd even realize we were there." The Stagnorian smirked, still marking out positions on the map. "Our best bet would probably be to provide physical security for the capitol, and as a back-up to help evacuate the government and other high-level officials should the need arise. What do you think?"

"Yeah," Pete said as he zoomed in a little on the main senate building. "We should think about contacting the Romulans to see what kind of current defences are up around the senate building. Put in a few shield generators, or at least transporter supressers. That could give us some extra time if we do need to get them out. My only worry is, if we do it that way we are going to have to use the drop ships and other runabouts, and I bet you that the fighter squad us going to be maxed to the teeth. Some marines may get left behind if we can't make a second trip."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." For'kel sighed. "The HQ element is already requesting more specific defense information from the Romulan military. Even when we're allies, they don't want to give us details... it's kind of annoying." Kind of 'real' damn annoying. "There looks to be a hilly plateau, sides aren't too steep and the top is flat. That's where we'll set up our fire base and landing zone. I want all of our artillery, MTL's and mortars, centered there. It puts them in firing range of any of the practical landing zones for enemy troops. If we're going to hold any onslaught back for any amount of time, our best chance is to make their landings as bloody as possible, hit their transport craft as they're trying to land."

Pete looked at the arangment. "Yeah, that looks good. I like the idea of putting a shield or something to give us a few seconds. If we do get bombarded, we won't last long there, but the shield could mean the difference between destroying a ship and not." Pete hated his train of thought right now. He was thinking defence, and he would rather be on offence. "I don't like this overall siutation. We are being put on the defenceive from the start, and that dosn't boad well. I think all we can do, if it comes to it, stalling them enough to get the Romulan officals out."

"I know, but it's the mission." For'kel smirked... sometimes it really didn't pay to be a 24th century leatherneck. "I want you to organize the fire base and it's defenses. I want Bravo's 2nd Platoon to provide area security for the base. The Transport and Artillery Platoon are most likely going to be busy. I'll lead Alpha Company on a tour of the possible LZ's outside of the city. I don't want to set up any munitions inside of the city because of civilian casualties, but the area's outside of the city are fair game."

Pete nodded. "Sounds good." Pete really hated this. He didn't like anything about this. To top it off, he hated war. "How about setting up a few MTLs in the forests outside the city limits?" Pete asked. "It gives a good natural cover, and we would only need one or two, enough to maybe make them think there are more units out there and go looking while the main batteries take them out?"

For'kel shook his head. "If enemy units swept for the fire-base from the woods they'd catch lone guns and crews without much in the way of protection. Besides, if we have to bail out quickly, it's best to have everything together in order to move. This is all ofcourse pending on input from our friends aboard the Galaxy."

"True, but a few good hits and we lose everyone," Pete said icking up a padd. "And speaking of the Galaxy, it's MCO is in the brig. Seems hes been in there for some time now. He geats released for duties and then its back in."

For'kel was about to mark down advancement markers for Alpha company when Pete let that jewel slip. "Major Shaw... that is 'not' funny."

"If I was a comedian, I would be back on earth in some club, not out here with guns in my hands," Pete replied.

For'kel blinked before finally realizing Pete was speaking the truth. "You have 'got' to be kidding me! How the 'hell' does he maintain his commission?!"

"Hes their most experianced right now," Pete replied. "There is also a report about some changes with him after he went AWOL, but they are being tight liped about it."

"Prophets..." For'kel scratched his head. "All right, consider these to be standing orders. If he does anything that puts his Marines, or the mission, needlessly at risk, you're to assume command of his Marines, consolidate them with your own, and relieve him of his duties. Understood?"

"Noted," Pete said. "We should meet with their marines. Being the most senior officer, it might put on a good face. That wat everyone is on the same page as to who is in control."

For'kel nodded. "Let's do it, and when they're here we'll brief them on our plans. They might even have something we can use over there besides Marines."

"Sounds good."

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

They'd worked out their part of the strategy, now it was time to see what the Galaxy had available and try to integrate the two units unto a more cohesive fighting force. Something told the Stagnorian he really had to worry about this arrangement, more so than he should have had to. Walking up to one of their communications specialists, he patted her on the shoulder. "Get me in touch with the Marines on Galaxy."

"Right away," she simply replied as she sent out the hail to the Galaxy's Marine detachment.

Branwen was on duty in her office and for some reason the call was patched through to her. "Lieutenant London, how can I help you?" She answered politely not really knowing what to expect.

Pete stood just slightly behind For'Kel as the image of Lieutenant London came up. He wasn't going to say anythign right now, but instead listen and hear what they had to say.

For'kel for his part smiled congenially. "Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion, 101st Battalion." Now that introductions had been made. "I was hoping to speak to the commanding officer of your detachment." Quite frankly, she looked way too... 'nice'... to be the one constantly in jail. "About the Romulus mission, is that you?"

"Ehrm, no sir, colonel." She blushed. "That would be Lt. Baile, my commanding officer. I am the XO. Shall I go get him, sir?"

For'kel simply continued to smile, she didn't know who was calling so it really wasn't something that could be held against her. "If it's possible Lieutenant, I would like to speak to him."

Pete waited with For'kel as the Lieutenant went to get Lt. Baile. "You know, if I wasn't dating already..." Pete didn't get to finish before he got slapped by the communications specilist on the back of the head. "I was told to do that, and here," she said as she handed Pete a padd. It was from Jenna simply saying "you owe me".

"Hah!" For'kel snickered at him. "See what happens when you allow yourself to be distracted?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Pete replied as he rubbed the back of his head.

Branwen rushed into Baile's office. "Sir, there is Colonel on the line wanting to speak to you. The got patched to my office by accident I think." Or maybe it was a sign that some of the Marines were not happy having Baile back either. "He's waiting for you." She rushed back.

The marine looked at the backside of Branwen as she left his office. It wouldn't be Colonel Smith. He'd call Baile directly. Grabbing the goggles and placing them over his eyes he barked at Branwen to haul her ass back into his office. Seeing her stop and return he ordered the computer to open the channel. "I'm El-Tee Baile, CO of the 188th Marine Detachment. What can I do for you... Colonel.."

"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant." For'kel gave a polite nod. "I need to know the status of forces of the 188th, I figure it best that we coordinate our efforts to provide the most effective defense possible."

'What is with those goggles?' Pete asked himself. They where right with at least one thing at least, something was weird about this man standing in front of the.

"They're... mean and lean.." Baile told For'kel with a smile on his face that was far from human. ".. sir."

Pete decided to interject, "we are not going to have a problem with the command structure here, are we Lt?" Pete asked.

Branwen squirmed. Baile did not take kindly to questions like that and he was not renowned for his tact.

How cute. The puppy could talk. Baile decided he disliked the little rat from the start. He had a feeling if the man had been standing in front of him he would have been hearing the heartbeats. Whatever that meant. Why the hell hadn't this.. change.. come with a bloody manual? The ghosts in his head certainly refused to answer any questions. "Not from the 188th.." he replied calmly.

"Good," Pete said as he looked down at a padd. "It says here you are still spending some time in the brig, is this correct?"

"No... " he replied, but added a 'sir' just in time to avoid a remark. He really didn't like the younger man at all. "My time in the brig was a... precaution.. "

"A precaution?" Pete asked. "Would you go into detail."

~Oh no.~ She thought. They can't find out that he broke my arm. It will be too embarrassing. She started to study the floor intently.

"I'm not at liberty to answer that... sir." he told him with the same inhuman smile. "You will have to ask the brass about that... sir."

"We will look into that," Pete replied. Pete didn't like this man, and one outburst that put the mission in jeopardy Pete would do as ordered at take over the detachment. Brass could sort it out later. As far as he was concerned the man shouldn't even have a commission.

"Now that that is out of the way, could you send over an updated roster, and a list of equitment you currently have and what you require? Command recently over supplied us."

"Of course." he replied. The list had been updated by London and Jonas a few days ago.

"Thank you. We will get what you need beamed over to your bays ASAP." Pete then whispered something incorent to For'kel before dissapering from the screen.

For'kel blinked, confused by why the two of them seemed to be at each other's throats. He couldn't help but wonder if there was some history there... and prayed that the two of them could remember they were operating on the same side. "Would you be able to tell me how many Marines you have under your command and what kind of heavy weapons you have access to?" Before he replied the Stagnorian held up a hand. "And Colonel, or For'kel, is just fine."

"Two full platoons and logistics. First platoon are Advance Recon Commandos." The statement didn't hide the contempt he felt for the ARC's.

They could come in handy. "Thanks for the details. We're working out the Op plan over here, you and your XO can beam over to provide input."

Baile cast a glance at Branwen and nodded. "Understood. We'll be there in one hour." The restlessness inside of him charged him head on. He could almost not stand still anymore. There was a sense of... urgency inside of him, pushing and urging him to do something rather than sit on his ass.

As I had called an early night I have interject that some of Branwen's movements now. For the rest I'm ready for the follow-up!

For'kel killed the comm-link after a nod to the Lieutenant on the other hand. His eyes then turned towards Shaw. "Want to start explaining what all that was about, Major?"

"Not really," Pete said, "I just don't get a good vibe from him, or that London person. There is something they are not telling us, and I am sure the rest of their Marine detachment dosn't know and I will get to the bottom of it." He sat down at the table and looked back at the plan drawing up a few notes.

"Lazy as I Want"

Major Peter Shaw- SFMC
Lt. Jg. Jenna De'Dro

*****

Pete walked down the corridor towards Jenn'a quarters. He had to call off their lunch today due to all the work that had to be done down on Romulus, but he hopped showing up with flowers would help smooth things over. He just hopped the little ankle bitters where not around. He hit the chime and waited for a response.

It was Tala which answered the door ever, the little girl's eyes staring up at the familiar face. "Hi there."

"Hey there, is Jenna around?" Pete asked.

She considered it for a moment, chucking and smiling, twisting from one side to the other as if harboring a secret. "Maaaaybe."

"Maybe huh?" Pete said as he went into his pocket and pulled something out, but kept it in his hand so she couldn't see it.

"What's that?"

"What is what?" Pete asked.

"In your hand!" Tala demanded, jumping up to try and grab it.

Pete raised his hand so she couldn't get to it. he then opened it and looked inside. "Hmm. Seems to be chocolate."

Well now there was only one way to answer that. Tala jumped up, clutching Pete's shoulder and began pulling herself up as if she was climbing a tree. But before she could get to it the door had swung open. "Enough is enough Tala, go eat."

"But he's got..."

Jenna snapped her fingers and pointed to the kitchen. Clad in a gray over sized sweatshirt, black sweatpants, and with a neckerchief covering her hair which was tied back in a bun, she looked the part she'd been playing. "Hey, come on in... what's up?"

"Pete smiled and watched the little girl run off and he put the chocolate back in his pocket for the time being. "I thought I would bring this," he said as he showed her the flowers, "for breaking our lunch date."

It was a sweet gesture, and Jenna even blushed a little. "Hey, we both have jobs to do, these things happen." She couldn't help but take a sniff. "Everything okay with you guys? I've heard some things."

"We are being deployed to Romulus, of all places. So For'kel and I have been working double time trying to get everything in order. Not to mention the Galaxy has some weird and off the wall Marines over there... and a creepy Intelligence Team." He paused and looked at her. "But we will be fine, hence all the planning we are doing. Thought what about you? Looks like you have been playing maid."

Jenna smirked. "You caught me in between shifts. I was going to head back to Engineering for a second shift, just to make sure all the damage control teams are in place and up to date on their procedures." Jenna replicated a fairly plain, white vase to hold onto the flowers until something better could be obtained. "Take a seat if you like. Thirsty?"

Pete set the flowers in the vase, "sure," he said taking a seat. "Whatever you are having."

She chuckled, replicating two glasses of fruit punch and setting one in his hand. "Well, whatever you do, just be careful, all right?"

"Of course," he said with a smile as he took the glass and took a sip. "I always watch my caboose."

She barely managed to succeed in not spitting out her drink... or forcing it through her nose either. Control was always a good thing. "Good, because Crewman Wilson says if you get yourself killed we're burying you caboose up so we can have a ramp for his hover-boards."

Pete let out a laugh and smiled, "then I will have to make sure I watch it doubly so, huh?" He asked as he took another sip. "How are you dealing with all this? The possibility of war looming over our heads?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't find anyone to watch the kids at the starbase... but they know the emergency drills forwards and backwards. I've been assigned to run damage control team 2, which typically works on battle damage for weapons systems, so I've been reviewing everything as far as repair and maintenance is concerned..." she gave another, uncertain shrug. "Whatever happens, happens. Right?"

He motioned for her to sit next to him, "yeah he finally replied." He hated war. He hated back during the Dominion war, and he hated it now. "We could always call my parents back on earth. They are both retired and have a farm out in the country with a few plants and animals."

She smiled broadly. "That's sweet of you to offer, but I would think we're too far out by now, aren't we?"

"More or less," he replied, "but I am sure we will be back at a Starbase soon. I can always look in and see what we have for transportation for a Romulan ship. I am sure they have some kind of transports heading to Federation space, as it seems the Hydrans are not currently interested in the Federation or Confederacy."

She licked her lips. "I'm worried about putting them on a transport on their own..." but the Miranda would hardly be the place to be during a fight at the same time. "I'll look into getting them on a Federation or Romulan transport when we arrive. They're probably booked with panicked people, but it's worth looking."

Pete nodded. "I am sure you could get some other people to go as well, get most of the civilians off ship and such and head to DS5 and then send them to Earth. I will call my parents to make sure its okay, but I don't think it will be a problem."

She smiled, and leaned up against him to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Pete smiled and wrapped his arm around her to give her a slight hug. "Any time," he told her. "Now the problem is, what person are you going to punish to watch them for the trip?"

"I'll find someone." She was certain, after all, that there had to be some civilian aboard old enough to handle the responsibility and who hadn't the time or inclination to get off at the Starbase. "Leave that part to me."

"Okay," he told her. "I will." He smiled at her. "When do you go back on duty?"

"Two hours or so." Jenna had taken a moment to check the wall mounted chronometer before replying. "You?"

"I don't have to be back down there till 0800, but I am always on call. Want to go grab a bite to eat? Something light maybe?"

She chuckled. "I've got food here already cooked if you want to stay for dinner."

"Or I can stay here and take some the food you expertly prepared"

"My sentiments exactly." She smirked, and popped up to her feet. "I'll go get us a couple of plates then, would you like rolls with it?"

"Of course," he said with a smile. "You want help?"

"You're 'my' guest, don't move from that sofa." She gave her response in a teasingly demanding tone, emerging from the kitchen a few minutes later with a plate, on top of which sat a bowl filled with a kind of egg-noodle and gravy, with side dishes of vegetable medley and the promised rolls. For herself, she had a bowl, dispensing with the side dishes completely given she'd eaten a good portion of food with the kids already. "Tell me what you think."

Pete tasted the soup type stuff, "tastes good," he told her. "You are a good chef, if I do say so myself," he told her.

"Why thank you... you make a good dinner partner." Easy to please was always a nice quality in someone you were entertaining. "I should probably pack their things for them... the kids that is."

"You can wait a little bit. Take some time and just sit here and enjoy the food and the company," he said with a smile.

She chuckled. "You know, if it were up to you, Miranda would be nothing more than a flying diner with room service."

"Yeah, and the problem with that?" He asked with a smirk.

"What kind of work could you get done from your quarters?" His naive counterpart questioned.

"No work hardly ever gets done in my quarters, which is why my office is just down the corridor. I get to my quarters and I need to work out, do something besides work, or eat and sleep."

"Exactly, so who's going to run the space liner of yours?"

"I was thinking a Q... then I can go everywhere and be as lazy as I want."

"The Slavers" - Part V

Lt. JG Nieca Rey'ol (Laura C.)
Cpl. Falkor "Fang" Vox (Matt M.)

---------------------------------------------
Stardate 60407.15 (29 May 2383):
Unknown location, IHV Thunder of Victory
---------------------------------------------

*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 unfazed and merely shook off the haze. Although Nieca sniffed and wiped at the bloody nose she received, the Caitian also seemed to recover quickly.

A noisy mix of Kzin 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 the Hydran captives, causing them to howl in pain--their attempts to run only causing them to slip and fall in the slick orange 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 Lupin 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.

---------------------------------------------------
The past, Stardate 42117.92 (13 February 2365):
Joculux, Lycur (Lycur III)
---------------------------------------------------

He couldn't stop them. They kept coming, walking slowly and stiffly, their voices droning on and on and on in his head:

~We are the Borg, resistance is futile, surrender yourselves to our collective and we add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our...~

"Noooooooooooo!" the youngling pup roared, trying to drown out their monotone from inside his head. Charging the nearest drone, he snapped his jaws, biting and tearing at anything he could to kill the monstrosity that had destroyed his home, killed his father. Biting hard into the drone's neck, the pup grimaced--it's blood-red eyes widening sharply at the bitter-tasting fluid that seeped out of the open flesh wound.

The youngling continued to claw and scratch and bite, tearing conduits, hoses, and data cables from the interloper's body, showering sparks and bio-fluids all over. With its jaws, the youngling snapped down on the Borg's head, twisting and tearing the flesh from the hardened endoskeleton beneath.

Finally, the terror stopped twitching, the frightened and exhausted pup collapsing on top of its first kill. Looking over its shoulder, the youngling called out for its mother in its native alien tongue. Tentatively, it raised its small, triangular ears, swiveling them back and forth, straining for any kind of return churr.

Nothing.

"Mother?!" it called out again, louder, still poised on top of the dead Borg. Blinking its eyes rapidly, it moved, trying to untangle its forearm from the mess of tubes and cable from the Borg. "Moth--" It stopped short, yipping in surprise at the sudden flare of pain that issued from the left side of its neck.

The pup gasped, then rolled onto the ground, its body suddenly going numb at the neck, paralysis spreading down coldly to the rest of its body.

"M-mother??" it whimpered--scared and alone.

Silence.

It tried to look down at the painful area around its neck, but its face was quickly becoming paralyzed. Before the world turned dark, however, the pup's brain registered the long, thin, blue-black tubule running from the not-so-dead Borg drone, directly into its neck....

-----------------------------
The present, unknown time:
Unknown location
-----------------------------

"Huuuurrrrrrrghhhh!"

The caniloid jolted upright, its hands flying to its neck, claws extended, a crazed look taking shape on its face as it scratched at the device encircling its neck.

As its fingers made contact with the glowing device, a sharp *CRACK!* and a blinding flash of white-hot light issued from the collar, violently shocking it's wearer, burning the Lupin's fingers.

Thrown back against the wall by the force of the electrocution, Vox sunk to the floor. After regaining his breath, he tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. Once again, it was too bright--the searing light blinding his sensitive night-vision the moment he cracked an eyelid. Realizing he was sitting now, most likely on a floor, he shot out a leg, searching for...for...

Nieca jumped to life as she received a sharp kick to the ribs. "You son of a bitch!" the Caitian shouted as she rolled over onto her side and hugged her body. "What the hell was that for?"

Vox grunted, actually relieved to hear her mewling voice. With his eyes still firmly clenched shut, he replied, "To make sure you haven't lost all of your lives, Tabbycat." He shifted his body, trying to stand up.

Rey'ol groaned in protest as she attempted to sit up. Unprepared for the weight of the Slaver's collar, she stumbled in her motions. The collar *CRACKED* in protest to her rough movement. Nieca screamed something that Vox assumed was a profanity in her native tongue.

There was a long silence before Nieca spoke again. "Do you know what we are wearing around our necks?" Her tone was cold and angry.

"Kzin slaver collars," he stated simply. He had been debriefed on their weaponry, back at Survival Training School.

She slowly stood up next to him, the faint jingles and tinkles of a sex slave's costume moving with her. "Correct." Nieca hugged her sides and began to pace the small cell, the merry sounds following. "Then you know what we must do."

"Escape," he churred lowly, still sitting on the floor as she paced over him.

"Or kill ourselves before we reach our destination." She placed a hand over the warm collar as it hummed and flashed around her neck. "Are you prepared to take your own life?" Nieca paused in her pacing and looked down at him with ears pressed against her head.

Vox canted his head up, trying to point his snout in the direction of her voice. "What I do with my life, Cat, is none of your concern." Pressing the palms of his hands against the back of the cold, metal wall, he propped himself up, then stood up to his full height, eyes still clenched shut.

"Don't play coy with me, Curr." She suddenly became enraged: "Slavery is a form of death for the weak and stupid! Any creature with respect for themselves would much rather tear out their own wrists than subject themselves to the submission of slavery!"

The sharp crack of the Lupin's bark filled the room with his raw hatred. Shooting a massive arm forward, he caught the treacherous Caitian around the neck, lifting her bodily and slamming her back into the wall, feet and tail dangling in the air. "You...coward," he growled low, a menacing calmness pacing the fury behind his voice as she tried to claw his arm off of her neck. "You would take the easier way, to dishonor yourself, than to fight," he stated, the disgust curling through his voice.

"I..." his lips curled menacingly as his sharp canines flashed in the dim light. Forcefully, he pushed her against the wall again, careful not to let his hand make contact with her collar, "I *know* slavery, CAT! Better than you!" He roared, spittle flying as he arched his head away from her, revealing the two-pronged scar on the left side of his neck. He was sure that she, being a tactical officer, would know the significance of that scar.

She couldn't help but laugh--it was a low rumbling sort of sound. "So, a Borg captive attempts to convince a Cardassian P.O.W. of the horrors of slavery?" She slid a knee between them and pressed it into an odd pressure point below his armpit, his grip faltering slightly from the sensation--Nieca wiggled from out of his grasp. The Caitian couldn't help but continue to chuckle. "Pots and kettles, my friend, pots and kettles."

"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAGHHHH!!" He roared loudly, then blindly lunged in her direction, his powerful legs shooting him toward the sound of his voice. He would rip her to shreds for mocking him! Blindly, he swung, claws extended, trying to catch her and rip her to shreds. He should have just killed her, when he had the chance.

She stepped out of his way and allowed Vox to slam into the wall of their cell. The force of his impact caused his collar to *CRACK* once more.

The shock sent him flying backwards, against the other wall. Slumping to the cell floor, he tried to shake his head in order to stave off the numbing darkness that threatened to overcome him.

"Settle down back there!" The Kzin guard shouted from the opposite end of the hall. "Or I'll turn up both your collars!" There was a loud rattle from the same direction as the gaurd's voice before both Vox and Nieca received another strong jolt of electricity. Nieca took a step back and tripped over the now limp body of Vox.

"Death before slavery," she muttered before her vision grew hazy.

"Organic Automaton"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer

Ensign Eve
Intelligence Technical OPS officer

* * * Intelligence Complex, USS Galaxy * * *

Eve strode through the main office towards the back, where The Office was. There had been a recent change in the departmental structure culminating with the change in Department Head. Almost immediately he had begun calling individuals into his office, one on one. Today it was her turn. Stepping up to the main door she pressed the annunciator and waited patiently.

There was no response.

A door sled open, from the other side of the small hall.

"Over here."

Saul decided to establish his new office in the same room that contained his former office, back when he was leader of the secondary intelligence unit. This meant that Cora's office was now used the department's analysts. This move, in his opinion, represented that the change taking place is not just in the manifest.

Besides, he loved his old office.

Eve, who entered the room, had no way of knowing that this was also the first occasion where Saul actually invested time and effort to shape his working environment beyond the spartan default. One wall presented two dimensional views from Israel and the Netherlands back on earth. Another wall was almost completely covered by displays, showing information from all around the Federation and beyond. At least three displays automatically darkened when she crossed the threshold. The third wall bore only a couple of shelves, on which several ship models were carefully placed.

Ships with masts, sails and oars, rather than nacelles.

"How're you doing?" He stood up, extending his arm. "I'm Saul."

Eve glanced about the compartment as she entered, noting the various items of personal taste as well as the immediate darkening of a number of displays. Information she need not know at this moment in time, to be sure - as a tech op, she didn't search for information but rather that which was more concrete and material. Grasping his hand in hers she nodded, "Eve, Sir, and I am currently operation within optimal parameters."

"Optimal parameters?" Saul raised a brow. The woman looked Human, not a Vulcan or a Borg. Perhaps this was her idea of humor? Intelligence did tend to include oddballs once in a while. But she didn't appear in his eyes to be one.

"Indeed sir," Eve replied matter-of-factly. "According to internal diagnostics both my organic and synthetic components are all functioning well within standard safety zones, currently calibrated for the range of physical capabilities of a fully organic human female of my build. Medical and engineering external exams and diagnostics have confirmed this."

Saul sat down and rubbed his chin, curious. "Usually, I give the 'lecture' first, but this sounds interesting enough for me to keep it for later. What prosthetic parts? How did you acquire them, given Starfleet policy? And..."

He decided to give up the final question. There was no need to insult a new colleague, even with an innocent question.

Her response was textbook - she gave him everything, but on the general side; specifics only if further requested. "As for the acquisition, the initial event occurred some time in the 17th century and continued through another century's worth of work." She again explained that occurrence, the events known to have transpired, and the events that led up to her citizenship within the Federation. "And I believe you had another inquiry, sir?"

"No, I didn't. So what you're trying to tell me is that you were born on the 17th. century."

A pause.

"On Earth."

Another pause.

"And then, what?"

Eve continued her narrative. "According to the records that were obtainable prior to the structural failure of the starship facility, I was forcibly removed from Earth by an alien species. Their intent was to create an anti-Borg cyborg, using me as the initial prototype. The records indicate that I was given a choice, though it did not detail the conditions if I were to refuse. After an extensive period of psycho-conditioning and cybernetic modifications and replacements, I was deemed suitable for trial activations. Initial results were more than could have been hoped for, but the load of programming and equipment overloaded both my organic and synthetic neural pathways and I went rouge. Given the state of EMP and EM hardness incorporated into my structure, a combined blast of 12 EMP grenades was required to overload my cybernetics enough to subdue me and return me to a stasis tube. After approximately a century of modifications, removals, and reprogramming, I was as I appear before you. Upon activating the

stasis tube, I was given a complete memory wipe. My actual memory begins upon my awakening in the sickbay facilities of the defiant class USS Fearless, the starship that investigated the drifting hulk of the starship facility. From there, the records on file are suitably accurate for standard intelligence research."

"Fearless - that's David Lahav's boat", Saul nodded, taking in the information.

"At the time the craft was attached to Star Base Far Reach, and had no standing captain or crew, much as the USS Defiant for Deep Space Nine. A detachment of the crew from the USS Saturn, based at Far Reach, was dispatched, commanded by a Lieutenant Commander Indira Boques, then the Saturn's Chief of Security and Third Officer; the Saturn was undergoing repairs and the remainder of senior staff unavailable to assume command of the mission."

"So what you're saying is that the fact that your responses sound almost computer-like is the result of psycho-conditioning?"

She nodded. "It has been posited as such. However, without the highly advanced technology of the race that created me, it is as yet unknown."

"And are you satisfied with the current situation?"

"I cannot adequately respond to that line of inquiry, Sir," Eve replied. "I have no other basis of comparison. However, given the capabilities afforded me by my cybernetics, I estimate that I have a considerable advantage over fully organic humans, in the physical aspects."

"What I meant is this: are you happy? Your situation is quite unique, and I don't know if everyone would handle it well."

"As I indicated, Sir, I have no other basis of comparison," she said. "However, if you require a more definitive response, I will say that yes, I am content with my current operating parameters."

"If you are content, then I am content too", Saul told her. He then clicked on his computer console feverishly for several moments, leaving himself a note.

"You'll forgive me for my curiosity and lack of knowledge", he said. "I preferred to talk with you before reading your file, so that I could get a clean first impression without basing it on some adjutant's report."

Eve said nothing: he had simply made an observation, had he not?

"Let me talk about myself, then." He smiled. "I'm Saul. I'm of Jewish Dutch heritage - as someone who was born in the last millennium that may tell you more than it does to others in the department. My service record includes a year in 'Special Observations', another as an analyst on Earth, and the rest was spent here. Prior to my transfer back to intelligence, I spent several months as Chief Tactical Officer."

Now he reached the most crucial point of the interview. "It's important for me to tell you that as far as I'm concerned, 'department head' isn't just an administrative job. It means that if you have any questions, ideas, propositions, if you need help or consultation, anything - talk to me. I don't believe in distance or exaggerated formalities. I believe in people working together to get some quality intelligence to and from the ship."

Eve nodded, absorbing the information silently as he continued talking.

"Now, as for your job," Saul rubbed his hands. "You'll be replacing Boris Shtazai. I expect Boris will remain here for another half a year, and then get his extra pip and a new post. Until then, work with him. He has a lot of experience to share. The technical crew also includes petty officers Kwntz and C'hitah, which are mostly responsible for our systems' operations. I assume you read the file expanding on your duties as technical officer. Do you have any questions?"

"None at this time, Sir," Eve said.

"OK. Finally, I'm afraid you already have work on your hands." Saul selected a PADD from the neat pile resting in one of his desk's drawers, and offered it to Eve. "These are schematic for passive Intel collection systems that HQ wants to install on the Vanguards' fighters and some of the marines' battle suits. Generally, we intend to collect as much intelligence on Romulus as long as we're here without causing any diplomatic incidents. Your contacts are Pilot DiMillo on the Vanguards - which I intend to speak with - and Lieutenant London on the Furies. Questions?"

Eve perused the front page for a few seconds before returning her gaze to Saul. All of the information she needed - where the items were for the crafting of the end item components, the appropriate protocols for the integration into the various systems, and so forth. "No questions at present, Sir."

"Good. I'm sure you'll do your best.", He stood up, measuring the latest addition to his department. Someone, somewhere, tried to create an anti-Borg weapon, and what came out of their hands is practically Borg. An organic automaton. How... sad.

"In the Middle of the Night"

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC Commanding Officer/ Alpha Company CO 101st Battalion

Chief Petty Officer Berilyn Suum- NPC
Transporter Chief
USS Miranda

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

(Arvelion Quarters)

Elsewhere things were peaceful. The Miranda was at a good warp pace given the duration of the trip and expediency of it's mission, the illuminescent streaking of stars and hardly audible, dull, gentle hum of the typical barage of starship systems were the only things that were disturbing absolute quiet in the quarters.

Berilyn couldn't help but feel that it was in a way the proverbial calm before the storm. There were a number of rumors... everything from the Federation was at war yet again, to a simple presence mission, to high-level diplomatic engagements, to some kind of top secret something or other that nobody ever understood completely. In the solice of the dark, she didn't have to pretend to be happy about what was going on. The Marines would be going planetside For'kel had told her, and although he'd played up the power of the Romulan Navy and tried to quell her fears by reminding her the Romulans wouldn't let their homeworld fall... that more then likely they'd make a stand before Romulus resulting in a counter-attack that would drive the Hydrans back, and the Federation fleet would have been assembled for nothing. He even promised to laugh it off with her over a romantic dinner when the Marines were recalled.

Still, she couldn't help but think that perhaps he was putting up a facade. It was something she knew he did, usually for the sake of his Marines or junior officers... he'd never been compelled to do it for her sake. No, he wouldn't say something like that unless he honestly meant it... if he was shielding her, she was going to kick his ass!

A bit of aggression out of the way, she allowed her head to slump back to the pillow, her loose blonde locks falling all over the place as she did. The pillow felt like a rock... the bed might as well have been the deck, and even For'kel's arm around her felt unusually heavy, like a log. She tossed and turned, finally settling on leaning into For'kel, disturbing him only mildly as she did. They'd both learned how to deal with each other over the years. She flashed a reassuring smile when she thought she saw his eyes open... and eventually allowed hers to close, content with the belief there wasn't anything wrong at the moment.

The docile world of their quarters disappeared behind blurred vision and finally closed eyes, replaced by one of decidedly similar, if completely different make up. They were the corridors of Miranda all right, she even recognized exactly where she was, right outside of Transporter Room 1. The Red Alert klaxons seemed to be replaced by a more demanding tone, the hazard siren... abandon ship.

This couldn't be right... abandon ship? This had to be... no it just wasn't right. Something was up... why was there no one in the corridors?

Suddenly a dark blur came racing her way, the blur eventually receeding to show the form of Lieutenant Crougar Johnson, one of For'kel's closest friends in the Battalion, a man she knew quite well. He didn't run from much... something was definitely wrong. "Crougar? Crougar?! What's going on?!"

"Bery, what are you still doing here?" The breathless man asked, taking her by the arm. "We've gotta get out of here!"

She pulled against his grip, reluctant to simply follow, especially as strange as all this was. "Where's For'kel?"

He pulled with a great deal or urgency. "We have to 'go'!"

She pulled at his wrist her other hand, hoping to break his hold. "Where 'is' he?!"

"There wasn't anything we could do." Cougar added after a while, not wanting to break the news to her, not now, not when they had to run. "Come on!"

"No!" She shouted as loud as her voice would allow, tearing at his hand and sliding her wrist out between the gap his thumb and fingers created. She ran straight for the transporter room, this couldn't be happening... not now. They'd just gotten married only months ago... they were going to have a child damnit!

Her fingers ran over the console as quickly as they could. The targeting sensors took their Prophets be damned sweet time to find him. His life-signs were weak, extremely weak. she managed to get a lock eventually, but just barely, and routed what power she could find to bring him up.

What appeared before her was... was...

Berilyn shot up to a sitting position, gasping, her breathing as rapid and troubled as if she'd just run back to back marathons. She was trembling, a cold sweat creeping down her skin.

Her start immediately woke For'kel. He'd known her to wake up in her sleep before, and especially as of late she would get out of bed... but her thigh never moved that quickly, nor did she tremble so... ever. It certainly got him alert quickly. "Bery... what's wrong?" The bleary eyed Stagnorian checked a nearby clock... 03:5 and something that was either a 1 or a 7. So much for sleeping tonight... that was the least of his concerns at the moment however.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he moved. "Oh damn, I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."

"Hey, it's all right." Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out something was bothering her. For'kel placed a kiss on her cheek, wrapping his arms around her in as soothing and protective a fashion he could devise. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay... I'm okay." She repeated for her benefit, clutching onto his hands. "I'm ok... just a nightmare."

For'kel pulled her close, it must have been 'some' nightmare.

"The Caper Begins"

Crewman Allison

USS GALAXY

In the adventure that is the exploration of the Milky Way, there comes a call for bold men and women to step forward and lead the way.

There exists a need for heros. A need for those who dare to stand up and throw themselves into the breach against all those who seek to destroy the Federation way of life.

These are the men of furrowed brow and jutting jawlines...... These are the women of heaving bosoms and exceptional grace......

Popping her bubblegum with a long purple fingernail and twirling the stringy goop around her finger, it was quickly apparent that Allison Jimsdottir was NOT one of those heroes.

"Ummm......" she mused to herself inteligently as she peeled the pink gum off her finger and back into her mouth again

Just beyond the transparent aluminul portals of the long-range runabout was the mammouth grey hull of the famed USS Galaxy in all her duranium glory.

Framed by the ethereal green glow of Romulus behind her, Galaxy hung like a dark wolf standing guard over her brood.

Alternating gum pop's with some grunts of approval, Alli allowed her ice-blue eyes to trace the graceful hull lines of the Starship while the supply ship eased its way in closer to the duranium giant.

The Runabout crew were understandably nervous to be trasnferring new crewmen so deep into Romulan Space, but given the whispers they had heard back on DS:5, it sounded as though Galaxy would need all the help it could get.

Not that the gum-popping youngster they had been carrying seemed like the slightest bit of help to anybody.

Allison Jimsdottir, straight out of Boot Camp according to her records, was the newest recruit for the Starfleet's pride and joy.............Or, to quote her disaproving elders......'more meat for the Galaxy's fodder.'

~What-ever~ Alli rolled her eyes at the memory of recent arguments. What did parents know anyway?....they were like....OLD..... and all that.

The blond girl had heard of the famed ship all while growing up. Stories of Bob Price.........Bullheaded Brohde.......and Darren M'Kantu had been peppered in along with the traditional bedtime tales of Goldilocks........Hansel and Gretel.......and The big Bad Wolf.

"Yah......" she mused idly smacking, "This is going to like totally rule."

Turning her back to theportal and hefting a large Starfleet duffle, she headed off to the small two man transporter to present herself for boarding.

Carefully matching orbits with the Galaxy, the runabout pilots hailed the vessel and soon their tiny passenger was hurtling across the 500 meters of vacuum between the shuttle and Galaxy.

*******

In deferance to hundreds of years of naval tradition, a single Security Guard stood watchful over the transporter pad on the receibving end deciding who did or did not have 'Permisison to come aboard.'

As he watched the slim form of a single recruit formed in the midst of the swirling lights soon revealing the Galaxy's newest member who hopped off the pad and dropped her overstuffed duffle at the man's feet.

Tossing her hair back with a jerk of the head, Allison nodded and gave the traditional maritime greeting. "Yo."

"Welcome to Romulus.....New Crewmember?" The burly man asked with raised eyebrow, eying the young girl before him. "Let's see your orders please."

Young didnt even begin to describe Alli's appearance. Fair skin and sharp Nordic features were frame by fine blond hair bound up into a rather unusual ponytail atop the girl's head.

It reminded Petty Officer Gibbs of a style he had seen his kid sister wearing last time he'd been home.

He also wasnt sure what to make of the odd 'popping' noice Alli made as she pulled a PADD out of her duffle and handed it over.

"Crewman Jimsdottir.....Aministrative specialist?" he read off the screen.

"Name's Allison, " the girl interrupted, idly buffing a purple nail against her tunic.

"Huh?" the guard looked up from the screen a bit thrown off..

"My name is All-i-Son." Alli held up three fingers in turn indicating each syllable. "I'm from Iceland."

A pause as Gibbs attempted to connect that statement to a rational thought........ No success.

"Allison?" he repeated.

"Yah.....that me." she bobbed her head smiling. Her little top knot bouncing along as well.

"Okay...whatever." Gibbs continued glancing back down at the PADD and comparing it with his own records. "Okay, transfer from BuPers is confirmed, Departmental assignment is confirmed......Armory, Room assignment......."

"Security." she interrupted again.

Again with the, "huh?" Gibbs felt the early stages of a headeache coming on.

"Security." the girl leaned forward to tap a purple nail against the screen. "I'm assigned to Sec-Ur-Ih-Tee....check it."

Gibbs gave her a strained look. "Armory is part of Security kid." he explained.

"Oh......ok.....sweet." Alli accepted the explanation and flashed a toothy grin. "Go on........but not a kid by the way."

"Whatever." Gibbs was quickly ticking his way through the rest of the checklist suddenly very eager to get this teeny-bopper out of his hair. "Here's your room assignent and locker codes......you can check in with your Department Head as soon as you get settled. Welcome aboard the Galaxy Crewman Jimsdottir."

"All-i-Son"

"Whatever......"

Hefting her bag and stepping out into the hustle and bustle of the Main Corridors, Alli gave a low whistle of appreciation at her surroundings.

"Oh yah....this is truly gonna Rule....................that is is I get away with it."

"The Gorn in the Garden"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

Natalie "Picasso" Frost
Pilot
Currently Unassigned

= dohhae Ahalaen =
= ch'Rihan =

Aerv was beginning to learn that even the best laid plans went awry when they involved Natalie Frost. It was almost as if the girl had some kind of anti-logic emitter built somewhere into her lithe frame. Around "Picasso" probability seemed to have no meaning - unlikely events unfolded rapidly and with alarming frequency, throwing years of familiarity and security into absolute chaos. If she ever went to Vulcan, Aerv had no doubt the whole planet would unravel. The Romulan Ambassador had to admit that though while, from some perspective, it was refreshing, it was also quite annoying.

It was annoying because he just happened to be the one making all the plans right now.... He had planned to head straight to the Galaxy after his meeting with Ambassador t'Khnialmnae. Obviously, seeing that he was back home with a Terran/Ardanian hybrid in tow, that had not exactly worked. Then Natalie had demanded - and with that petulant, pouting lower lip of hers the request was impossible to deny - first a shower, then food and then a tour of the grounds.

On said tour, they had run across Aerv's father: Tal. A former member of the Tal Shiar, Tal Vriha tr'Ahalaen had always liked silence and solitude. After his retirement and the deaths of his two eldest sons, that preference had become Tal's way of life. It was said that you could have Gorn mating in the gardens - if the Gorn did indeed mate in the traditional sense of the word - and the head of this particular family would walk by without blinking, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, so that he could return to his private study. However, not only did Tal speak with Natalie, he actually *liked* her - which was an honor no alien, to Aerv's knowledge, had yet been able to claim - and had invited her to dinner.

In the short time tr'Ahalaen had been away, making new arrangements with Starfleet, the Ahalaen women had gotten their hands on Natalie and whisked her away to Elements knew where. For the first time since the news of the impending invasion, dohhae Ahalaen was alive. At first, watching his family dote on the girl, he had wondered if this was not all a calculated insult to his aide, Lhohnu t'Noramei, who had been received much more coldly. However, Aerv was quite well-versed in such calculations himself. All this was quite spontaneous, which irked him to no end. The only person who was supposed to get that kind of attention around here was him. Aerv had never thought he would be upstaged by a mere girl.

As he stood in the door way of the main dining hall, watching Natalie teach Ael some strange human game, tr'Ahalaen had to admit that it was impossible not to fall in love with this particular mongrel, even if just a little. However, that was also not part of the plan. This was a road he had gone down before...it ended in an ugly place.

"Dianvm?"

That was when Aerv noticed that Sharien was standing next to him. He smiled at his sister, "Problem?"

"Are all humans like her?"

"No. Not at all." He replied with a chuckle, silently thanking the Elements.

"Good," Sharien laughed, "Otherwise, it would be quite impossible to adequately despise them."

"They are our allies, e'lev."

She shrugged. "For now...."

tr'Ahalaen sighed. This was true. However, it was also quite sad. Would it always be so for the Romulans? Even as one army was bearing down upon them, they were already thinking about the next war.... Where were the thoughts of peace, the thoughts of beautiful things? They had lost so much over the last few decades...why were his people never content to just build and paint and be free?

It had to do, he suspected, with this whole business of being 'the Declared'. It had some uses. On every other planet - including Earth - news of an invasion would have started a panic. People would have been clamoring for evacuations, there would be been riots in the streets. The Rihan, however, did not react in this manner. Certainly, those who could afford to make preparations to evacuate had done so - including the Ahalaen family. Those who could not, did not. They did not line up outside the Senate or beat each other in the streets. They were convinced of their destiny: Romulus would prevail.

Indeed, for Aerv, this was a source of pride. Many had lost their children with the massacre of the Second Fleet...yet there was no mourning in the streets. There was fear, but it was subdued. There was hope, when no one gave them the right to it. How surprised were the representatives of the Federation when they had seen this discipline in the face of disaster? Frightened more than surprised.... They had realized then that the Romulans could truly never be defeated. Certainly, Aerv's people would lose battles and wars...but in the end, they would still be standing on their highest mountain, screaming out to the universe that they were the Declared.

However, now it occurred to Aerv...at what price had the Rihan bought this certainty? The beauty of the Old Ways had begun to fade. The lessons of the Old Home were forgotten. Honor had become a rare thing. There were rebellions, corrupt rulers, weak leaders...and none of them realized how much their constant fighting was damaging the Empire. Like termites eating the inside of a home, these fools did not realize that they were destroying the very thing that sustained them, that defined them, that made them who they were. Immortality and Destiny were dangerous things...especially when a people began to think that, no matter what their actions, they had already had these things. Then every soul became a viper, every face a snake....

"Dianvm?"

"She is beautiful, isn't she?"

Sharien smiled and back looked at Natalie, who - along with Ael - was caught within a fit of giggles. Aerv had asked - quite on purpose, in order perhaps to remove temptation - one of the Starfleet ships to send down a uniform. Frost, however, had modified it by replacing the slacks with a short, black skirt and adding high boots to the ensemble. Her uniform jacket was draped across the back of her chair, waiting for when she absolutely needed it, leaving her in a white shirt with long sleeves. It was, actually, quite attractive...and would probably leave the paper pusher who had designed the whole thing shocked at the inappropriateness of it all.

"Yes, Dianvm. There is something gorgeous about her...like I have never quite seen before."

"She's uncertain, Sharien." Aerv whispered, as if revealing a great truth that had just dawned upon him, "She knows very little. She makes no plans. She lives, she breathes, she laughs...as if every moment all of this could be taken from her. There is no great destiny awaiting her...and even if there were, she wouldn't care. We all dote on her, Sharien, like adults in a room, captivated by the innocence of a single child...because she still has what we have forever lost. The ability to not hate because of what we fear will come...the ability to trust, despite the knowledge that there will, at some point, be disappointments and betrayal. This single human is better than the sum of us."

He laughed softly at the shocked look on his sister's face. "Do not fear, Sharien. Your precious Empire will prevail...all the well made plans will succeed. Yet despite all that, I think, years and years hence, we will look back and realize that this one crazy girl outlived us all."

"Kate" – pt. 7

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 9 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

Not for a single minute did Katherine North not occupy Brian's thoughts the next day. From the moment he woke up next to her until the end of the afternoon's workshop session she was in front of him, literally or figuratively. It was a place which no other woman had ever filled nor was ever likely to fill again.

Not surprisingly, he'd kept to himself most of the day, trying to wrestle with this shift in his reality that try as he might, he couldn't completely grasp. The hour or so after waking that he and Kate spent in each other's arms felt as natural to him as breathing, the caress of her hands as familiar as the air around him. If she had asked him, right then, in the warmth of her bed, to stay with her forever Brian was almost certain he would have done so.

But like the inevitable light of the morning sun (at least anywhere other than in space), reality rose and broke nighttime's velvet spell. There was minor paperwork to tend to before the same morning workshop session she had to prepare for. But even while she was apart from him, she wasn't. And he didn't want her to be.

He'd almost decided to talk to Karyn, particularly after upon seeing him come into the counseling suite this morning she called him into her office, looked at him quizzically. "Lose something?" she asked before revealing the shoes and socks she'd recognized inside the door when she arrived an hour earlier. But he wasn't ready to talk, wasn't ready to try to explain to someone else the complete loss of orientation – no pun intended – that he was having difficulty explaining to himself. More than once during the workshop, Karyn commented to Brian about his peculiar detachment from Kate's presentation.

If she only knew how attached he really was.

It was easy for Brian to lose sight of how significant these feelings were for him. After all, as generally accepted as homosexuality was in these enlightened times, it was still "the norm" for a relatively small percentage of the population. He had spent nearly thirty years falling in and out of love, and sometimes lust, with members of his own gender, and now he was experiencing what most of the rest of the galaxy experienced. Was that really so strange?

But when he changed the scenario, when he imagined what an exclusively heterosexual man would feel if he woke up one day and found himself romantically and sexually attracted to another man, it was then that he fully understood what a profound shift this really was.

For her part, Kate seemed no different than she had the day before. If she felt any concern or confusion -- but why would she? – her professional persona covered it well, like the gray pinstriped pants suit she wore today. Brian knew he could easily find out what was really going on in her head; he could reach across the ten or so meters that separated them and examine her thoughts and feelings without her being the slightest bit aware. But he would never do that; first, because he respected her more than that, and second, because whatever this was that had developed between them, openness and honesty would be at its foundation right from the start.

No, if he was going to talk he would talk to Kate. He trusted her, he felt comfortable around her, but most of all because she was also impacted by whatever he was feeling.

And, she deserved to know about him. All about him.

"Without Grace"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer

Ensign Faylin McAlister, JAG

*****JAG Offices, USS Galaxy*****

Nara decided to do away with sending a message. She'd already met the JAG officer, so figured just walking in would be ok.

The ritualistic tucking of the loose hair behind her ear had been completed which led Faylin to focus on the cup of coffee that sat on her desk. It had grown to lukewarm temperature, partly due to the wad of gum she had in her mouth. Her visit with Naranda interested her greatly, just from the viewpoint that she wanted to know all she could concerning the 'good girl' Saul proclaimed her to be.

In that regard, the two woman were polar opposites. Not that Faylin was bad, she prefered the words.....'controlled freak.' McAlister's ears picked up the chime, requesting entrance.

'Enter' She stated simply.

Nara walked in and stood at ease. "I still couldn't figure out how to phrase that message, so I hoped I could just come in."

Blowing an ill fated bubble, she sucked it in after it popped. "No problem. Take a seat." She stated with a wave of her hand. Pulling her desk drawer open, she extracted a pen and paper. Some things never lost their appeal. "So, what's the scoop?"

Nara couldn't help but smirk, "You're a reporter too?"

"Well, no. I just prefer to write things down in the initial meeting. Sorry if I came across that way." She stated. Keep things professional....she thought.

Nara nodded, "No, it's alright. The scoop." She sat there a moment and took a deep breath, looking down. "It's something that happened my second year at the Academy but I didn't remember until two years ago or so. It was a repressed memory." Another deep breath allowed her to say the next words, "I was raped by Professor Marks."

"Okay. Do you know his first name and do you remember what class he taught?"

"I don't remember his first name, but I was in his Advanced LCARS Code class."

"Anything else you remember.....the date of the incident specifically?"

"It was close to midterms."

"I will need details, however, if you are not comfortable with saying it, you can write it."

Nara frowned, "Writing would be the most difficult of three options."

"Okay. Talking to me is going to be difficult as well. I suppose you can tape yourself in some manner and let me listen....What ever way you would like to go."

"Well the other way I meant was telepathically. Let the memory unfold itself. No energy needed to speak. But of more conventional ways, I've talked to a counselor and I've been told several times I would be asked questions, so just ask the questions and I'll give the details." She finally looked up, having put on the stoic mask.

"Okay." Faylin paused for moment, not entirely possitive of this method of question and answer. "What do you remember?"

"Unfortunately, everything."

"Where did it take place?"

"In the classroom. After the midterm review."

"Did he show any signs of personal interest in you before the incident?"

"If he did, it was annoyance. I tended to challenge his points a lot."

"Do you know if he had done anything like this before?"

"I don't."

"Okay, Nara. Just for the record, you did not report this to the authorities?"

Nara shook her head, "The night of...I suppose I just wanted to get home. The next morning, I had no memory of it until two years ago. That's when I went to Commander Dallas."

"Alright. Now, I need to know exactly your side of the story. The details, as difficult as they are, need to be known to me so I can contact the correct people and get the ball rolling on this."

Nara took a deep breath, "He had called me to stay after class was dismissed..." She told the story quite calmly. She had somehow allowed herself to be detached from it. As if seeing the memory in someone else's mind. She was lying to herself. She was good at that. Yet, she couldn't help but stumble on the last bit of the story and end up trembling, gripping the chair arms. "I believed him at the time. I let it decide then and there that I rather hide from it then risk my Starfleet career."

Faylin swiped a tissue from the box on her desk and handed it to Nara. Her eyes were moist as well from the story. Justice had to be served for this woman that sat across from her. Although aggressive sexual behavior is acceptable in some races, Starfleet does not permit it. McAlister knew that there were some issues that Nara needed to know before she proceeded.

Nara shook her head, not needing a tissue. Besides her hands were still gripping the chair arms.

"Nara, there are a few things that I need you to do. First, you need to speak to a counselor...unless you have already done so. Next, you need to file an official grievance with my office. Also, just so you are aware, I have to file a report with security. I have the information you gave me, however, documents need to be signed to start an official investigation into the incident. After the papers are signed, I will contact JAG HQ and a case number will be assigned to you. You will be contacted by a Starfleet attorney who will be handling the charges that will be brought against the man who you claim raped you. I have to let you know that I have to remain partial through this proceeding. In all likely hood, I will be hearing the case. It might however, be assigned to another jag officer due to my initial involvement. Once everything is in place, an arrest warrant will be issued for the man in question and he will be located and jailed until trial. After that, the case will be assigned to a JAG officer. A preliminary meeting will be held between both counsel and the JAG."

"Dallas is my counselor." Her mind raced over the other steps. Things she really wasn't sure what to do with. "How do I file an grievance?"

She spun around in her chair to reach the cabinet behind her. Pulling out some forms, she handed them over to Naranda. "Just fill those out with as much information as you can, and bring them back to me. I'll transfer them to electronic file, and send them to HQ. That's the first step." Faylin paused then continued with her law rant. "At that time, a plea bargain is possible if the professor is a civilian. If he is a Starfleet officer, the punishment will be swift and harsh if he is found guilty. Do you know if he is an officer?"

Nara stared at the forms with a furrow on her brow and looked up at the question. She gulped at a sudden flash of his collar. It was something she saw each time she recalled the memory, but it startled her a bit here. She saw the pips, the color of the collar. "He was a Lt. Commander."

Faylin nodded. "Any other questions for me?"

Nara's nose wrinkled at the sudden memory, even the smell hit her mind like a brick. She shook her head. "I may as I fill out the forms, but I'll fill out what I can." She quickly stood, needing to put the memory back and concentrate on something else.

"Look, if you need help, just come to me. I'm here to help you in what ever way I can." Faylin stated with soft smile. "Have a good day."

Nara raised an eyebrow and blurted, for lack of coherency in her mind, "Good poker face." She then nearly stumbled over the chair to get out.

"Excuse me?" McAlister stated with wonderment. "I'm sincere in my statment Nara." Instantly, her mind flashed to Saul. Did she know?

Nara blinked and looked at the woman. She had instantly forgot what she even said. "I meant no offense." Her mind raced. What did she say? Oh, yea, something about a poker face. "I admire you being calm." She furrowed her brow nervously. What BS was that? "I need to..."

Whatever Nara's nervousness caused the woman to suspect wasn't her concern. Nara likely would think to ask about her and Saul, but right now the memory was just assaulting her mind and she needed desperately to go somewhere to forget.

"Thank you. I think." She stated in a somewhat confused manner. "I'll talk to you soon I'm sure." Looking down at her desk, she paused. "Nara......"

Nara just looked at her questionly.

Faylin shook her head negativily. "Nevermind. It was nothing."

Nara nodded and made her way out without grace.

"Good gods Faylin. Way to almost let the fox in the hen house." She smacked her forehead with her hand. It was going to be a rough afternoon.

"Procrastinated Evaluation, Part One"

Ensign Faylin McAlister, JAG

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

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

The time of day that McAlister enjoyed was fast approaching. Busy work that was required every duty shift had been long completed, and the various tasks that were new to her were underway. Beside her, the proverbial crystal mug that held caffeine in varying forms. This afternoon, it was a Betazoid mild roast with a touch of sugar to sweeten it ever so lightly.

Glancing down at her PADD, she smiled softly as the end of the shift was near. Her 'to do' list had been neatly ticked off, with the last thing being a trip to the counseling offices. Gathering her things, along with her mug, McAlister set out to invade the calm Bajoran counselor's office and mind.

Upon arriving at the designated area, Faylin spoke kindly inquiring about his availability for an appointment. The young Vulcan that sat taking her information remained stoic, as Vulcans were known to do. Nodding in appreciation, McAlister took a seat, waiting patiently. Her mind swam with thoughts of her last encounter with Saul. She was painfully aware that he was spoken for, and part of her respected that. The other part of her violently opposed the woman that had his heart. Smirking outwardly, she admitted to herself the reason she acted like such a vixen was to protect herself from getting hurt from a serious relationship. That, is where she thought her and Saul were headed a few years back. However, it was not meant to be, and perhaps never meant to be period.

The day had, thus far, been fairly uneventful in the Counselling offices. Everyone had at least two appointments, at least up to this point. Miramon's had consisted of a junior officer recently bereaved in an accident aboard a Starbase, since she hadn't had the pre-requisite 6 months served abord ship that would have allowed her husband to come aboard. And the second appointment had been with a Bolian that had not been able to sleep well of late, and had been told to report in for a check with a counsellor, just so that they might eliminate any psychological factors for the insomnia.

And now he was experiencing a lull in his appointments - a brief break in his schedule, which allowed him for a brief cup of hot tea and a moment to simply close his eyes and relax. Thus, it was a surprise when the Vulcan aide that tended to work outside the cluster of offices knocked on the open door.

"Yes?" he called out, wondering what the man wanted.

"Your next appointment is here, Lieutenant."

Ah, yes. He'd totally forgotten about that. It was a particularly light day, after all, and he wasn't due to make any housecalls, so anybody that wanted to drop in had to come to the office. Of course, either way, he still wasn't used to the notion. When he'd served as a pilot, his office had essentially been the desk in his quarters, and certainly nobody stopped by unless on a social visit, or unless he wanted them there. His duty station was on the Bridge. The idea of either being here to be visited upon, or going to see others in order to do his job was not something he was entirely familiar with.

He'd get used to it, eventually.

"Show them in, please, T'Reev."

The Vulcan didn't reply, but disappeared from Miramon's line of sight as he moved away from the open door. Half a moment later, the officer that was his next appointment appeared where the counsellingd aide had been but moments before.

She leaned to the side in the counselor's doorway. Her left hand rested lazily on her hip, accented by a coy smile. "So, it appears we meet again counselor."

The Bajoran looked up sharply at that, his gaze having dropped slightly as he pulled himself up into a more formal sitting position - he'd been laid back against the sofa slightly, and that was hardly an appropriate posture in which to have a counselling session. He'd recognised the voice and, as soon as he'd looked up, recognised the person to whom it belonged, standing in his doorway. He gave a slight smile and stood up, pulling his jacket down slightly so that it tightened over his shoulders to something more comfortable.

"Hello again, Faylin. Do come in and sit down," he said, keeping his tone polite.

"Thank you." McAlister kept her gaze soley on him as she advanced to the awaiting seat. Upon sitting, she demourly crossed her legs and settled down into the chair. Reaching up, she pulled the wooden sticks that secured her blond locks upwards. The hair casscaded downwards as she sighed. "Much better. Okay then, fire away with the questions."

"Can I offer you something to eat or drink before we get started?" he asked. As a rule, people tended to come to counselling sessions once their duty shifts were over, and unless booked appropriately, that didn't tend to leave them any gap to have something to eat beforehand.

"Oh, no thank you. Miramon. I filled up on coffee before I arrived." She smiled softly, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I hope your day has been productive?"

"Relatively speaking. I'm still settling in to the job, as it happens. But, thus far, it's not been a bad day. How about yourself? Keeping busy?"

"Yes, indeed. Between work, Olivia, and a personal issue that has come about, I'm spent!"

"Work, I understand. Personal issues are my stock in trade. Who is Olivia? You say her name as though I should know it," Miramon said. Probably something he missed in her personel file. A cat maybe? A friend? Relative?

"Olivia? She's my daughter. Two and a half years old. Fortunatly, the day care here is great, but there's an adjustment to everything."

A daughter? He clearly hadn't read all the personnel files properly if he'd missed that. He was used to looking up service records, education, but rarely touched on things like family, even though he knew such things were generally pertinent to one's life circumstances and, therefore, to his work - family issues were very much something that many had to deal with, so it wasn't unlikely that he'd need to know if there was the potential for such.

"I wasn't aware you were married, Faylin. Seems already I'm learning new things about you. And what was the personal issue you mentioned? Anything I can help with? I'll understand if you don't wish to discuss it, though."

"Personal issue? No, I don't mind talking about it. You know how a song gets stuck in your head? There's this man....a previous lover....just a fling really....but I can't get him out of my head. He has a girlfriend, so I know that he's off limits....it's just difficult to get the idea out of my head. Any suggestions?"

A memory flashed in the Bajoran's mind. Saul had talked about an old flame coming aboard that he was having issues with. And he fit exactly the description that Faylin was providing. And though he wasn't always the quickest person on the up-take, he could put two and two together. But still, he couldn't say anything to her about this - not yet, anyway.

"Surely your husband is someone to focus on, rather than the individual in question? Many people have old flings, but you've settled down, I believe. My advice would be to ensure that you and whoever you refer to remain friends, unless you want to jeopardise your marriage."

"I'm not married Miramon. The man does not even know he is a father, and in my opinion, he never will." Her eyes narrowed. "Look, I'm going to be honest with you, and I don't care if you think honestly of me or not. A few years ago, my reputation suceeded me if you know what I mean. I'm excellent with my duties as a JAG, but my personal life has always been....well....easy so to speak. Now, I still am a heavy flirt, but I have other commitments now that I have to focus on.....Olivia. I would love to find a man that would love me and Olivia, but most if not everyone I meet is just not interested in a mother. They are interested in an easy target for easy sex."

The Bajoran nodded in understanding. With 8-Ball aboard ship, it was hard not to understand why some men would believe that all women were indeed just as she described. Inevitably, it simply wasn't true. As for Faylin being a mother, many might have made the same mistake he did and assume she was married. And, of course, that in itself was likely to scare away most. He had to admit, he wasn't used to the notion - on Bajor, having a child outside wedlock was incredibly rare, since Bajorans didn't tend to believe in it. Admittedly, though, that was when the child itself was born of both a Bajoran mother and father. Cross-race marriages were uncommon, but not governed by the same social strictures.

"This man...that I mentioned earlier....likely still believes that I'm a love em and leave em type. Yet, he's involved, and for the sake of my daughter, I will not introduce her to fly by night gentlemen. I value her too much. Ya know, I stated that I had changed over the few years, but I don't believe he thought I had." She sighed audibly. Faylin's eyes grew sad as she thought inwardly about Saul. The possibility of being with him was slipping through her fingers. They were two different people, maybe he was not that different, but she was. McAlister looked up at the counselor, and pursed her lips. "It's hard, being a mom to a young one, keep up my duties, and attempt to find people who accept me as a friend."

THAT was unusual. Starfleet was supposed to be all about tolerance, acceptance and understanding for all. When you could work side-by-side with Klingons, Bolians, Cardassians and other races, that was to be expected. But that a human woman with a child had trouble finding friends? It was almost too hard to believe.

"I can imagine it is. I can't speak from personal experience in that regard, though. It seems a lot of the officers aboard ship just aren't ready for commitment - such things inevitably create issues with regards to advancement, since promotions often require transfers in addition to that. Not everyone wants to have to move with a family when they transfer, so they stay out of steady relationships. You did not have such reservations?"

"No. Not at all. Anything that could better my daughter's life is excellent. She will have the opportunity to witness and be a part of things that she couldn't have experienced if we stayed where we were at." Faylin smiled softly.

"Yes, I suppose I can understand that. But you don't think it would bother her having a man around that was not her biological father?" he wondered aloud. He'd never been in such a situation, and he'd had plenty of opportunity to watch the relationship between Nara and Saia - the latter being a little Trill girl that Nara had seemingly adopted in absence of the child's real parents.

"No. She does not need to know her father..... He, he prefered not to have children. I accepted that and took full responsibility for her." Faylin crossed her arms gently as she waited for the next question.

"And, despite his lack of enthusiasm towards having children, he choose to abstain from sharing those responsibilities once the fact was upon him?" Miramon asked.

He couldn't wrap his brain around that one, personally. The idea of doing that was shocking to his Bajoran heritage, since no respectable Bajoran would ever so much as entertain the idea of having children out of wedlock and then abandoning them and the other parent to caring for the child alone. Even if the two parents didn't care much for one another (making you wonder how they had a child to begin with), nonetheless, the needs of the child came first.

But perhaps that was different for human societies. He'd seen how Nara had coped with Saia, despite the lack of blood ties between them. This particular situation wasn't one he was familiar with, but certainly it was an education.

"He was not the most involved man. Once he found out I was pregnant, he practically ordered me to get rid of Olivia...in one fashion or another. Yet, Miramon, I just could not. She has been such a gift to me since she was born. Olivia has not been an easy child, she has her mother's spirit and her father's stubborness. But, I......just can't imagine my life without her. I wish that you knew what it was like.....to have unconditional love from a child." Faylin lowered her gaze for a moment, wiping a stray tear away from her cheek. "I did wish that her father was the type to stick around, but he wasn't. I can't be upset at him, he gave me my daughter."

"I suppose I can understand that. Well, academically speaking, anyway. I've never had children, despite what my family would wish. My brother spends his days as an acolyte within an Orthodox Bajoran Temple so, as my parents keep reminding me, I'm the only one likely to marry and have children. There is my sister of course, but she has yet to marry either, and she's older than I am."

He gave a soft chuckle at that, wondering at why it was that their parents had always chosen to push him towards marriage when they practically left his sister to her own devices, despite the fact that she lived with the two of them. He'd never understand that, either. Still, he really had said more than he had intended. This meeting was designed to talk about Faylin, not about him.

"I'm to assume that your daughter attends classes aboard ship, then?" he asked, changing the subject back to their earlier topic.

"Yes, she attends the day care center." Faylin stated. "Hey, um........this is taking a little longer than I predicted. Can we meet again? I have to pick up Olivia soon."

"Why don't I accompany you?" he suggested. "We can continue talking on the way, and it will give me a chance to meet the one to whom you refer. Part of our work is helping with families aboard ship, so it would hardly be out of the ordinary in this job," he suggested.

McAlister knitted her eyebrows, obviously dumb struck at the man that sat opposite of her. "Uh, okay. Are you sure you are up to meeting Olivia?" She stated with a half smile.

The Bajoran gave a light chuckle at that one, shaking his head softly. "I'm 34 in Earth years, Faylin. I'm long past the age where I would feel uncomfortable around children. Besides, part of your psychological evaluation always involves your off-duty activities, so it might be a good idea to see how you interract with your daughter during such hours. So, the short answer to your question is yes."

"Great. Let's go."

"Procrastinated Evaluation, Part Two"

Ensign Faylin McAlister, JAG

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

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

Departing the Counselling Offices on Deck 14, both the human woman and the Bajoran Counsellor headed side-by-side up to the deck where they would find the Ensign's young daughter, in order to retrieve her from day care. Miramon had already found that he'd learned a lot about the JAG officer, despite the fact that they hadn't actually gotten down to the actual psychological evaluation that he was supposed to be doing yet. Perhaps it was simply the inclination to procrastinate on his part, or more likely, the fact that he had simply allowed the young woman to talk which he listened and made a few comments on those things which she revealed.

It was strange that she hadn't seemed at all uncomfortable about telling him any of the things she had done thus far. Admittedly, she might have had one heck of what humans called a 'poker face' and simply been hiding those emotions behind her own mental shield. Sometimes he wished he had the empathic abilities of some other races, but he was good at watching body language, which was usually a good indication of what a person was thinking or feeling. On some people, though, it simply wasn't possible to glean any idea of what they were thinking. He was never comfortable with that.

Faylin's language was speaking volumes as she quickened her pace. Olivia was her light, every minute spent apart from her was tough on the mother. Turning, she spoke softly. "I bet you will know her before I say anything."

"I'd imagine the fact that she would call you by a familiar name and focus entirely upon your presence would demonstrate that much to be true," the Bajoran noted with a wry smile.

Approaching the center, she smiled. The front of the entrance was one sided glass, so parents could observe their children without being seen. It was the best part of her day, watching her daughter interact with other children. Pausing at the window, she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed with contentment. The little brunette was surrounded by two other play mates, totally engaged with dolls. Her hair was much like her mother's.....brunette and softly curled. Olivia looked up once, peering at something the wall. Her green eyes sparkled, much with the inherited orneriness that Faylin had passed down to her. "Okay." She turned to the Bajoran, with a grin that matched her daughter's grin. "Guess which one she is." As she spoke, her eyes lit up with anticipation of the hug from her daughter.

Miramon's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the group of children at play. He had never been good with children, besides being a babysitter for Saia occasionally when Branwen was elsewhere and Nara needed the help. Even then, he'd always been somewhat detached around children - something he assumed would wear off if ever he got around to having any of his own. His gaze moved slowly to each of the individual children he could see - although he had to pay careful attention to each of them, since many of them were moving around and weren't easily pinned down to his watchful eyes. After a moment, he dropped his eyes and turned back towards Faylin.

"No, perhaps not. I was always far better at seeing similarities between adults than in children. But then, I don't often spend time around children, despite there being many aboard ship." He grinned ruefully at that thought. "Probably just as well, though."

"Oh, I doubt that." She paused for a moment. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a really dry sense of humor?" Faylin chuckled.

"Most believe it to be a slightly moist sense of humour," he responded, his eyes returning to the window, watching the children.

"Okay....here we go." Entering her parental code, the doors slid open, revealing the children. Most, if not all of the little heads whipped around at the sound of the doors. Standing up, Olivia's eyes grew wide as she picked up enough speed bowl someone right over. Crouching down, Faylin held out her arms, steadied herself on her feet, and readied herself for her little photon torpedo.

"MOOOMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

Glancing up at Miramon, she smiled. Paying attention to the man beside her instead of Olivia, she almost landed flat on her bottom as her daughter carreened into her. "Good gods little one!"

The hug was long, and loving as Faylin had to back up slightly to un twine Olivia from her neck.

Glancing upwards, Olivia's mouth opened in awe. "Who are you?" She stated with a child like innocence and wonder.

The Bajoran glanced at Faylin with a slightly smug expression, as though saying "I told you so", if only with the way his eyes shone and the half-smile that curved his lips upward. He held her gaze for but a moment, then kneeled down with one of his knees touching the floor, his expression suddenly bereft of the emotion that had been there before, his facial muscles relaxed in such a way as to make his demeanour both calm and appraising. His deep blue eyes reflected the curiousity in the expression of the young child, although he didn't share that sentiment himself.

"I'm Miramon. And you, I'm guessing, are Olivia. Am I right?" he asked gently, his voice slightly lowered, softer than his usual tones, which even then had never exactly been known for a high range of volume.

"Olivia Monet McAlister. Mice to meet u." She stated in a matter of fact tone. Olivia arched her eyebrows, looking exactly like her older conterpart.

Faylin stood, reaching out her hand to Olivia. Her hand nestled in her mother's, Faylin looked over at Miramon. Saying nothing, she looked at him with a glance that stated all she felt.

"Mom? Mom?"

McAlister glanced down. "Yes dear?"

"Is he coming with us?"

"Um.." Faylin looked at Miramon, a hint of mischeif in her eyes. "Well, I believe that Miramon has some more work to do...but maybe he can come visit you another time. Ok?"

"K. I'm hungy." She stated simply.

"Well, okay then. Wanna go out to eat tonight?"

"YEAH!"

Turning her focus back to the counselor, she grinned. "I'll contact you tomorrow concerning the evaluation we didn't get to." Faylin chuckled. "Perhaps next time we can actually get something done...not that I mind talking to you....your great to conversate with."

Miramon came to his feet and gave Faylin a soft smile, following it with a nod of agreement.

"Likewise, Faylin. I'll await your call and arrange a suitable time for your evaluation. Although, next time, let us not arrange it and then end up having to postpone again. Procrastination was never high on my list of virtues. Anyway, enjoy your evening."

With that, he span on his heel, walked past the JAG officer and headed back to his offices so he could get started on the paperwork he had to do.

McAlister arched an eyebrow as she watched him retreat down the corridor. 'That man needs seriously laid.' She thought sinisterly.

"Sod off"

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

Second Lieutenant Branwen London, Chief Psychologist, Marine Corps

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

Still becoming accustomed to his new role aboard ship, Miramon slowly worked his way through the various other members of the crew whom he either didn't know but needed to become acquianted with, or knew from his past service aboard ship, but needed to make himself known to them in his new professional capacity. Those who had known him back then might have remembered the sterner, business-like side he'd had to demonstrate more and more often as a senior officer. The Counsellor would be new to them.

And so, he was heading down to the office of Nara's roomate, Branwen, since she was the chief psychologist of the ship's marine company, so she might be better placed to understand the compromise between the self-confident and ego-driven pilot side of his nature, and the calm, relaxed counsellor that had recently come to the front of his mindset.

He'd just walked up to her door and hit the chime beside it, awaiting her response (assuming she was even in there, or that she wished to be disturbed). Hopefully she wouldn't mind him dropping in without an appointment - a leaf he had taken out of Nara's book.

Looking up Branwen smiled. "Hey! I didn’t know you were back on board, Nara didn’t tell me." She had always liked Miramon.

"Naranda is notorious for forgetting the little details. Still gossips worse than a Ferengi, though," Miramon noted as he stepped inside her office. He looked around a little at the various furnishings and affectations that Branwen had adopted in her little corner of the ship, then fixed her with quite the appraising stare. "Your office, it seems, is better decorated than mine. Who did you hire to fix this up? And don't tell me you did it yourself," he said, waving a hand at her to silence any response she might have made to that, "Nara keeps complaining that you just don't have that knack for order within your personal space."

Well, that was putting it diplomatically, at any rate...

"Oh really has she been complaining again? I know I can’t chose the colors for my new room. Work is different I just chose soothing colors and furniture and other stuff." She shook her head. "Good thing you don’t interact too much with people in your job, my friend. You are not the most tactical of people."

Miramon grinned at that. "I believe I interact more with people than you do now, Branwen. Or perhaps you hadn't noticed I wear the teal. And no, Nara hasn't been gossiping. I was joking." He shook his head slightly, his shoulders moving with the same motion. "I didn't think Bajoran humour was quite so removed from that of Humans. Shows I still have much to learn, doesn't it?"

"Oops."Bran giggled. "I put my foot in it didn’t I. You joined medical, how, why?" She asked.

"Not medical," he corrected. "Counselling. I jumped ship for a while to return to the Academy and do some intensive retraining so that I could request a transfer of department from Captain Henderson."

He took a seat nearby to her, taking the opportunity to take the weight off his feet. He hadn't been engaged in such a flurry of activity since the last time he was aboard - despite the nature of his retraining, it was mostly static, not mobile, so all the walking he was doing indicated to him that he needed to do some work to get back into his usual trim. Perhaps he'd been spending so much time on the mind that he'd neglected the body a little.

"Counseling?" Branwen gaped at him. "Why?"

"I'm mellowing in my old age. I haven't the energy or the inclination to indulge in the recklessness that drew me to piloting in my youth."

That was, realistically, as close to a prevarication as Miramon ever came, realistically. He was only 34 now, so hardly old in any sense of the word. Older, perhaps, but not old. And the energy hadn't gone - it has simply found itself channeled elsewhere. He didn't feel the need for impulsive action much anymore - sometimes he still felt like that, but it wasn't often. He'd found that the older he got, he preferred to devote his time and energies towards something a little more meaningful than directing a ship wherever it's Captain desired. Besides, his mother had always pestered him to settle down in life - certainly this wasn't what she'd likely had in mind, but it was a sufficient compromise for his tastes.

"But why counseling? I have never heard you talk about it. It’s a big change."

"Not as big of a change as I suspect you think, Branwen. I've always been fascinated with interpersonal relationships and the workings of the mind, be it Human, Bajoran, Romulan etc. And, when it came down to it, I wanted to move away from the potential for command. As a Flight Officer, I was senior staff and head of my department - and you know how that tends to end up. But, as I discovered then, I don't want to command. I prefer to talk to people on an equal footing, rather than to give orders."

He smiled slightly, noticing that they were talking far too much about him - something he rarely did, if it could be avoided. As a rule, he much preferred to talk about others - he knew enough about himself to find such discussion uninteresting. That and the fact that he always felt that discussing his own nature with other people was simply inviting both criticism and compliment, and he had no desire for either.

"I have always wondered, though," he said, trying to change the direction of their conversation, "why you choose to do a degree in Psychology, then reject the teal yourself in favour of the Marine's green. Why was that?"

"Because I am a marine first." She said simply. "But they don’t like going to a navy shrink. Most marines think navy types won’t understand them." She grinned. "It is easier for them to talk to one of their own."

Miramon opened his mouth to give a fierce disagreement of her assessment, then remembered how Baile tended to act aboard ship and closed his mouth again, remaining silent. Yeah, maybe he could understand it well enough. He knew that pilots had their own attitudes that weren't always compatible with other personnel, so he could see how the same would be true for those trained purely to fight. Still, it amused him how Branwen so quickly branded him a 'navy shrink', clearly making a distinction between the nature of her job and his.

"Well, I can't say I'd ever envision myself as a marine. I might be a decent shot with a phaser, but defensively so. I wouldn't follow an order that required me to attack another, since I see my job as helping others, as I think do you. To hurt another person because duty demands it seems a terrible burden on one's sense of responsibility."

She shrugged. "We do it to help others. It’s okay. I like my job most of the time." Not right now with Baile back and riding her hard.

Most of the time, she had said. Miramon wasn't dull enough to miss that one. He could understand the occasional disatisfaction with work, but even so, the way she had said it gave him pause. Nara had never mentioned that Branwen ever suffered from stress, which made him suspect that she was either hiding it very well, or simply suffered the effects internally, rather than showing them externally. That was something to be explored.

"What do you do when you find the work stressful, Branwen? What's your remedy?"

"More work." She said with a smile.

The Bajoran's light blonde eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling in incredulity at that one. A trained psychotherapist believing that work was a remedy for stress brought on by work? He could understand how mindful action might be helpful, but nonetheless...

"You can't possibly be serious, Branwen," he stated, his tone expressing every ounce of his disbelief.

"Why not." She said laughing. "You have a very silly look on your face."

"Thank you so much," the Bajoran replied, his tone dry. "And I don't believe you can be serious, since working is not naturally designed to relieve one's tensions. Surely you have another way that works instead?"

She thought for a while. "Lately, not really. I haven't had time. If I was bored with one job I switched to the other."

Miramon thought about that for a moment, then raised an eyebrow gently, his expression curious. "And before that? Surely you had something?"

"I tried to go to church more often, or reading, working out. I have hobbies."

"Not by the sounds of things, you don't," Miramon noted, his tone possessing a lilting amusement that was accentuated by the slight curve of his lips that demonstrated that he was both serious but nonetheless not wishing to offend her by his assertions. "I don't understand what you mean by a 'Church', but inevitably I wanted to know how you, Branwen London of the Marine Corps aboard USS Galaxy, overcomes stress. The nature of your job cannot allow for particularly relaxed circumstances while on duty, so there must be a manner in which you alleviate the tensions of the day, and allow you to take off the uniform and become something other than the officer. I'm still waiting for you to give me some indication that there is such a thing in your life."

She looked at him surprised. "Don't you know? Marines don't do stress. And are you sure that Kimberly hasn't sent you?"

Miramon grinned at that. "Don't do stress? Dear Branwen, I've seen Baile. And remember, I'm a good friend of your roomate. Not everything can be hidden behind a facade comprised of bravado."

"I thought you said she had not complained?" She raised an eyebrow.

"And so I did. But since when were a complaint and an observation one and the same thing?" he retorted, albeit gently.

"What did she say?" Branwen finally appeared nervous.

"You should know better than to ask that, Branwen. Beyond the confines of Counsellor-Client confidentiality, there is also the simple matter of the fact that I would not breach my own principles to tell you what someone else said, understanding that it could influence a relationship beyond my control. For now, simply accept that I know more about you than you realise."

"She is not your patient, she is your friend. And it is really nice to know that she gossips by my back. And know you can sod off."

Miramon's eyes widened slightly at that, but certainly now he was seeing indications of the stress he had talked of earlier. At the very least, he now knew that she was a lot quicker to anger that he had heard - not the calm, friendly woman he had often been told of. It was a curious revelation. Still, it was clear their conversation was coming to an abrupt end, and so he intended to end it before he provoked anything further.

"She does not gossip behind your back, Branwen. She expresses concern for you as any friend would do. I dare say we'd all be so lucky to have friends like her, in the long term. Still, deny what you will, hide your feelings behind a mask if it makes you feel better. Just remember, you can't deceive us all."

With that, he stood from his seat, twisting to his feet with a fluid motion, before engaging his legs in their usual firm strides, away from the human woman's office. He would let her think on what he had said, then see if perhaps she had anything better to add in her responses than a simple angry remark. He also had to wonder, as he headed towards the turbolift, if she realised how easily she had lost her own self-control.

"Kate" – pt. 8

Cmdr. Karyn Dallas
Chief Counselor

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 9 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

"Alright, I promised the two of you that I would be available tonight for dinner, and I'm sticking by that promise. So where to?"

The second day of the workshop had come to a successful close and the ship's Chief Counselor was hungry.

Though they hadn't had a chance to discuss it, Kate and Brian each fully intended to have dinner with the other. They wanted to spend time with each other, more so now than even just a day ago, as they were well aware that their time together was running out. And Brian, at least, knew there was much that still needed to be said. They had forgotten that to make amends for her busy schedule, Karyn promised to have dinner with them tonight – and their lack of an immediate reply underscored the fact.

With knitted brow, the mildly confused Chief Counselor looked at Kate, then to Brian. "We *are* having dinner tonight, aren't we?"

"Of course," her friend assured, with a "what else can we do?" glance back to the equally befuddled Betazoid.

Karyn sensed something peculiar about their response – not the least of which being that they seemed to have forgotten about the arrangement completely – but she decided to let it go for now. If there was more to it, it would come out eventually.

"I had a perfectly enjoyable time where we went two nights ago. Why don't we do that again?" Kate quickly suggested.

"Great idea!" Brian agreed – perhaps a little too eagerly. Realizing his overzealousness made him suspect, he added awkwardly, "I mean, it's close, we know we like it . . . what better option could there be?" His smile never looked more plastic.

The two of them were more like a comedy act by this point, but Dallas moved on without comment. "Okay . . . let's go." She continued out the door, Brian and Kate looking at each other apologetically as they followed in her wake.

It didn't take the seasoned counselor long into the meal to realize that there was a white elephant in the room and that she was the only one who didn't know what it was about. Setting aside her now empty appetizer plate, Karyn broached the topic gently.

"This has been an oddly quiet gathering so far," she remarked, silently studying their faces. Sitting across from her, it seemed the two were positioned somewhat closer to each other than she would have expected. It didn't seem like three people at a table, but rather, two people and one.

"Oh, you know," Kate breezed in, "I'm just a little pre-occupied, I guess. Tomorrow being the last day of the workshop and all … you know, just want to make sure I covered everything adequately."

"And your excuse would be?" Karyn asked, eyebrows raised as she smiled to Brian. This had become mildly amusing to her.

He was so glad he was the Betazoid here and not her. Not that it mattered a whole lot. Karyn Dallas was an astute and intuitive observer of people and their behavior – and she knew both her assistant chief and her old friend very well.

"I, uh …" Usually quick on his feet, tonight Brian was far too preoccupied with other things to conjure up a credible reply.

"Uh-huh . . . I thought you might say something like that," Dallas retorted. She closed her eyes, grinning and slowly shaking her head. This had gone on long enough. With a look that wonderfully expressed the affection she had for these two important people in her life, a look absent of any trace of impatience or disappointment, Karyn reached across the table and took one of each of their hands in hers. "It appears you two have some things to talk about," she said, her tone a comforting blend of concern and wisdom. They opened their mouths to object, but Dallas smoothly raised her hands and effortlessly silenced them both.

"Good night," was all she added. Then she smiled lovingly at the pair, backed up her anti-grav chair, and left them to the conversation she could tell they needed to have.

As Karyn glided away, Brian and Kate sat in silent admiration for a few seconds, then looked at each other and spoke simultaneously: "She's good."

And they meant it in every sense of the word.

"First Rule of Anthropology"

Lieutenant Th'Khiss K'aa, ACTO

Tactical Offices, USS Miranda

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

Large yellow eyes reflected the lights of scanners and lit displays as Th'Khiss K'aa went about his duties. Tactical communication and exercises with the rapidly accumulating fleet gave Miranda's CIC the work it was designed for - fleet coordination, command and control. As each new starship joined the Miranda, a scanner network was built, added to, and refined, making a sophisticated sensor grid - it was their job to provide the massive amount of tactical data to Command.

Arms folded, the Gorn paced throughout the CIC overseeing procedures and answering questions. The work was proceeding smoothly as the CIC personnel were beginning to gel for the first time in months. K'aa was grateful for the chance to literally stretch his legs - with Lieutenant t'Khnialmnae quickly and firmly grasping the reigns of her new command, the reptilian was free to perform more of the 'hands on' duties of Tactical work.

Engrossed with hooking up the Arizona's scanner protocols to the CIC network, K'aa didn't notice Lieutenant Darmajava's approach. "Er, K'aa - we've got an incoming communique for you on subspace" came the Indonesian's hushed whisper.

"Hrssss... for me? Are you certain?"

"Oh yes - without a doubt. You don't get a lot of incoming messages in the first place, and secondly - it's from S'sgarnon Prime."

At last. The request had only been sent two weeks ago, but better now than later. "Thanksss, Deny. I'll take it in my office. While you're here, help finish hooking the Arizona up to the grid, then refining the sensor throughput."

"I'm on it", came Darmajava's customary reply to work orders, and he quickly manned his new station.

K'aa made his way to his new office, and knelt on the dias behind his desk. The chair was long gone - now that he had secured his own work area preferred the Gorn custom of kneeling instead of sitting in chairs that weren't designed for humanoids with vestigial tails. The monitor flickered to life as the Federation seal was replaced with an image of a large Gorn head with large silver eyes and long, graceful crest scales. The Tactical officer bowed his head low as a sign of deepest respect, and spoke in his native language <Teacher.>

<Student - it's been many years. I wasn't certain you were even alive, Th'Khiss - you'll agree A'kaaah't is usually a good deal more thorough.>

Nodding, K'aa knew his old mentor was correct - his father had been unusually... sloppy, allowing his wayward son an embarassing exile rather than an honorable death. <Perhapsss he's developed mercy - it'sss not undeard of>. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't something that could easily believed from A'kaaah't.

<Klingons may bathe>, came the old Gorn's reply, the reptilian's version of the human adage "pigs may fly". <Still, while it's good to see you're still alive, I'm certain this isn't a social call, Th'Khiss. What brings you to call upon an elder who should be basking in the heat of the Fire instead of dealing with a troublesome student??

<Breeloox, has there been any recent scrolls on the Small Princes since I left? I seek the most recent cultural study you have on the subject.>

The old reptile's ridged brows arched at the question. <Cultural? Not Technology? Not Tactical Intelligence? What are you seeking, Student?>

K'aa kept his reply as vague as possible with a specific reply. <Answers, Teacher, as each seeker of the truth must delve.>

Silver eyes glinted as Breeloox narrowed his gaze. <My own words against me, eh Student? Very well. Unfortunately, the most recent study was over twenty years ago. I'll send it, though I'm not certain what questions it will answer for you.>

<I am grateful, Teacher. My thanks.>

Breeloox hesitated, then made an inquiry of his own to his student. <Th'Khiss - have you no other questions to ask me? Of your Clan? Of your family?>

The younger Gorn's reply started with a deep, low growl. "Rrrrrrnnnnnnnn... no. I still bear the scars of their retoric, Breeloox. Their argument was very compelling, and had a certain undeniable finality to it. Let the matter pass, as I have."

The Teacher's crest scales flared, then rested once more on the top of his large skull. <Very well Student - I'll pry no more. You should have the file in minutes - I hope you'll find what you're looking for. In the mean time, don't make me wait a half-decade until you call again begging for favors>, the old reptile's eyes gleamed. <Make time and entertain your Teacher with tales of how you've put the Fire's gifts to good use.>

K'aa brought his head low once more. <I will Teacher. Again, my thanks. K'aa out.>

Seeing the Gorn script begin to scroll in front of him, K'aa felt fortunate that the First Rule of Anthropology is the same as the First Rule of Tactical Strategy - no matter how much research you have invested, it isn't enough. The Federation's knowledge of the methane-breathing Hydrans was sketchy at the very least - and when one source pans out, start digging into another.

An index on the observation of Hydran genealogy and cultural societies appeared on the monitor when the Gorn intercommed the Communication station on the bridge.

"Communication - Clayton here."

"Lieutenant, thisss isss K'aa in Tactical. Please open an urgent communique to the Kzinti homeworld, directory 977136128-00-7166 to Raach-lieutenant Kreeeowl, Bright Claw clan. Tell him it's his money calling, and after the screeching subsides patch him through." K'aa wasn't certain how well a Kzinti liked to be reminded of financial debt, but it was the only leverage he had... at the moment.

"Screeching? Ah, er... are you sure of this message Mister K'aa?"

"Quite sssure, Misster Clayton. Call when he replies. K'aa out."

Delving once more into the Gorn script before him, the reptilian reminded himself of the Second Rule of Anthropology - he who contains himself to a single source, restricts himself to a single, narrow point of view.

“Dealing with Details…”

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer

Lieutenant (J.G.) Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineering Officer

CMO’s Office – Deck Eleven

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

Nara stood outside the office, nervously tugging at her Engineer duty vest after pressing the button.

Inside Kimberly played Idly with a stylus as she read the files that had been sent to her, she had initially only scanned them, assuming them to be an overlooked addition to someone's file, but now...

Hearing the door chime she stopped chewing the persplex instrument and looked up, "Come in," she called softly.

After walking in, Nara looked at the woman behind the desk, "You asked to see me? I'm Lt. Roswell."

Smiling reassuringly Kimberly stood and offered her hand, "Lieutenant, nice to meet you," she greeted the engineer.

Nara shook the hand and finally asked, "May I ask what this is about? I think I know, but to be sure; What is this about?"

“Have a seat,” indicating a chair, “well, I received a file from Starfleet Academy, for some reason it wasn’t included in your file when you transferred here, I’ve queried that,” Kimberly added almost as an afterthought, “but before I can pass this onto anyone, I need your permission, and to be assured you know what you’ll be giving people access to.”

Nara sat and answered, "Commander Dallas already has seen the record I believe you're speaking of."

Nodding, “Perhaps, but before I can release any data, I need your permission, its standard protocol,” she informed her, “plus, have you seen these records yourself?” she asked

Nara shook her head, "Not sure I would understand them."

"If you like, we can discuss them. I can answer any questions you might have?" Kimberly offered, "or you could perhaps fill me in on why these have just got here? And why now?" she asked curiously.

"What do you mean?"

“Well, these records should have really been forwarded to me when you came aboard, also, there seems to be no indication that the exam was ever followed up on? Were charges filed? There’s no record of that in you file either.”

"As I told Commander Dallas, it's likely because I was such a difficult patient. They were glad to be rid of me."

Raising a single eyebrow in an almost Vulcan mannerism Kimberly thought for a second, “Well, I’m going to assume since you and Commander Dallas are discussing this, you’re pursuing this?”

"Yes, but it's going slowly."

“What do you need?”

"I don't know." Nara was kind of lost as how the whole thing worked. She's been grateful to not be court marshalled and tried her hardest to not. She wasn't too interested in this legal system.

Letting out a small soft sigh Kimberly let her eyebrow lower and looked to the engineer, ~ How advanced, and yet this still seems to happen? ~ “Well, to start with the medical records of the post exam will be a crucial piece of evidence, you’ll need to have a thorough analysis completed, with a break down of all aspects of it. Any indications of injury, or attempt to conceal injury. Who will be carrying out the forensic analysis? Have you asked anyone?”

The blank, confused look showed she hadn't.

“I think you have just asked someone Lieutenant, and she’s said she’ll help,” Kimberly assured her with a smile, “if you’d like me to help?”

Nara nodded, "If you think it'll help."

“Well it can’t hurt to have someone qualified to assess the file. Now, first thing, what is your plan of action?”

"Get the bastard in jail."

“Simple, to the point,” she agreed, “it might take some work though, especially since you’ve left it this long… Forgive me for asking, and if you’d rather not answer by all means, but… Why did you wait so long?”

"It was a repressed memory. Came out as I and several others caused some mines to self-destruct. We did so through a telepathic link which unlocked my own telepathy and released the memory on me."

Nodding, “Okay, the statute of limitations on certain crimes might be in effect here, but if I recall it should start in this case from when the memory became accessible to you, how long ago was that?”

"Two years."

“I think we’ll have to check with the JAG office here, but I think you’re within the statute limit,” activating her monitor again she checked to see if the new JAG was aboard yet, “I can look into that for you if you like?”

"Sure." Though, she didn't feel so sure. What was going on? This was more trouble than she expected.

Looking at Nara for a moment Kimberly sat back at switched to her counselling hat briefly, “Are you ready to do this,” she asked softly, “it’s going to involve a lot of questions, and considering the time involved it may even involve a judicial request for a PSI scan to verify the memory?”

Nara nodded, "I know. Ready or not, I've got to do this. I've dealt with more than nerves before. I can do this."

“I just want to make sure you understand what’s going to be ahead is all, but you know you’re not going to have to do this alone, okay.” Watching Nara’s face for a moment Kimberly continued when she didn’t respond, “Also, the…. officer involved, who is he, where is he posted?”

"He's a professor at the Academy."

~ Hopefully not the ethics professor! ~ Kimberly thought with distaste, wondering if this tutor had taught her at the Academy, “is he aware you’re intending to press charges yet?”

"I don't know."

“Well that’ll change as soon as you formally report it, at the least he’ll have to stand down from his teaching post I guess while the charges are investigated. Have you considered a restraining order for the duration of the investigation so he can’t trouble you during the preliminaries?”

"He wouldn't bother. We're not very close to Earth." After a moment, "Would he?"

“I doubt it, but it’s something to consider as a precaution. I’m not trying to overly concern you, just open your mind to the options available,” Kimberly tried to reassure Nara, “you’re in control here, okay.”

Nara just shrugged, "We can do that, I guess."

“Okay then, well I’ll release the file to Commander Dallas, but I would recommend that you see the JAG officer aboard when you’re ready to file charges and begin the formal proceedings, if you want me to be there to outline the medical data available let me know, I’ll make sure I’m around. In the meantime I’ll look at this file for you and let you know what I find, how’s that sound?”

"I have to see the JAG Officer? And yes, please be there. What you find? Sure, let me know."

Realising she might be overloading Nara with information and options Kimberly stood and indicated the replicator, “Something to drink?” she asked as she approached the device.

"No." Nara's face showed her overwhelmed emotion. She kept her emotions in check, but this wasn't a war. This wasn't a technical puzzle to solve, not a bomb to disarm. This was something beyond anything she ever thought she had to deal with. "Um, water."

Ordering the drinks she placed them on the desk and sat on the desk nearer Nara, “Is there anything you want to ask, or just want to know?”

Her eyes met Burton's, "I'm not even sure what questions there are to ask."

“Well,” ~ Good question really! ~ she thought silently, “there’re going to be questions about what happened at the Academy and not just the assault, but how you two got on before that, in and out of class. They’ll ask a lot of questions, read your logs, you need to think about what happened back then. You’ll also want to think about the people you knew back then, if there’s anyone you can call on to help who might have known or seen anything?”

"Oh." She sat back, thinking a little bit. "Is that all." It was more sarcastic than anything.

Hearing the tone in the reply Kimberly winced to herself, “I realise it sounds like a lot, but it will come up. If the professor gets himself a half decent attorney then they’ll try and bring up as much as they can in the hope of finding something they can use. I’m just trying to give you a heads up so you can prepare yourself…. I don’t want to make this any harder than it already must be, and I do want to help. But the hardest part is going to be yours, sitting and answering all sorts of questions. And there’s going to be a lot of questions, both before and at the hearing,” she warned Nara.

"I told you I can handle it."

“Okay,” Kimberly said simply, “the ball’s in your court I guess…. What do you want to do next?”

"Next? I got lost somewhere in there. What IS there to do next?"

“Next, I suggest you sit down with Commander Dallas, review the file she asked for, then go see the JAG once your ready to make this official. After that, he’ll be able to tell us all what we need to do next and what the formal procedure will be.”

"Yea, ok. I can do that." Nara nodded as if trying to convince herself.

“Have you got someone to go with you, a friend?”

"To see Dallas? No, I'm ok with her. It's the JAG officer I'm nervous about."

"Do you have someone to go with you to see him, or would you rather keep this a private matter for now?"

"I have people I could ask. I'll figure it out later." Her head was pretty much swimming at the moment.

“If you want, I’m happy to come with you to see him if you like,” Kimberly offered, “give it some thought though, and take your time, at the moment there’s no rush, okay.”

"Thanks."

"The Show Must Go On" - Part 1

(Back Post)

By: Ensign Zev Raynor
Lieutenant Commander Brian Elessidil

===USS Galaxy Brig===

"Empty spaces - what are we living for Abandoned places - I guess we know the score On and on Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero another mindless crime Behind the curtain in the pantomime Hold the line Does anybody want to take it anymore?

The show must go on The show must go on Inside my heart is breaking My make-up may be flaking But my smile still stays on"

Raynor sang these words in a hoarse voice... His way to tormenting the guards... who could not help but recoil from the sound in disgust... He had better singing voices, but he wanted to see how many security personnel were on board the ship that could stand the sound... He was on guard number 38. The guard didn't look like he would last much longer either when the door opened.

"I don't know what you're singing but it sounds appropriate," Counsellor Elessidil said, entering the holding cell. He turned briefly to thank the guard on duty, giving him a re-assuring nod that he would be all right despite Raynor's questionable musical skills, and then focused his attention to the Intel officer. "So I heard it through the grapevine that you wanted to see me?"

"More like overdue... I'm supposed to be having this session thingies regularly, and since I'm supposed to suffer in here why not?" Raynor said sarcastically.

"I'm sure even you've noticed things have been a bit busy around here lately," the counsellor calmly replied. Although it didn't necessarily surprise him that Raynor would be in the brig, Brian couldn't deny he was curious as to the circumstances that got him here. "As they say in those old crime novels, 'whaddya in for?'"

"Um... I think its insubordination... Commander Dallas would probably know better than me... I should keep track of these things but I'm actually grateful for all the thinking time and the time away from avoiding work..." Raynor answered.

Brian raised an eyebrow. A person would have to push really hard to get Karyn to slap them with an insubordination charge. He glanced around for a moment and seeing nothing on which to sit save the bunk Raynor already occupied, he calmly seated himself on the floor with his back against the left wall. "Now why do I think there's an interesting story behind this, Zev?"

"Oh there is, but you know it happened during some classified work so I can't really get into, suffice to say we had a... disagreement about how to handle O'Shea..." Raynor stated blankly.

"Classified work, eh?" Brian echoed. Raynor always seemed to enjoy the secretive side of his position; then again, he tended to be a rather secretive person all around. "So this was a professional discussion, I take it?"

"A kind of professional discussion..." Raynor tilted his head to the side not breaking eye contact.

"Well, why don't you let me in on as much as you can? Unless you'd rather we just sit here communicating in questions and half-answers," Elessidil suggested, meeting Raynor's gaze and smiling slightly.

"Okay give me a minute to think up what I can tell you, and what I can't tell you... and then give you the longer short version..." Raynor said. "Probably have to ask a few questions about what you know of Hydran Intelligence gathering operations... what do you know about them anyways?"

"For our purposes, assume I know nothing."

Raynor juggled this information in his head for a moment, and his face became devoid of any of its usual signs or aura, which denoted stupidity or joyfulness. For a moment he wasn't wearing the mask while he considered these things.

"There was a debate as to whether O'Shea was truly who she seemed to be or whether she was herself... Commander Dallas seemed to think O'Shea was in fact O'Shea, no deceptions or any of that... I wasn't so sure not having met the Engineer before. She made an order to guards to lower their weapons, for some reason those guards turned to me for assurance, to which I give a different order, asking them to wait outside but to be prepared for the worse. Afterward Dallas performed several tests to try and prove her belief to me, which I dismissed because there was only one set way of discovering the truth, and that involved the mind, which is why she was called in at all. An argument ensued, and I ended up here..." Raynor finished, giving his summary.

"Who had been given ultimate responsibility for making the determination on 'Commander O'Shea's state of mind? You or Counsellor Dallas?"

"Counsellor Dallas was given authority over her state of mind by my recommendation, because she would know O'Shea better and a familiar face gets a better reaction... I was given authority over whether or not O'Shea was to be released however... and Dallas at the time didn't really give any mental examination at all..." Raynor stated blankly.

"Let's say if I ended up doing it... it would go something like that review I called you in for... after Vaden," Raynor added, to give Brian an idea.

"Are you saying she didn't do any kind of mental evaluation at all, or just didn't do it the way you would have?"

"There was some discussion between the two of them, some with words, other with looks of trust and confidence in one another... but nothing on paper..." Raynor stated blankly.

"And in your mind that wasn't sufficient?"

"For the possible threat she posed at the time no, because these looks of confidence and trust were things she had before her little stunt during a previous mission which from all appearances was traitorous," Raynor's sarcasm becoming more apparent than before.

"Okay, so it sounds like your weren't convinced that 'Commander O'Shea didn't post a threat, and since you were ultimately responsible for how to deal with her, you didn't think Counsellor Dallas' evaluation was sufficient. Am I right so far?"

"More or less... then things got a little heated..." Raynor stated. "I said some unpleasant truths..."

"Pretty much... but then again as you may have read... I've done far worse to my superior officers..." Raynor stated.

"Yes, but that's not really relevant in this situation, don't you think? The issue is how you dealt with this particular superior officer at this particular time," the counsellor said matter-of-factly. "Zev, I'm wondering what, if anything, you learned from those past interactions. Maybe you don't know Counsellor Dallas well enough to know how she'd react to your . . . shall we say, blunt style . . . but surely you could have guessed that not exercising at least a little self control wasn't going to do you any favours."

Raynor considered this for a moment before saying, "Yes but I don't ask for favours sir... when I am called in to do a job, I do it. It's that simple. If I were about self-control and pleasing bearcats I would be your equal in rank by now. I'm not..."

The thought that Zev Raynor could be equal in rank to him only served to reinforce Brian's concern that his career in Starfleet was stagnating. But he set the thought aside as quickly as it came. "Treating other people with respect, even if they aren't a superior officer, isn't a favour. It's common courtesy. And it helps you in the long run, don't you think?"

"I don't give them disrespect to start off with... everyone starts off with a clean slate with me, or as much of clean slate as is humanly possible," Raynor explained. "They have my basic respect that is common to everyone, hello, please, thank you... but the rest is earned or in some cases not earned. Dallas was ready to let loose a possible threat based on the results of a test that proved nothing. Emotional attachment clouded her judgement... granted so far O'Shea hasn't proved a threat... but still the risk she took when all I was asking, sit down with O'Shea, talk, figure out what the hell happened, and evaluate her mental state properly... and give me something to work with based off that. Not a psychical exam!"

"There's more to respect than 'please' and 'thank you', Zev. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that Counsellor Dallas couldn't care less whether you say please or thank you to her at all, but expressing disagreement -- especially in a professional matter -- in a level-headed, non-judgmental way is another matter. I don't know exactly what you said or how you said it, but I wonder if you can think about how you might have better expressed yourself in the situation."

"I've tried that method before... Brian... and when I did... I ended up a telepath with several of genes manipulated, and now my mind tortured with the deaths of thousands of people..." Raynor voice was more serious than it had ever been. Almost hurt, tormented, dark. "Don't think there wasn't a time when I believed in that sort of respect... but it only gave me a death wish."

"Do you remember reading about how I got my abilities?" Raynor asked.

"Yes," Brian answered, recalling the unpleasant details of Raynor's experience.

"Well let give you some more interesting details... to work with Doc." Raynor said, as he gently placed his hands against the force field, almost relishing in the pain...

"The Show Must Go On" - Part 3

(Back Post)

By: Ensign Zev Raynor
Lieutenant Commander Brian Elessidil

===USS Galaxy Brig===

"So that's the 'other' side," Brian stated. "I knew you'd been diagnosed in the past with multiple personality disorder from your psych profile, but this is the first time we've encountered it during a session. Zev, how often is 'Madden' around?"

"We've had what? A few sessions before now?" Raynor asked with eyebrows raised. "He comes and goes at his choosing, but he has been away lot more often recently..."

~Did you miss me? ~ Madden asked.

"Do you want to talk to him?"

"Alright," Elessidil replied, cautiously curious about delving into Raynor's psyche this far and hoping some insight might come of it.

"Hehehehe... HEHEHEHEHEHE!" Raynor began to buckle over and chuckle very darkly. "Ahhh... it's feels so - GOOD to finally get out the cage... even if I can't keep my freedom... Yet!"

Madden as Raynor called this other being had been granted control. "So there Brian... you wanted to meet the big bad wolf inside this pathetic excuse for a Ronin's head... Should I ask why or should I ask why?"

As distressing as the sight had suddenly become, Elessidil remained calm. "Why? Because I wanted to see if you really existed or if you were just a figment of my or Zev's imagination. And if there's anything I can do for you," he tactfully added.

"Yea... shut down this force field so I can kill you and the guard... by skinning YOU BOTH alive and use your rotting carcasses to please my 'HEATHEN' GODS!" Madden twisted his head to the side and lolled out his tongue, to lick his lips. "Fresh meat for the grinder, its been SOOOO... Long... hehehehehe..."

Raynor's emotional reaction was off the scale; virtual tidal waves to the Betazoid’s keen empathic sense. "You enjoy dark and violent images, Madden. Why is that?" Not only did it feel strange to be talking to another aspect of the same person he'd been speaking with only a few moments ago, it felt doubly weird to address it by one of his best friends' name.

"You enjoy peace and quite and love, Brian. Why is that?" Madden asked back. His eyes started to become literally blood shot. "Violence is the base of all power, from which all systems of government are formed. Violence is the thing that kept humanity alive long before peace, coming from our base survival instincts. Violence has solved more problems throughout human history than any other factor... WHY SHOULDN'T I ENJOY IT?! It's my... heritage... Humanities gift to the universe..."

"Does Zev share your views? Do you speak for both of you or only yourself?"

"You mean does Pariah Ronin share my views... Zev is what we call our body if you will... but I digress..." Madden explained, before continuing... "He recognizes its power, but he also finds it counter productive to think that way... peace he believes should be sought out first before violence can be used that every option should be considered... whereas I believe that it should be used whenever, wherever there is trouble... it is one of our core differences... hehehe..." Madden's telepathic presence was increasing now... becoming a dominate force within the room, violence and darkness came with that aura... as it grew evermore forceful.

"Can you feel that Brian?" Madden asked. "Can you hear its sweet, and ever present calling?"

There was no denying that he could indeed feel Madden's presence. It filled the entire space and instilled a feeling of dread and terror that the counsellor fought hard against. "It is not...your right to...make his choices," he managed, closing his eyes and focusing his own mental abilities to try to counter-balance to Madden's presence. Whatever Madden was, it was an overwhelming force in its own right, a presence far beyond anything Brian had ever sensed in Raynor alone.

"You killed them Brian... took lives away... denied them a true peaceful death..." Madden whispered. Images of Ensign Indigo Rekert and Nurse Cardin Mehl started to dance around the counsellor... exactly how they looked before they departed this plane of existence... the two Vulcan lives he took soon followed.

Madden kept up his whisper, his sweet sounding seducing whisper... "Oh... Did you not enjoy taking that away from them? Did you not revel in the new title you've claimed? Murderer?"

The counsellor knew if he got drawn into Madden's taunts his mental control would crumble, but Raynor's alter ego had picked some strong images as ammunition, making it barely a fair contest. "I...am no murderer," he replied, focusing all his mental energy as he replied through gritted teeth. "You are not...a murderer either...Zev," he added in an attempt to speak through to the other side of Raynor's consciousness.

"Kill a man you’re a murder... Kill million a king... Kill them all... a god..." Madden shared this insight with Brian. "A single death is a tragedy, a thousand deaths is a statistic... and on and so forth... and I may not be at the number that makes Hitler and Stalin look like jokes, but I am very good at being what I am... and right now that’s a monster..." Madden chuckled again.

"But it is a noble thing, still trying to reach Zev even now... gets to us right here" Madden stated sarcastically, touching his chest. "We'll have to change that... won't we precious...” his grin grew broad, then all of sudden serious... "NO... DAMNIT I'M ALMOST DONE... PARIAH NOOO!!!"

For an instant a sudden overwhelm sense peace, love, tranquility filled the room. Euphoria, the images that looked liked they blamed Brian vanished, fading into the background. Suppressing all the horror, were two wings coming from Raynor's back, his eyes lit up to a bluish grey, and everything seemed right with the world.

Then as suddenly as it came it was gone, and Raynor sat down, stating simply... "I need a beer."

Opening his eyes and looking around the cell following the dramatic transition, Brian knew they had their work cut out for them.

"I'll take one too."

"Coffee and Revelations"

Ensign Faylin McAlister Judge Advocate
Ember Lansky Pilot

Location: Angel Moon

Faylin found herself in Angel Moon yet again. She wondered, why she kept coming back to this place. Actually, she knew why, she just did not want to admit it. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would wonder back in the place, affording her to steal one more look at him. An audible sigh cut through the atmosphere as she sat alone. The spikiness had left her, in it's place was the more reserved Faylin. McAlister could admit now that accepting this assignment on board the Galaxy was a mistake. At first, she thought it would be fun.....but that was before she found herself consumed with thoughts of the officer.

Ember sat down at the bar. Despite herself, she was spending more and more time at Angel Moon. The drinks had something to do with it of course, but it was also because she enjoyed the company of the bartender, Michael – when he was free to talk and not busy serving guests. It was perhaps not a bad thing, since otherwise she would be spending her time cooped up in her quarters, absorbed with thoughts of Ayden and unable to pull herself from the past.

"Hi. Faylin McAlister." Holding out her hand, she smiled some what.

Ember turned to look at the woman who had made the self-introduction, quirking a small smile on her lips. Nowadays, she far preferred keeping to herself than chatting with the patrons, 'socialising' or making friends. It was far too much trouble than it was worth, and if truth be told, she found it hard to revive that spirit inside of her that used to love striking up conversations with random strangers and playing the social game. But then again, it wouldn't ever get easier if she didn't give it a chance, and maybe it was time to, finally.

"Hello yourself," She smiled. "Call me Ember. You come here often?"

"Actually, I'm trying to avoid the place.....but I keep getting pulled here by some invisible source." McAlister grinned a little, still finding herself haunted by images of the past. "Do you come here often Ember?"

Ember nodded with a soft chuckle. "Yea, I do. Too often probably. Someone needs to bar me from this place with a court order. But, what to do? He's a friend, and his drinks are mean. Keeps me coming back for more," She admitted candidly, her gaze pointing the direction to Michael. He was up to his ears with work, considering the crowd tonight, and it didn't seem like he would have the time to come over to chat.

"I see. She glanced over at the bar. He is hot, but not really my type. I prefer the mysterious type of man. The type that drives you insane with guessing what he's going to do next. Bartenders are really predictable." She paused, imitating a bartender. "Hi, what can I get you? Really, that's interesting. Yada yada yada. But hey, if it floats your boat...I say go for it."

Ember raised a brow and shook her head with a laugh. "No, I'm not interested in him like that. Like I said, he's just a friend." She didn't bother going into the details of why she wasn't going after any romantic entanglements. With the efficiency of the rumour mill on board the ship, Faylin was bound to find out sooner or later herself. If she hadn't already. "But trust me when I say that Michael's anything but predictable," She smiled, curious about the woman before her. "So, are you just speaking about mysterious men in general, or is there a specific one you have the hots for?"

Faylin sighed heavily. "Woooo, honey. Just one. This man makes my toes curl just by walking by me. Isn't that heavy?" She stated with a chuckle as she drank her beverage. "That, and among other things, but I won't mention that....that's reserved for after a few more drinks."

Ember smiled at the woman's expressive declaration. Maybe this conversation wasn't such a bad idea. She was almost beginning to remember what it was like to talk to someone and just enjoy the moment -- without any emotional baggage. "Good to hear," She said, stopping herself just quick enough from adding soppy sentimentality like 'Remember to cherish him'. She was really becoming more different than she was used to.

"So, what's your story? Where do you work at, that sort of stuff." McAlister paused just long enough to follow an officer with her eyes. Her head whipping around was not lost on Ember. Turning back, she offered a cheesy grin. "Sorry.....my he bitch radar went off. I think....." Faylin paused pointing to him as he was leaving. "That he belonged to the fraternal order of man whores. Ya know....Semptur Erectus."

"I'm a fighter pilot, in the Vanguard," She replied with a shrug, taking another sip of her drink as she did so. "What do you do?" The momentary interruption however, raised another chuckle from Ember. Faylin reminded her of a shadow of her old self, but even she didn't recall being as man-crazy as that. "And I wonder how you know," She teased, glancing at the man she pointed to.

"Jag." She chuckled. "How do I know? I come from a long line of Scottish Madams. My mother and father were the only normal people out of the whole bunch. My grandmother made it a point to instruct me on 'the ways' of such a profession." Glancing over to Ember, she smiled as she viewed her reaction. "I'm kidding of course."

Ember smiled at the brashness of the woman. "Of course." Again, she couldn't help but think how very bold - like her - she used to be before... before... Not liking the direction her thoughts were heading, she emptied the drink into her throat, asking for another. "So, how are you liking it on the ship so far?"

"MMMMMMM. Rough question. I like it and then I don't like it. It's a long story. Basically, I ran into an old flame and it's...well.....difficult right now."

It was a good thing she had already swallowed her drink. That scenario Faylin described was something Ember was all too familiar with. "Well... something of that sort happened to me as well when I first came on board..." She said softly, a small smile on her face - one that seemed to carry some hint of wistfulness and regret. "So, I more than understand." She paused to take a breather, inhaling deeply, before she turned back to the woman. "It may turn out to be a blessing, you never know. A second chance."

"Oh, I don't think so. He's involved. The chances of us meeting up again and fanning the flame so to speak, is very remote. Saul is quite..........shit......you don't know him, do you?"

"Saul..." She repeated, her voice trailing off. The name was a sudden jolt out of her reverie. In the trauma and involvement of everything that had happened since the last mission, she hadn't given time at all to think about Saul. "Oh god..." Ember muttered under her breath, her head bent low, as she inadvertently remembered the other 'assignment' she had been 'entrusted' with, and the person who was likely still held hostage, waiting for the information she had yet to give.

"Yea, I know him," She said half-distractedly. Ember turned to look at Faylin, her expression mildly apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I'll see you around." She didn't give any due explanation, sliding off her seat and hurrying off through the door. "What in the hell?" Faylin muttered as she viewed Ember dash to the door. The woman sat there for a mere moment, somewhat dumbfounded yet amazed. McAlister just had to wonder how many notches on his belt he had carved out for himself while on the Galaxy. It appeared, or she gingerly assumed that Saul had more female companions than he knew what to do with. "Is there anyone on this ship that he hasn't screwed yet?" She asked out loud to no one imparticular as she finished her coffee.

"Toyota Clearance"

Lt. Commander Erigone Aello, R&D
Colonel For'kel Arvellion

USS Miranda Main Mess

= = =

For'kel took a breath as he entered the Mess Hall. The night had gone to hell in a hand-basket when Berilyn woke up in a start from a bad dream. What little sleep he could have gotten after the late night cramming session on Romulan and Hydran cultures went for all practical purposes down the drain afterwards. If it had to happen, he'd have it happen no other way granted, but that didn't help much when one was tired.

At least his office could offer a reprieve... right?

Wrong. After dealing with the paperwork resulting from the impending supply transfers to the Galaxy's detachment, and scheduling practice drills for the Battalion with the current Op-plan, he'd made perhaps the stupid decision of getting up to have it approved by Ops. Frankly, he wanted to check in on Aello while he had the chance. Once they got on the hoppers, there wouldn't be a chance for that.

Behold he did... Lieutenant Commander Erigone Aello was no longer the Chief of Operations aboard the Starship Miranda. Talk about a surprise... then again he was often the last to know about personnel changes. The Ensign currently manning the Operations office swore he would handle everything, which was just fine... still left the question as to where Aello had disappeared to.

Which brought him here... that and the fact it was lunch time. A happy convenience that was. He replicated a roast beef sandwich with a side of fries, before locating her table. She seemed the type to seek out a fairly solitary table along one of the view ports, and For'kel was almost surprised not to find her... until he realized he had, she just wasn't in her typical uniform. "Isn't it a Human theory that drastic changes on the eve of a major event spell trouble?" He gave a tired grin, and placed his tray down but made no move to sit just yet... in the event she really 'did' want to be alone.

The Centauran woman inclined her head in the general direction of a chair. The salad in front of her looked picked at, at best. She had three empty cups of some coffee like beverage in front of her and a fourth was half gone. Her PADD was flipping through data at the the maximum rate the human eye could process it. She paused the data flow. "It's not only humans who have that theory, Major. Let's face it, blue is not my signature color."

"I knew there was something different about you... but I was going to suggest you changed your hair." He smiled, hoping the joke would rub off some of the currently rough edge. "But I would have to agree with you on that much. Sciences is a fairly drastic jump from the command route... what happened?"

Aello shrugged. "The gods are fickle?" she suggested. "I'm not sure. I'd ask Commander Wolfson, if she were aboard, but she's on detached assignment testing some Ancient tech gizmo or other. Any way you slice it, she's got the ear of some admiral or other, because everything I've been able to shake out of scuttle says she's got what some of the earthers call 'Toyota clearance.'"

"Toyota clearance?" That was certainly a new one in the Marine's book.

"She asked for it. She got it. Toyota. Apparently it comes from some ancient Earth text. I don't know, really. What I know is that she's got some pretty high brass backing this transfer." Aello blinked a couple of times. She hadn't realized her eyes had gotten so dry. Ah, to be Vulcan and never really need to blink. It made assimilating data at rapid speeds much easier, to Aello's way of thinking.

"I'm sorry." That seemed like a tough spot to be in. The emphasis connections played on Starfleet assignments could really irritate him some times. The Stagnorian military was a straight up meritocracy... one advanced or didn't based upon objective views of their qualifications and skills. Romulans, Klingons, Starfleet... they all seemed to, albeit to different degrees, placate to some notion of tribal 'family' bonds as far as their military services went. Even if it wasn't literal family, 'connections' seemed to play all too important a part in Starfleet's hierarchy. "Don't suppose there's a way around it? One that keeps you in the fleet at least?"

"The last I knew, science officers were still part of Starfleet, Major. I didn't think one had to be on the bridge to count." Aello flipped her PADD back on and returned to reading. It was obvious that she considered being taken off the bridge at the very least something political and very possibly some kind of punishment for some as yet unknown action. "I'm still catching up on paperwork. Wolfson's been on field assignment for some time and she's just now gotten around to finding someone to fill in while she's out."

"I was referring to getting your old job back without having to resign your commission." For'kel popped a fry into his mouth, leaving the tray conveniently exposed should his companion have a desire for replicated fried potato. "Only a single PADD worth of paperwork? Can't be that bad."

"I have no intention of resigning and I only brought the top priority with me. The lovely thing about PADDs is that you can transfer data in and out of them. You only need one. The fact that I'll be transferring this back to the main computer and downloading another batch or seventeen is hardlly worth mentioning," she growled, shoving her plate away from her. "And I'm still a commissioned officer, Major. Two and a half pips worth. "

To prove it, she stood to her full height. "Good afternoon, Major."

"Colonel." For'kel corrected gently. "And Commander, I'm only trying to express my sympathy. You seemed much happier in Command... I'm sorry if I've offended you."

"Nice promotion," she responded. "Next time, try not to treat a transfer into Science as a demotion."

"Why are you treating it like one, then?" For'kel raised an eyebrow. "You and I both know you weren't meant to rot behind a desk. You're a field officer, first and foremost."

"Well, apparently that doesn't mean anything to Commander Toyota." Aello picked up her tray. "Commander Toyota put me squarely in desk jockey position, complete with useless title to go with it. I'm half tempted to bury her under an actual replication of the pile of paper that the files she left for me represents. I'm not sure I can convince Operations that I need the power and materials it would take to replicate enough paper to fill Cargo bay three."

It was obvious she was more upset at things then she'd let on. "Ever spar in the gym?"

"No," Aello replied flatly. "Not when I'm this upset. My instructor would never forgive me if I did. 'Combat is best accomplished when you're cool and collected. A person who fights angry is a person who fights stupid.'"

"Or someone trying to relax, which is why you pick partners you can trust." He stood up and pushed in his chair. "You don't need to worry about hurting me if that's your concern."

She almost smiled. "Never trust a man willing to spar with you when you're angry," she quoted. "Another time, For'kel. Not today. Laps today."

He smirked, and in a teasing tone announced "You don't trust me? Why Commander, there aren't enough words to express my disappointment and astonishment." He picked up their trays, figuring he could dump them off at the replicator. "Are you sure running after eating is such a good idea?"

She shrugged. "Who ate?"

"Point taken." He dumped the trays and hit the reclaim cycle. "If you ever want someone to blow off at, you know where to find me."

"Maybe I'll make the whole of the R&D department take hazard training. If you'd seen some of the things we're pulling off Atlantis, you'd probably agree it was a good idea."

The Stagnorian chuckled. "Something tells me my clearance level is no where 'near' high enough to know."

"I could probably tell you, Colonel, but then I'd have to find a way to kill you," she replied. "There's crap here that I don't think I should have the security clearance to know, and I know some pretty nasty little secrets."

"Trying to make me jealous?" For'kel removed his jacket, and pushed up the sleeves to his shirt. "How many laps do you normally do?"

"Normally? I tend to run about 17 or 18 k four times a week. Today, I don't know how long I'll go."

"Figures you'd be a marathoner. Where do you run?"

"I'm Centauran. Marathon is still a big deal to us." Marathon. That sounded like a good idea Aello. She picked up her PADD and tucked it under her arm. "I need to drop this in my office first. I'll meet you there."

It just might take the edge off of her frustration with Commander Toyota and her clearance.

"The Show Must Go On" - Part 2

(Back Post)

By: Ensign Zev Raynor
Lieutenant Commander Brian Elessidil

===USS Galaxy Brig===

"Do you remember reading about how I got my abilities?" Raynor asked.

"Yes," Brian answered, recalling the unpleasant details of Raynor's experience.

"Well let give you some more interesting details... to work with Doc." Raynor said, as he gently placed his hands against the force field, almost relishing in the pain.

"I was asked to scan an outlying area in a shuttle, which was perfect for an ambush and considering the area we were in. I stated my believe in the most professional manner of an officer serving in Starfleet, as well as stating my concerns with respect sereval instances before the planned mission. I was ignored, and ordered to scout the area anyways, and as you know, captured."

"I was conscious when they manipulated my genes, I was awake when they performed all their twisted mental experiments... judging my reactions and so for to suddenly being dumped with the abilities. I watched my sanity slowly slip from my grasp until only thing keeping me from complete madness was the other lurking in my head."

~You make me sound noble Zevy boy... you got stop doing that...~ Madden smirked tauntingly from inside Raynor's mind.

"Months I endured this, and then when I final broke free, and killed the bastards who imprisoned me in such fashion as you have never witnessed in all your years, in such ways that would keep even death itself awake at night with the horror of it all, I was left with the memories of what I had done to those men, from both sides of the experience. Killer and Victim. This is what nearly ripped my mind apart, before I finally reached a communications relay and send out the distress call."

"All this I endured, because I warned my Commanding Officer the way I was supposed to... was ignored. I wanted to die so many times while I was there... but I didn't... I still want to die in some way... I'm a monster posing as a Fleet officer."

Elessidil carefully followed Raynor's narrative; listening not only to the words but also beyond them to what impact they had on the speaker. The man's pain firmly imprinted itself on the Betazoid's empathic sense, which came as no surprise . . . but telepathically sensing another distinct voice in Raynor's mind was not something Brian had anticipated or ever encountered in him before. He focused harder on the words so as not to let the surprise prevent him from hearing what Zev had to say, but when the scene was finished the counsellor had to sit silently and catch his breath, literally and figuratively. After a few seconds, he blinked a few times to clear his mind. With this new insight into Raynor's psyche, he realized this had gone beyond merely being a discussion of how to act civil toward others. Zev would never be able to control his external behaviour until he had more control over his internal self.

"Zev... listen to me, you are not a monster. You are who you are today in no small part because of that experience, but you can't let it have complete control over everything you think, say or do. Do you understand that?" Brian spoke quietly but insistently, and then leaned in a little more closely. "You have to get that control back... not because I say so or because of what it means for anyone else, but because you will lose whatever there is of the real Zev Raynor entirely if you don't."

~He thinks it’s an isolated incident... OH MY... he is an idiot... why don't you tell him that... BRIAN WAKE UP AND SEE THE WHOLE PICTURE HERE! ~ Madden taunted.

Zev closed his eyes. He wanted to yell at Madden... but of course that would of made him look like a crazy person. He remained calm, sighed, then responded.

"I've told you of the beginning... there are hundreds upon hundreds of memories up here..." Raynor said tapping the side of his head. "That tell the same tale of the incompetence of those above them and how it lead to their deaths... and I'm not talking about the lives that were used strategically and with purpose in mind... only to be outdone by a worthy enemy. Or me. I'm about those who bought it because of idiots who commanded them, didn't listen to their subordinates RESPECTFULLY informing them that they were making a mistake. Who were given every indication that this was a bad idea and they did it anyways..."

It was obvious that Raynor was still dealing with the other voice Brian had sensed, but this time the counsellor took care to block out the distraction; they would deal with that soon enough. "It's still the same, Zev," he insisted. "I'm sure there are hundreds of instances in military history where a superior ignored the warnings of a subordinate to his or her own peril; that will happen regardless of whether your objections are delivered respectfully or not. But like it or not, it is a fact that any military organization, including Starfleet, is based on a hierarchical command structure. You have to decide to operate within the bounds of that system or not, and if you choose not to, there will be repercussions that in the end won't serve anyone's interests. In this particular situation, you had the authority to decide you weren't satisfied that 'Commander O'Shea wasn't still a threat, and you could have expressed that decision to Counsellor Dallas in a clear but inoffensive way. That's where self-control comes into play. But Zev, we have another issue to deal with and that's exactly who is in control of your thoughts and actions," he said, alluding to the other voice.

Zev almost chuckled. "I suppose to say that I am wouldn't answer your question now would it?"

"I don't know. Would it? You tell me."

"I have same control over my body, my actions, in the sense that anyone does," Raynor stated, noting the possibility that creatures might not have freewill; it was a concept he debated many times. "Though my influences have more variety than most officers... most people have in their lives. And the more I try to figure out who I am and seek out where I want to go... the more my mind seems to be this ever growing landscape... How did that quote go? 'Seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. For self is a sea boundless and measureless. For the soul walks upon all paths.' Something like that... if that answers your question..."

"Let's focus a little more basic than that for the moment. I 'heard', telepathically, what seemed like another voice in your mind? Can you tell me anything about that?"

"I have a split personality, but the other half or soul or whatever the hell we want to call it, is too weak to deal with what you know to be Zev Raynor, and everyone assumes is the actual me though in fact there is no way of telling. He lurks in between my conscious and unconscious mind. He likes to go by Madden, though he has a fuller name I won't bother to tell you here. He is not unlike the Dithparu in a sense though he vastly more intelligent, and sadistic... though recently he has been more absent than usual. In fact I believe this is the longest he's stayed around to torment me in many months," Raynor finished before adding. "Or at least I hope you know..."

"So that's the 'other' side," Brian stated. "I knew you'd been diagnosed in the past with multiple personality disorder from your psych profile, but this is the first time we've encountered it during a session. Zev, how often is 'Madden' around?"

"We've had what? A few sessions before now?" Raynor asked with eyebrows raised. "He comes and goes at his choosing, but he has been away lot more often recently..."

~Did you miss me? ~ Madden asked.

"Do you want to talk to him?"

"Alright," Elessidil replied, cautiously curious about delving into Raynor's psyche this far and hoping some insight might come of it.

"Great Bird in the Sky"
With Lieutenant Raven Darkstar, Navigation Chief

Including appearances by: Captain Henderson's voice and Lt. Michael Jameson's hands.

Since the ancient, enigmatic Romulans rebelled against Surak's philosophies of peace and logic and abandoned Vulcan over two millennia ago, there was one principal that has always been a certainty: the Romulans show no fear.

Their violent reactions and almost egotistical confidence have always been so extreme that Starfleet literally gave up one light year of their space around the Romulan Empire and labeled it a neutral zone, the irony being there was nothing neutral about it as simply crossing it's thresh hold was considered by Romulus to be an act of war.

Throughout a century long war with their Vulcan brothers, to conflicts with humans nearly as old as Starfleet itself, to chilling encounters with the soulless Borg, the Romulan's showed no fear.

Until today.

Details remained unrevealed, no doubt due to the Senate wanting to keep order both on their homeworld and the Empire's interests abroad, however very quietly and quickly, under the cover of darkness, an emergency joint session of the Romulan Senate, and branches of their military arms was called for and after hours of discussion, a controversial motion, one that was unprecedented in the history of the Empire came to pass.

A bold move that would throw the various political factions on Romulus into disarray.

Praetor Hitan ordered Starfleet called for help.

Within the hour, Admiral Victor Murdoch himself had contacted Captain Henderson on the USS GALAXY, currently orbiting Romulus, and ordered them to work in conjunction with Romulan forces to secure the system until the USS MIRANDA, Captain M'Kantu and 'reinforcements' arrive.

One phrase haunted Henderson, long after the image of the Admiral winked off his screen.

"Keep your wits about you, Captain. Whatever it is that's going on, it has the Romulans spooked."

*** MAIN OFFICE, NAVIGATION, USS GALAXY ***

:: "Time to put that fancy new set up of yours online, Mr. Darkstar. Are you ready?" ::

Since he had taken over the Navigation Department, the former Security Meat Truck had swiftly made the department his own.

His first order of business was to streamline and mold both his navigation staff and shuttle staff to fit his more hawk like vision of what the department should be, including the highly controversial addition of the Jem Hadar refugee T'runtar.

Then, in a bold contrast to typical Starfleet Navigation Chiefs, Darkstar removed himself from the Bridge.

Fleet Admiral John Q. Bhrode was consistent in drilling many leadership principals into the Indian's brain. One of which was that the Navigation Chair on the bridge is meant for the piloting of the ship.

In combat situations, the chief of Navigation would have to keep tabs on the battle bridge and monitor activity of any shuttle craft all the while making split second evasive maneuvers and positioning the ship for optimal firing solutions.

Darkstar opted to alleviate all extraneous distractions and leave the Navigation Chair for the ship's pilots, letting them concentrate on what they do best: "Soaring the ship through space like a great bird in the sky."

Everything else would be monitored in the Main Navigation Office, a two story planetarium like structure, lined floor to ceiling in holo projectors upon which the ships sensor array projected the view of space around the ship giving anyone who sat in the main control consol the illusion that they were actually sitting on the nose of the ship.

Currently, Darkstar could see the massive, green planet of Romulus on his left. To the right were four Romulan Warbirds waiting to follow the Galaxy's positioning.

The view was slightly disorienting until one kept in mind that they were not actually in space.

The giant Indian sat comfortably in the gyroscope like 'Chief's Chair' in the middle of the navigation dome. The four monitors before him displayed readouts from the tactical display to assist him during a firefight, readouts from the helm itself which allowed Darkstar to take control of the station in the unlikely event that the pilot found themselves incapacitated (like that happens often!), the third monitor gave him access to tracking the shuttles and battle bridge, and the fourth simply a general purpose terminal, currently set to a view of the bridge.

He flexed the gloves he wore.

They were lined with sensors and allowed him to swiftly plot flight courses, battle plans and access three dimensional renderings of his monitors (think Minority Report!), and toggle between communications links with the bridge and anyone associated with navigation all the while taking advantage of 360 degrees of mobility in the chair to be constantly aware of his surroundings, something that Darkstar had a knack for during hand to hand combat situations. It had kept him alive and he was confident that same ability would enhance the ship's chances of survival during a dogfight.

It was one of the most innovative prototypes in the fleet.

It allowed him to actually lead and manage his department.

And the moment had come to test the system.

"Aye, Captain. Navigation to Ops, go ahead and give me full power." the Indian ordered.

On the bridge, Lt. Jameson's hands danced gracefully over the Ops consol. In the Navigation Office, Darkstar's readouts came to life as the resources needed to run the equipment reached peak efficiency.

The Chief waved his hand over the helm screen and the image of the bridge station appeared at his fingertips.

"Helm, Navigation assuming ship control effective now." Raven announced, and with those words, a new era in Navigation on the Galaxy arrived.

:: "Navigation, take us out of orbit and assume planetary defense posture." ::

"Aye Captain," Darkstar said. Using the sensor gloves, he keyed in the requested coarse.

A bright blue coarse projection appeared in thin air before him and ever so smoothly, the ship lurched foreword and followed it exactly.

"First Shot"
Captain Christopher Summers, USS Miranda
Captain Darren M'Kantu, USS Galaxy
Commander Jaal Jaxom, XO, USS Miranda

------------------
USS Miranda
Transporter Room Three
------------------

Summers and Jaxom entered the transporter room not long after leaving the bridge, naturally enough. Wouldn't do to keep M'Kantu waiting, after all - or to prolong Miranda's presence in Admiral Proctor's domain.

He nodded to Chief Summ - 'Colonel Arvelion's new wife, whom he'd performed the ceremony for on the trip back from the Delta Quadrant - as the entered. "Afternoon, Chief. Married life all you'd hoped for?"

"It's got it's pluses, Captain." the Trill woman replied with a broad smile.

"It does at that." the Captain nodded. "Energize when ready, Chief."

The shimmering of the transporter washed across the pad, leaving in its wake one Starfleet Captain, two battered and scuffed Officer's Travel Bags of a type not issued to Fleet personnel in twenty years, and a cheerfully-wrapped package done up in metallic purple paper and a black ribbon.

"Christopher," Daren nodded with a smile as he stepped off the pad and extended a hand. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted," Summers replied warmly, meeting the other man's dark-skinned hand as he stepped down. "Welcome aboard the Miranda, Darren."

Commander Jaxom let the captains greet each other in their somewhat official, but mostly casual manner. When they were finished he added his own. "Welcome aboard Captain," he addressed Daren M'Kantu knowing he'd remember the Trill from the Havras adventure their two ships shared.

"Thank you," Daren nodded, shaking Jaxom's hand. "It's good to be... well... It's good to be here and going back where I'm supposed to be."

"Understood sir," Jaal replied with a hint of mirth in his expression. "Hopefully this will go better than our little excursion to Breen."

"At the very least," Daren observed. "With the Breen I was allowed to shoot back. Starfleet doesn't like it when we do that to Admirals."

Jaal smiled, "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

Summers had to smile as well. "From what I heard of your hearing, Murdock might just give you a medal if you did." Under his feet, he could feel the pulse of his ship change as the ship began to move out - Mister Ramirez, it seemed, had taken his instructions to depart quickly to heart.

"Probably not," Daren countered as they began to move towards the door. "The paperwork he'd have to fill out over the incident would be so horrific that he'd have probably drowned under it."

The three officers began walking abreast down the corridor, a Yeoman that Summers didn't know the name of having arrived to take the visiting Captain's bags. "I also hear the Galaxy's been on-station on Romulus for some time already?"

"They have," Daren nodded. "Partially because of... mechanical difficulties... with the ship; partially to provide assistance with the situation on Romulus; and partially because parts of the crew have been detached to deal with a search-and-rescue situation on a Romulan colony world for some time."

Chris nodded at that. "This Henderson fellow. Think he'll have a good handle on the situation when we arrive?"

Daren nodded. "From the reports I've been reading, Cassius has managed as well as could be expected under the circumstances. First commands are always difficult, and this one was a bit more than most people have to deal with, but he seems to have held up well." He gestured with one hand. "Sometimes Allah tests us more fiercely, or in ways that we haven't expected, in order to prepare us for things that are yet to come."

Jaal remembered the first time he commanded the Miranda on his own. It just so happened to be during their excursion to Breen two years ago. Captain Elaithin had been taken prisoner along with the rest of the diplomatic team sent to the surface. Brex, the first officer at the time had been sent to sickbay after an unexpected plasma conduit failure on the bridge. The Trill commander, being second officer at the time, assumed command. "You never get your first shot in the chair under easy conditions," he commented idly.

"No, definitely not." Summers conceded, pleased with the wisdom displayed by his first officer. Not for the first time, he wondered just what it was that had kept the Trill here aboard Miranda, instead of on a ship of his own.

The small talk continued as the Miranda's top two officers led the visiting Captain to his temporary quarters, as the ship herself and her task force continued on toward Romulan space, oblivious of the political quagmire they were about to barrel directly into....

"Field Trip"
Featuring
Special Assault Squad-779
"Foxhound"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Location: ARC Staging Area, USS Galaxy
===============================

Greg Ward looked at his assembled SAS unit and smiled, despite being spilt up and having their numbers tested. He'd just gotten done talking with the "Old Man" on the subject of the Tellerite Sergeant in Thral which Caboose had spoken highly of during the whole adventure. Greg then whistled at the top of his lungs which made everyone including "Foe-Hammer" turn to face him.

"Alright my children, it seems that our good mister Baile has us on the first transport to meet with a Lieutenant Colonel For'kel over on the Miranda when she arrives. I want gear stowed and ready for possible movement over to the Miranda upon orders to transport over to her is cut." Greg said as he clasped his hands at the small of his back.

He was then a little bit confused when of all people Private Leonard L. Church raised his hand and asked "Sir, isn't a Major Sari Aroya in charge of the one oh one?"

Greg nodded, "She was, but something happened to her on the Miranda's last jaunt. The exact nature of her injury is at this time unknown but I'm told it's a slow down kind." Greg explained. "Now, I know that some of you are understandably upset at the views of lieutenant Baile but I need you to remember that his view is just one among several and though we might be flawed..we are still marines, ooh-rah!" Greg explained

"OOH RAH!!" came the response of the collected ARCs and then they went about getting their gear together meanwhile Church, "Foe-Hammer" and Simmons who were collectively referred to as the "Command Group" of SAS-779 gathered around Greg.

"Views?" was the only thing that the half-trill said to which the collected group looked at each other for a moment before speaking.

"I feel that that the co of the Miranda's marines might have a slight problem in handling Baile after the incident with Commander O'Shea." Simmons said as he crossed his arms over his chest. The man from Barranyar looked at his commanding officer with a critical eye. "But that's none of our concern is it?" Simmons added, eyes narrowing just a tad.

"What the old man said is to be careful and that's it." Greg responded to the unspoken question as he looked at Simmons and the younger marine flinched under Ward's gaze. "The primary goal of the upcoming mission is to deal with any threats to the federation and to serve as our unit's goals are set by the SFMC and ARC commands." Greg finished.

"I'll have Anduril prepped and ready for transport within the next quarter hour, sir." was the only thing that Foe-Hammer said before saluting and heading off towards the shuttlebay where the marine's Pelican's were kept at which point Simmons saluted and went to go and get his gear ready as well, leaving Ward and Church standing in the same spot as the younger marine turned to Greg and simply said one thing:

"I've got a bad feeling about this, boss."

"Paradise Lost"

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas SFMC, Furies Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

The water lapped at his feet as the waves gently rolled their way towards the sandy beach. Rhythmically they rolled in, the soothing sound they made filling him with joy and tranquility, allowing the feelings of misery and pain he felt drift away as if they were a puff of wind.

The bright sun shone down warming up the air, and some birds were in some nearby tree chirping away. It was as close to Paradise as he could get these days. The one thing that was missing, and the main reason why he hardly ever came here anymore, was that being this close to Paradise reminded him that 'Bella was gone. ~Damn that navy prick~

He pushed his angry thoughts of the bastard that had cost him his fiancee to the back of his mind. He wasn't here for that bastard nor 'Bella, today he was here to ponder some important questions, to determine what to do next, and thoughts of her, and the man that had cost her her life, were not going to help.

His feet made a squishy sound as he scrunched them up in the wet loose sand, though he made sure not to allow them to sink too far. Not after that disastrous time a few months back with 8-Ball where O'Shea had set a trap for Captain M'Kantu, despite him being on Earth at the time. It had turned out that it was a traitorous clone of O'Shea, and not the real thing, but that didn't really placate what had happened, or how close to death they had gotten before being rescued.

Steven wasn't that worried though. Engineering had spent a lot of time while in orbit around ch'Rihan checking out the various systems and the holodecks had been through a good review. Besides, this program, though similar to the one that 8-Ball and himself had been in, was infact a creation of his 'Bella several years before as a place to relax and "mull stuff over" as she used to say. ~God I miss her~ One of many she had created while in the Corps, they had all been bequeathed to him upon her untimely demise on Dagama Prime.

The Galaxy had been orbiting ch'Rihan for about two and a half months now, and despite his slight initial prejudice against the Rihannsu people, he had found them too be quite an interesting species. Their many cultural and religious beliefs, almost as varied as those of the Terran's of yesteryear, had been very enjoyable to learn about, and the Romulan Ale, well, who wouldn't say no to trying Romulan Ale while on the home world of the Rihannsu Star Empire. Though in Steven's case, "try" wasn't the word he would have used. He *was* a Marine after all and he doubted there were many 10 year veterans around that hadn't at some point or another tried Romulan Ale. Or Klingon Bloodwine for that matter. Both were very potent drinks and he *never* passed up opportunities like the one before him.

For most of the last two months, the Furies had been training hard. The mission on Cheron had turned into a fiasco and London had been kicking herself for ages over the series of setbacks they had faced over there. Despite having been on ch'Rihan at the time, Steven had tried to spend some time with her trying to get her to forgive herself for the unit's capture by the locals on the planet. It hadn't looked like he had succeeded, but he was going to try again sometime soon.

He had travelled to the planet yesterday, on only the second day off, from the heavy training, that the unit had been given since the Cheron incident, and during his travels in the capital, had heard some whispered comments between some of the Rihannsu people, though in general the Rihannsu people tended to stop and look suspiciously at Steven as he walked along. But what they were saying, or rather, the fearful way they were saying it, had given him the chills.

Having decided to deactivate the UT before he arrived, to have a more authentic experience he had reasoned, he was finding the dialect they were using not helping in his effort to understand what they had been saying. But from the small amount of the Romulan language he knew, it sounded like a whole Galae had been destroyed, whatever a 'galae' was. The fear in their voices had led him to believe that it was something big, though what remained a mystery at that time.

It was only when he returned to the Galaxy and looked the word up that the truth of what they were so fearfully saying began to sink in. And it had gotten Steven thinking, hence his being here today.

Over a hundred fully armed warships destroyed. He had had some very frightening nightmares during his life but none measured up to this. It was way too frightening to even imagine in his worst fears. The carnage and loss of life that must have resulted from that many ships being destroyed, if it was infact true, and Steven thought that it probably was, was too audacious to try and comprehend. The more Steven thought about it, the more he realized that being a Marine officer on a starship seemed like a really bad career choice. At least when he had been a Sergeant he just had to follow orders, but now there were other men, under your command, who depended on you to get them through in one piece. And the thought of some force out there with the power to destroy a whole fleet of warships, who could probably destroy the Galaxy in a moments notice chilled him deep into the very core of his being.

What was the point? How exactly could a unit of marines manage to even start to fight back when some force had the power to kill the Furies, and destroy the ship, so easily?

Perhaps he should retire from the marines. Being a Sergeant again wouldn't be too bad a thing, would it? Or maybe ask for a transfer to a land based unit. Was that what he wanted? Was that the best thing he could do. It was damned confusing. Life was so damn confusing these days. And to love again... He wasn't even going to try and comprehend that.

No! He would stay. She would want him to stay, in his heart he knew that to be the case. And Steven didn't want to let the men down. Besides, he wasn't in the habit of running away from fearful situations, and as fearful as he was of whatever force was out there, he'd stand next to his comrades, and fight with every breath he had. And die for that cause if he had to.

With the destruction of the Rihannsu fleet in his mind, Steven turned his thoughts to his friends aboard the ship. He thought of Nara, his new drinking buddy. He had spent a fair amount of his free time with her, generally drinking and talking. Having become friends, he found himself eagerly awaiting their drinking sessions in Angel Moon, and the constant discussions and gossip that went with it. Her stories of Saia and Saul, neither of whom he had yet had the privilege of meeting, gave him much joy. No doubt it was bound to have some connection to the lack of family that Steven had, though he couldn't be sure if that was the main reason or not.

It was only a few months ago that Steven had loved entering the marine commons unnoticed, to watch the marines playing, carrying on and enjoying themselves. It had constantly reminded him of the joy he had had before becoming a Lieutenant. To see the joy and fun in their eyes had given Steven a great feeling, like they were family. But lately, since the Cheron mission, and the long hard training sessions, the commons had generally been a quiet, lonely place. Heck even chow was a relatively quiet affair these days. And it was something that Steven was eager to change.

The computer beeped, reminding Steven that his session was nearing its end. The beach shimmered away and the grey walls of the holodeck appeared as he shut down the program. He had a few minutes before the morning marine briefing, barely enough for a quick shower and change into his uniform.

He made a mental note to check in with the Intelligence guys later, in case they hadn't heard the rumors.

As the doors to the holodeck opened before him, he turned to gaze back at a scene, many years ago, on that same beach, with Isobella, that he could see only in his mind. ~I will always love you~

Turning away from his lost love, he made his way through the hallway towards the turbolift, spying a couple of new faces, both Ensigns by the look of it, walking towards him. No doubt they had been recently assigned to the Galaxy with the supplies that had just arrived. Smiling and nodding his head forward a bit in greeting, he continued past. He didn't want to be late, not with Baile around.

"Oasis"

Nara & Saul

***** Senior Crew Quarters *****

Nara was in civilian clothes, standing outside Saul's quarters. The green skirt almost touched the floor with its soft flowing fabric. The black shirt was a bit more form fitting, except for the sleeves which billowed out at her elbows. The bell being rung, she just stood in nervous silence.

A yawn came from inside, followed by a sleepy 'Come in'.

She slowly, cautiously stepped just inside, "Did I wake you?"

Saul was sprawled on his sofa, his reddened eyes focused on some PADD. He tossed it on the table, beaming toward the newcomer.

"Hey princess. You haven't."

She gave a nervous smile, "You're not mad at me?"

"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"I was being an awful brat the other night, in Angel Moon. I could blame Saia, that her attitude is contagious, but...," she sighed, "In other words, I'm sorry."

"Hey, princesses can be brats. It comes with royal spoiling.", He tapped on the sofa, offering her to join him without words.

"I'm not spoiled. Just cranky." She gave a smile as she sat.

He patted her cheek. "Don't be. Crankiness doesn't sit well on you. So, problems with Saia?", He asked.

She nodded in answer, "I think I need to start turning down away missions. Or at least I shouldn't had gone to ch'Rihan (still s - we'll check that). I'm not sure what to do with her. She's depressed and angsty and getting damned sassy."

"And cranky, don't forget cranky.", Saul teased.

She smiled, "Yea, cranky."

"Seriously though. I wouldn't let anyone stand in the way of my job like that. Instead of passing up away mission - and reducing your chances of dying, this IS the Galaxy we're talking about - how about you somehow try to convince her to accept that occasionally you're going away? Maybe... bring her presents from away missions, or perhaps some interesting photos?"

She looked at him like he was stupid, but then nodded, "Sounds like a plan." Her smile widened as she scooted closer, taking his hand, "So how have things been with you, oh mysterious one?" She held a hand up, "I promise not to pry beyond what you decide to tell me."

"Oh, so finally she asks how *I* am doing.", Saul sounded somewhat bitter, but Nara couldn't determine if he was serious or not. "Nothing shady this time. Cheron was interesting. Since I didn't want to get involved in all the sabotage mess, I led a small expedition exploring the remains of the USS Challenger, a spaceship downed during the battle of Cheron two hundred years ago."

She smiled, turning to sit with her side against the back of the couch, intrigued, "Sounds interesting."

"Let's say that we found things there... which eventually almost led to mutual annihilation of both Romulan and Reman camps. Oh, and did I mention that in the end, it turned out that the sabotage was done by the original natives of Cheron, who miraculously survived extinction?"

She raised an eyebrow, "So you still got to solve a mystery. So when do you plan on transferring over to archeology?"

"You don't want me under 8-Ball's command.", He snickered. His thoughts strayed to Cutter for a moment, wondering what his poor tutor from the academy was up to nowadays. Hopefully, he didn't found himself entangled in some antiques theft. He's too old for that.

"I'd be more concerned if you were under her body." She laughed, "She's not a bad kisser, though."

"You know, once she gives you commands, you don't know where you might end up..."

Saul's speech trailed. Not for the first time that day, a word or a sight unraveled a memory of her. He bit his lip as a tingling sensation filled it, almost as though her moist lips were nearing his...

He leaned forward, kissing Nara on the cheek to make the tingle go away. It succeeded. For now.

"She had more practice, but I'm sure I'm better.", He told Nara.

She grinned mischievously, "Oh? Prove it."

"She asks for proof! The huzpa!", Saul protested, but cupped her head all the same and pulled her gently toward him. Reality slowed down as Saul felt the delicate texture of her lips on his, and the tenderness of her breasts as she slithered toward him.

He didn't dare to open his eyes.

He feared that it is not Nara's lovely face he'll be seeing when he opened them. Even in the most intimate of moments, he couldn't get HER out of his mind.

Not willing to give up, he brought her closer and began to kiss her more passionately.

Her hands ran up into his hair, her lips moving from his toward his neck and staying at his earlobe, sucking gently.

"Tickles!", Saul shuddered, his eyelids opening involuntarily. There was a flash of light hair, and eyes both sad and passionate, as though a kiss with him was the only thing to keep her head above the dark waters of despair.

He blinked, and there was just Nara. No. Not 'just', he had to tell himself mentally. Naranda Sol Roswell was not a compromise. She was a choice. And a good one.

"Hey there to you too.", He mumbled as their lips finally parted.

She looked into his eyes smiling, "Hey." Nara snuggled closer, "Busy for awhile?"

"Wha?"

"Are you busy at the moment?"

"At the moment no. In general yes, I suppose. M'Kantu told me I need to fall on the floor running. He didn't mention that I'm being dropped head-first. But hey, it's the job I wanted when I asked for transfer two years ago. Hugging pretty girls is a bonus."

She raised an eyebrow, "So hugging is all we get to do?" She threw her hands up in mock disappointment, "Well what the captain says, goes."

"I think both of us did excellent work above and beyond the call of duty.", Saul claimed in an official manner, as though giving a report to a superior. "Thus, we get to choose our bonuses. I, for example..."

Without going into further details, two hands sled into the narrow gap between Nara's black shirt and her skin.

With mock seriousness, she nodded, "I think we're one of the same mind, Lt." Her own hand tugged at his duty jacket.

He rolled over her, letting all the frustration that built up within him since he spoke with Faylin burst at once. Unlike the first time they made love, he was less compassionate and hesitant, and much more passionate - on the border of wild, like a thirsty man in the desert, taking the final steps before the oasis.

She tensed a bit surprised, but laughed, looking at him, her hands holding his sides gently, "Wow."

He did not slow down one bit. Shirts came off, nearly torn. He leaned toward her, still pinning her to the sofa, and began to kiss her neck, then lower. He hands reached to her back.

"Help me with... the unlocking mechanism, engineer..."

Her hands were resting on his head, her own tilted back. Hearing the cheesy line, she giggled and looked down, "You seem to know your way around it."

"Hmm, Challenge.". He fought with her bra for a little while, much to her delight, then eventually managed to open it without causing much damage. He proceeded to causing a whole different kind of damage in a whole different region.

This was definitely not like before, she thought. His touch seemed to have less control than during their first time. She knew she was reacting without reluctance. Her hands found their way to the front of his pants, working on another mechanism. Being an engineer, she got it open without much problem.

Soon after, she was moaning with pleasure as Saul heaved above her. This was not like before. This was a lot more fun. This was a lot more hot.

This was a lot more wild.

"Kate" – pt. 9

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North Civilian
Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

Shortly after Karyn left them to their dinner, Kate and Brian had tacitly agreed that they really weren't so hungry after all and adjourned to Brian's quarters. Finally alone, they paused just inside the door, catching each other in a gently passionate kiss that lasted much longer than either of them had expected.

They eventually separated, still holding each other at half-arm's length, each one silently staring into the other's eyes and appreciating the unexpected treasure they had found there; and at the same time, wondering how it happened.

"Kate," Brian began, his baritone voice as gentle as a warm breeze, "I…I have to tell you some things…about me." Though he instinctively knew he was safe with her, he still found this very difficult. What were the right words to tell someone they were everything you never wanted?

Kate smiled the soft, friendly smile Brian had already grown so fond of. "Okay," she replied quietly, "what do you want to tell me?"

Releasing her from his hold, Brian took one of her exquisitely soft yet strong hands and led her to his couch. Together, they sat down, still every bit as close as they had been since coming through the door.

"Kate, I- . . ." he didn't know how to start. So much was swirling between his head and his heart that it was hard to just reach in and grab something. He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked up into her eyes and in a soft voice, tried again. "Kate . . . I think it's pretty obvious how I feel about you. When I first saw you in the transporter room just two days ago I knew you were special . . . but I had no idea how special." He couldn't help the smile that came as he spoke. "And when I heard you talk, heard you laugh," he chuckled at this, "i-it was like . . . actually, I didn't know what it was like, because it had never happened before…not like this."

The Free Spirit sat quietly, holding Brian's hands, lovingly watching his face, his lips, his eyes, as he spoke.

"And it just grew from there. What I was -- what I am -- feeling for you is the most natural, the most . . ." he chuckled again, the happiness he felt toward her welling up to the point of overflowing, "...the most damned confusing thing I've ever felt toward another person. Since getting to know you I find that I want to do so many things . . . I want to talk with you…I want to laugh with you…I want to eat with you…sleep with you…sing to you . . . and a million other things we just don't have the time to do right now." Brian paused and touched her face . . . why was she so beautiful to him? He delayed a little longer, knowing he was eventually going to have to tell her what he had to say.

"Kate…I never loved a woman until I met you, and I don't mean that as some…romantic cliché. I mean, I never loved a *woman* before. I've been in love, but only- … only with other men." Tears threatened to seep into Brian's deep brown eyes as the whirl of what he was feeling began to overwhelm him, but he just cleared his throat and willed them away. He was afraid, afraid he was going to shatter this gentle, beautiful, delicate person . . . and hurting another person, especially her, was the hardest thing he could ever have to do.

But for as delicate as Brian feared she was, Kate's face remained unchanged. Not in the least did her loving sparkle diminish; not the tiniest fraction did her gentle gaze even flinch.

He glanced downward, knowing there was no way to take the words back. If there was to be any damage, it was done. Still, he did his best to continue.

"I didn't know…didn't understand what was happening until it happened." His cadence began to speed up as he tried to get out everything he wanted to say before he choked up . . . and before Kate stopped listening. "And when I realized it…when we kissed . . . I was so confused…I knew what you meant to me but I also knew who…what…I was…and . . . and I do love you, I'm sure of that, but I can't guarantee that I'll change…that I -…."

As Brian's voice stumbled trying to put words to emotion, Kate silently put two fingers to his lips. She wasn't going to stop listening, not now, not ever . . . but he didn't have to say anything more.

"I know," she said in the gentlest tone a human being could utter. Kate immediately saw the next question in his concerned eyes. "Yes . . . I knew. I knew who you were even before I knew who you were." The words were cryptic, yet meaning-filled nonetheless. "And it didn't matter. I never expected you to change…I don't want you to change. I know how you feel about me and how I feel about you and that's going to stay true for both of us for the rest of our lives because it's what was meant to happen between us; and nothing you are, nothing you were, nothing you'll ever be will ever make any difference." She slowly stroked his face, wishing she could explain it more clearly.

"Brian . . . we both knew I was eventually going to have to leave, and I had no expectation that you would follow. You shouldn't follow. You have a life here, an important life, and you're going to have a life down the road… with someone… someone you won't ever have to change for in any way."

For a few moments, they just looked into each other's eyes. What needed to be said had been said. The mystery and confusion remained, but somehow it all made perfect sense.

And when Kate smiled, and Brian thought his heart was going to burst with what he felt for her – now more than ever – the ethereal Free-Spirit and the multi-faceted Man held each other for as long as they could.

"Kate" – pt. 10

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Dr. Katherine North
Civilian Counselor / Federation Expert in Military Psychology

(Backpost -- 8 days(-ish) prior to rendez-vous with the Miranda)

For the last time, Brian and Kate strolled through the Galaxy's corridors together. This time she actually let him carry one of her duffles so they would each have a free hand to hold.

"The workshops were incredible, Kate. I think you've planted some seeds of thought here that could develop strong roots – and at a very appropriate time."

She laughed. "You know, Karyn said something very similar when we were saying goodbye; and something about not being expected to do all the fertilizing, weeding, and pruning herself."

"I think that's what she has me here for," Brian drolely replied.

Kate smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. "Will you talk to her?"

He thought about that for a bit as they continued walking. He knew what she meant. He knew that the confusion he felt from these three days wasn't going to go away overnight, and that Karyn was a trustworthy and competent friend and colleague. Most importantly, she knew both of them well. When Brian was ready to talk, she would already know much of the story. It would be easier that way.

"Do you think she'll give me a choice?"

Kate chuckled and shoved him with her shoulder.

"Yes, of course I will," he finally answered seriously but with a smile.

"So what's next for you?" he asked, shifting the subject to something lighter.

"Another workshop," Kate answered, sounding like a kid who didn't want to go to Great Aunt Beulah's for Sunday dinner. "And I won't be able to dress like this there at all," she said disappointedly, referring to the billowy bright white top and lemon yellow skirt she was wearing. Today she had her flowing hair reined into a large pony tail with a wide cloth hairband that matched the color of her skirt. Brian liked this ensemble the best. The cheerful and sunny tone seemed the perfect match for the bright smile he would never forget.

When they passed through the sliding door into the transporter room, he asked the transporter operator on duty if it would be ok for him to say goodbye and send Kate off himself. The man winked in understanding, and said he'd be just outside the door.

"So, back the way you came, I suppose," Brian said, setting the duffle he carried next to the other and taking Kate into his arms one more time. Orientation notwithstanding, this would always feel natural to him.

"What do you mean by that?" Kate asked, smiling up into his captivating eyes.

Brian looked confused. "Seems rather self-explanatory to me."

"Well if by 'the way you came' you mean by the same method that brought me here, yes, you're right," Kate elucidated. "But if you mean as the same person as when I arrived, then no."

Brian needed no further explanation. He knew exactly what she meant and it was just as true for him, maybe even moreso. He smiled at her, and bent his head down to kiss her one last time. They stayed that way for quite awhile, wrapped in each other's arms and joined at the lips, neither in any hurry to let the other one go.

When they both finally understood that it was time, the kissing stopped. Kate reached up and gently touched Brian's face. He was a good man. He would make some other good man very happy someday.

"Can I ask you something?" Brian enquired, a puzzled look on his face. "How did you … know?"

Kate knew what he was referring to, and her expression looked like she was surprised he really had to ask. She smiled wanly. "Karyn's talked about you more than once, you know," she said quietly.

He wasn't too surprised.

They released their embrace, Kate gathering her duffles and moving to the transporter pad, Brian taking up position behind the console. He checked a few levels, entered some coordinates, then looked up at her one more time.

It was so hard to see her go.

Once again, Kate sensed what he was feeling. She smiled her beautiful smile and blew him a kiss. A few seconds later, the familiar blue-white curtain of energy took her away to her next destination.

Brian's eyes remained fixed in silence on where she had stood for a few moments. Then he very quietly sang . . . "I wanna be…Kate".

And although part of him felt like crying, he smiled just the same.

"Monogamy sucks."

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG

Ensign T'Rei
Security meat head

"Enter" McAlister stated in a tone that was all work. The pieces were starting to come together for her in relation to Nara's situations. All took time, due time, but time none the less. Glancing up, she gave a small welcoming grin to her newest friend.

"Ya busy?"

"Hell yes….but come on in anyway." Faylin looked down at the mass amount of PADS that were scattered all over her sleek desk. She needed a great assistant badly….or at least…she thought….a 20th century cabaña boy with a nice butt.

Walking over, the security officer plopped herself down in a chair opposite of Faylin. McAlister looked seriously at T'Rei for a moment before speaking. "You look a little worn out chick…what have you been doing?"

"Regulation weapon training. Getting dirty, crawling around, shooting things….that sort of stuff." The ensign reached up and started to play with her ear lobe as she spoke. It was a calming sort of action for T'Rei.

Faylin knitted her brow. "Gross."

"Hey…I resent that. Our Department saves your department's ass's every time something goes boom." T'Rei stated with a forced smile.

"Stop that forced smile crap T…..and stop trying to be so human….it's creeping me out. Since when did the good doctors on board the Galaxy remove the Vulcan stick from your Terran ass? I prefer the Vulcan you." McAlister stated, taking a sip of hot coffee. "Our department saves your departments asses after you guys legally muck something up….so knock it off."

"Whatever." T stated as she took a seat. She glanced around, inwardly smirking at the opulence of the work environment.

"Does that not sound like a 'my vagina is tighter than your vagina' argument?" Faylin wondered out loud.

"Faylin. You are so illogical."

"There's my girl." McAlister stated with a grin. "Oh….I received the information we

Need to press charges against certain Vulcans. I passed the information on to Artim, per your request."

T'Rei nodded solemnly in acknowledgment. "So, what happens next?"

"MMM, I need to discuss some things with Art and then schedule a conference

between the three of us. Don't say what you are thinking young lady!"

T'Rei mocked a fake shock look. "What? I didn't say anything…and I'm not

You, I don't think with my body parts first. Besides…I'm not into three somes."

"Shame." McAlister stated with a small chuckle. Her eyes grew wide. "Wait, aren't you….."

T'Rei smirked. "Yes, I am bi. I just prefer monogamous relationships."

Faylin grimaced. "Monogamous relationships are so…..illogical."

Shaking her head, T'Rei couldn't help but break a smile that was genuine.

"Some day, someone is going to come along and change that for you. A good man. Fay, you are a beautiful, intelligent, overly sexual, ramped female who has a lot to offer someone if you would just give them half a chance."

McAlister shook her head violently. "Nope. I'm not coming to the good side. It's just so much fun being baaaddddddd! I prefer being promiscuous girl. No one gets hurt, the one night stands are fun with no commitments, and I get to leave in the morning. What could be better than that?"

"Love could be better."

Faylin's eyes flashed. "I was once in love, and it led absolutely no where! It left me hurt and alone. Why would I subject myself to that again? Besides, I would get married, have more kids, end up fat and un happy. No thank you!"

The security officer waved her comments off into the air. "You'll see."

"Pffft, yeah right. So, what's up with your personal life?" McAlister posed.

"Wait….is that a genuine question, or are you asking, in your own special way, if I've been boned anyone recently?"

Faylin rolled her eyes. "Well, yes….I'm asking if you have had any fun."

"No." The ensign stated flatly.

McAlister thought for a moment. "Isn't there a Klingon in your department?"

"Several, why?"

"Oh, no reason." She looked up innocently at the ceiling.

"I'm going to go Faylin. Call me when you are back on board the Galaxy, and not stuck in some trashy porn holodeck program." T'Rei stood, offering yet another fake smile that made McAlister smirk once more.

"You would be in a better mood if………."

"Don't want to hear it!" The security ensign called out as she left the office.

"Left Holding the Bag"

By

James Mitchell, CAG

WHAM! Dust drifts up in a cloud.

WHAM! More dust.

WHAM!

"Sir, are you sure you need me here?" WHAM! He stumbles back but still holds on to the punching bag.

On the other side, James Mitchell, clad in a grey tank-top and dark, loose-fitting pants - no shoes - was pounding the lumpy bag into a quivering mass. At least, the picture of the Marine CO on it would be jello if it were the real thing.

"Shut up and hold the bag before I use you instead." WHAM!

"Aye-" WHAM!

The Miranda was a big ship, but when it came to some things, the massive Pathfinder was the smallest compartment you could possibly be in.

Take, for example, the charges laid against the Bajoran CAG by the Marine CO, who, at the time, was the XO. People on the ship just *love* James, so in all their earnest to defend him, they'd passed the rumor that started with a former science officer who'd been under James' command in the department for several months. The Science officer, whom James had berated or ignored repeatedly for his supposed clumsiness and inability to count his fingers fast enough (the real reason was he'd screwed up a forecasted ionization overload in one of the sensor relay circuits on the array deployed to scan Romulus several months ago. It has subsequently begun a cascade overload and blew off one of the platforms. It was never proven that the officer in question contributed to the disaster, but someone had to be blamed), had just happened to be standing outside the JAG offices when Arvelion had shown up and very loudly pronounced his intentions, and they weren't to marry the slag running the legal offices.

So now, the entire ship had heard of the intent to indict the CAG, and it had to be the fastest circulation of anything on board. It was rumored to have beaten a record set by a Gorn who'd tried to catch his flatulence cloud and lost. Sickbay had run out of anti-nausea pills, and the ventilation systems had gone down in several departments.

If only he could vent the Marine CO's office to space. That would acutely resolve the ventilation problem on the spot and cease the circulation cold.

But alas, there were laws he had to follow, and he couldn't go around breaking them even if he wanted to.

WHAM! Crewman Fowler stumbled back, his face grimacing. If James gave the kid a bruise on his chest for this, then it's at least one person who won't harass him anymore.

He raised a sweat-glistened arm to his brow, letting Fowler get his bearings while he wiped down perspiration. "Hit the showers, Crewman. I'd hate to have another charge lain on me."

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir." He couldn't let go of the bag quick enough as he bowed shortly and escaped the larger of the two before the Bajoran enlisted him in some other form of S&M. Fowler made a mental note to never go near the science officer who started this mess.

The gym was empty now, being late into Delta shift. The enlisteds usually did not have the luxury of making their own schedules. Most of them worked over the graveyard and Alpha shifts so that the officers could have the evenings off. This was the primary reason James had taken advantage of the exercise rooms away from said officers. To be alone.

He'd recently remembered the old offices he held below decks near the Cetacean tanks that his prior incarnation had built for purposes unknown to the current version of James.

Dousing his face with a water bottle, he climbed up on the next piece of equipment - a military press, and set the plastic insert down on the floor beside him. After making sure his shoulder braces were tight, and the desired weight set, he ducked underneath and gripped the bars with each palm, exhaling as he exerted strength to raise it up over his head.

What the hell was up with Arel? She'd not said a word to him when he quite loudly expressed his discontent with Arvelion, voicing his disgust that someone so incompetent at his job would have the balls to go head to head with him now, but couldn't deal with him during the Borg incursion.

It was obvious she was choosing the Marine over her husband in this endeavor. Did she like watching people suffer? What the hell is up with someone who says they care about someone, then turn their back and not want to do anything? Gods, she makes him run in circles, and he was getting sick and tired of it. She chose people who came and went in her life, but never the one who was always there.

He exhaled, lowering the bar slowly. He could feel his shoulder muscles ripping. If he could get his hands on that damnable Cardassian that ruined his life all those years ago, he'd crush her neck into so many pieces they'd need a sub-atomic molecule reconstituent to rebuild it. He'd still be with Shinta, and never have even known Arel Smith. At least Navarre could make up her mind and admit when she needed someone. She'd not play pretend at marriage.

[Colonel Mitchell. There's a message incoming for you.]

"I'll take it here, thanks." Only one repetition and he was being irritated already. At least it was only a voice over intercom rather than someone in-person. He grabbed the towel off the back of a nearby chair and slung it around his shoulders, wiping off as he got off the bench and walked towards the only console in the room.

Flipping the power switch, the Federation logo came up for a moment before being replaced by the image of General Et'zet, the Chief of SFFC Operations for Atlantis Sector - Miranda's assigned Sector - came up.

"What can I do for you, General?" James didn't stand on protocol too much, hence his casual response to the Breen commander. He didn't much like Breen, anyhow, and he really didn't care about promotions too much. At this point in the command chain, it was about politics, not how well you did your job. Plus, any more promotions for James, and he'd be riding a desk. That wasn't something he cared for.

[I'll get right to the point and skip the pleasantries, Colonel. The Miranda has been detached to lead a Task Force into the Rihannsu Empire, as you already well know. They're to rendezvous with the USS Galaxy already in orbit in less than two days.]

"Summers has already apprised me of the change in heading, General. What is it you need the Rogue Group to do?"

If Et'zet was annoyed at James' sarcasm, he didn't show it. The advantages of living and working in a refrigeration suit, James guessed.

[What you may not know is that Deep Space 5's long-range sensor array had detected a mass movement of Rihannsu ships moving into a sector beyond our range. They did not return. We've detected signatures of an unknown propulsion system moving towards ch'Rihan coming from the same heading the Romulan fleet had disappeared. This is one of the reasons the task force was sent to ch'Rihan. They asked for our assistance. Your part in this exercise is to work in tandem with the Rihannsu Planetary Command. The Star Navy has assigned the bulk of its Scorpion Class light fighters in defense of the planet. You will be working with Riov Jelok directly. You will both report to Enriov Tagva, Chief of Planetary Command.]

"General, you can't be serious. They ask us for help, and then we're subjected to their authority? They aren't the tactical geniuses they used to be, if you don't mind my saying."

[Colonel Mitchell, you're just as lacking in the diplomacy department.]

"Diplomacy be damned, General. There's no time to stop and share in tea and crumpets when timing is everything. Every second counts in the life of a pilot."

[I have faith in your abilities to embellish that point, Colonel. You have your orders. You'd best obey them if you want to make your legal issues go away.] It didn't need to be said that it was said issues that had probably been part of the discussions with the Rihannsu Senate over command duties of the planetary defense tactical wings.

James burned his darkening eyes into the Breen General for several long seconds before acquiescing. "Aye, sir. I'll prepare the Group."

[Galaxy's Aerospace Group has also been informed. Major Rex will be your XO on this assignment. You should be approaching encrypted communications range shortly. Have a plan ready when you arrive at ch'Rihan. Et'zet out.]

James ripped the towel from his shoulders and flung it across the room. The fracking Marine CO and his bitch in JAG are really getting to be a pain in his ass. He was happy to let it all lie after the former XO of the Miranda battalion just about got them all killed with one stupid tactic after another, and in fact could be directly blamed for having done so with the majority of his casualties, but the Bajoran had better things to do. He figured Arvelion would get himself killed somewhere and save him the trouble.

But now they cost him command of the planetary defense. Oh, if whatever was coming decided to land ground troops, he'd make sure there was no air support wherever he was.

He slammed his hand on the intercom.

"Mitchell to all Rogues! Pack up your bags. We've got exercises to do and not a whole lot of time to get them done in."

"The Road That Leads Home"

Location: McAlister's Office

"Computer, open a sub space communication channel, JAG headquarters, Earth, to Lieutenant Bruce McDonald."

She waited for the channel to open, and as she did, her head swam with what exactly to say to the lieutenant.

"Ensign McAlister."

"Lieutenant McDonald. Sir, I am requesting an investigation. The accuser is a Lieutenant Narandra Sol Roswell of the USS Galaxy. I am transmitting the information now."

"Fine Ensign. I received the transmit ion. I will page you when I'm ready to discuss this case. McDonald out."

Sighing, Faylin reclined in her chair. During her time at JAG headquarters, she discovered that two systems actually existed in the department. There were the 'proper' JAG officers, and then there were the 'other' JAGs. No one had done anything concerning the two due to being frightened into submission and lack of evidence. Even to this day, stereotyping and glass ceilings still existed. Primarily, for woman such as herself. The 'good ole boys' still were prominent members of the group. Not once, despite her excellent rulings, was she invited into the inner sanctum.

Truth be told, Faylin did not want to be a part of the conspiracy. They served themselves, and only themselves. Benefits only existed for the elite members. It not only encompassed the JAG offices, but Starfleet as a whole. She felt frustrated that she had not taken the time to get involved. Yet, she had Olivia to think about, and an investigation of that magnitude would take years and resources she did not have.

McAlister wondered if Narandra really knew what she was getting into. Faylin so wanted to tell her to just walk away…that if the person in question was part of the cult, she had no chance of justice despite the evidence. Honestly, the evidence basically boiled down to he said, she said. This, on a number of levels had several legal holes that the 'cult' could dismiss in the turn of a Bajoran minute. One, evidence. No infirmary report, no security report, no Academy investigation, just a scared girl who thought it better to keep quiet. Time was another pothole in the road. Granted, no statute of limitations ran concerning rape and carnal knowledge, however the length of time would be a factor. The maturity level of the parties involved. Who would a JAG officer believe? A respected professor at the academy, or a cadet?

Faylin smirked. It all came down to the presiding JAG, amount of evidence, precedence in such cases, and law. It did not look good for Nara. Period.

Her thoughts cleared as she saw her screen flicker with the 'incoming call' flashing. Accepting it, she held her gaze on the male lieutenant.

"Ensign McAlister. I do not believe we have a case in this situation. There is no evidence, other than the telepathic interrogatory you took part in. I'm sure you are aware that the telepathic moral law number nine states that the only empathic telecommunication can be used in an investigative procedure."

Faylin knitted her brow out of disgust. "Lieutenant, the statute for legal sufficiency in that area is well known. I set it in Starfleet vs. Armstrong. Docket number 9900374. I ruled that telepathic communication can be used as a manner of investigation and discovery in matters that contain a criminal element. If you need a refresher, I can transmit the case brief right now. The telepathic moral law has been amended Sir, for two years now. According to the interview, lieutenant Roswell is accusing the professor of rape."

"Yes, I am aware of that. And, no, I will not need the brief." He stated shortly. "However, the professor has an excellent reputation at the academy. We can handle this under the table so to speak to say both parties embarrassment."

She sighed. It was obvious to her now that the man that displayed his arrogant manner and lack of legal knowledge was a part of the inner sanctum. Faylin assumed at this point that the professor in question was a part as well.

"In my expert opinion Sir, that is not advisable at this point. The accuser does not wish mediation on this subject, she wants justice. It is my duty to make positive that justice is served."

"The statute of limitations has run out."

"No, Sir. As you are aware, there is not statute of limitations concerning rape and a Starfleet officer." Faylin stated gruffly. Why was he grasping at straws here?

"I am ordering you to cease your investigation of this case Ensign."

"Look, Lieutenant. I'm not one to disobey a direct order. However, the law is the law. I am permitted to bring this to trial. If need be, I will address the Rear Admiral and Deputy JAG concerning this incident. This person broke section 920, article 120, subsection A of the Starfleet Uniform Code of Justice. If you need a reminder, the law states that 'Any person subject to this chapter who commits an act of sexual intercourse with any other person, by force and without consent, is guilty of rape and shall be punished by life imprisonment or such other punishment as a court-martial may direct.' I don't give a damn who the person is, he broke the law and he will get prosecuted for it. With or without your consent."

"McDonald out."

"GODS!" She bellowed at the top of her lungs.

"A Little Time"

Ensign Artim
Science Officer

Aerv tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= tr'Ahalaen's Quarters =

Upon arriving aboard the Galaxy, Ambassador tr'Ahalaen had been greeted by Captain M'Kantu and the appropriate senior staff. When M'Kantu had noted how late it was on Romulus, and offered to have Aerv escorted to his quarters, the young Romulan diplomat had accepted immediately. It was not that tr'Ahalaen was particularly tired - he just thought it was important to get a feel for the mood on the ship and the views of its crew before talking to M'Kantu.

Besides, he had not yet received word from Romulus about the specifics of his assignment, so he was quite content to wait until tomorrow to meet with the captain. While an invasion force was heading towards ch'Rihan, the one thing this alliance still had was a little time.

This also gave him the opportunity to make t'Noramei - who seemed quite intimidated here - interact with the crew of the Galaxy. It was imperative for his personal plans to succeed, that the Deltan/Romulan hybrid become comfortable in this environment....

= Ten Forward =

It had been long enough since Cheron, and his move over to Science, that Artim had settled back into something resembling a routine. Now that he didn't have to worry about trudging around the ship with a big gun all the time he could loosen up a little. Being back in a lab full time let him work on some of his research since the Galaxy wasn't exactly going on many science missions these days It was as relaxing as he remembered.

He was sitting at the bar just about to finish some Andorian beverage that he'd been turned on to some time ago after his shift. Artim liked to sit at the bar rather then one of the other tables so that people would see him and get those weird looks on their faces when they saw a kid at the bar. For now, it was a peaceful evening.

That was when two Romulans walked into Ten Forward. Now, while there were several rather bawdy jokes that began with that line, there was nothing funny about this particular couple. The Romulan male was tall, with striking features and long hair. He surveyed the surroundings with an easy confidence, looking quite at home. The pretty woman who accompanied him, on the other hand, looked rather uncomfortable...almost frightened.

It was not long before Romulan male noticed that Artim was observing him. For a moment, the man paused, as if taken aback, then he leaned over and whispered something to his companion. The girl - for she was quite young indeed by Romulan standards - nodded timidly and then began walking towards Artim.

"Jolan Tru," she said quietly, once she was within ear shot. She seem quite terrified at the idea of talking to anyone, even someone who appeared to be a child. "Please forgive the intrusion but...my master believes you are drinking...ale."

Okay, the last time a pretty Romulan woman had walked up behind him in a bar and said hello to him it was Valera and that night ended in the closest thing to sex he's ever had. This woman was much hotter then Valera but alot more nervous. One thing living for four centuries taught you was how to read people. Artim looked at her and smiled, "Nope, not your kind, though I must say I do enjoy it now and again. This is Andorian...at least as strong and actually..." Artim looked up at the bartender and continued "I could use another one, though could you make this one a tad stronger please, not enough brandy I think"

Artim then turned to the Romulan who the woman had walked in with and gave him a little wink. The Romulan woman gasped, shocked at the gesture. One could raise a certain finger of their hand at people and get less of a reaction.

"Do not wink at the Ambassador, Child. It is impertinent." Before Artim could respond, she went on, quite anxiously, "The Ambassador wishes to know how it is that a mere boy is allowed to drink alcohol." She paused, "I...I think that nothing is beyond a people who let children run around on warships. However, my master assures me this is quite different."

"Well then, perhaps he should tell you that in diplomacy, one should not underestimate or make undue assumptions about one's opponent. Tell me young lady, would you believe me if I told you I am 400 years your elder yet I look 7 years your junior?" Artim said all this smiling while looking past the lady to the Ambassador as his drink arrived.

"No," the Romulan girl began, "I...."

"Lhohnu believes nothing that she should and everything she should not," the Romulan man said with a small smile, approaching Artim himself. He smiled at the young woman and she blushed an impressive green. "It is one of her most endearing qualities. I am Aerv tr'Ahalaen." The Ambassador bowed to Artim ever so slightly, "Jolan Tru."

Artim returned the slight bow and replied, "Artim, ships Microbiologist. I also doubt she'd believe that I actually am a doctor as well. Most people don't believe me either, comes with looking eleven. Anyway, its a pleasure, what is your drink" Artim liked cutting straight to the point even when he knew he should probably be more...formal.

"The Ambassador does not drink with commoners," Lhohnu spoke up quickly, obviously eager to impress Aerv.

"That is not true...well, actually, it is," tr'Ahalaen replied with a small smile, "However, it is the nature of the drinks available in bars, more than the company, that keeps me from them. I prefer...more exotic fare."

The Romulan female hesitated for a moment, then leaned close to Artim and whispered in his ear, "The Ambassador comes from a very wealthy family and on Romulus for his expensive tastes."

"First off, my parents had money too, at least I think they did, kinda forget them being on your own for a few centuries. Secondly, I more than appreciate fine fare though I've found out something about exotic foods and drinks in my travels, you often find the most exotic things away from the playgrounds of the rich. This drink for example, learned it from a bartender in a spaceport dive on Saladin III. I've improved upon it slightly, but its still pretty much the same old drink. Lately though I've not been in such places. Especially not since I met Valera." Artim said, largely ignoring the woman now, eyes fixed on the ambassador. He wasn't nervous around higher up Romulans, Valera wasn't exactly from a poor family either.

Aerv, of course, had no use real use for scientists. However, he had heard of Valera - at least, of Valera T'Serov - there was no other whose name an alien could use with such confidence and expect a Romulan to recognize. At any rate, for reasons all his own, he decided not to acknowledge that acquaintance just then. Instead, he simply smiled and said, "You will, of course, pardon my aide. She is entirely to eager to please.... Many confuse wealth with the ability to acquire rare and intriguing objects. It is a common mistake. I agree that the rich do not always appreciate a beautiful thing - the Federation, I understand, still does not approve of our ale."

"A failing of the ones who make the rules in the Federation. I actually like the stuff and was quite thankful to be on the D'Decius when it shuttled us to Cheron. First time I've had real Romulan Ale in many many years. I also enjoy Klingon beverages occasionally though they don't have the same subtle taste. We do have quite a selection of...real beverages on board and I have a few bottles of Ixar spice wine in my quarters. And I understand your aide's behavior, I was once like that too. But that was literally centuries ago."

Aerv smiled at the young woman at his side, who was still blushing furiously and decided it would be merciful, not to mention polite, to stop speaking of her as if she was not there. He focused instead, on the subject at hand. "I too have managed to bring a few...articles of interest with me. Perhaps we can share our knowledge of these things. As the Vulcans say...infinite diversity...."

"Could be interesting, though I doubt the Vulcans were talking about alcohol back then." Artim said before looking back at the young woman with a grin realizing why she was looking at him in the way she was. "You're new at this, aren't you. You'll get used to being ignored, well, maybe you won't be ignored by some others on this ship." Artim then turned back to the Ambassador. "So, what are you in the mood for? I think there's some Saurian brandy back there somewhere."

"Then lead," Aerv declared solemnly, "And I will follow."

“Ex Sol Solis”

Major Veronique (Deuce) St. Melisande – CO Renegade Group, Rogue Squadron

With the afterburners flaring from the cat tube launch, Deuce looked over the ‘God’s Eye’ panel to get a sit rep on her group from the launch, the last of her group were just moving into formation.

“Ok, we’ll be doing a MAX Q re-entry over the tr’Hevellion Planetary Defence Base. It maybe a sim, but keep your hands off the stick, until you’ve gone past trans-atmospheric,” explained Deuce

“We’ll be supporting the simulated one oh one who are defending the base and stripping away the air support of the bad guys to allow the Rogues to go in and provide the gropos with much needed support.”

“With the Hydran Fleet on the other side of the planet, well be able to drop on the Hydran’s air support and surprise them. Basically, we’ll be accelerating continually till we get to tree top level and hopefully the ‘brakes’ will stop us from turning into geography.”

“So if you feel the need to play with a stick, use the other one, let the computer do it’s job and you’ll get out alive.”

Listening to her group call in and confirm their orders, Deuce pushed the stick forward and began the descent into ch’Havran’s atmosphere. As soon as she was on the right trajectory, she felt her stick loose some of it’s response and she looked as the computer confirmed that she was on auto-pilot.

Soon, she watched the plasma caused from the friction from the fighter and the atmosphere lighten her whole cockpit and very dangerous and firery orange. Even though it was a sim, Deuce had been in enough real high speed re-entries to be worried about what could still happen in the real thing. But the computer had been programmed to spin the fighters as soon as they approached the area and use the thrusters to keep the attitude, this whole idea was ‘the brakes.’ Everything would be reliant on the shields to deal with the energy of what effectively was ‘smashing’ against the atmosphere – tail first.

But it would cut the time it took to get to the battle by over half, any tactical planning by the enemy, that relied on standard atmospheric entry times would be useless.

The clock on her panel was counting down almost as fast the altimeter and her energy for her rear shields were very low. For a good fraction of a minute, her fighters would have very thin rear shields, but then, that would be balanced from the fact that they would be pouncing on some very surprised Hydrans. With the stellar primary so ‘high’ in the sky, the interference from that would hide them as well. “Ex Sol Solis” was still as valid as it was four hundred years ago on Terra.

Fighter illuminator icons appeared all over the three dimensional hud that surrounded her in the cockpit. Hydran fighters were being identified and tagged and the tactical systems on the Valkyrie 2 were already suggesting possible targets and combat entry profiles.

The computer got to zero and she felt her stick become responsive as she was in a normal power dive above the Hydrans.

“Renegade Six to Renegade, Break and take em down,” Deuce ordered over the comms.

As she watched, she saw Hydran fighters begin to manoeuvre, ten fighters would be hard to hide this close, but they wouldn’t have much time to react. And as she pressed the stud that activated her guns, there was a flare and the first of the simulated Hydrans went down.

"The Mind of a Blade"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= tr'Ahalaen's Quarters =
= USS Galaxy =

Ambassador tr'Ahalaen smiled as he watched Vrih Himne - the aide to his predecessor pace the length of his rooms. Himne had considerable experience in matters of diplomacy - something Aerv could not boast. Himne was also familiar with the crew of the Galaxy, the command staff and the inclination of the captain. Given these qualities, the man was invaluable to Aerv. Therefore, tr'Ahalaen had asked Vrih to stay and continue his duties here.

Under normal circumstances, Aerv did not doubt that Vrih would have accepted in an instant. The Galaxy was a good assignment. There was no way of knowing where the tides of fortune would take an aide if he left - even one as savvy as Vrih. However, these were not normal circumstances. Aerv had already chosen an aide - Lhohnu t'Noramei - a Deltan/Romulan hybrid who was an untrained touch telepath with no mental discipline. That complicated things significantly for the older man, tr'Ahalaen knew, for the idea of working with someone who could read your thoughts just by touching you was difficult for any member of a species as paranoid as the Rihannsu. That was, in fact, one of the reasons why t'Noramei's life on ch'Rihan had been so miserable.

And so Vrih paced...faced with two possible futures, each with its own rewards and trails, the man was wrought with indecision. tr'Ahalaen waited. The young ambassador was a very patient man. He had learned in his time as a tactician that battles were usually lost, not because of inaction, but because someone some where tried to do too much too quickly. Diplomacy was no different.

Finally, Himne turned to face Aerv. He had a simple question but in his excitement he spoke too loudly, with too much vehemence. "Why? Why did you choose t'Noramei, Lhhai. She has no qualifications. And...not only is she a mongrel...she's a witch. Already her selection has hurt your reputation...."

tr'Ahalaen smiled a dangerous smile. "Have you not heard tell of me, Himne?"

Vrih nodded and bowed slightly - this time when he spoke his tone was more subdued. "Of course. You are a Blade of the Declared."

"What is a blade, Himne?"

"A weapon."

"And what is the primary weapon of diplomacy?"

"Words."

tr'Ahalaen nodded sagely, "A hand wields a blade. What stands behind words?"

"The mind...thoughts."

"And what do negotiators do with thoughts and words?"

Vrih smiled, still uncertain where this was going, "We either reveal our thoughts with our words, or - if it suits our purposes - we conceal them."

"Thrust and parry...." Aerv said quietly, "Yes. So what better tool could an ambassador have, Vrih, than a beautiful woman who can know the truth in the hearts of men by simply touching them?"

Himne froze. It dawned on him - he thought he could see tr'Ahalaen's reasoning clearly now, "Of course. With t'Noramei present to read minds...you would always know victory in this particular battlefield."

"And Victory," tr'Ahalaen replied, quoting the Jem Hadar motto, "Is Life."

"This is...very well played," the older man admitted, "Do you control her so completely?"

Aerv laughed softly, "Ah yes...that girl would trust me with her soul. She is my puppet, Vrih."

"Then I am with you, tr'Ahalaen. I will stay here to serve as your true aide. It will be a pleasure."

"Excellent. Your experience and skills will be invaluable, Himne."

"I would suggest," the ambassador's new aide added, "That we not keep this a complete secret. There are certain people I know...people who can be trusted, who do not tell secrets. If we tell them of your plan, all doubts about your appointment will vanish. You must maintain your image - an image is useful."

"You know more than I do about this arena, Himne. I will leave this matter to your discretion."

"Of course," Vrih paused for a moment and then shook his head, still admiring Aerv's simple, yet well-designed plan. "You must have given that fool girl great assurances and wonderful promises for her to be so completely at your command."

"Yes...promises," Aerv repeated with a laugh, "Promises, Vrih, are like the hearts of women. They are made to be broken."

= End Log =

Ensign T'Jaden "TJ" Tagra, Engineer aboard USS Miranda

Deck 14, Tagra-McAlister Quarters

TJ passed out on the couch in his and Jacen's quarters after a long stint in the Gym. He was worn out and his head hurt. He didn't even bother to hit the Sonic Shower, no matter how much Jacen might complain about the smell. Some things where worth the complaints...sleep being one of them.

It came quickly.

----------------------------------------------
San Francisco, 2375

Cadet T'Jaden Tagra was walking through Chinatown with his Mother and step-father when they heard the first explosion. There was no time for reaction before the next one hit. From where TJ stood, he saw downtown San Francisco getting battered.

The Dominion War had come to Earth.

People where screaming and running for cover. TJ and his parents tried to get to cover when the building next to them caved in. TJ pushed them into a doorway, but it wasn't enough. As Adami and Nikolas fell into the store, TJ twisted and was struck by debris.

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

USS Miranda, present

The dream woke TJ with a start. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. He got up to go and shower, but never made it. He collapsed grabbing the back of his head.

He never got out a scream.

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

USS Miranda, 5 months ago

TJ was running from Jacen to get to his phaser. He got to it, but Jacen tackled him to the floor. They wrestled for a second, then the phaser went off and TJ went limp.

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

USS Miranda, present

T'Jaden lay on the floor having convultions. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he had foam coming out of his mouth. He lost his colouring and his spots grew darker.

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

Uss Miranda, 5 months ago

T'Jaden had fooled Jacen long enough to stun him. He picked up his mate and headed out. The corridor was empty and dark, but the where spots of blood all around. As he headed for the lift, he saw a bulkhead covered in blood, fresh blood.

T'Jaden got off the lift near sickbay, but saw the doors had been blown out and laid on the floor. He turned and headed down the corridor to one of the labs.

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

USS Miranda, present

Jacen walked in expecting to find T'Jaden lost in work or reading some new book he just got from Atlantis. What was presented to him was a sight that he thought was behind both of them.

Jacen grabbed an old tricorder from the drawer and started scanning TJ. Just as he thought, he had low isoboramine levels and elevated adrinaline and testosterone with an overactive thyroid. His brainwaves were erratic and his blood pressure was high, but not dangerously so, not yet anyway.

Jacen flipped TJ onto his back and grabbed the tree and put it into his mouth so he wouldn't bite off his tounge. "Hold in there spots," Jacen said softly as he stroked his mates' hair as his convultions subsided.

Jacen turned towards the replicator, "Computer, replicate Tagra Medical Treatment Eleven-Alpha Two. 30 cc's." The replicator had the treatment ready in a hypo immediatly and Jacen moved to grab it. Before he could inject it, T'Jaden started convulsing again, violently this time.

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

The Celestial Temple?

T'Jaden stood, at least that's what he percieved, surrounded by a white light. He walked around, not sure wheather to speak or roam forever. Curiousity won out, "Hello?"

No immediate responce.

"You are of Bajor," came a mono-tone voice. T'Jaden turned and was faced with his Mother, "You are of another as well." T'Jaden didn't respond, didn't know how to. "You should not be here," came another voice from behind him. He faced its source and there stood Jacen.

"A...Are you a...a...a Prophet?" he finally got out. "You are of Bajor and another," was all the Jacen-Prophet could say. "Yes, yes I am. But I follow your teachings," TJ responded. The Adami-Prophet spoke next, "You should not be here."

Suddenly everything faded.

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

USS Miranda

Jacen sat on T'Jaden's chest as he injected the treatment. The tricorder said his isoboramine, adrinaline and testosterone where returning to normal. The convulsions stopped and his thyroid, brainwaves and blood pressure stabilized. And finally his skin and spots' colour came back to normal

Jacen was able to finally remove the tree from TJ's mouth. He got off his chest and leaned back against the wall as TJ laid there. Jacen wanted to cry, but held it back. This hasn't happened since just before they Joined.

Since T'Jaden was a hybrid, this was one of the adverse affects of the combined genetics. Once is a great while, T'Jaden would get an imbalance in his brain that would send things into a tizzy. Only the treatment that Jacen replicated could make it stop. The 'disorder' wasn't deadly, but left untreated, TJ could go into a coma that he might not wake up from. It would eventually stop on its own, but the effects of the imbalance where damaging to his synaptic functions throughout his brain. It could leave him paralized or a vegetable, not one doctor knew for certain.

Adami once tried to get him genetic therapy, but the therapy wouldn't fix the overall problem. She was told that he would always have some sort of problem. Even the treatment she recieved while carrying him wasn't perfect. Not all hybrids had the blessings of well blended genetics and T'Jaden Tagra was a good example.

After a few minutes, TJ finally spoke, "Where am I?" "On the USS Miranda, hun. You had another attack. I got you your treatment and your on the floor of our quarters," Jacen replied. TJ tried to get up, but the pain in his head prevented it.

Jacen recognized what his partner wanted and helped him up. He got him to the bed and undressed him. "You need to rest TJ. Lay back, I'll take care of everything. You just sleep." TJ didn't even argue, there wasn't a point to it. Speaking right now hurt to much and Jacen wouldn't take anything for an answer except sleep.

Jacen walked out and put the hypo into the replicator for recycling and before he could turn around, he heard TJ snoring. There wasn't a sweeter sound at the moment.

He only hoped that his partners' dreams where just as sweet.

[OOC: This builds on the events of "The Man" (posted to Crossover by Ian on Aug 11) and "The Mind of a Blade" (Aug 15).]

"Defection"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
Judge Advocate

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Location: McAlister's Office =

"I need disc 31-231 from the library."

He nodded in acknowledgement. Faylin watched him leave her office, sighing with frustration. The crewman had brought the wrong reference disk yet again. She resolved to ask that the library, as small as it was, be housed in her office. McAlister glanced around her work environment, mentally placing the shelves. In the future, it would be much easier to retrieve information she needed by stepping over to the left wall.

Her case load had doubled over the past few weeks. It appeared that once word went around concerning a JAG officer, every person had a legal problem. Fortunately, half of them could be referred to other officers that specialized in mediation to solve the problems. Faylin specialized in cases that were complicated, which, at times made her decisions difficult.

McAlister took a drink of her beverage which had grown lukewarm. Scowling, she placed the mug on the desk. As luck would have it, her next appointment was due any minute. Retrieving another cup of coffee would be lovely, yet it would make her late. Late was not an option.

As if on cue, the door chimed. Ambassador Aerv tr'Ahalaen - who had learned early the punctuality was the politeness of princes - was not the kind of man who lost track of time. He arrived exactly when he meant to...whether he was on time or not, well that varied with who he was meeting with. In his position on Romulus, tr'Ahalaen had come to realize the importance of lawyers (one had to understand the law, after all, in order to...bend it). Since there was only one lawyer aboard the Galaxy at this time, he had no intention of alienating her by being needlessly rude. One should, after all, only be rude in a calculated manner.

The door slid open and Aerv tr'Ahalaen walked in. He was greeted by an attractive human woman, who - he noted immediately - did not smell like a lawyer. He associated nervous sweat with people of this particular profession...obviously, that was not the case with the entire galaxy. The Elements were generous, he noted with a smile as he studied the woman, in many things....

"Jolan Tru, Ensign."

Faylin nodded graciously as she stood from her seat. "And to you as well." Holding out her hand in greeting, she smiled as she viewed the man. His confidence met her own as she advanced towards him. The manner to which he held himself attracted her instantly. Perfectly groomed, well spoken so far, and a smile that could melt a deck plate right off a ship. Moving her head slightly, she motioned for him to take a seat. McAlister stood silently, until her guest was seated. "Would you like anything to drink?" "Please," Aerv answered - he was not very thirsty, but a beverage could be an important tool in a conversation, especially if one needed to pause and think about one's responses. "I leave the choice of beverage to your discretion." "I'll be right back with that, so make yourself comfortable."

Aerv regarded McAlister's quarters after the woman departed. The space was decorated in true eclectic style, which was something tr'Ahalaen appreciated. There were objects from many cultures across the galaxy here. A few items, in particular, caught his eye: there was a horga'hn statue from Risa...well, that raised his eyebrow as much as it caught his eye. He also found a strange, cubical game made of pearls the orgins of which even Aerv did not recognize. Finally, there was a lit curio cabinet displaying crystal models of various starships. The detail was quite incredible. tr'Ahalaen smiled fondly as he noticed a D'deridex Class model in the collection. That bought back some memories....

Faylin walked back into the room, carrying their drinks. tr'Ahalaen looked towards her. "Quite lovely."

"Oh! Thank you. I have had the privilege to be a diplomatic liaison for a year while at head quarters. Many of these were gifts. Diplomacy...can be so...diplomatic." Realizing what she said, she lowered her head and shook it gently.

"I was not talking entirely about the decorations. However, since we find ourselves on the topic, I must compliment you on your excellent taste, Ensign." Aerv replied with a playful grin as he accepted the beverage offered to him. "Thank you."

She returned the grin with a blush. Faylin never blushed. Period. She found herself at an odd junction, not positive on how to respond. The tables had been turned, and for once, the young woman with confidence concerning the opposite sex, found herself blown away at his boldness. She caught his gaze, and spoke. "No, thank you. I hope Earl Grey tea is acceptable. I'm more of a coffee conosure, but every now and then I appreciate something lighter in nature." "Everything is perfectly acceptable, Ensign," he answered, taking a seat. "So, what can I do for you?" 'Other than ravish you on my desk.' Faylin thought sinisterly.Her face exhibited an innocence reserved for children as she hid another blush with her mug.

tr'Ahalaen leaned back in his chair and studied the woman before him for a long moment, his obsidian eyes the very scales of Libra. When he finally spoke, he said something quite shocking: "I need your to help arrange a defection."

"Excuse me?" Faylin practically choked on her tea as it slid down her throat.

Aerv laughed, "Ah - you must pardon me for not being specific. I did not mean...this is for someone else - a ward of mine, if you will. If the Romulan Ambassador to the Federation defected - that would cause a horrible diplomatic incident." He paused and considered what he had said, "Actually, it rather sounds like fun."

"I wouldn't know if it would be fun per say. Do you mind if I walk around? I have a habit of doing that when in thought." Viewing his approval, she stood, came around from her desk, and walked over to the cabinet. Gingerly opening the case, she extracted the D-Deridex Warbird. She held it up to the light, letting the prisms bounce off the wall. "Romulans, as a race are passionate, opportunistic, and cunning." Faylin concentrated on the ship, its detail immaculate. "As, I`m sure you are aware Aerv. I would have to know in complete detail, why the Romulan Ambassador would feel a need to defect if he so desired to do so." Bringing the ship down a tad, she tapped her manicured fingernail lightly against the ship. "Off the record, I do have the resources to make it happen. It would call for a well thought of plan, very intricate in detail."

tr'Ahalaen raised an eyebrow at how quickly the woman had dropped the honorific of 'ambassador'. A tactical move? If so, it was an interesting calculation - with Romulans, one did not take names that had not been freely given. Even so, he did not mind. Besides, he quite enjoyed it when women paced - it reminded him of Austen's observation that it bettered allowed one to observe their figure. "Passionate. Opportunistic. Cunning." Aerv repeated with a chuckle, "You make it sound like a bad thing, Ensign. Surely even humans have...certain passions. Surely you use both your minds and the gifts of fortune to sate those passions."

"I meant nothing of the sort, Sir. My experience with your race has been....well...very interesting." Faylin found herself enchanted by Aerv. Placing the ship back in its proper resting place, she turned on her heel, walking over to the Risan statue. Her gaze rested on the small statue as she thought for a moment. Placing her hand on the artifact, she positioned herself just so he could view her as she lightly caressed the statue. "All humans have a capacity for great passion. However, most of us have not tapped into the hidden core that releases it. Passion is a wondrous thing to behold.........even in it's mildest form, it can cause people to do things that they would not do. It gives humans an ability to unleash inhibitions and permits us to open ourselves up for many great experiences. Mmm, enough about that...." The office filled with the light laughter of the ensign.

"I cannot agree. However, perhaps that is something we can discuss at another time.... As for the defection...I hate to disappoint you, Ensign. However, I did not lie. In fact, I make it a policy never to lie to beautiful women." tr'Ahalaen paused, "Except, of course, when I make it a policy to lie to them." He smiled at her amused glance, "Please consider the social stratification of Romulan life. Anyone who is able to reach the position of an Ambassador would have no reason to defect to the Federation. Except moral ones, perhaps, but morality is so...uncommon a thing these days. My life is more than comfortable. I have no reason - or particular desire - to walk away from my people. Truly, this is regarding someone under my care and protection."

"Of course. My train of thought had derailed for a moment. Pardon me. Please continue." Unconditional in her methods, Faylin hopped up on the corner of her desk, crossing her legs in the process.

tr'Ahalaen paused to study her again...something he found himself doing quite a bit more than was actually necessary. He had already made up his mind to trust Faylin. He did not hesitate in giving her the specifics...he hesitated for other reasons. "Her name is Lhohnu t'Noramei. She is an aide of mine. In fact, she is a hybrid - her mother...her reluctant mother, to be true, was a Deltan. I do believe that should simply matters considerably, since she does have a claim to Federation citizenship. Of course, on the record, I cannot have any knowledge of this...betrayal, if you will. At some point, you will have to deal with Lhohnu directly."

"Understandable." She stated simply. Her attention was rapt as she watched him more out of curiosity than gathering information.

"I must confess t'Noramei is not here, Ensign, because she does not yet know that she is going to defect."

"Oh, well." Knitting her eyebrows, Faylin looked a bit confused. "Would you care to explain why she does not know she is going to defect?" This was strange, obviously, there was more to the story that the man was not telling her yet.

tr'Ahalaen rose. "I am afraid that brings us back to questions of passion and promise...and that is a discussion I would rather not have here. Perhaps you could come to my quarters tonight so that we may...explain our positions to each other more clearly. Dinner?"

McAlister slid off of her desk, rather amazed at the dinner offer. As fate would have it, Olivia was spending the night at a friends quarters, so the night was hers. "Dinner would be lovely. Do you want me to bring anything?" "Bring the horga'hn statue, if you wish," tr'Ahalaen answered, his voice perfectly calm but his burning with an exciting, seductive energy. Offering a soft smile in return was the least she could do for him. "I am looking forward to talking with you on a more.....personal level. See you this evening."

"I am impatience itself. Jolan Tru."

= End Log =

"A Spoonful of Sugar"

Crewman Allison

USS GALAXY

Head turnng this way and that as if on a swivel, Allison made her way through the miles of internal corridors in search of her assigned room.

Before she left home, she'd taken the trouble to memorize as much as she could about the Galaxy Class Starships, but she was discovering that this new Galaxy III design was a bit different than her source material.

"Beige.....beige......and more beige." she sighed at the bland color schemes. "What this place needs is neon Shag Carpeting, and a few blacklight posters......wonder if anybody has ever thought of that?"

Popping her pink bubble gum unconsciously to herself, Alli stopeed to consult the black COMM terminals lining the bulkheads. Rapping her purple fingernails against its obsidian surface, she compared notes on where she actually was and wher she thought she ought to be.

"Deck 10.......Section 210....." she huffed as she traced the map. "This is SO typical. Sticking me on the largest Zarking Deck on the whole ship and making me walk around looking for my room. So Unfair!"

Discovering she wasnt too far off her mark, Alli backtracked to the last intersection and turned right. There, ten meter away was a simple beige duranium door like a thousand others lining the halls. Biting her lip (lightly frosted with pink-glitter lip gloss) she thumbed the entrance controls.

The large door had barly finished hissing its way open when Alli knew that all was not well in Galaxy-country.

"Uh-uh....WRONG.....no way....so NOT gonna happen."

"Was it something I said Dearie?" asked the large slug-like being laying on the bottom bunk of the joint crewquarters.

Allison rechecked the room code on the nearby bulkhead, quickly confirming that yes......this indeed was her assigned quarters. Several blinks of her clear blue eyes also removed all doubt that yes indeed her roomate resembled something on the order of a large pile of melted cheese and tomato sauce.

"Oh please come in Dearie......come in come in, dont just stand in the parlor letting the mozzies in, " the quivvering pile of ........whatever it was.........seemed to say, "I had heard the rumblings of my getting a new flat-mate, and now , Bob's your uncle, she she be."

Shuffling inside to keep the .......whatever the mozzies were........outside, Allli dropped her duffle with a plop and scanned the interior of the small cabin.

Luxurious and well decorated were supposed to be the watchwords on Galaxy class Starships........but that theory didnt seem to filter down to the enlisted men.

Worn threadbare carpet covered half of the meager 20X20 floorspace, the other being bare dull grey-streaked duranium.

Furniture consisted of the aforementioned stacked bunk beds, a grimy coffee table, and a few mismatched chairs.

"Oh yes I know Dearie," the .........whatever it was.......clucked in a cockney accent, "the place is a bit scaffy, but she's home to us after all."

"As if......." Alli shook her blond hair in denial her ponytail bobbing "Two questions........why did I get assigned a Pepporoni Pizza as a roomate, and why do you sound like some old British Nanny when you dont even have a mouth?"

"Now now Dearie, no need for cultural slurs and all that." The thing sighed, shifting a bit in the bottom bunk. "I didnt go and call you sodding Goolie now did I."

Leaning in cautiously, Alli took a cautious sniff of the .......whatever......No odor which was a good sign. "And the Nanny part?"

"Ah, programmers bit o humor Luv." the thing chortled (somehow), "Verbal communications is not natural for my species, so of course the lovely gents down at Starfleet had to fix me up with a Translator." The thing shrugged slighly to reveal a glowing digital device strapped to something that looked like Ricotta Cheese.

"Unfortunately for your truly, the dumb Kiddie Fiddlers thought it would be good crack to give the programming a little personality. So now I'm Mary Poppins and I've never even seen England."

"Tragedy......" Alli rolled her eyes and inspected the half of the room with no carpet. Mary Poppins had also seen fit to strew about collection of large flat rocks piled in various corners of the room acting as furniture...or decorations.....or whatever Pasta deemed to use large rocks for.

"Okay.....like dont take this wrong Poppins.....but like what the heck ARE you?"

"Im a Horta," it sniffed, little insulted by the girl's tone.

"A who-ta?"

"Hor-TA". The thing enuncited. (if one can enunciate without lips) "A silicon based lifeform from Janus VI Dearie, although thats not what we call the planet."

"I thought a Horta was an apple fritter." Alli asked.

"There is a certain family resemblance but no."

"And the no carpet?"

"My side of the room Luv." Poppins sighed. "Carpet fibers tickle me cankles."

"Okay this is so typical for me." Alli huffed and dropped her tote bag onto the coffe table which wobbled a bit under the strain, and dropped into a rickety chair. "My life is just over."

"There there Dearie." The rock being soothed, "I saved you the top bunk, and at least you have the toilet to yourself."

~~~Whatever~~~ The girl from Iceland sulked, ~~~I've got Chef Boyardee for a roomie, and I still havent gotten what I came for. This idea is looking worse and worse al;l the time.....~~~

Priests and cannibals, prehistoric animals Everybody happy as the dead come home Big black nemesis, parthenogenesis No-one move a muscle as the dead come home

Major Corran Rex
Ensign T'Ashaya

USS Miranda

= = =

The last time Corran Rex had been aboard a ship named Miranda, it had been a different vessel This ship's predecessor, one of the Jupiter-Class ships, back during the Dominion War.

That ship had only been in service two years - for, more or less, the duration of the war. She'd survived all that, only to get blown the hell up by the T'Kith'Kin shortly thereafter.

Or so they'd thought, anyways. He'd heard some long and overly-complicated story about a time-portal, and some Ferengi, and that ship actually being perfectly fine, or some such nonsense. It was, in short, overly complicated and difficult to remember.

And not surprising in the least.

Not that any of that was an issue now. Now, at least, that the interminable meeting with "Colonel" Mitchell had been concluded, he could come to his real reason for coming aboard the Miranda - to see an old friend.

She, of course, was supposed to be just as dead and gone as that old Miranda - and, was, instead, just as hale and hearty. No, nothing ever was simple with this ship.

Taking a deep breath, he rang the access for the quarters of one Ensign T'Ashaya - the not-so-dead Vulcan Tsunami.

"Svi-tor," came the response. "Sorry. Enter."

"Corran put on as broad a grin as he felt like managing. "You know, blondie, I'm going to have to stop getting surprised when people come back from the dead."

She had been sitting on the floor in the lotus position pretending to meditate when Corran opened the door. In a flash, she bounded over to him, nearly bowling him over as she greeted him with the traditional human greeting of a hug. "Corran!"

The Trill had to smile at the Vulcan woman's emotional greeting. Rumor aside, T'Ashaya certainly had never been a typical Vulcan. Most, for example, didn't like the water at all - she practically lived in it. He smiled warmly at her embrace, and she could see that his eyes were quite a bit older as they met. "T'Ashaya. How are you?""

My health has been improving steadily. I've been surfing some, now that the holodecks are no longer occupied by refugees. How have you been? And Jazz? Have you two been staying out of trouble?"

"Shay..." Corran frowned. "Shay, Jazz disappeared the same time you did. We haven't seen her in almost a year now."

She hugged him tighter. He could feel how thin she was compared to the last time he'd had his arms wrapped around her, trying to pilot a one man ship with her in his lap. "Eighteen months," she corrected, the words a hoarse whisper at his neck. Her cheek burned where it touched him and if Vulcans could cry, there was no doubt he would have felt tears, too. She stayed that way for several long moments.

She drew a ragged breath. "Did anyone come back?

"Everyone but the two of you." he supplied, deciding that Ella didn't need to know just how touchy the Vulcan was getting. "And now you, apparently. Which I would love to hear about that, incidentally."

"I," she pulled away from him and straightened herself. "I do not know. I do not remember arriving on the Galaxy. The last thing I remember was traveling to the ship. I did not sleep well the night before and I was experiencing discomfort in both my head and my stomach, so I closed my eyes to rest."

"Never had a Fireball that didn't do that. Wouldn't be made right if they didn't." he chuckled. "But that's all? You don't remember the away mission or any of your time on the Galaxy?"

"No." She closed her eyes and tried to picture the Galaxy once more. "The last thing I remember is closing my eyes and thinking that I would never consume another Fireball as long as I lived, and when I opened my eyes I was drowning."

"Drowning?"

"There was a downed support beam on top of me. I couldn't get leverage to push it off my chest. There was no air in my lungs and I was under water, trying to get to the surface. The water was ice cold," she closed her eyes and thought for a moment. "It tasted of salt and copper. Blood. Mine, I think, but I cannot be certain of that. I woke up on the VSS T'Pau, drowning."

Corran was still frowning as they sat down on the couch. "The T'Pau. The Indefatigable mission?" he'd heard about it first hand from Jii's mouth, a few months back on the Auriga.

The Miranda's former Captain - and Corran's fellow former pilot from Rogue Squadron, even if the Bajoran had only run a few missions with them - had fallen on considerably hard times the last time the Trill had seen him. The mission T'Ashaya was talking about, where she'd been found, was the one where Elaithin had had lost his wife. It was then that Corran had learned T'Ashaya was alive, though he'd been unable to get a message to her. Comm traffic out of Romulan space had been heavily restricted during the Galaxy's stay there.

"I believe that is how the mission was classified." She confirmed with a small nod, a very human gesture and not surprising out of a Vulcan from Malibu. "If it had not been for Lieutenant Commander Spa'an, I believe I would have died."

"But how'd you get there?"

"I do not know." She closed her eyes, pressing the tips of her fingers lightly against her temples and cheeks, as if she could mind meld with herself and pry the information from the darkness. She opened her eyes and looked earnestly into Corran's. "I fell asleep one place and awoke another. You spoke of a mission. I know of it, but only what little I have been able to glean from the records. Has anyone spoken of it to you?"

"Very little." he replied. "Just little things, here and there. It sounds like it was pretty confusing for everyone who was down on the surface. Some sort of Hydran artifact - I've never been real clear about it. Something about a test, and a choice."

"What kind of test and what kind of choice?" A human would have sounded desperate or earnest; the Vulcan Tsunami was doing her best to sound simply interested. She'd already embarrassed herself enough with emotional outbursts for one day.

"I don't really know, Shay." he said apologetically. "Nobody who went dwn there has really talked about it much. A couple of them have moved on to other assignments - maybe you could ask Corgan? He's still Chief of Security. He was down there."

She examined her hand closely as she listened to Corran. The cuff of her uniform slipped higher off her wrist, exposing a now fading scar, one from some sort of wicked claw or thorn that allowed that had been allowed to heal without medical attention. "I don't think it was Hydran, just something the Hydrans revered or feared. Not with what happened on the T'Pau." She closed her fist tightly and forced it down to her side. "Did I know Corgan?"

"I don't think so." he replied. "You think it's connected, then? Whatever happened on the planet, and that ship?"

"I am a common factor between the two events," she ground her fist more tightly together. "It is logical to investigate to determine if there are other common factors, at the very least. My working assumption is that the two events are indeed related, though by what, I cannot say."

Corran gave a small nod. "Okay, that's fair. You been able to turn anything up about the ship incident? Any small clues about how you got there, or where you might have been before?"

"Nothing." She forced her hand to relax. "When I was brought aboard the Miranda, I was suffering from," she drew began to quote, as if she were speaking of someone else, "'severe hypothermia, malnutrition, exhaustion, recent cuts, bruises, abrasions, and indications of repeated injury consistent with physical abuse bordering on torture.' I have no recollection of what happened. Medical can find no physical reason for memory loss. Both Medical and Counseling assure me that 'in cases of extreme duress the mind does what it must to survive' and that I am 'normal,' however I disagree with their diagnosis."

"Well, yeah."

She almost smiled. "I have not forgotten you, Corran Rex. It is your talent for succinct and pithy evaluations that I find most endearing." She began to pace. "Vulcans, quite simply, do not forget. We also have no sense of humor that we are aware of possessing, so it might be an overstatement, but there is still something wrong with sleeping for a year. There is simply no memory. I go to sleep one place in one circumstance and awaken in another place in another circumstance."

"No, that's not what I meant." he stammered out. "I meant about the "normal" thing. No one's normal. Especially not those of us who wear the uniform. I mean, I found out awhile back that about about 2800 years older than I thought I was. I've lived forty lives, Shay, and done things you couldn't possibly imagine, even if you wanted to - and trust me, you don't."

"Hell I could go on an on about all the freaks on the Galaxy. Every single one of 'em's got some weird story to 'em - but that's not different at all. We're all like that. Yours is just a little weirder than most. It's the price we pay for what we do."

She cocked her head to one side and looked at him for a moment. "I thought the occasional bout of board rash was the price I paid for surfing."

He took off his commbadge, holding the symbol of Starfleet out in front of her. "I mean this, Shay."

She took the commbadge from him and gave him another almost smile as she tucked it into her pocket. "I know what you meant, Corran. I am still left with a year without answers."

"Yeah." he replied, thinking of the answers he'd sought for himself, and some of the more horrible memories they'd contained. "Question is, kid, are you better off not knowing? Take it from me. Those answers.. you don't always want 'em."

"But sometimes you need them." She thought of Lieutenant K'aa and her second piece of missing time. Fifteen minutes were simply gone and she, to her way of thinking, had attacked a crew member during it. Once again, medical couldn't find anything wrong with her, couldn't find why her memory had holes in it. She remembered the dolphins and the whales were afraid of K'aa, that he made her feel uneasy, and then she woke up in sick bay with no recollection of having tried to kill him. At least, that was one way to read the events that she'd been told about. Either way, she felt much better about the lizard man, even if she didn't want to tell Corran about that more recent blackout.

Besides, medical had observed her. The councillors had observed her. Both agreed she wasn't any threat, and so that was that. Come visit and talk. Keep taking your vitamins and eating well. "Does that make sense? To need answers?"

"It does." he nodded. "It's only natural. But Shay - if your mind's blocked it off, let's face it, you're probably better off not knowing." His face went far away for a moment, reliving some long ago - and apparently distasteful - memory. "Trust me on that one."

She reached out and took his hand. She thought he looked like he needed it. The Vulcan Tsunami offered no further comfort.

He adopted a playful - though obviously feigned - smirk at that. "Hey, none of that. I came here to help YOU puzzle things out, not the other way around."

She squeezed lightly. "And here I thought you came because you missed me."

"That to." he smiled. "And I thought you could use a familiar face... even if my face isn't as familiar as I would have liked."

"Who's is?"

"Sidelined"

Rae Weber
Alex McKeon
Intelligence Officers
USS Miranda

--

The current director of SFI Clandestine Operations had sent a retrieval team for the stasis-held for of the woman known only as Slim. He's also sent orders, orders meant for the real Rae Weber and her handler, orders that were less than ideal. They were, newly minted Colonel Ryan Mason said, meant to stay aboard the Miranda. Having, as they did, some experience and background with the Tal'Shiar, they might be an asset. Rae promptly decided he just didn't want to deal with them for the moment and figured they were relatively safe ship side.

In a way, she felt sorry for the man. He and Colonel Elaithin had been close friends for years, and then he was responsible for taking up where she had left off. Given the unexpectedness of her death, he had a lot of catching up to do, something that was more her fault than his. He had also inherited more than his fair share of messes.

Her, Alex, and Slim being one of them. As far as most of the intelligence community had known, Slim and Rae Weber were one in the same. It wasn't until Colonel Elaithin's death and the transfer of all her data to Intelligence Headquarters that the upper levels of SFI had been privy to anything else. Hence the go ahead of their little sting operation given literally hours before they hoped the express train to the Delta Quadrant.

Rae had watched Slim's stasis chamber being taken discretely from the Miranda when they docked at Atlantis station and had shaken her head, saying not a word. She'd been nearly silent ever since, more or less ignoring Alex and everything else going on in her life.

Except, of course, for Slim's logs and personal affects. It had taken Rae quite a while to be able to crack the access codes, afraid to try too hard because, knowing Slim as she felt she did, the logs were likely to be electronically booby trapped. When she had succeeded, she'd found more than she expected. Slim made up for her lack of physical personal affects with the copious amount of recorded logs; it was a fascinating look inside the woman's psyche and after watching many of them she found herself often feeling almost... badly for the other woman.

Alex watched silently from the wall by the replicator, where he was leaning as he drank his tea. He frowned as he watched Rae's eyes dart across the screen, the rooms only illumination coming from the computer.

Something about Intel operatives. They liked it dark. "Computer." he said, his voice breaking the silence like thunder. "Lights."

She winced, not sure if it was because of the sudden light or the sudden noise. Rae looked up at her lover, eyes squinted slightly as she tried to find a word.

"Why did you do that?" she questioned.

"Monitor light's bad for the skin." he grinned. "Or so I hear."

"I'm not exactly trying to impress anyone," she said, "unless that's a subtle hint toward explaining why we've hit a bit of a dry spell recently." She arched an eyebrow staring at him. Of course, she knew it was her fault entirely. She'd been occupied. And really, given what she'd gone through the past several months, she felt that she had a fairly decent excuse not to want to be touched in any way, shape or form by anyone. "Have you been reviewing these?" she asked, only partially changing the subject.

"I'm an analyst." he said with an air of wounded pride. "That much data, you don't think I've looked over it?"

She only shrugged as she pushed herself to her feet, her back softly popping as she stretched one side to the next. "Just asking. You haven't volunteered any thoughts on it. I was curious, is all. Wondering if she'll take well to the therapies, if they should all even both. Just. Curious. And really wishing we weren't stationed on this boat. It doesn't feel... right."

"You just don't like being in one place." Alex snorted. "Or so public. You think everyone's watching you."

"No, I don't. And that's largely because everyone is watching me," she mumbled. "Because no one understand what the hell is going on. Sometimes I'm not even sure I do. It's not paranoia, Alex, if it's true."

"So?" he shrugged. "Seriously. Who cares? You think they'd be happy. The psycho's gone. You think any of them here gave a damn about her? You think she ever gave any of them a reason to?"

Her mouth gathered to one side of her face and she folded her arms and looked down at the desk for a long moment, weighing the silence in the room. She moved and pressed a button on the console, the files blinking away from the screen, the screen going blank quickly thereafter.

"I'm not sure what bothers me more, Alex," she whispered, "the fact that woman took my identity, the fact that she didn't have any choice in the matter, or the fact that she used it badly." She bit her lower lip, eyes still focused on the carpet. "Even the good guys are fucking assholes. Marty Batanides. Murdock. Fucking Kitty Elaithin herself, rest her soul of whatever the hell. It's all just twisted politics; she never had any say, and you know what? Neither do we. We can pretend we do, but it's all just one more lie. Hell, she was probably better off in the Section. At least then, she knew she was being lied to. Or... had reason to expect it."

"Oh please." Alex muttered derisively. "Rae, we all know the game. No one's straight with anyone in this business. Everything's based on need. And when it comes to someone like her - how the hell can anyone figure it out?"

"What I want to know is when *our* lives stop being about her and start being about us again." There was more than a note of barely contained bitterness in his tone - an emotion she couldn't ever recall seeing from Alex before. He was usually so relaxed, so.. happy-go-lucky, even, if the term applied, that was the strength of their relationship. He was her anchor, her bit of reality in all the lies and false identities and assets to be played in the name of duty.

"Was it ever about us?" she asked. "Or did the 'us' just evolve out of the missions?"

Alex rocked back on his heels slightly at the unexpected question. "Well. That's the real question, isn't it?"

She didn't reply for a moment, and he casually set his tea down and started to head for the door. "It's always been real for me, Rae. You decide it was real for you, you know where to find me."

"Alex, don't do this," she said, softly. When he didn't stop, she felt the tears stinging her eyes and her throat tightening. "Don't leave me!"

He stopped at the door, turning to face her again. "Rae... I'm not.."

Sighing, he walked back over to the desk where she was sitting. "Rae, I'm not leaving you. I was just leaving our quarters. Big huff, dramatic exit, all that. You big drama queen."

She covered her face in her hands as she leaned her upper body down, trying to steel herself again, settle down. But she couldn't, she had a nagging feeling deep in her core.

"Just..." She cleared her throat, her voice muffled by her knees. "Please don't." She barely muffled a sob. "I'm sorry for being hard. It's over now. It's over and I don't know what to do."

"I know." he said softly. "Hey, look, you're the type.. you need a mission. There's just nothing for us right now, but the work here. And it's not as glamorous as all those death-defying field assignments you love, I know, but this is important to. Right here, we get the right information to the right people in real time. No shadowy ops and then passing up the chain - just telling what we know to the good guys so they can beat the bad guys."

"See that's the problem though," she said, lifting her head to look at him as he crouched in front of her. "That's what I was trying to say. Here, and right now... I don't know who the good guys are."

"Right now, for us, that's the rest of the people on this ship." Alex clarified. "Everything else is beyond our pay grade. Let the big wigs sort it out."

She took a deep breath and nodded softly, touched his cheek with her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said again, two words that didn't often come from her mouth. She leaned forward and kissed him softly. "Go do what you were going to do... I think I'm going to sleep."

"Eh, I'll stay here." he shrugged, wrapping an arm around Rae and leading her towards the bedroom. "I was just gonna go take out my frustrations on our underlings. I gotta say, I could get used to this 'being in charge' thing..."

"SFI has created a monster," she said, smirking as she shook her head. "Just be careful. I'm sure some of them could kill you and no one would ever know. You'd end up being that cute analyst no one ever heard from again."

"Meh." he muttered. "You'd get 'em back for me. What, you think I'm dating you for your looks? God no. I'm in it for the protection." His earlier irritation seemed gone now, having spiked up only in response to Rae's moodiness. He was now, it seemed, back to normal.

"Mm... sorry honey, but what you see is what you get. The kill you with a glance stuff? All just a rouse. Really, I'm no more deadly than the Easter Bunny."

"There's some worlds where the Easter Bunny is a fearsome demon, you know." he supplied with a straight face.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, smirking as she draped her arms over his shoulders and fell backward onto the bed, pulling him with her. "I can see it... bunnies always did terrify me." She couldn't help grinning as he kissed her. "Their beady little eyes, fuzzy pink noses..."

"Are we going to keep talking about bunnies, or get down to business, here?"

"Hey now," she said, her grin turning devilish. "Haven't you ever heard the phrase fu--"

But thankfully, he cut her off.

OOC: I apologize for not getting this out sooner, but it took me some time to figure out how I wanted to write it. Posting to the Galaxy list since this most likely would have taken place prior to the crossover.

"Invictus"

Ensign David Walker

===

David had no idea where they'd come from. One second, he and his flight had been passing by the system's second asteroid belt on a routine patrol, and the next, they were being ambushed by a whole squadron of pirate fighters. The entire Air Group knew that pirate activity was heavy in this sector, but intel data hadn't put them anywhere near this system. Now he, his wingman, and the other two pilots that made up Raptor Squadron's Three Flight were surrounded by at least three times their numbers, and all twelve of them were out for blood.

David's fighter had already sustained heavy damage, most of it coming in the pirates' opening salvo, which had also claimed his wingman. They'd been so surprised that his wingman didn't even have time to scream as her fighter exploded around her. One of the other pilots had managed to get off a distress call before the dogfight began, but now it was just down to David and one other while about six pirates still lived. The Zealandia was on the other side of the system, and neither of the other two flights wouldn be able to reach them for a couple more minutes.

To put it simply, they were fucked.

Alarms screamed around David as one of the remaining pirates launched a torpedo at him. With a cry of alarm, he yanked on the flight stick, twisting his fighter and banking to the left, heaving a sigh as the torpedo sped past him. Instead of turning to follow, it just continued on its path; the pirate had been too impatient to let it lock on to David's fighter. David juked around a pair of phaser blasts and wheeled his fighter about as nimbly as it could go, lining himself up with the overeager pirate's own craft, opening fire with his lone remaining phaser bank and his torpedo launchers. The pirate probably never knew what hit him.

David didn't care. He swerved to avoid the expanding ball of flame and debris, frowning as his fighter rumbled around him. It probably wouldn't hold together for much longer. He took a quick glance at his sensors and saw that only three pirates remained. That was good; his fellow survivor must splashed one of the others while David was finishing off his last kill. What wasn't good was the fact that there were no friendlies on his screen.

"Shit!" he swore. His squadmate must have gone down while he was occupied with the anxious pirate. His mind whirled as he tried to formulate a strategy, and his fighter shook violently as one of his remaining opponents pounded the starboard engine with his phasers. David swore again and rolled away, using his afterburners to get some distance. The trio of pirates took chase, guns blazing. They knew they didn't have long before the rest of David's squadron would show up, and were trying to finish him off quickly.

His fighter shook again, and suddenly the starboard engine exploded. David grunted as his body was battered about in his safety harness, and the fighter flipped upside down from the force of the explosion. He blinked sweat out of his eyes as he struggled to turn back over, but the explosion had knocked out his controls. The ship rocked again as the pirates closed in, pounding it with phasers.

~I have to get out of here!~ he thought desperately as he struggled to reach the emergency transporter button on his console. His arm strained as he reached, his fingers just centimeters away when something else on his fighter exploded. He heard his harness snap, and he barely saw the console flying at him before his head smashed into it hard.

Then everything went black.

***

"Doctor!" was the first thing he remembered hearing. At least, he was pretty sure that was what he'd heard. It was muffled and fuzzy, and sounded strange to his ears, as if they were being used for the first time. Darkness gave way to tiny, painful slivers of light as his eyelids opened, and with a wince, he closed them again. A moment later he opened them again, slowly this time, and he saw a Starfleet doctor and a pair of nurses standing around him, concern etched on the faces of those who could emote.

"Welcome back, Pilot," greeted the doctor, offering him a relieved smile.

David wanted desperately to say something, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a soft, muffled groan. His tongue felt like a heavy slab of meat in his mouth. His head swam, and it felt like an entire hive of bees were buzzing around inside of it. He tried to sit up, gasped as the entire hive seemingly stung at once, and fell back on the bed with a grunt.

"Easy there, Mr. Walker," the doctor said slowly, helping him lay back. "You'll want to just lay there and relax for now. You were hurt pretty bad."

The fighter pilot worked his mouth for a while before words finally came out. "Whur'm I?" he slurred, almost as if he were drunk. Why was it so difficult to speak?

"You're on the Zealandia, Pilot. In sickbay."

"Zelanda?" he asked, lost. He sighed and closed his eyes, his head falling to the side. He was so confused, and he hurt so much.

One of the nurses smiled softly and placed a gentle hand on his head. "It'll be okay, David. Rest now."

He did as she said, suddenly feeling very tired. Darkness took him again, but it was different this time, not the inky, impenetrable fog that had surrounded him before. If he dreamed at all this time, he didn't remember.

***

The coma had been fairly short, having lasted about a week, and the therapy had lasted longer than that. Fortunately, he'd retained his motor functions, but it took him a while before he could move and react at his full capacity again. His speech and memory retention improved as well, and after six weeks, David was, for all intents and purposes, as physically sound as he'd been before the injury to his head. David knew he was lucky; the Zealandia could have arrived a few moments later than it had, or the hemorrhage could have spread through more of his brain, or his neck could have snapped when his head smashed into the console.

The only lingering effect of his injury was some damage to blood vessels deep in his brain that couldn't be repaired completely. The doctors had done what they could, but feared that further surgery would risk more harm to David's brain. They would heal on their own eventually, they kept telling him, if he didn't do anything to rupture them again.

Unfortunately for him, that included doing his job. The doctor feared another rupture could occur if David went through any of the high-G maneuvers a fighter pilot often had to perform, and so his flight status was revoked.

David was devastated. What good was he if he couldn't fly? He'd locked himself in his quarters for days, only coming out for meals, and spent the rest of his time wallowing in self-pity. It was on the fifth day when he vowed not to let this incident ruin his career, and that very same day he put in a transfer to the Zealandia's navigation department. If he could no longer fly starfighters, he'd have to go back to what he was initially trained for: serving at the helm of a starship.

His doctor was okay with it, and David was soon back in action. The next few months continued on mostly as they had before the incident, though things naturally felt different now that he was on the bridge instead of in the cockpit. It took him some time to readjust. But some things weren't quite the same; he found himself shying away from people who used to be friends and keeping to himself. It was unnatural for him, having been an intensely social person his entire life. At first he thought it was just a side effect of his head injury, but after speaking with his counselor he realized that it was because he no longer felt safe there. It was stupid, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. The human mind was strange like that.

David did the only thing he thought he could: he put in for a transfer. When he found out that he'd be going to the USS Galaxy, he was thrilled. Not only would he be moving on to new surroundings that were much needed, he'd be joining the crew of one of Starfleet's premier vessels. The career opportunities were outstanding; David still wanted to command his own ship one day, and this would be a huge stepping stone toward that goal. He couldn't leave soon enough.

***

The yeoman dutifully showed him to his quarters, and left without saying a word. David looked around at his new quarters and sighed. "Well, here I am," he said quietly as he stepped farther into the room, setting his bags down on the floor. He walked over to the window and leaned his arms against the frame, looking out at the gleaming stars. His trained eye noted the positions of the familiar ones, so very different from how they looked from the Zealandia's position when he'd left it.

David turned away from the window and began to unpack his things. A few pictures on the walls, a genuine Inupiat ulu and various other mementos on the desktop and dresser, and soon the room began to look like home. David hadn't brought much with him, and it didn't take long before he reached the final item.

His hands suddenly began to shake as he took his old flight jacket out of its container, and his fingers swept reverently across the leathery surface. He'd put the jacket away when he'd become a helmsman again, and hadn't seen it in months.

Memories rushed through his mind, all of them violently coming at once, like the rapids on the Yukon River. David squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, and the unwelcome memories soon faded away. He opened his eyes again and stepped across the room to the mirror. Taking a deep breath, David slowly, carefully put on the jacket. He stood there for a long time, staring at himself with the jacket on, until he could no longer bear to look.

David pulled the jacket off roughly and threw it at his bed as he quickly strode out of his room, the lights darkening as he exited. The jacket hadn't quite made it, and as the room was engulfed in darkness, its own weight pulled it off of the bed, and the jacket fell piteously to the floor.

*Content Warning......Get's a little racy*

"The Art of Romulan Seduction"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
Judge Advocate

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= tr'Ahalaen's Quarters =

Aerv asked for a dance. Faylin accepted. Simple. Innocent.

No...not innocent. Nothing about this night was innocent.

She stepped close to him The smell of her - like all the perfumes of Arabia - the touch of her, melting against him, as soft as he was hard, the very soul of her - dancing on his ear as she whispered playfully in them, her rose lips grazing them or whispering past. He could not resist pulling her closer, until there was nothing between them - and she was responding, moving against him: seductive, tempting....

Aerv pushed her against a wall, he began kissing her - urgent, yet always artful. Her clothes began to fall...and then he stopped, pulling away just enough to manage a little gasp.

"Pink?" He asked with an expression of exaggerated surprise, talking obviously about her underwear.

"Yes, pink. You don't like the color?" Faylin asked, praying for a positive answer. She wore it, as she did all others. There was nothing particulary special about the dressing. Dressing underneath was just as important as what was worn on top.

"I love pink...but you surprise me...."

Her reply was only a satisfied purr as his lips found a sensitive spot near her ear. His tongue drifted out, his teeth nibbled at her earlobe. Faylin put her arms around him, encouraging his attentions. He slowed down. His hands moved away from her hips to her face and then back down, fingers outlining her form, leaving a trail of liquid sparks behind them, a stream of lava - over her lips, her breasts, the flat of her stomach, her navel...drifting apart, caressing a sleek, muscled thigh. This was what he wanted. The body of an officer - hard, toned, tanned...the body of a woman - soft, silken, secret, seductive, sensual, designed by nature to perfection.

Aerv's mouth engulfed hers. There was nothing tender about the kiss - nothing tender about this seduction anymore. He wanted to bed her and she wanted him. It was simple. As life should be. Faylin molded her own body against him, exploring the depths of his mouth with her own. She thought he would take her then - his lips crossed the deep valley between her breasts, she hugged him to herself, digging her nails into his back as his hand drifted in between her legs. A word, a moan, a scream....

"Yes."

"No." Arev whispered between kisses, pulling away from her. Holding her hands he held them above her head. "You are beautiful - more than I thought, you are beautiful. I cannot simply take you, Faylin...you deserve more." He dragged a single finger down her spine. She shivered. "All the Elements combine within you. Worship - I will worship you. This night you are mine - and I will ride you through all of it."

= Later =

Faylin remembered the sheer agony of pleasure.

It had been torture - but sweet torture. Aerv had touched every part of her, kissed every part of her, seen every part of her, explored her entire form. Worship, he had said, and that is what he had given her - he had set her on fire again and again...and each time she thought she would lose her mind, he claimed her and quenched her thirst - only to light it once more.

Now day was breaking and they lay together, exhausted, with Falyin cradled in Aerv's arms. Her body glistened with sweat, oils, honey and wine. Aerv was an excellent lover - and he understood how well she knew the art, let her teach him the small, unspoken things they had done to each other...this was the kind of endless night one never forgot: a tireless couple and animal heat.

Still it had come to an end. Time had won. Weariness had won. These things always did but under the blinking inconstancy of the stars, two people could make a night their own. Aerv kissed her, this time tender and soft. Her body responded. In one night, they had become as familiar as old lovers....

"So," he whispered softly, "Dinner?"

"Mmmmm. Sounds wonderful. However, I have to get back to my quarters." She turned slightly, matching his lazy gaze. She felt perplexed as she studied him. Faylin always had a way of being up front. All situations deserved that respect, things ran smoother in the long run if information was presented up front before anything got serious. At this point, she was not worried about anything long lasting. It was a night of passion, rightly deserved, needed, and desired. "Aerv. I need to be honest with you concerning the reason I have to leave. My daughter will be home soon, and I need to be there to meet her."

tr'Ahalaen frowned. "Ah yes - Olivia - I had forgotten. But why do you look so worried, e'lev?"

"I didn't know if you knew of her or not." Not that it was any of his business to begin with, and usually, Faylin did not divulge information concerning Olivia to a one night stand.

"Of course, I knew about your daughter, Faylin." He laughed, "I am the Romulan Ambassador, after all...there are certain security measures in place. My aides would have had to take the honor blade if I got killed by someone I invited to my quarters. Worse...it would have denied them the opportunity to stab me themselves."

"Ah, yes. Security and ambassadors. You are a guarded lot, aren't you?" Faylin knew that she had to be guarded. To let the wall down would be to invite trouble she didn't want or need at the moment.

tr'Ahalaen blinked in surprised and sat up in bed, uncertain of the meaning of her tone or the cause for her being short. "You have my apologies if you are offended, Faylin. I did not think much of it - it truly is just standard procedure...."

"I'm not offended. I know about procedures and protocol." McAlister felt her guard going up quickly. "I really do have to go, thank you for last night...and this morning." Turning, she slid slowly out of the bed, retrieving her clothes. It was at this point that she would dress, attempt to run her fingers through her hair, and sneak back to her quarters before she was missed. It had always gone that way, and it would continue. She felt no guilt, nothing except sexual satisfaction. Emotional attachment was meant for the weak, and not welcome.

"Of course," Aerv murmured, leaning back against his pillows. She had already proved last night - several times - that human women were fascinating...and it appeared that she was bent upon proving the same again today. It was not his style though to stop women who wished to leave, nor did he investigate matters that they wished to conceal - unless he had a good reason. "Well then...Jolan Tru. It was a lot of fun."

"Yeah, it was." She turned back towards him. "Aerv?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to see me again?" The question surprised and aggravated her at the same time.

"I have not been living among humans very long...but I do believe the correct reponse is: 'Hell yes'."

Fully dressed, Faylin paused. She blushed like a school girl, satisfied completely with the answer. "Oh, and Ambassador? Next time we will have dinner first....." Walking to the doorway of the bedroom Faylin turned with her emerald eyes flashing, hair tussled, and still looking fresh from the night's activities, she spoke the final time. "Maybe."

= End Log =

"Of Wine and Roses"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
Judge Advocate

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Location: McAlister's Quarters =

To Faylin, getting ready for a dinner date meant a routine. Relation

was the key. It all started with her favorite lavender silk robe,

followed by her favorite music, chilled wine, a warm lavender scented

bubble bath, and prepping her body for perfection. McAlister always

thought that a person's soul and body had to be presented well in order

to enjoy another's company. Glancing around her softly lit quarters,

she smiled. The heavy scent of rose filled the air from the several

large lit candles throughout her living space. Marvin Gaye was next.

His music was ancient in modern terms, yet the notes and his voice

contained a soulful sexiness that was found no where else.

"Computer Tracks 1-10."

The slow, rhythmic beat forced Faylin to close her eyes in appreciation

of the artist. Her mood instantly lifted as she felt her self move

ever so slightly to the music. A glass of chilled white wine awaited

her attention once she had completed her movements to her satisfaction.

Smiling softly, she let the liquid quench her immediate thirst. The

rest of her insatiable hunger, she thought, would be satisfied at a

later time.

Wine in hand, she slowly walked to her bath that was drawn earlier.

The rose scent appeared to follow her, much like a ghost with its

light, yet very ominous presence. Placing her wine on the edge of her

tub, her fingers wound themselves around the silk tie around her waist.

Pulling every so gingerly, the tie floated to the floor. All that

was needed was a slight shrugging of her left shoulder to make the rest

of the silk drift lightly to the floor. She shivered involuntarily as

the robe surrendered to her order. It was something she always did,

the feel of the silk slipping against her smooth skin felt delectable.

Her large toe kamikaze ever so gingerly into the now warm water. The

temperature was just warm enough to evoke relaxation of her muscles as

she stepped in. Sighing with her head slightly reclined against the

bath pillow, her thoughts swam with wonderment of the man that had

asked her out so boldly. His attraction for her was apparent from the

moment he walked into the room. Faylin had wondered if she was so

obvious concerning her interest for him as well. She did not have a

tendency to vocalize things so soon, yet she permitted her body

language to speak volumes. It would have been easy to pick up if he

had been watching. And, she smiled, she was sure he was.

As instantly gratifying as his presence was, his demeanor was one of

uppity complication. He did not come off as arrogant, but more so of a

man knowing what he wanted at any cost. That perplexed her. Faylin

was used to being the one that got what ever she wanted. It caught her

off guard. Since Saul, she had never met someone that exhibited such

a determined spirit concerning her attention. It was nice for once, to

be the prey instead of the lioness. Satisfied with her bath, she

stood, watching the water ease off her smooth, yet toned curves.

Grabbing a towel, she wrapped herself in it's warmth as she stepped

from the tub.

Faylin adored the scent of rose. Her family, though small, had a very

notable rose garden that housed several hundred varieties. Her mother

had harvested the roses, turning their precious oil from the petals

into cologne that Faylin wore constantly. The scent was a way she felt

connected to her mother through the years after her murder. Its light

aroma followed her everywhere, and people knew Faylin was coming from

the light scent of rose that led her. Dabbing oil on her wrists, neck,

and at the curve of her breasts, she was satisfied.

Coming around and out to her bedroom, she opened her lingerie chest,

choosing a pink heart bust line lace bra and matching panty set. It

was one of her favorites, and made her feel delicately feminine. With

her partly dressed, she chose her outfit for the evening.

= tr'Ahalaen's Quarters =

"Come."

The door slid open lazily, to reveal Faylin McAlister in her finest.

The click of her heels stopped short of entering Aerv's quarters. This

was a man who wanted not. Items of utmost quality adorned his

quarters, leaving one with a sense of awe. As awed as she was, she

dared not touch anything, for fear of the unevitable. Her eyes took

everything in with hawk like perception. The art from Earth left

nothing to be desired. The finest of painting adorned his walls, one

in particular caught her attention. She knew it well. It was her

favorite work from Fredrick Lord Leighton from 1895. It was titled

"Nausicaa from Homer's Ulysses". Several times, when given the

opportunity, Faylin would be drawn to the painting. It would never

happen, but often she wondered what she would say to the woman in the

painting. Her far off look had often been copied by McAlister during

periods of refection. McAlister had often thought of obtaining a

replica for her quarters, but had yet to get around to that task.

Aerv tr'Ahalaen was not the kind of man who believed in perfection. He

quite understood that everything was flawed, everyone broken. That was

the nature of the universe, possibly even the source of all diversity

and beauty. However, when Faylin walked into his quarters - so close

to a vision of perfection - the Romulan had to concede that he would

have to reconsider his views. Her beauty was primal, unapologetically

sexual and she had dressed to enhance it. He noted how her silky raven

hair danced restlessly over her shoulders, left bare by her white top,

that was held together by a simple bodice tie. It - like her

sparkling, deep black eyes - promised to richly reward the slightest

aggressive move.

His eyes drank her in all at once, leaving him a little intoxicated.

Even so, by the time she recovered from her own reaction to his room,

he was already pouring out very fine Romulan Ale into two crystal

goblets.

"I am afraid," tr'Ahalaen said by way of greeting, "That your clothing

might be unfortunate." Before her smile could falter or her surprise

at the strange comment find voice, Aerv walked up to her with his long,

graceful strides and handed her the drink. Then with bold mischief, he

finished his play on words, "I fear I am quite liable to tear it off."

He gently touched her glass with his own, "To Beauty - the

Arch-Element."

Faylin found herself turning, accepting the Ale in the goblet with a

sense of curiosity from his statement. A slight raise of her right

eyebrow was all she offered him at the moment. That, along with a

small, knowing smile was all she thought he needed. Nodding

gracefully, she took a short sip of the wine, letting the intense

flavor intoxicate her senses. "Ambassador."

"Please...call me Aerv - or Laehval, if you wish. In fact, I suggest

you give me leave to use your name - we are, both of us, past titles."

"Indeed we are. All right Aerv, you have my permission to use my name,

if it pleases you." The spark in her eyes foreshadowed a delightful

evening. She turned again, speaking with pleasure. "I see you have a

Leighton. It is my favorite painting. His ability to paint emotion is

incredible. Where did you purchase the replica?"

tr'Ahalaen laughed softly, "If I am ever reduced to buying

replicas...well, I do believe I will take the honor blade." He turned

to the artwork and question and shook his head fondly at it, as if he

still could not believe it was here. "The museum she was kept in was

destroyed in Earth's Eugenics Wars...she was almost lost. She was

bought and sold several times before ending up in a small private

collection on Carrera. That was when I first learned of it...."

"Get out!" Faylin stated with amazement. Being true to herself, she

inched closer to him, wanting to slap him playfully on his shoulder to

emphasize her thrilled emotion at the original. However, she contained

herself for the moment. Her eyes, now wide settled yet again on the

painting. "Surreal." McAlister stated simply.

"And yet not real," Aerv replied, turning his attention back to her,

"Art imitates Life...though there are still things that remind us that

the original is still a superior thing." He smiled at her quizzical

glance, "Like food, for example."

The aroma of dinner stirred her senses yet again. It smells absolutely

wonderful. "What's on the menu tonight?"

"Truly? Anything you wish. It occured to me after our meeting that I

should have asked you what you liked. However, I was...distracted."

He shrugged slightly, a typically human gesture, "I took the liberty of

having my chef send up a few things - most Deltan...but we can, of

course, have whatever you like."

Her eyes softened some what as she looked at him. She could find

herself in very deep trouble in a very short amount of time. The

confidence he aired made her feel a tad inferior at times. Her own

confidence wavered as she spent more time with him. Not, that it was a

bad thing, just something that needed to be watched over very

carefully. The last thing she wanted to do was to expose Olivia to

someone she thought would stick around, only to have them pull a 'Saul'

on her and leave her alone to her own devices. Yet, the man that stood

beside her was in a word, delicious. Groomed yet again in the best

manner, his scent of masculinity made her waver. He could have his

pick of any woman on the ship, which made her wonder why he chose her

for this evening's entertainment....so to speak.

"Of course," tr'Ahalaen continued softly, stepping closer to her, "The

real question is how hungry you are...."

Faylin let a small, seductive smile cross her mouth ever so lightly.

"Oh...I have an appetite...a very large appetite." McAlister took one

step closer, feeling the heat of his body. Bringing her hand up, she

took her nail and traced his upper lip. "However, Mr. Ambassador, we

were scheduled to talk about business first."

"Well then...'I am fortune's fool'."

"I'm sure schedules can be re-arranged." Faylin whispered. "Don't you

agre...."

He cut her off with a kiss that was at first hungry, urgent, impatient

- and then, as she responded and melted into him, soft, yielding and

eternal. Then, as suddenly as he had began, Aerv pulled away and shook

his head. "You are right," he decided in a hoarse voice, "We should

deal with business first. If we start anything else...I think we will

be at it for a very long time."

She stood there, silent, yet blinking her eyes repeatedly. 'Damn.' Was

all Faylin could muster to think. The woman moved her gaze to the man,

not sure what to do, think, or say.

"Come. Let me tell you first what kind of a fool I am." Aerv said,

taking her hand and guiding her towards a sofa. As she sat, tr'Ahalaen

picked up a small but pretty wooden box that was engraved with a

language that Faylin did not recognize. Without a word, he gave it to

her and indicated that she should open it.

Taking the box gently, Faylin opened the clasp, crisply revealing what

the small box had to offer. Her eyebrows knit with interest as she

viewed the small peice of fabric. It was dirty, however prized due to

the fact that it rested on velvet.

tr'Ahalaen told her the whole truth about Lhohnu then - how the girl

was rejected because of her mixed heritage and telepathic abilities -

the childish game, twelve years ago, where he had promised that he

would protect the girl as if she were this own sister, all in exchange

for this one rag. How Lhohnu's mother had killed herself, how Lhohnu's

father had been executed as a traitor to the Empire....

"I tried to watch over her as best I could," tr'Ahalaen said with a

sigh, sinking back into the sofa, "I had - after all - created a bond.

However, I was in the Galae by then...often too far away to be of any

use. And, truly, I did not want to swoop in and save her - she had to

do that herself - or at least, she had to have the illusion that she

had done so. It is a bitter thing to let our wards make their own

mistakes, suffer their own pains.... But self-reliance and pride are

precious things...once gone, I have found, they seldom return." He

paused and added as an afterthought, "I also thought about asking her

to defect then...but she would have been so lost by herself in the

Federation and I would have been useless to her. At least on Romulus,

a well-placed word could ensure that she was surrounded by good people.

"

"That is very true. However, her weakened spirit is of concern to me.

It is difficult to defect. The simple gesture has massive

complications to a person in reference to their race." Faylin stated

simply.

"She is much stronger now...stronger than she gives herself credit for,

I think. Besides, this kind of opportunity will not present itself

again. I am here. I can still watch over her, to some degree."

tr'Ahalaen ran a hand through his hair and laughed, "Silly games and

heavy promises - the sum of our lives, aren't they?"

"Silly games often end in hurt people. And heavy promises always fall

through, never reaching the end goal." McAlister sighed, glancing at

him with saddened eyes. "I believe I can help her, however, I have to

warn you that a lot of diplomatic red tape is involved with a move such

as this would be. Once I get the paperwork ready, I'll have to meet

with her and....you, of course....to get this started."

"I will leave this in your hands then, Faylin."

"Now...what else is on the agenda?" She stated, eyes still saddened,

but hopeful of moving on to brighter things.

He looked at her with a wry smile. Perhaps it had been a mistake to

follow the 'schedule'...he, of all people, should have put pleasure

before business. But done was done. "Come," he said rising to his

feet and offering her his hand, "The night is still young...and so are

we...."

"Fairy Tales"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer, USS Galaxy

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

Finally, the heavy workload had abated enough to allow Steven to come here. Yet now that he was standing before the door, he felt a little nervous at the wonders that no doubt lay beyond. Not that he was afraid of what he'd find, but rather of the rumors that kept circulating regarding the department. Freaks, and Cyborgs and pale faced officers who looked like zombies. That's what they say. Perception, that's what it was. People's perception of Intel was obviously of freaky pale faced zombie-cyborgs. But then again, Steven believed that the Navy guys probably thought of the marines as hard-as-nails, macho dickheads who love playing with their guns.

Perception. That's all it ever was.

"Come in.", an olive-skinned cadet stood at the other, gesturing him to enter. She looked rather mischevious, her grin a warning from future pranks.

"Hi, "Steven said, wary of the straneg look the cadet was giving him. "Any chance of seeing Lieutenant Bental?"

"Right away. Just wait here for a moment."

Shaking off the nervousness enough to step forward, Steven observed as the door opened to what seemed like a normal office area. Not some dungeon that he initially thought it would be. Relieved, he walked into den of the Intel department. Technically, the term 'normal' didn't describe the large room before him. Large monitors filled most spaces along the walls showing all manner of intelligence, though being this open to anybody, it was likely that it was standard info rather than the sensitive stuff. Several large benches lined the walls with all manner of technological items, parts, PADD's and god knows what else resting upon them.

Various Intel officers could be seen going about their business, paying him no attention, which was surprising. Unless they already knew about the rumors that he had heard the day before.

Half a minute later he was approached by a young man, with 2 pips on the collar of his uniform and the cadet from a minute ago.

"I'm Saul Bental. Believe it or not, I heard a lot about you.", Saul prompted as he gestured the cadet to get back to her duties.

"What a coincidence. I've heard a lot about you too. Nice to finally meet you." He extended his hand.

Saul shook it, then ushered the man into his office, making sure that they do not pass next to the more sensitive areas. Screens automatically darkened as they passed by, and flickered to life once they were out of range. It was a precaution installed by Ensign Shtazai, and Saul was glad to see that it works.

"I'll get right to the point of my being here, as I'm sure you're quite busy.", Jonas said as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Go ahead.". Saul, despite being infamous for his long-winded speeches, preferred the 'straight-and-to-the-point' approach.

"After the incident Nara and I got entangled with, I didn't think I'd ever go back. But after reading up on the different cultures and architecture that exist in the Capital city, I decided to visit Ra'tleihfi yesterday."

Saul nodded. Planetside visits were still allowd, despite the anti-Federation sentiments expressed by many of ch'Rihan's citizens.

"After a few hours of wondering around, I noticed a lot of Romulans acting wierdly, talking in hushed tones, fear quite evident in their eyes. At first I thought it was my presense, you know, a Federation walking around unattended in their capital city, but a couple of times I over heard some of what they were saying and if accurate, it is chilling to say the least."

"Did they notice you?". Saul didn't know the marine in person, but he knew marines enough to gather that if a marine calls something 'chilling', it was probably spookier than Victor Krieghoff. And Jonas seemed hardened enough not to be one of those young grunts who enjoy exaggerating.

"Some of them did in my travels around the city, but the ones I heard talking about it hadn't seen me, so I don't think they were playing around."

"I see. So what did he say?"

"My Rihan isn't the best, and having not brought the Universal Translator with me, I didn't fully grasp the significance of what they were saying. You need to understand that if I had even an incling of how huge what they were saying really was, I would have tried to gather as much information as possible."

He looked Saul in the eyes. "Basically from what they said, it sounds like the Romulan Second Fleet was just obliterated."

Steven waited for the Intel chief to absorb what he had just said. "They used the word 'Galae' which at the time I didn't know. I only found it in the translation database this morning."

"Thanks for bringing it to my attention. We already know of the fleet's destruction. We also know that they were wiped out by the Hydrans. The battle was tracked by sensor arrays deployed near Deep Space 5 and the Romulan border. Also, information of the defeat came through other... intelligence sources. What we don't have is details."

Saul activated a computer console, and activating its audio recorder. "What we don't know is details. The battle was too far into Romulan space for us to get specific data, and the few intercepted transmissions were jumbled and confused. It was a quick battle, you see, and from what we can tell the Romulans did not know what hit them."

Steven nodded. He had assumed that they would already know. He had come in case, on the off chance, that they hadn't. "Quick? When I looked the word up this morning it said that a Fomulan fleet often numbered over a hundred ships. How quick could it have been?"

"You tell me. But all of our sources say it was a slaughter." Saul faced the marine. "My point is, any detail you can give me - no matter how small or neglible it seems to you - will be of great help. I hope you don't mind that I set the recording on." Steven shook his head. "Not at all. I don't know how much more I can offer, though."

"Please try."

"Um, lets see. I was walking along K'bart'ir street, at least I assume it was a street, and was admiring a weaponsmith's wares. He had some nice blades, and a couple of small disruptors. Way to expensive though. Anyway, next door was a diner of sorts, similar to a Terran cafe, but larger, and with a much wider selection of food and drink. I chose a Bajoran dish and a Romulan Tea-like drink."

Saul remained silent. These were not the details he was interested in, but he let the marine spill it out without interruption. Memory could be ellusive, and he did not dare to cut short Jonas' line of thought.

Steven closed his eyes, picturing the diner in his head. "I was standing at the counter paying, not paying much attention to the two Romulans at the nearby table until I heard one say the word obliterated in Rihan. I had no idea that they were talking about a fleet. They could have been using the word in any number of contexts... A force being destroyed, a team being beaten soundly in some sporting game, could have been something they had heard on the news, or even a term from some Romulan game that I'm not aware of."

"The conversation is what interests me the most.", Saul said finally. "Please, try to recall what exactly they did say. Even nuiances in the phrasing might mean something."

Steven nodded. He hadn't meant to ramble on about that stuff, it just helped him think. "Okay, there were two of them sitting at a nearby table, an elderly gentleman, he had a lot of wrinkles on his face, and a young Romulan woman, no more than 30. Somewhat like a 30 year old Terran woman on Earth. She had just said that something had been obliterated, but I can't recall what she had said."

"The old man shook his head. 'It is not possible. You are spinning more stories.' He had said back. At least I think it was stories, that word sounded like so many others in their language I couldn't be fully sure."

Saul pressed on his console, and the computer's voice pronounced something in Rihan.

"Something like this?"

Steven listened as the computer 'spoke' the word. "Sounds like it. Can you play it again?"

"Yes.", Saul responded, simultaniously depressing the console. The computer spoke again.

Steven nodded. Yeah, that's it."

"Then it's a version of stories; Like fairy tales, but bad ones. Go on."

"He had just spoken. 'No, It is truth, hru'Diranov' She replied back. hru'Diranov... grandfather.. He was her grandfather. Of course. I should have seen it then. There definitely was some resemblence now that I think about it." He saw Saul's facial expressions begin to change slightly. "Back to the conversation. He replied that he couldn't believe that it could happen. With a lot of head shaking, she responded that she thought a Galae was undefeatable."

So they all did, Saul mused, but their pride failed them. What DID defeat it, though?

"Sorry, but I missed the next part as the woman behind the counter wanted payment for my purchases." Steven said with a sigh. "I think it was the important part cause the next thing the granddaughter said seemed odd in context to what she had said before."

"What was it?"

"I had just paid for my meal, turned back towards the duo and heard the young woman, with her bottom lip quivering with fear, say 'You can't be serious, I thought those were just part of bed time stories to frighten us children so we'd do what mother and father said. You think it was that?' I'd missed the main part. Then the old man sighed. 'As did I my child, as did I. Yes I do. Do you think a Galae could be destroyed so easily otherwise?' The rest of it was lost when the next customer in the queue, a fat romulan in fancy robes started getting quite heated at my standing there, blocking the queue. I had to move for fat bastard."

"Did you catch another part of the conversation, or was that it?"

"By the time I turned back to the conversation, I saw the old man struggling to get up using his cane and grand daughter as assistance, all the while looking straight at me. 'traedh lloann'mhrahel' - 'Stinking Federation' - he spat out and turned to leave with his grand daughter. That was all I managed to hear."

"I see."

"Sorry I coundn't be more helpful."

"It did help.", Saul assured the marine. "It's always good to affirm an intelligence item, especially one which we have only partial information about. This also gives us hints as for what smashed the fleet - it couldn't have been just conventional force, and that gives us some time to allocate resources to find out what the Hydran do to surprise the Romulans - before the Galaxy has to deal with it face to face. Unless..."

"Unless..." He repeated, not sure what Saul was trying to get at.

"Unless the grandpa was placed within your earshot in purpose; It's a standard disinformation method, exactly the kind that the Tal Shiar enjoys."

"I'll grant you that it's possible, but I wasn't on the planet for more than about thirty minutes before I decided to enter the cafe. Plus, there were lots of other shops I could have gone to instead of that cafe."

"Just bringing up a possibility."

"So what? The request for help is a setup? The fleet isn't destroyed and they want as many Starfleet ships in one location to wipe us all out?" Steven wouldn't put it past the Romulans. They were always crafty buggers, but it did seem far fetched to suggest that they would openly request help and then destroy the Galaxy.

"No.", Saul shook his head. "The fleet WAS destroyed, but from what I hear from HQ and regional centers, the Romulans are very tight-lipped about their defeat. That's why I hoped you could shed light about the defeat. Guess we'll divert our efforts to researching Romulan nightmares, then."

"It isn't surprising that they are tight lipped. They've always been a proud people despite what everyone thinks of them. I doubt I'd want anyone to know that a whole Starfleet fleet had been destroyed either if it had been us that had suffered the loss."

"I'm sure they have their motives, but I suspect that pride is one of them."

"I assume you've been talking with the Intel teams aboard the Arizona and the rest of the Federation ships that just arrived... Did they manage to shed any light on the battle?"

Saul smiled thinly. One of the ways he was taught to 'dub' potential sources back at the academy was nicknamed 'Fruit Candy'. You let the source feel important, and share some neglible information with him, thus making him feel important. Uncounsciously, that's what he did with Jonas up until now. He knew that the Romulans' defeat and the shroud hiding the exact chain of events will soon become common knowledge, or at least an abundant gossup. Any further conclusions, however, were derived from classified sources which Saul didn't intend to expose.

It was time to close the candy bag.

"They have their hypotheses, but I'm afraid I can't discuss them. You know how it is.", He apologized.

Steven nodded. "I assumed that would be the case. Ten years as a Marine have shown me many a time that Intel keeps it's own counsel." Steven paused. He had met his share Intel guys in the past, mostly while in the Recon Unit, and most of them had been egotistical bastards. From his time here talking with Saul, and the many stories that Nara had told over the last couple of months, he could see that Saul was not like them. He was more driven, and probably loyal to Starfleet. It made him happy that they had such a man as the Chief of Intel aboard the ship.

"Just keep in mind, Sir," He said quietly and politely, "that if the Hydrans attack ch'Rihan or any nearby planets, that we, the marines that is, will likely be deployed as defensive forces on the surface and would need as much intel as you guys could give... But we can hope that it won't come to that."

"Believe me, relevant intelligence will be relayed to your men long before that happens."

"Anyway, I should be going. The boss is probably wondering what is taking so long and I'm sure you have a lot of work to do." He smiled.

Saul shook his hand once more. "Thank you again, Lieutenant. And let's hope that these 'fairy tales' are just an old man's wild imagination."

The door beckoned and as he neared, Steven turned back to Saul. "Oh and before I go, Congrats on the new job. Saul smiled broadly, and returned the gesture with a salute.

"Pandora's Box"

Lieutenant Saul Bental Chief Intelligence Officer, USS Galaxy
Ensign Faylin McAlister Judge Advocate, USS Galaxy

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

The corridors were empty for the most part. Which, after a night of debauchery, was considered a good thing. McAlister, through experience, had knowledge that the human female body can go without a nights sleep with little complication. However, once Ale and one hell of a hot Romulan ambassador are added, the body reacts differently than expected. "God." Faylin muttered. Her head still swan with thoughts of Aerv. Ahead of her came the least expected of men. "Oh, hi Saul." She stated simply. Her hair tassled, lips moist, and clothes disheveled. This was exactly the way she would look after spending the night will Saul. Faylin kept her eyes on him, in part, to see if she could read what he was thinking. "Shalom Fay-fay.", Saul replied. He has seen her face in his mind's eye many times since they last spoke in reality. More often than not her eyes were framed by such untidiness. "Work went on into the night? You look so gracefully tired." "It's not a new look Saul. You should know it all too well." And so he did, though he wished the untidiness was the result of long working hours. Knowing Faylin, he assumed that if he doesn't accept her invitation, she'll move to the next man eventually. He just hoped it wouldn't happen so fast. Then again, maybe it was for the best. Maybe he'll stop thinking of her all day. "Of course I do.", He forced on a thin smile. "May I ask who is the lucky guy?" "Does it really matter?" Faylin stated softly. "It didn't help. What ever I do, it doesn't help Saul." "I don't understand, Fay-fay." "Help me get you out of my mind. Tell me something cruel, anger me, just something to get rid of the memories. Please." McAlister was not one to plead, yet she felt backed against the wall. Her eyes shot him a look of desperation.

"Faylin.", He took a step forward, reaching for her hand. He regreted it in mid-motion, retrieving his hand to its proper place. "Wish I had anything to say, but listen - even if there was nothing in our way, you'd get bored eventually and move on to the next guy. One of the reasons we hit it off so well is because neither of us can sit on our butts for too long." As Nara will find out eventually, he added mentally. "So, pretend you already passed that phase..." "And what exactly are you doing? Are you past it? I want the truth Saul." "The shoemaker walks barefoot, don't you know?", Saul said engimatically. He was not going to admit to Faylin that her eyes has been haunting him day and night since Angel Moon; Not unless he decides leave Nara's arms in favor of Faylin's. Still, he did not want to lie to her or even let her down. Somewhere deep in his subcounscious, the businessman kept all of his options open. "Sit on my butt for too long? You have no idea. Anyway, thanks for the lack of advice. Look, I have to go. Olivia is being dropped off in thirty minutes." She said it, she let it slip. "Oh?". Of all the things in the universe, it reminded Saul of 'Delilah'. Perhaps Olivia was a codename too? "She's my daughter. She's a little under two and a half years old, and she's amazing. Saul, she is my life, and honestly, I'd rather be talking to her than you. Good day." 'Shit!' Faylin thought. She had just taken Pandora's Box down from the shelf and flung it open. Knowing Saul, it would take a very short time to put two and two together. The truth would be revealed soon, even if Faylin McAlister willed it not to be so.

"Yom tov to you too, Fay-fay.", Saul muttered, walking passed her. It was not beyond Faylin, he thought, to try and scare him like that. His mind immediatly launched in a series of calculations. Special Obervation craft 74 had its final, fateful mission toward the end of 2379, which means he met Faylin on earth at the beginning of 2380, when she was a fourth-year cadet. They really hit it off when she was already at JAG, so no... she must've got pregnant before he met her, if the numbers added up.

He could almost imagine the sarcastic voice of his chubby cousin EZ, saying 'Put a V on sex with a pregnant lady, Saul; Now, all we have left is to do a Vulcan during Pon-Fahr, and a threesome with an Orion girl in Starfleet uniform.'

"Naienn..." Saul shook his head. Faylin may be a horrible teaser, but she wouldn't lie about something like that.

He began to wonder if Branwen had a daughter hidden somewhere too.

Behind him, Faylin shook her head slowly out of frustration. Some things were not mean to be, yet she wished he would just be straight with her. The beating around the bush was something Saul did very well, and it was something Faylin did not do at all. Glancing up, she viewed the little girl walking around the corner, hand in hand with Amanda's mother.

"Hi mommy!"

"Your early!" She stated with suprise in her voice, yet with delight in her heart.

The little one released Dakota's hand and ran up to her mother. "Thanks Dakota.....I bet she had fun."

"Oh yeah. You and I both got no sleep last night." The blond stated with a knowing smile. "Let me know when you want to do it again, the girls had a blast."

Picking Olivia up, she turned and proceeded to catch up with Saul, walking right by him with Olivia cradeled on her hip. The little girl had her head down somewhat, just enough to peek out from behind her mother's bare shoulder as they walked down the hall. Her dark eyes kept her gaze on the man directly behind them. Olivia said nothing, secure in her mother's arms and love.

"First Rule of Anthropology, Part II"

Lieutenant Th'Khiss K'aa, ACTO

Tactical Offices, USS Miranda

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

An orange, whiskered face drew back it's lips and exposed the bearer's sharp, deadly fangs. "I am not amused, serpent", the image of Raach-lieutenant Kreeeowl growled on the monitor in K'aa's office. "It's... offensive to remind a warrior of financial debt, especially after seven years of silence. I had assumed you let the debit slide over the years."

Th'Khiss K'aa replied by exposing fangs of his own, reminding the Kzinti warrior who he was dealing with. "And in sssseven yearssss you made no attempt at ressstitution, Kreeowl - an honorable warrior would have at leasssst made sssome effort at it."

"Effort was made, rrrrahrrrr!", came the snarling reply - the Kzin's fur now stood on end and an extended claw was thrist at the monitor's surface. "How was I to know you had left Ssgarnon Prime to enlist with the raacharrrr Federation? You were supposed to have assumed a post in the Gorn Fleet!"

"I traded up", was the reptilian's quick reply, accented with a pointed talon of his own. "Jussst like I'll do to that worthlesss pelt of yoursss if you continue dodging repayment. Have the Kzinti no concept of accrued compound interessst? You'd better ssstart siring kittensss jussst to ssstart catching up with the paymentsss! It's shaaatak cold on Federation shipsss, and I need a new fur coat!"

The speakers glared at each other in silence for a minute before the large Kzinti started making an internmitted growling in the back of his throat. K'aa, on his end, made a hissing akin to ruptured pneumatic tubing. "K'aa, you bloodthirsty pirate! It's raacharrrr good to see you again - it's been too long!" Kreeeowl's fur now matted close to his skull, and his teeth bared only when talking. "You must want something... another game, double or nothing?"

"Early retirement doesssn't interessst me asss much asss it usssed to, Kreeeowl", K'aa drawled. "Besssidesss, at thisss rate I'd be gaining your complete ssservitude before the decade'sss out. I'm looking for sssome information, my friend - a different view of a particular sssubject."

Kreeeowl's ears flattened and his eyes narrowed. "What subject?"

"Hydrans."

The striped Kzinti growled and looked offscreen for an instant. "Gahrrr... K'aa - you know any Intelligence on the Little Princes must be sent through proper channels. Military protocols must me..."

"Calm yourself, Kreeeowl", K'aa replied raising a scaled hand. "Nothing concerning Hydran technology, weapons, tacticsss or fleet development - I'm sssure sssomeone elssse in Ssstarfleet isss asssking thossse questions through the proper channelsss. I would not risssk a freindship by assssking."

Still agitated, Kreeowl's ears twitched as he replied. "Raaarrr... good. Very good. Well, what *do* you seek, K'aa?"

"At the Palain School, you boasssted of scrollsss on the cultural ssstudiesss of the various racessss you had firssst contact with, including the Hydranssss, asss well asss diplomatic obssservationsss during the General War." The Gorn spoke in quiet tones to calm the excitable cat's frayed nerves. "All I ssseek are the ssstudiesss on Hydran sssociety - no biology, no weaponry... no trouble."

Kreeeowl's image cast K'aa a sideways glance through the monitor. "Academic claptrap? Hrarrrr... that doesn't seem like the business for a Gorn warrior."

"Hrssss... like I said, I traded up."

The Kninti's ears still twitched, and so too did his whiskers as he pondered the request. "Hmmm... seems innocent enough, through it will be distasteful to mix with the Academics... perhaps I'll send a servant..."

"It may be wisssse to find the ssscrollsss yourssself, Kreeeowl. You I can trussst, another...?"

Though he didn't look pleased by the prospect, Kreeeowl seemed to accept the suggestion with as much grace as he could muster. "Hrarrrr... very well. But double or nothing on the next game! And none of this 'accrued interest' nonsense! The only interest I have is getting my latinum back and a good pile of your own! Stay alive long enough for the rematch, serpent! Kreeeowl out!"

As the Kzinti's image was replaced by the Federation seal, K'aa smiled inwardly until he saw the pale, wide eyed faces peering at his office - perhaps the first part of the conversation with Kreeeowl had been a little... loud and colorful. And the bit about kittens could be misunderstood by some unfamiliar with Kzinti humor.

The Gorn rose and left his warm office to the usually chilly main room of the CIC, only to find it warmer than usual by several degrees. "Tasting" the air, the reptilian noted that the Center was rife with mammal sweat and disquiet; not exactly fear, but definitely heading in that direction.

"To My Reflection I Turned, Part 1"

(Takes place four days after Victor and Rex return from their side mission)

Featuring

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

&

Anonymous (written by 'Writer X')

***

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

Checking the time once more she bit her lip, 21:30 exactly. His shift was over. It would have made better sense to watch him closer, see what he got up to after his shift. She knew that he wasn't the sociable type; he was prone to holodeck simulations; that much she did know. And seeing as the holodecks were off line due to the sabotage of the Chief Engineering officer she doubted that he would break regulations and visit them for 'pleasure'.

So she waited in the trap she had set for him. It wasn't so much a trap, in a manor of speaking. It was just a way of keeping him in and others out until she had what she needed.

So she waited with baited breath, alone in the darkness of his streamlined quarters...

****

It was, Victor decided, bad enough that the Galaxy's Chief Engineer had been replaced by her evil clone - an act that was rivaled in his experience only by Attendant K'vala's revelation that she actually had an identical evil twin. Having the clone subsequently not only sabotage everything from the warp drive to the holodecks was at least understandable, but for it to have actually spend time sabotaging the automated toilet paper dispensers in the bathroom attached to Security Main as well was simply... ludicrous. It was enough to make him suspect that not only did God hate him, but that the Divine was actually a writer of holo-shows in His spare time.

Bad holo-shows, at that.

Angelienia - he realized that he now automatically used her name when thinking of her - was flying a double shift around the Galaxy, so there would have been no dancing tonight even if the holodecks were open for use. He wondered how long it would take to get them back online, and what he and Angelienia would do if they didn't manage it soon. Dancing in an unoccupied lounge wasn't the same.

He was still thinking about that as he keyed in the coded sequence to pass him through his security lock, and stepped into the darkness of his quarters. He kept them dark more often now, had since the Jem'Hadar planet. It was more peaceful that way.

Two steps into the room, as the door closed, he knew that he wasn't alone.

"Did you ever think that you truly were?" a voice echoed in the stillness.

A telepath, then, Victor decided, since he'd said nothing aloud. "No," he said quietly, the whisper slipping through the darkness oddly, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere in specific. "Even without you here, I wouldn't be alone." He took two steps and set his padd down on the table he knew was there. "I presume you've disabled the lights so they won't come on?"

She smiled in the darkness, "Yes." she replied simply, her voice a soft whisper.

"It would have been pointless to have arranged this and left them set so that I could discern your identity simply by saying 'lights'" - he emphasized the word audibly just in case she was lying, since people that arranged meetings like this were the type that often did - "wouldn't it?"

"Indeed." She replied. Her voice now came from a different location as she lightly moved round the room her footsteps unheard as she wound her way around the furniture.

"It would also be foolish of me to come to a security officers quarters and not expect him to unarm me, if I were armed. Or report me as an intruder, as I am indeed an un-welcomed guest. To that end you will find that all communication and surveillance devices will not work, emergency transporters will not be able to penetrate these quarters. And there will be no trace of me once I have left this room, as there is no trace of you when you leave. It's just you and me, Tiger." she added with a small chuckle.

Only one person had ever called him that, and whoever this woman was behind her masked voice and quiet movements, she wasn't Lieutenant Grey; he was certain of that. "You find this amusing, then?" Victor asked.

"Perhaps... Would it upset you if I did?" she replied.

"No." She was off to his left now, unless she'd found a way to duplicate the way she smelled; as a telepath it was possible she was doing that, but Victor didn't think so. No telepath he'd ever met including the Vulcan that had ridden his thoughts as an observer in the Academy had been able - or willing - to stay inside his mind for long without his knowledge. There was the possibility that this woman was the first, but it was low, perhaps nonexistent - if she were that powerful, then she wouldn't need all these games. "I don't get upset."

There was a clicking sound, an un-comitial tut perhaps, as she again changed her location. "You're wondering why I am here, and I don't need to be a telepath to know that." Her gloved fingers trailed the fabric along the back of his standard issue couch. "I find it amusing that I know much more about you than you know of me." she said looking up at him through the darkness, a smile lacing her tone. She was on the other side of the room now, as far away from him as she could get, without imploding in space.

"But then it is difficult to live on this boat and not hear of you. After all you are legendary. Stories of your heroicness spread far and wide. As do tales of your demonicness."

"I am what I am," Victor shrugged. "People say what they say. Worrying about either one is pointless."

She came to rest just shy of the window, the starlight did little to enhance her features that were already concealed behind a mask. "What they say doesn't bother me." she said softly, "What I see in you, that is what bothers me."

She fidgeted some, her slender shadow dancing across the floor as she brought herself to ask her next question, "How many people have you killed Mr. Krieghoff?"

That was unusual; Victor didn't recall anyone asking that specific question before. He stopped to count, not sure of the number himself. "Is that the actual question you want to ask?" he finally offered.

"Yes, it is one of several." she replied slowly, "Why?"

"People don't always ask what they really mean, not the first two or three times," he explained. "If the questions is 'How many lives have I taken' then the answer is different from 'How many souls have I sent on?' You see the difference?" He tilted his head to the side and regarded the quarter of the room he was sure she was in. "Which is it you want to ask? Or is it both?"

She opened her mouth to speak and then paused in contemplation. "I think it is neither." she replied slowly, pushing herself away from the wall. "I do understand what you mean though." Her voice was soft as she made her way quietly across the room, her advancement unnoticed.

"But my question is not about how many ghosts you have chased," she said her voice taking on a darker more serious tone, "or what you think you have taken. Because that number tally's higher than even you know. To kill one person, is not just taking his life, but the life of those that loved him. Part of them dies too, and gets buried in the rubble." she paused, her own words echoing inside her with their potency.

"My question, Victor," she said through clenched teeth, her demeanor changing quicker than the wind, "is how many people have you murdered?" Suddenly she was standing right in front of him, she took his hands in a firm grip and pulled them up to his face, "How much blood stains these?" she asked fiercely, shaking his hands.

For a moment Victor was silent, and then the atmosphere in the room shifted, his presence suddenly pushing at his visitor in a way it hadn't before, almost forcing her to take a step backwards. When the hands were lowered, it wasn't Victor looking out through his eyes any more. "Ah. You mean," the thing wearing Victor's face whispered in its terrible voice, "'How many innocents have you killed?' then?"

"One Skin, Two Skin, Pinkskin, Blueskin."

(Occurs 48 hours after Victor and Rex return from their side mission))

Soundtrack: "Electric Demons in Love" By Electric Six

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

Security Central, Deck 36

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

James Corgan had the oddest ways to prepare himself for war. For that, he buried his head into some light reading. Seriously buried himself into said reading, and it wasn't even a Jane's Defense Weekly.

What he wanted to think about was anything but how to dispatch the enemy of its need for living and breathing in wholesale quantities. That was for when he was engaged in said activities or training to improve on said skills (and in that he had few peers). For other times, it was better to ditch his conscience, and to do that he needed to be distracted. Better still, fully engrossed.

He was reading about a subject that interested him very much at the present time.

"Lieutenant Krieghoff." James addressed his subordinate tersely, his PADD lowered as he zeroed in on another one of Galaxy's trained dealers in the art of involuntary lifeform liquidation, giving the Lieutenant a rueful stare that was, though aimed for someone else, just as stinging as if it was directly ministered, "Your aunts... are f**ked up. Really f**ked up."

"Excuse me, sir?" Victor was used to being summoned to the offices of superior officers; it had been happening for his entire career. This was, to his knowledge, the first time one of those summons had been followed by a comment on his Aunt's psychological state, profane or otherwise. Usually it was *his* psychological condition that was under discussion.

James had a thoughtful look wash over his face, as he donned a pseudo-intellectual air with a stroke of his imaginary beard on his all too real bare chin, "Hmmmm... let me think... it may have been the entire chapter that they wrote themselves about xeno-crossed sexual relations by way of their personal experiences with one of your family. But then again, it might have been the ode to the famous Krieghoff sex drive. F**k sakes Lieutenant, how long have we known each other? How come I haven't heard about your family's reputation for studliness?"

Victor looked at his commander for a moment in silence. "I would suspect that to be either due to the fact that we haven't been sexual partners, the fact that my Aunts are prone to exaggeration, the fact that I am not my Uncle, or the fact that to form a reputation one normally has to do something to deserve it, sir." He considered adding an 'all of the above' comment, but decided that it was unnecessary; surely the Commander would recognize that they were all true.

"Oh." James sighed, laying down the PADD and giving off a good natured chuckle, "You good sir, if your aunts are very correct about this, are a much more blessed man than I, and you can keep it under wraps better than I as well. Your family is made out like holoporn stars according to your aunts and nobody knows. The second I lay my hand on the ass of a Romulan spy... and I'm the sl*t. Times like that where I just give up trying to understand the universe around me..."

"I don't know about the 'blessed' part, sir," Victor replied in his toneless way. "Personally, I think that the Divine hates me with a passion undreamt of by most individuals. That aside, I think that you should consider the possibility that my Aunts may be somewhat biased in their views." He paused, studying Corgan for a moment. "I do, however, believe that we're not supposed to truly understand the universe. If we did, we would *be* the Divine, and, at least in my case, I consider it a good thing for everyone else that I do not. Understand everything, that is."

"Aye, aye." James agreed with a shake to his head, "However, their reading... material has proven to be helpful. I must send them my thanks. If it wasn't for their dumbed down explanation on what to do with the antennas, I would have been less stud and more dud on my debut with dear Mika." He wagged a finger, snickering, "Don't bother telling anyone about me and Meeks. They already think Mika and I were on Romulus for more than business, and they would be right if it wasn't so spur of the moment. And that's not the worse... somehow Tekri got in those rumors too..." He shook his head, spinning on his chair. The thought occurred to him that Victor probably did not care, but somehow he needed to unload, and T'lan didn't seem to be the proper audience for man-talk, "Odd thing though... I swear my copy got moved. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Oh well. Thank the two for me, please?"

"I will," Victor nodded. Angelienia had told him they'd called when he returned, and he'd sent a message letting them know he would get in touch as soon as he had time. Oddly, as opposed to most people that had talked to his Aunts, Angelienia hadn't seemed overwhelmed or embarrassed, but rather... happy. He wondered why that was... and why it seemed important that it was the case. "I'll be calling them tomorrow."

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

Deck 15, Civilian Quarters

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

"Federation Comm-Net, connect to Rexa and Ar'resh Idrani-Krieghoff." Requested Mika

=/\="Processing request. Please wait one minute."=/\= The computer replied.

At least, Mika hoped she had the right names. It was what was penned on the PADD Mika found when visiting James three nights ago, along with very explicit instructions involving the Andorian physical and social mating habits, as well as very detailed cross cultural barrier circumventers that came only with experience.

There were tricks that even Mika, who had lived and worked with Humans and even went to their universities on Earth, either took years to learn and understand, or did not know at all, and when she examined these theories, they turned out to be more valuable than she thought. There were anecdotes that brought a navy blue flush to Mika's cheeks; even Andorians had taboos and the two authors clearly violated them to win their hard fought knowledge!

The authors, devious and unabashed as they were, had to be found. Not to be thanked, but to be interrogated, to be understood, to ask what they were thinking.

=/\="Communications link established. Waiting for reply."=/\= The computer sang.

"Ahriogatzaa." Mika thanked by reflex in her native tongue.

After a second the screen cleared to show a pair of Andorian women dressed in off-duty garb, the familiar structure of a Galaxy-Class ship's multi-user quarters behind them. The two were looking curiously at the screen, the signs of a recently completed dinner on the table behind them.

"Hello," the taller of the two said with a smile. "Do we know..."

"...you?" the shorter picked up seamlessly. "When we heard the call..."

"...was from the Galaxy, we expected it to be from our..."

"...dearest Heinrich, or possibly his Angeli. Not, of course, that..."

"...it isn't good to get a call from a stranger. Sometimes..."

"...those are the most interesting calls of all," the shorter woman offered. "I'm Ar'resh..."

"...and I'm Rexa," the taller finished.

Years as a diplomatic trainee and later as an ambassador didn't cure Mika of her shyness around other, especially of the forcefully aggressive nature of Andorian interaction. She shied back, stammering to find the words she wanted to say to the two. "Greetings, Ladies Rexa and Ar'resh Idrani-Krieghoff. I am Mikaiu Sh'Sonora, perhaps you may have heard of my father, the Quadratritikele King of Andoria." She gulped, the inquisitive twins were bigger than her, older, and more sure of themselves than she. Already from their body language she felt she was going to be buffetted by their personalities alone. She put up her defenses by being even more polite and formal, "I call on behalf of... myself actually. It is about a collection of materials that you two have compiled and even contributed to, a primer on the interactions between Andorians and non-Andorian species. More specifically, I am interested in your writings about the human species in relation with Andorians. I found th e materials... with my... my....." Her head snapped down as her antennae whipcracked straight up, "...my... I would not call him a quadmate yet, the human label would be... 'boyfriend'?"

"Collection of...? Oh!" Ar'resh began this time. "You mean..."

"...the material that Heinrich asked us to..."

"...send for his friend, that marvelously talented..."

"...James, to help with his new relationship?"

The two women smiled suddenly in realization and leaned forward.

"That must be you," Rexa said with a hint of envy. "I hope..."

"...that he was a good student," Ar'resh agreed.

Mika blushed a deep navy blue in her cheeks. James was 'more' than a good student, and unlike most of her pupils stayed away during the entire class and hung onto her every word (but as a rebuttal, James had a different kind of motivation than a classroom full of children, less counting the older students). "Oh, very good. Very very good." Mika nodded until her neck strained, "He was very good. Very good. I was with humans before, went to the Diplomatic Corp course on Earth. None knew what an antenna was for. Do you know what I mean?"

Both women nodded. 'We do," Ar'resh sighed, "that's why we..."

"...made certain to mention..."

"...that in the material. Why even..."

"...Heinrich's uncle, our beloved Bernhard..."

"...was hopelessly clueless as to what to do until..."

"...we finally broke down and showed him."

Mika finished her story, "James knew what to do. It was not perfect... some of what I saw in your material takes practice. But for a first time he was very good, and he put focus on me. On me, little petite me..." She frowned to herself, unable to help comparing herself to the twin Andorians on the other side of the comm-link, hating how the universe wanted to constantly remind her that she did not have the height or curves to properly win the war of the heart. "You have learned under more difficult circumstances, correct? Trial and error?"

"Well, yes," Rexa nodded, her antennae shifting slightly as if recalling something sad. "Like we said before..."

"...Heinrich's uncle was a human and married into our..."

"...quad several years before the War. He was absolutely..."

"...wonderful in bed - but he only knew about human..."

"...women, and the things that please them..."

"...sexually don't always transfer between species."

Feeling more at ease to know that even more beautiful women than her had their own foibles and insecurities, Mika sighed, "Pinkskins. They are so different. Trial and error."

****

"I wonder how they learned? Trial and error?" James pondered. "I suppose there were plenty of cases available throughout the centuries, but for the most part Humans and Andorians rarely went that far. Must have been disappointing..."

Then James said with concern, "I wonder if I missed anything important? Surely the material hadn't covered everything. Did your uncle ever say his secrets himself? I bet a human perspective is different."

Perhaps he was dreaming? Victor considered the idea. No, his dreams weren't like this. They were about hunting and being hunted, and fights, and dancing. Not talking to his supervisor about a family member's sex life. "My uncle and I didn't talk much after I joined Starfleet, sir. I was moving around a lot, even discounting the transfers, and he was newly married to Rexa, Ar'resh, and Thallick. When we did talk, it wasn't about sex." He considered the conversations he remembered. "I do remember that he once said that they were... exhausting. And another time he mentioned something about their showing him something, or several things, because he was doing something wrong... but those were rare occurrences, not regular topics, and in the latter case I'm not certain that it had anything to do with sex at all."

James shrugged. It was fair enough that Victor would not know that particular subject; James had an awkward enough time talking to Victor as was. But he did ask, "Well, the reading material didn't mention how Heinrich was convinced into joining the Quad. Any idea?"

That took another few second's thought. What had he heard about Bernhard's marriage and the way it had been set up? "On the surface at least," Victor offered carefully, "I would think that it had something to do with the fact that he was unable to say 'no' to them. Most people can't, and even some of the ones that *can* are unable to make Rexa and Ar'resh understand that's what they're really saying all of the time." Mentioning that he, himself, fell into that latter category seemed pointless. "I believe that Bernhard's friendship with Thallick was a part of it as well, although I don't know how much of one. On a deeper level... I would have to say that, for him, they simply were the One... or the Ones, I suppose."

He sighed, thinking of Victor more like a brick wall than a friend, "Give me something please. Mika's been slipping the idea in more than once and I still don't know what to do about it."

"That would depend on what you wanted to do about it, sir."

"Well..." James thought for a moment, "That's a tough one. I want Mika. Imagining that I want someone else seems wrong to me, but unfair to demand that out of her. Now I regret sleeping through my xenosociology courses..."

"It was still probably a better time than I had in mine where they spent all their time applying different species' standards to me to see if there was anyone that *wouldn't* think I was a monster, sir," Victor observed. "But that's neither here nor there. The real question is not how you feel about her, but whether or not the idea of a quad marriage is something that you feel comfortable with, correct?"

"I feel like I love her. Don't feel comfortable with Quad." James then thought it over, and added with a flush of embarrassment, "Threesome... that isn't such a bad thought. Unfaithful by human standards. Doesn't mean us guys don't want the idea."

Of all the conversations he'd had since coming aboard the Galaxy, this was, hands down, the strangest, Victor decided. The idea that anyone would ask him for advice on romance, love, marriage, or sex was... wrong, somehow. Death, yes, but this? Just because he had the largest counseling file on the ship and had seen more counselors than most of the rest of the crew combined didn't mean that he knew anything about being one. "You haven't talked to her about it, you made that clear earlier. So... when she talks to you about it, what are her antennae saying?"

"Well..." James rolled his eyes in an attempt to recollect, "I was looking more at her face. Human habit... I know. She likes to blush a lot. She stammers at times, speaks softly all the time. But when she wants something, she tries to be even more soft spoken and cute. Her antennae... probably the most honest organ on her body. They twitch whenever she is nervous, spring up and down when she is angry, droop when she is sad, wave when she is happy, and sway gently when she is content. I suppose when she passed the idea, it was anxious in the way they moved. They would go rigid then spring to life. She could be trying to gauge my reactions, or she could be serious. I don't know. What do you think?"

Victor was no expert, but he'd watched his Aunts enough to know the answer to that question. "I think that means she's serious about trying to figure out your feelings on the matter, sir."

"Oh..." James said, "I see. I suppose I ought to give her an answer once I figure that out."

"To My Reflection I Turned, Part 2"

(Takes place four days after Victor and Rex return from their side mission)

Featuring

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

&

Anonymous (written by 'Writer X')

***

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

She shook as his mask dropped, but held her ground, forcing herself to keep eye contact. "Yes." she whispered her voice trembling slightly. She pushed against the urge to run. She could see him now, as he truly was. Was it Victor that lurked inside or was it this, this creature before her? Which one was the mask? If she could determine that then maybe she would have the answer she was looking for. Still part of her wanted to flee, her feet shifted beneath her, adrenalin flowed into her blood. But she couldn't run, not any more...

Death smiled. "I suppose that depends on what you consider an 'innocent.' By mine..." there was a pause "...more than there should be. Many more. More blood, I think, than stains yours." It's smile widened fractionally. "Do you require an exact number?"

"Do you even remember?" she countered her voice laced with both anger and defensiveness, "Does it even bother you? Do you care at all about life? Are you not haunted by *every* *single* *lasting* *scream*?" she emphasised. The emotion pouring through her voice, the voice that she had tried so hard to keep steady; it broke as she asked that question. She could feel her chest tighten as she tried to push away the feelings of guilt, push the memories away from her conscious mind, stop them from clouding her current vision; her focus. She needed to know. She had to find out... the yearning for understanding had brought her to deaths door, literally.

"Pick one," Death asked.

"One what? One murder?" she queried confused.

"Pick one question. Or would you rather I answered them in order?"

"In order." she replied defiantly folding her arms across her chest.

"All of them. I don't know; what you mean by 'bother' may not be the same thing that I do. Yes. Again, I don't know; I'm not like you, and I don't know exactly what you mean by 'haunted' in this case." Death tilted his head to the side and looked at her, a mannerism of Victor's that seemed... wrong... when performed now. "Would you like to ask your questions again, one at a time, now? The answers might be clearer that way."

"I got it the first time." she said coldly turning away from him. She walked over to the window and once more stared out. She didn't tiptoe; it no longer mattered to her if he knew where she was.

For a while she was silent, consumed by her own thoughts, staring at the stars.

"Do you remember their faces." she asked quietly, disturbing the brief silence that had descended.

"Of course," Death answered with a chilled whisper. "I remember the face of everyone that I've killed. The ones that I could see die are easier, but even the faces of the ones that died a world away are still there if I look for them."

She nodded slowly, her eyes beginning to mist, "Do you remember seeing them lying there, battered and broken on the floor before you, knowing that you inflicted that pain upon them, knowing that you were responsible?"

The chilling whisper of a laugh filled the room. "When that was the condition that I left them in, yes."

"Do you *feel* their last breath?" His mocking laugh bounced off her, it was as if she heard his answer yet did not listen to it. Her need to ask her questions was more important than the answers themselves. To get them out there, for her to hear herself finally say the words that she had locked up inside her for so long, painful as it was, had to be done.

"That last slivers of humanity dissipate as they fall from this world without a net." She whispered tears flowed from underneath the mask soaking into the material as she relived the memories through her words.

"Yes," came the same icy whisper; now underlaid with what seemed to be the wailing cries of the departed, damned souls being discussed.

The shadows shifted around them. There was no light in the room, except for the continuous glow from the starlight outside. But that constant didn't change; they were in a stable orbit of Romulus, there was no other lighting in the room that would make the shadows fluctuate as they were...

"Do you *feel* anything when you sever their connection from this world?" she stressed the word feel vibrating with the force she used, wondering if there was any part of him that could.

Death looked at her for a moment, silent. "I don't know what you mean by 'feel' here," it finally offered. "Physically? Emotionally?"

She sighed at his response. He didn't understand her. "When you take their life Victor, do you not feel anything?" she asked over her shoulder, avoiding looking at his reflection in the glass, "Powerful perhaps, stronger maybe?" she offered. "Do you get any satisfaction from taking their life?" she clarified turning round to face him.

Again came Death's chilling, whisper of a laugh. "Now I understand. You're not here to ask *me* questions - you're here so I can answer *yours.*" His voice shifted subtly, the cries of the damned now edging the words and falling from them like blood dripping from a knife. "No, death doesn't empower me. I don't draw sustenance from the act of killing, or grow stronger in its presence. I don't enjoy it..." Death paused "...aside from the satisfaction of doing what I was created to do, of being what I was created to be. It's what I am. It's what I do. I am it and it is me. I only choose the time and the place and the method - the dead are already there. Even the innocents. They, at least, I take as quickly as possible... unlike those that seek to take what is mine and dispense that which is not their right in my territory. Those dead... those I choose special passings for."

She inclined her head, "Is it wrong that I do?" she asked in a small voice, barely audible. Looking down at the floor, noticing for the first time how the shadows swayed. Like the flames of a fire they licked the walls, dancing to a rhythm that only the two of them could hear. The rhythm of the dammed. With each scream they inched out further across the walls and began to descend to the floor. Long spindly finger trails quivered with the rising howls, spurred on by the ever increasing pitch -they spread out, stretching their shadowy tentacles, consuming the room inch by inch.

"It would be wrong were I to do so. In that case, I would be the thing that my sheep required protection *from* and not the one that provides it. You are not me and I am not you, so perhaps it is right for you, perhaps not. Feel what you feel - but do not seek out that feeling lest you take lives before their time, solely for the sake of it." Death's voice stopped as a whisper and became a sword. "And do not seek it here. This is my territory, and you may only hunt here through me."

She closed her eyes against the tears. Feeling a pang rush through her chest she whispered, "For you to say those words to me, to tell me that this is your territory, you are implying that I am a thing to be afraid of."

She swallowed hard. Composing herself she began to cross the room towards him. Her steps were light once more, "For years I have heard about you: how you terrify everyone, make them run tail between their legs." Her voice seemed to rise as she came closer even though she kept it at an even keel.

"You are the thing in the darkness, the thing under the bed that goes bump in the night. A monster; one that hell itself spat out for it could not contain."

She stopped several feet away from him, "Do you know how I can stand before such a thing as you, and not run away in fear? How I can read your mind and not run and hide, screaming for mommy and daddy like the others do on this ship?"

She shook her head, forcing the tears back, forcing her voice to stay steady, "Because when I look at you, I see me. And all the terrible things I have done. It terrifies me to my very core. There is no escape from that, from myself. I have to live with that every second of every minuet of every dammed day!" she screamed with frustration her body shaking.

"But it can't be me I see when I look at you," she continued in a softer tone, tears once more streaming down her covered face, "because you at least have some mercy."

*****

"One Skin, Two Skin, Pinkskin, Blueskin, Part 1 of 3"

(Occurs 48 hours after Victor and Rex return from their side mission))

****

"Hey... thanks for hearing me out." James said to his partner.

"I don't know that I was a great deal of help, sir," Victor pointed out. "But it wasn't a hardship. It was preferable, in fact, to trying to kill each other while we talked."

He looked back at Victor, seeing that impassive Germanic face, the eyes dull with the fog of so much violence as to hide the intensity of the spirit within, the emotions dampened, the aura of violence muted but still guarding his personality, a similar man, a reflection of what James could have been. Violence attacked souls differently, and while James was hit at a young age and scarred by it, Victor was native to it. No incident brought it out. That intangible that scared others and brought hell to many was always with him.

What could have been? Close, but not quite what James was at one time. It was close enough to for James to coil away from the Lieutenant in revulsion most times, the unsubtle reminder that James too had been touched, but then again, being so similar brought a sympathy to the security chief that overrode his first instinct to fight or run. Victor was marked, just like he was.

Even so, their experiences and understandings were the same. Victor was the only person, by default, he could talk to.

Looking back at him, James could only guess what Victor was thinking. There were too many walls in front of him, and James was only so good at judging character. But to be able to share a laugh and a few secrets with Victor without having his deputy push him away gave him reassurance.

"You know." James ventured, "Mika likes you... despite the reaction you bring out of everyone. She thinks you are a polite and thoughtful man. I know... she tries to think the best of everyone. She is kind and trusting to the point where it hurts her. I think that is why she is such a good diplomat and a great teacher, but it's also why she was used by Ordos and later betrayed by the Gryphon Coalition then the Federation Diplomatic Corp. I can see that those times hurt her deeply, putting all that trust into people that treated her like sh*t. But she has love for those that treat her well. If not, she would have forgotten about me years ago, and perhaps she would have never looked past that... ability you have with people."

James finished with a stutter, looking away from Victor and at a conveniently placed PADD, "You have friends on this ship now, Lieutenant. That is very important when you're stuck on starships and away from anything resembling a planet for months on end. I hope you consider Mika and me as a couple of friends as well."

Friends. What did the Commander mean by 'friends?' Was it the same thing that Victor did? Come to think of it, did he even know how *he* defined 'friends' so he'd know if the Commander defined it the same way? Did he need to know? Was it necessary? He thought for a moment, remembered Lieutenant London's face outside Dr. Burton's office, Major Rex's as they talked while disruptor bolts sizzled around their heads, a handful of others. Perhaps it was. Perhaps... "What does being a 'friend' mean to you, sir?" he heard himself ask.

Earnestly, James replied, "That is a tough question to answer since there is no one sentence that can summarize what you're asking. But I would have to say that there is a good indication when one can talk personally to the other like we are doing now." James allowed Victor to take that information momentarily, "And if you are going to counter that you have not done the same for me, think about that time when you talked to me after my breakup with Lexa."

Victor wasn't entirely certain that the incident he remembered, and the motivations that had prompted it, had much to do with friendship, but he was willing to admit that he might be missing something. "People tell me that they're my friend - or that we're friends - sometimes. I try to keep reminding them that I'm not a good one, but they never seem to listen to me... and then, when I do or say something that they don't like, there are problems despite the warnings." He frowned. "I think that the problem may be in what they mean when they say the word 'friend' and what it means to them as opposed to what it means to me."

"Oh? And what does it mean to you?" James crossed his arms and awaited an answer.

"I..." Victor paused and thought for a few seconds. "You understand that I am what I am, sir. I've been this way my entire life, and I'll be this way until I die; my fundamental nature can't be changed, so there's no point wasting effort trying. That makes dealing with people difficult - no, impossible, really - in most situations. They see me, understand, at least subconsciously, what I am, and either flee or attack me. For me, what you call 'friends' are people that can talk to me without screaming, sir. Just... talk. That's the closest thing I've known to what you're talking about.

"Well..." James shrugged his shoulders, "We're here. We're talking. I've learned to get over that creepiness you tend to generate around you and I have even enjoyed your company. You're a bit stiff and serious at times... but I can overlook that. So... I think that satisfies my requirements for friendship, and it sounds to me like I've qualified for yours. So... friends?"

"I... suppose so, sir." Victor frowned, trying to decide if this was a good thing or not. What would Angelienia think about this? Would she think it was a good thing? He thought perhaps that she would, and that was enough reason for him. "Friends."

"Good, or else Meeks would have been disappointed." James nodded his head, "It looks like I took enough of your time. We better get back to work before the others wise up to what we're doing."

"I wouldn't worry about that, sir," Victor observed, still frowning as he tried to absorb what he'd just learned. "I don't have friends - everyone knows that."

****

"...Sterile..." Mika silently formed the words in her lips, the sounds not coming out, the fear of thickening pity too obvious to speak. Andorians were a social species and their obligations to have children were further exasperated by the genetic frailty of four genders. Between two males needed to combine their genetic material in a shen female (Mikaiu's role), and the shen transferring the zygote to the zhen female, there was a lot that could go wrong, and it made for slow reproductive cycles and complicated social quagmires. Not everyone could have a compatible quad, and even then children were no guarantee.

This put children in a rather high standing in Andorian society, the assurance of a continued future for a race endangered. It also raised the value of fertility among their kind; healthy mothers and fathers were revered, individuals screens for maximal genetic compatibility, and unspoken norms that conformed the race to the pressures of finding suitable mates.

Rexa and Ar'resh had no children, nor any hope of having children. By Andorian attitudes, it was worse than being a rebel or a pariah. It was like being powerless to help their own species survive. Mika, a perfectly fertile shen, had no excuse, but felt the sting of ignoring her race's troubles, while seeing two barren females that were, for all she knew, more than willing.

The realization tasted sour in her mouth.

"I am sorry." Mika bowed her head.

Ar'resh shook her head. "Don't be silly, Mika dear, you've done..."

"...nothing to be sorry for. It certainly wasn't you that caused..."

"...those old drive shields to fail on that freighter back when we..."

"...were teenagers and irradiate us with Delta Rays. And it could..."

"...have been much worse, after all - we're not trapped in matching..."

"...life-support chairs or something like that. We're just..." Rexa frowned, as if unwilling to repeat the words.

"...we're just sterile," Ar'resh finished.

Mika backpedaled, her hands flailing back as her antennae whipped into an alarmed twirl, "I should not have allowed the subject to present itself. It must bring sadness to you. Please, graciously accept my condolences and apologies for my social blunder."

"We've learned to accept it, "Ar'resh explained softly. "Although it was..."

"...difficult at first, and especially so when the clan was killed..."

"...during the War, making us the last of the Idrani, and forcing us to face..."

"...the fact that when we die, our family will be gone from the universe. That's..."

"...why we live so largely, you see - because we have to live for all of them now; the ones..."

"...that have gone on before us, and the ones that will never be," Rexa nodded.

She bowed her head in introspective reverence. Her situation was different, but she felt she related to the two outsiders from her species. It was not a far leap to conclude that she too was unconventional and most certainly unacceptable to her own people, but hers was by her own choices, not an accident like the twins, but the twins found closure in their unfortunate happenstance where she did not.

Instead of pity, Mika found herself envying the twins ability to cope. It was their inner peace that was inspiring.

She wanted to talk more, but her time was growing short. "I learned a lesson from the pinkskins." She said, the racial label more of an affectionate pet name than a slur, "They find family wherever they are. I find that I too have to find these companions when my own family and my professional circles would not have me back. Even then, I fear being alone so much."

Mika finished with half closed eyes and a contented smile, her voice as soft as whispering wind, "I thank you for talking to me in so personal of detail. I do not want to lose touch with you."

"Why would you do that?" Ar'resh asked. "All you..."

"...have to do is call us, and we'll be here," Rexa nodded. "Friends..."

"...are the family that you choose, after all, so in a sense, we're family now, too."

Mika added solemnly, saying a truth for all three, "Exiles need family more than most. Thank you. I will see you again soon." Giving the socially proper bow of courtesy (a curt nod with antennae pointed down, added with it one of her trademark contented smiles that actually breached protocol), Mika said goodbye, and deactivated the console.

Her impression of the twins was... unconventional and carefree. Their origins and smugglers and their unabashedness betrayed their origins as the lowest of low social castes that still permeate Andorian mentality. Clearly from criminal stock, and sterile at that, but kept a good humour and wise word that more polite Andorian society would hold back in order to keep their reputation.

Mika had to hold back from laughing.

She was associating with social exiles. That was a thought that used to bother her.

Now she involved herself exclusively with them. A lone, quadless Andorian in the middle of space, in a place that guaranteed solitude, a job well below her education and status, with a pinkskin boyfriend of all people, now friends with social exiles.

This time she didn't hold back, and laughed musically.

Her family were rich merchants that didn't belong to the old and established circles, but nonetheless emulated their exclusive ways and standoffish airs (essentially, being part of the old established circle, being filthy rich, but scorned for lacking tradition). There was of course her old boss Ordos, the family's only way into the old circles, now rotting in a Klingon jail for corruption.

As for the Federation Diplomatic Corp, which mostly consisted of musty old families from hundreds of musty old core planets that played the same games as her family on a galactic level... they were the ones that excluded her after making one mistake from the Gryphon Coalition, in which she was thoroughly convinced was not all her fault.

All parties that she did mix with had their own dirty laundry.

Suddenly, two sterile social lepers from the lower social castes seemed like saints in comparison.

"To My Reflection I Turned, Part 3"

(Takes place four days after Victor and Rex return from their side mission)

Featuring

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

&

Anonymous (written by 'Writer X')

***

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

"I am not you," Death repeated in its icy, voice, "and you are not me. But you are not what you fear, not yet."

Silence filled the room, and even the shadows seemed to sit still and listen to it, pausing in their advancements.

Tenderly she took another step forward and paused, "In my dreams I hear them screaming." she whispered. "I see their bloodless faces staring up at me with hollowed deserted eyes." she took another step, "I stare at them, lying on the floor, or the bed or a sofa or even the street, and I look at them, as if they were a glorious work of art to be marveled at."

She was standing right before him now, able to feel his breath on her skin if she had any exposed, "And I felt," she almost choked on the word, "proud."

"I remember relishing every step I took that drove them into insanity. And when they took their last breath, and finally gave into my will, I felt euphoria." she frowned, so difficult it was to confirm these feelings, these memories that she knew were her own, and yet could not explain how.

"I can feel their blood dripping from my fingers, feel it seeping into my skin. And no matter how hard I try, how hard I scrub, it won't go away."

"So tell me Victor, please." she begged, finally asking the one question she had come here to ask. "How much blood stains these?" she held up her trembling hands for him to view.

"Is that it?" Death asked, the words curling around her like barbed tendrils of fear, digging into her skin. "Is that the question you wanted to ask?" He reached out and took her hands. "You're certain?"

She nodded, fighting the urge to completely break down before him. As he took hold of her gloved hands she felt a chill run through her, she closed her eyes shut tight against the sudden darkness.

From the corners of the room the shadows cackled with a terrifying laughter, they shook and trembled as the roar ran through them. Writhing on the ground at Victor and his guest's feet, rotten fingertips from the hands of the dammed souls, pushed, pulsating their way up, trying to reach out and leave their confinement; become corporeal once more.

Total darkness descended, cascaded down around them, not even the starlight from the window could pierce. It was heavy on the occupants of the room, like a crowded bar the air was stifling, hot and muggy.

From out of the pitch black, jet black eyes locked on to Victors form...

"She is pitiful isn't she?" a distant voice asked from behind the woman's dried and cracked lips.

"Ah," Death whispered, "the final player. Do you have a question, too?"

Stolen lips pouted. "Perhaps." It shrugged pulling her hands from Victors grasp; it held them up and examined them in the darkness before turning its black eyes once again to Victor.

"Interesting, how very interesting." that distant voice came once more as it moved around Victor, looking at him from every angle.

"Not really," Death replied without bothering to keep turning and face her. "That isn't a question. You went to all this trouble to ask one, didn't you?"

The voice chuckled throaty, mocking, "No, no." it cooed, "Not me Tiger. I already have the answers." It smiled through the woman, malicious; deviously.

"She doesn't understand yet." It said taking a step in towards Victor; fingers tiptoed up his spine to the bare skin at the back of his neck where it gently raked her fingernails, back and forth in a soothing motion. It rested her head against his shoulder in a sorrowful way, pouting. "Doesn't understand what we were. What we were meant to be."

"Truth be told, I'm a little disappointed in her, aren't you?" it asked rhetorically over his shoulder, "Crying like a baby over spilt milk," It raised those stolen hands once more, "how much blood stains these!" It repeated in a whiny voice, chuckling.

"A great deal," Death answered. "But little of it by her." He shrugged and took her hands down so she wasn't wrapped around him any more. "Disappointment isn't my business, though," it continued with a chilling smile. "I deal in another commodity."

"Oh yesss?" It whispered letting the 's' slide from her mouth like a serpent. It stood before him, head tilted to one side, mocking his own movements. "I have no doubt that I am one of those commodities, one that you would like to 'deal with'."

"If you hunt here, yes," Death replied. "In that case I will tear you out of that body and send you on to the end that awaits you." It smiled and the temperature in the room seemed to drop as it added, "Don't think that your powers will save you then. Or that concern for the body you wear will. I care nothing for the first, and the second will not stop me."

It laughed at him a smile dancing on the stolen lips, "Oh Tiger!" it said in a seductive voice, taking another step towards him. Hands moved up his torso caressing his chest as her body moved, leaning in closer. One finger trailing his jaw line as it looked up into his face with those stolen eyes, "You see Tiger, this body that you think I wear is actually my own." she whispered gently.

Suddenly the pressure changed as she grabbed his jaw, squeezing his cheeks. "So why don't you just tell her what she needs to know, and set me free." It screamed at him, her booming voice seemed to vibrate the walls.

"How much blood stains *my* hands? Or can't you count that high!?" it hollered.

Despite the counter pressure from her fingers, Death tilted its head to the side and studied her for just a second before it smiled a different smile than before; a tiger's grin as compared to a kitten's. Something gathered in the darkness as it did so, something that beat against the air like a pair of impossibly large, ethereal wings, pressing against her with a force that wasn't physical but might as well have been.

"Hands off," Death whispered.

The blow took her by surprise - it's force perhaps physical, perhaps psychic, perhaps both together in a unified whole... or perhaps neither, and something else entirely - catapulting her back into the desk with a force that seemed out of proportion to what she might have expected, sending her rolling over it and onto the floor in a heap.

A muffled thump indicated that the suited body of the intruder had indeed landed on the floor behind the desk. The shadows jumped with glee, quivering beneath the slender body. They caressed her, grabbing, pulling at her already abused soul.

Within them, surrounded by them, one of them; It smiled.

Riding his thoughts for a brief moment, It knew what was to come. It smiled for It had won. Death would give 'Her' the answer, the answer that 'She' dreaded, the answer that would set her/It free. It closed its black eyes and retreated, it wouldn't be long now. Once Death had bestowed upon 'Her' fragile mind the truth of *their* past, they would once again become one. And It would be free once more, no longer a captive to this disjointed, splintered mind. No longer forgotten, no longer repressed, It would be able to release the secrets it contained. Secrets that the world had been hidden from for centenaries. It chuckled as it relinquished control.

The room was silent for a moment, the same sense of something moving in the darkness, just out of sight still present but... waiting.

From within the shadows green eyes opened begrudgingly. Her head pounded from the blow, her mind raced trying to establish what had just transpired. She waited a beat before trying to sit up.

"Hundreds," Death said quietly without moving. "There are hundreds of deaths to be laid at your feet. Is that the answer you wished?"

Her body fell back to the deck, green eyes closed tightly against the pain his declaration caused; another tear stung her reddened cheeks. Curling up into a ball, as if that would reduce the pain in her soul, her body shook as she began to sob. For a moment as she lay on the cold floor hugging her battered body she wished he would finish what he had started. She wouldn't resist Death this time. She would let it take her soul to the depths of Hell and she would gladly burn for all eternity.

What other option did she have?

If she gave in, gave in to it; gave in to the memories, let the lust for the feeling of euphoria return, she would become the thing in the darkness.

She could feel them now all around her; the shadows. Their urgency licked her soul, tempting her to just let go. The hands of the dammed, the dammed souls, that she had sent on before their time, they wanted her. Wanted her to give in and become the monster. At least then, when Hell took her soul, they could finally enact their vengeance upon her. She could almost hear them laughing at her as she struggled to keep some semblance of self.

He knew what she was now. And maybe that was why she had come to him. Of all the people on the ship that could save her, save her from herself - it was him. By revealing to him what she was, what she really was, she knew that he would be watching; waiting for her to take someone that belonged to him. And even though she knew that she could kill him, she knew that it would be a long and difficult battle, Victor looked human, his Bio stated that he was, his parents were, but whatever it was that lurked inside him - that wasn't humanity, and it would take her with it if she tried.

Slowly she sat up, feeling the bruises across her back slowly take form beneath her suit. Maybe there was some salvation; if she gave in and became the hunter she would also run the risk becoming the hunted.

The coin toss was a difficult one - become the hunted and meet a gruesome end, or live with the guilt of the knowledge that he faces in her dreams fell from her own hands.

The line between the choices was a thin one.

The shadows hid her movements as she once again stepped lightly concealing her location as she made her escape. There was nothing else to be said at this juncture, if she stayed any longer he would ascertain her identity and at this moment in time anonymity was her best ally. She had come to him for answers - he was right about that - it was totally self serving. He had given her one. Was it the answer she wished? If she had the option of wishing then she wouldn't have been in the circumstances she found herself in, and not ever felt the need to ask such a question.

But she was not in the habit of making wishes; those were for naive fools who still had hope.

10 minutes later the computer on Victor's desk beeped, the screen lighting up with the UFP backdrop. The lights came on full dissipating the shadows in a matter of miller seconds; the oppressing atmosphere that had filled the room like a smoke cloak went with them, almost as if it had never been there.

Everything in the room was exactly how Victor had left it. Even the items on the desk that had clattered to the floor when he threw her body across it, were exactly where they had been; as if she had never been there.

****

"One Skin, Two Skin, Pinkskin, Blueskin, Part 2 of 3"

(Occurs 48 hours after Victor and Rex return from their side mission)

****

"Do you know what bothers me the most about humans?" Mika complained bashfully, "They can be the most sexually prolific people in the galaxy yet they still cannot get past their monogamous cultural upbringing, confounded worse by even further ingrained polygamous instincts! They talk so much about one love, one lover, and then tie themselves into zh'Naakian knots when they find another they love just as strongly. Then when they act upon their desires, they either lie or downplay what happens. Do they not know that it is the dishonesty that hurts more?"

The women nodded. "We've seen that as well," Rexa agreed. "We think they..."

"...do it because of their lack of antennae."

Mika giggled. The lack of antennae still stuck her as comical.

"Humans are not, as a general rule, telepathic," Ar'resh explained. "They are..."

"...also fairly uniform in feature, and possess no..."

"...obvious physical characteristics that allow others to..."

"...determine their emotional state. Indeed, even the few..."

"...physical indicators the species possesses..."

"...are normally concealed by clothing, or are learned to be controlled..."

"...to avoid social penalties for their lack of concealment. In essence..."

"...they live their lives trapped inside themselves, unable to determine if..."

"...the emotional reactions of those around them are genuine or not..."

"...because lacking a physical indicator, they have no way of knowing..."

"...the truth of things. They must take everything on trust. So they..."

"...constantly fear that they will alienate a friend or lover with a word..."

"...or action. That's why they act dishonestly."

Mika's eyes opened. Their explanations were so easy! "I understand. My James is so private, and he tries to tell me that he does not want to upset me with his secrets. I wish he could understand that he can trust me, even if it is other women. But..." She let out a lengthy sigh, blowing a tuft of white hair from her eyes, "Humans are so shy in that regard. Maybe that is why I am so enamored with the species. As you have noticed, I..." She blushed again, "...am not like a stereotypical Andorian. I am the opposite of a bold warrior we are taught to be, and I do not often convey what I mean with blunt honesty. I would not have been a failed diplomat otherwise."

Rexa waved a hand dismissively. "Pah. Having a warrior tradition..."

"...has nothing to do with how one speaks to their..."

"...heart's mate. The only thing that matters then is to..."

"...speak what is in your heart in a way that the one you care..."

"...for can understand it. Poetry, songs, food, a kiss, a well-aimed..."

"...blow to the head - just find the way that reaches them and say..."

"...what they need to hear as often as you can. Humans find it hard to..."

"...say what's in their hearts aloud because they cannot truly see what..."

"...their partners feel about their words. They can be trained to do so..."

"...though, and although it takes a little work, it's worth it. Some few will..."

"...always tell you what they think or feel to be true, like..."

"...our Heinrich does." The two women blinked once, and their antennae drooped sadly in unison at that. "But those..."

"...are rare people, and hard to find," Rexa sighed.

"My darling James will open up in time." Mika assured herself more than she was stating a fact to the twins. "He has tried and succeeded, or else we would not have gone so far in our relationship." She let out a wistful, envious sigh, "...he is a good man, and I do worry about our cultural differences. But I have been around humans for many years, and he treats me very well even by human standards. I am fortunate to have him..." She twisted her antennae, the equivalent of a human wink, "...and he is more fortunate to have me."

****

"One part that bothers me. May I ask something?" James questioned, glancing over his shoulder.

Based on the conversation thus far, Victor felt that saying there was only one thing that appeared to bother his superior was an understatement. "Of course, sir."

He gave another glance, this time being more transparently secretive. There was even some doubt as to whether James should ask the question. Since the talk was at a personal nature with the most impersonal person onboard, and since it was already in territory that was weird even for Orion slave girl fetish shops, James reasoned with himself that he could do no worse to himself or Victor's perception of him.

James went ahead and asked, "Do you think I have to be... you know... gay... with the other guy... to make the marriage work?"

Victor blinked once. It was, he supposed, some sort of bizarre sign of trust that the Commander would ask him the question to begin with, much less apparently expect an answer. If this was what friends talked about, maybe it was a good thing that he wasn't good at being one. "I think that depends on who is asked to join the quad, and what they dynamic within the quad are, sir. I never got the impression that Uncle Bernhard and Uncle Thallick were lovers, despite being married to my aunts and each other." He paused and considered the idea. "Actually, now that I think about it... I don't recall my Aunts ever mentioning anyone but Uncle Bernhard when they dispensed too much information on the subject."

"Odd man out. Poor guy. Must be tough being overshadowed like that." James sympathized, taking a backwards glance up at Victor, reminded that he too was in the shadow of someone who was better than he was at an entirely different profession. He snapped back into conversation, "I suppose the real answer to that would be from Thallick and whether or not he raved about our legendary lady-killer Bernhard."

"I don't recall any such conversation," Victor admitted. "Uncle Thallick always seemed, well, ethereal to me. As if he was detached from the universe in some way and only observing the rest of us. He loved Rexa and Ar'resh, that was plain to anyone that saw them together, or talked to him about them, and he and Uncle Bernhard were better friends than most people will ever be lucky enough to find...." He frowned. "I suppose I could ask my cousin, she was always closer to him than I was. I think that he, unlike, Rexa, Ar'resh, and the rest of the family, was uncomfortable around me the way that you are most of the time.

James frowned, "Me, uncomfortable? Nooooo... I've reconciled the fact that you're a scary son of a b*tch, and the fact that I can hold my own against you and that you're on my side derails some of my fears. Talking about something that shouldn't have been taboo for three hundred years... that is creepy."

****

"Ohhhh..." Mika squeaked, sharing another laugh with the twins, "My father would be so furious! Me mating with a human! I would be the scandalous girl of my family for a change!"

"You would be the scandalous..."

"...one?" Rexa asked. "Why you?"

"Oh... why?" Mika paused, at ease with the Andorian twins. Forceful personality aside, Mika was glad to talk with her own kind, and at times it was enough to salve her jangled nerves. Not Andorians, they were an abrasive species at times. Women were her 'other' species, and it had been so long since a good girl on girl talk. She felt her secrets safe with the twins as she said, "I have a sister. She is a socialite on Andoria. Her name is Bandii. You may recognize her in Andorian tabloids. Father is very rich, an inheritance I had been denied in my rebellious path as a diplomat to begin with, leaving my sister as sole inheritor. She is rich and wild, not very responsible. Breaking the norms of my family, and during a time when our people still have genetic instabilities with the Quad arrangement... my sister will be perceived as pure as one of the hallowed dead compared to me. It is... irony."

"Ah," Rexa nodded. "We haven't followed..."

"...things like that in some time, dear. Not since..."

"...before the War, anyway. But we do understand what you..."

"...mean." Ar'resh smiled sadly. "Our clan - when we had one - was..."

"...less concerned about things like that on the whole, since they..."

"...were... well... on the shady side. And our..."

"...condition rendered any comments moot," Rexa completed softly.

"Condition?" Mika politely asked, and then backpedaled with a stammer, "Oh, I am sorry. I should not ask."

"No, it's all right," Rexa said quietly. "We just don't talk about it..."

"...that's all. It might be good to speak to you about it, and not just..."

"...pretend it isn't an issue. But you have to promise not to tell our..."

"...Heinrich about it. A binding promise, on clan and honor. If..."

"...he knew, then he'd spend all his time trying to fix something that can't..."

"...be fixed instead of living his life," Ar'resh explained. "Will you swear?"

Mika held back her instinctual response, thinking carefully about the secret these strangers trusted her to keep. To Andorians, Mika already shared a certain amount of trust by revealing to the twins her relationship with James. But what they held, Mika could sense it was more personal. She was being trusted with something big.

The diminutive Andorian shy flicked her antennae, communicating her understanding of this trust. "I hereby swear, one blueskin to another."

Rexa and Ar'resh nodded. "Thank you," the taller began with an odd hesitance given their former overpowering personalities. "The reason that our..."

"...clan never pushed us on the issue of settling down and starting..."

"...a family, or being more 'proper' is, like we said earlier..."

"...partially because the Idrani were always eccentric and... shady. There were..."

"...always smugglers, shadow traders, and so on in the family. The other part..."

"...is simple: they never pushed us to start a family and have children because..."

"...they all knew that we can't," Rexa explained. "We're sterile."

"A Rihannsu Who Speaks True"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commanding Officer USS Galaxy

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

The Galaxy.

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen had laughed when he first heard the name of this ship. Could Starfleet have chosen a more human moniker for a vessel? It aptly captured the unapologetic audacity of the species, so convinced of the grand nature of their enterprises, so bent upon embracing everything and becoming part of it - so ambitious in their goals, so generous at their best, so unforgiving at their worst.

Along with the ego of the name, there was a certain freedom; to a Romulan, raised in a society that believed in the power of words, such a name was shocking. Such a grand name was an invitation for trouble - it attracted the attention of the Elements - perhaps even mocked them, and said: come ye gods, and do your worst, for I too am mighty. Such was not the Romulan Way: the Rihanha were a grey, subdued, reclusive people, who often sought to blend into their environment - perhaps the reason why they had developed the cloaking device first - and not be noticed. They were afraid of breaking with tradition, afraid of disrupting the social order, afraid...of so many things, even - despite their contempt for a Vulcan's exaggerated self-control - of themselves, Aerv often felt.

Humans, however, were not prisoners to these phantoms. There was an enchanting allure to this kind of freedom - it was inviting, intoxicating - and indeed, over the centuries, slowly even the Romulans had started to come out of the shadows, begun to dare more. Whether that was a good thing or not...well, Aerv was content to leave that to the historians and their books. It was enough for him, right now, to reflect on how different these two people were, between whom he stood now, a bridge. And he was here, on the Galaxy, a guest of a people who were always marching, onward and forward...sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

Before Aerv now stood the man at the center of the Galaxy - in a manner of speaking: Captain Daren M'Kantu. Aerv paused for a moment, considering the smiling human. Then with a flourish that highlighted his natural grace, tr'Ahalaen raised his hand and parted his fingers in a traditional Vulcan salute. "Peace, Captain."

Daren looked at him for a moment, and then raised his hand and repeated the greeting. "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink, Ambassador?" he asked after he was done. "I'm drinking coffee today, but we have a universe full of other options if you'd prefer?"

It was impossible to go into the house of a Rihanha and refuse a beverage... at least if one did not want to insult their host. Here, however, there were no such restraints. To experience the freedom - if for no other reason - Aerv gave M'Kantu a small smile and shook his head. "No, Captain. Thank you. I'm fine."

Once the replicator was finished and both men were seated, Daren looked across the desk and nodded once. "I must apologize for the lack of time to stage a proper diplomatic reception, sir. If you like, we can schedule one in after the current crisis is dealt with? And," he added, "hopefully before the next one overtakes us."

tr'Ahalaen sat back in his chair and considered the offer. If a reception were to take place, Aerv would have the opportunity to meet with the senior staff and the representatives of the diplomatic crops on the Galaxy. It would also be very good for Lhohnu, especially given the plans Aerv had for the young mongrel. However, there were other, more pressing concerns for both the Empire and Starfleet at this particular time.

"Thank you, Captain," Aerv finally replied, "I appreciate the offer... and I acknowledge the diplomatic protocol that requires it. However, you and I both have more pressing concerns at the moment. Perhaps, when this is all over, I shall be able to meet with your people in more comfortable circumstances and toast a victory...or - if the Elements are with us - something better. However... not now," he gave a little sly smile, "Only Surak meditated while Vulcan was torn."

M'Kantu nodded. "I admit that I'm somewhat relieved, Ambassador. I enjoy parties as much as the next man - sometimes even when I'm not ordered to - but we're a bit pressed for time right now." He took a sip from his coffee and set it down. "I suppose the first order of business is to talk about your people and how they see us and what we're trying to do here."

"You have to realize, Captain, that we are a proud people. You cannot realize how difficult it was for us to ask for you help... and now the Senate is not certain how committed the Federation is to this cause - they were hoping for more ships. Anyway, the truth is that a great many among the Rihannsu have very little respect for your Federation." tr'Ahalaen smiled, "I am sure that there are some in the Federation who feel the same way about the Rihannsu. If it helps, you may think of the Romulan Empire like the China of your Earth - I speak of the China of the eighteenth century. From what little I have read, it was a civilization with very stable class structures - not without its troubles - convinced that it is superior to other nations - a conviction supported by many accomplishments and past greatness. Its place in history and the world seemed clear to its people.

"Then... the colonial empires of the West approach it. The West is also convinced it is superior... they have better technology, perhaps, or they feel they do no oppress people. They find the Chinese backward and sneer at the local customs. The Chinese consider Western ways to be boorish, their manners lax and their speech rude. I do not mean to bore you, Captain, but you see... it took centuries for these prejudices to die out. This on one planet... we are dealing with civilizations separated by light years upon light years. To expect the Rihannsu to embrace the Federation... that will never happen. At least, it will not happen soon. The people are glad you are here, of course, and they will remember his. However, to have you here, for us - you will have to pardon the expression, Captain - it is like having barbarians at our gates."

"It's been a while since I considered myself a barbarian - at someone's gate or otherwise - Ambassador," Daren noted. "But I certainly can't dispute your people's right to view us through the lens of your culture and experiences. After all, we do it to you. It seems only fair to allow you to return the favor."

"Thank you for understanding, Captain," tr'Ahalaen replied with one of his patent, handsome smiles, "Besides, it is not that bad, being a barbarian - it has a certain charm to it, I think. I am sure - what is the human expression - ah yes, I am sure that the 'trashy romance novels' of Romulus will be writing about this for several years to come." tr'Ahalaen laughed, "In a sense, immorality awaits you, Captain - and that is something, even if it is of the dubious variety." Daren shook his head at the thought. "Immortality is for heroes, Ambassador; I'm just a man here doing his job. I'll leave the heroics - especially that kind - to younger men." He allowed himself a small smile as he envisioned Livia Proctor's face upon encountering a Romulan romance with him as the thinly disguised hero - which turned into a wince as he considered what June's reaction might be. "Perceptions kept in mind, the next question I need to ask, is of course, what do you need from me, Ambassador?"

tr'Ahalaen leaned forward, his long fingers forming a pyramid in the air above the M'Kantu's desk. "I speak only for Romulus, Captain...and they have not spoken to me in any detail about their plans yet. So far the orders are simple: to establish a working relationship and ease the transfer of information between your Fleet and ours - that will, of course, be crucial. More than that I cannot say...I fear the military has been taken quite by surprise - they are still debating the proper course of action. I suspect they are being very careful." tr'Ahalaen sat back again and was silent for a moment, letting the profound nature of the shock to the military become evident.

"Naturally," he continued after a moment, "ch'Rihan must be defended, Captain, but I should hope that things will not come to that. If I were still in uniform...well, I have always been of the opinion that a good offense is the best defense...except, of course, for when it is not. I would take the fight away from ch'Rihan and engage the invaders...but that is not my decision...it never was. I am sorry I cannot do no more...unless, of course, you have strategic advice you wish to communicate to Romulus. That, of course, brings us back to the problem of communications."

"In an ideal world, I'd have things all arranged to handle that, Ambassador. Since we are not, in fact, dwelling in that ideal world, things are not ready. To facilitate your needs, I'm assigning my First Officer, Tarin Iniara, to the task of making certain that the communications channels you require are set up and secured to your satisfaction. You'll want to discuss things with Vice-Legate Curran as well during that process - don't let his manner fool you, he's good at his job. In the meantime, and even after things are set up, my door is always open to you."

"Thank you, Captain. I will do as you ask. Is there anything else?"

"Sadly, yes, Ambassador." Daren paused to consider how to approach this. "We need to talk about internal politics for a moment; your people's internal politics, to be exact."

Aerv laughed softly, "Then perhaps I should make myself comfortable. That discussion could take a while...."

"Bluntly speaking, Ambassador, the Rihannsu Diplomatic Corps members stationed aboard the Galaxy in the past have, to a man, brought their personal power games, feuds, and schemes aboard with them when they came. That's caused lost lives, damaged relations, and endangered my ship. This time, no matter what your government or mine has to say on the topic, I'm going to have my say on the subject: don't. Asking you to not gather intelligence is ludicrous, and that's not what's under discussion here. If you feel the need to protest my next statements, I'm certain that Vice-Legate Curran will assist you doing so, and if I offer offense, I regret that, but I want this to be perfectly clear between us from the start: If you, as they did, import mayhem, destruction, and personal pain here by dragging your political games from home to my ship, then you will be leaving it. Through the airlock. While we're in warp."

"Captain... you humans do, every once in a while, say things that are wise. It is one of your old sayings, I believe, that a leopard cannot change its spots. I am a Romulan and Romulans are - for better or for worse - creatures of intrigue. I come with my own set of feuds and schemes, as you so elegantly put it." tr'Ahalaen smiled, "I cannot promise you that I will abandon these. They are in my nature. However, I am an artist of sorts when it comes to these things and I pride myself on my subtlety. So this I can grant you: none of my plans will endanger your ship or your crew. Indeed, if I see that is about to happen from another source, you will have my warning and advice. I suggest, Captain, that you accept these terms. I do not think you will get anything more from a Rihannsu who speaks true."

Or, Daren thought to himself, less from one that was lying. Still, he'd had his say and that was the important part. "Then I think we understand each other, Ambassador. Welcome to the Galaxy."

"Come Grow Old with Me"

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
USS Galaxy

Command Master Chief Madden Jayce
USS Galaxy

"You know," Madden said, her voice hushed (if she was audibly speaking at all; she and Brian had telepathic conversations more often than not, to the point where she sometimes forgot verbal speaking and sometimes forgot she wasn't on Betazed). "I always thought of Romulans as having being dull and shapeless with no esthetic appeciation whatsoever."

It had taken him a while, but Brian had finally managed to convince the COB to journey down to tour one of the Romulan capital cities while they had the opportunity. After all, how many times had a Starfleet crew been invited down to the planet? So there they were: two telepathic Betazoids in their bright off-duty clothing, walking side by side amongst the more serious, more statuesque Romulans. They were in the heart of what appeared to be a shopping district, which was surprising enough; never in her wildest dreams would Madden Jayce have thought Romulans went shopping. Nor would she ever have thought she would look inside a boutique window and find a few fashions she might actually like.

"But come to find out they do know what color is. Must just have decided to keep that appreciation to themselves, like everything else. It's a little shocking to find out just how wrong I was."

"You, wrong? Never," Brian teased. He too was taken up with the unexpected displays of Romulan style. "After the negotiations on Cheron, I was completely prepared for nothing but wide-shouldered aluminum suits," he laughed. Stopping suddenly, he squinted at a small stand several meters off to their left and pointed. "And look . . . they even have flowers. At least I think those are flowers. Let's check it out."

Madden snickered. "In my history classes, growing up, they always spoke of early dealings with the Romulan Empire. Some stories said that once upon a time there was a bit of flair, and then it all disappeared with the sense of style we've come accustomed to seeing." She shrugged as she followed him, looking at the people who milled around them, many given them strange looks, more than a few edging away and looking at them suspiciously. She could feel their uneasiness, their resentment, their anger toward them, though in some cases a bit of awe and interest.

Children, particularly, looked at them with a certain amount of wonder having not yet learned the full extent of their parent's suspicion and distrust. She would smile at them every once in a while, and inevitibly the child would hide behind their mother or glance up at their father with a questioning look and then follow the adult's lead in casting a hard glare toward the Starfleet officers. "I never would have thought I would be here..." she murmured. "One of my... someone I knew during the war spoke fondly of Romulus. He had a hard time of it, the Cardassians, the Jem'Hadar... they hated the Romulans more than us, so those they captured... he liked to talk about it at night though, made it sound romantic. I didn't think Romulans thought that way. Guess it goes to show, even we Federationers stereotype. I might have to look up his family. I wonder if they would see me."

"Are you ready to get that close to a memory from that time?, he asked. Madden's experience of the Dominion War had been vastly different than his, as he knew were the impressions it left behind. "Besides, things are a lot different here since the near collapse of the government; you may not even be able to find them." As he spoke, they arrived at the stand and were greeted by a rather good natured citizen. Despite the ambiguous reception they had received from the natives so far, there was still something exhilirating about being in the midst of people in such an organic environment. They all, including this man, exuded a deep-seated sense of pride that neither hard times nor the unprecedented free roaming of strangers on their hitherto xenophobic homeworld seemed to dampen.

"Jolan tru . . . and welcome," he said with a respectful nod.

"Jolan tru," Brian returned, expending about two thirds of his Romulan vocabulary. "I'm fascinated by these," he said, gesturing to the varied assortment of nicely arranged colorful bouquets. "Are they native floral species?"

"Indeed they are," the man answered, all too pleased to accommodate a potential buyer. Moving around to the other side of the stand, he pulled a grouping of brilliant magenta buds on long white stalks. "I especially recommend these. We call them qal'ura. The petals are well-known for their quality as an . . . aphrodisiac," he said conspiritorially with a glance in Madden's direction. Brian followed the man's gaze with an amused smirk to the Chief.

Madden arched an eyebrow and shook her head. "Don't encourage him," she said to the Romulan flower seller. "He's a crazy one, this guy."

"We'll take a dozen," Elessidil said to the man without missing a beat. All too happy to oblige, the vendor provided the requested number of stalks in exchange for a few pieces of Romulan currency Brian had managed to obtain, then nodded gratefully as the two resumed their stroll.

"Here," Brian snickered as he good-naturedly shoved the bouquet at Madden. "Go to town."

"Oh gee. Thanks. Flowers are so original." She grinned over her shoulder at him. "So," she said as they walked away, down the ancient walkway of the Romulan city. "How are you doing, Brian? You seem a little... I don't know what."

As usual, his perceptive friend was quick to pick up on even the slightest variation in his mood . . . and to call him on it. A wan smile crossed his lips. "I met someone," he sighed. "And before you get excited, it isn't going to work out."

"I had that feeling," Madden said, nodding slightly. "Let me guess. On the surface, the two of you are a perfect fit. Your personalities just mesh. But no matter how much you want to try, the attraction is less on a physical level and more on a level better fit to be called intellectual curiosity."

"If I kept a journal I'd accuse you of reading it," he said with a sideways glance. "Though honestly, I don't think 'intellectual curiosity' does it justice. There really was....something there, Madden. I fell in a way I haven't fallen in a long time. Who knows if it would have lasted for any length of time, but the feeling was still wonderful. Her name is Kate . . . Doctor Katherine North if you follow academic circles in military psychology."

"Her?" Madden lifted an eyebrow again. "Really?"

"Really. Believe me, no one's more confused about it than I am."

Honestly, she almost felt a little hurt. If her friend was going to experiment on the other side of sexuality... But she supposed one couldn't help who one was attracted to, and even if it crossed typical gender preference... Regardless. Done was done, what could she do about it?

"I'm happy for you, Brian. Even if it's just a moment, it's good to feel that way about another person. It keeps you living."

The counselor stopped mid-stride and stared with a look that expressed both surprise and amusement. "You're jealous!"

"I'm not jealous," Madden replied, straightening her shoulders. "I just... I don't know. I'm surprised, that's all."

"No, *I'm* surprised. *You're* jealous," he insisted, lightly poking her in the shoulder while trying not to laugh. "I'm the last person you can hide that from."

"Fine. Fine, I'm jealous. Okay?" She kept walking, shaking her head. "I just... I thought that if you wanted to experiment, it would be with me. We've been close in every other way. And Gods know, I haven't been getting any lately, I might as well break my streak of nothing with an experimental gay man." She wrinkled her nose. "But with a stranger?" She sighed. "I can't help it anymore than you can, Brian."

In a way, he felt a little guilty, but mostly he was just amused. "Trust me, it wasn't my plan to 'experiment'. Hey, I bought you flowers, that's more than I did for her," he said, trying to sound a tad more reassuring. As they continued walking he affectionately put his arm around her shoulders and gently drew her closer. "Who knows, Madden. With the way things are going for both of us maybe we *will* grow old together." He chuckled lightly but the statement wasn't entirely in jest.

Madden laughed. "I hope we will grow old together," she said, "I just hope there are other people involved in far more physically intimate ways."

"Fair enough," he laughed in return. He kept her close as they walked, savoring her company even if neither of them was about to take off their clothes. "C'mon, dinner's on me."

"Drifting Dreams"

By: Pilot Aren Furai

===---

She could see herself...

The soft contours of her face glowing in the nude starlight amongst the depths of space. A peaceful, relaxed expression over her face as her eyes gazed into the mysterious abyss. There was no glass or forcefield separating flesh from void, and there was no need.

She began to sway alongside the solar winds, her tattered uniform drenched with frozen speckles of red. That serene gaze was nothing more than the blank stare of a dead woman. Picked up by the speeding winds, she quickly disappeared behind the bulkhead of debris.

* * *

Aren pushed herself up from her sleep with a yelp, feeling the ghostly touch of open space graze her skin as she realized where she was. Her quarters, not outside. Brushing a thick layer of sweat from her forehead and cheeks, she peeled her legs over the side of the bed and rested her weight on the floor for a moment.

It was a bad dream.

It wasn't the first time she had one either. Ever since the incident on board the Cromwell, her unconscious mind carried these nightmares. Even as a fighter pilot where there was little left to separate her from 0-G, she felt uneasy.

"Computer, what time is it?" She finally asked with a weakened voice. Her arms trembled lightly, the cold sweat running down them making her hands soak the fabric they still clenched upon.

[[04:32 hours]] The computer chirped in an unsympathetic voice.

Aren rested her head against gravity, taking a few deep breaths in before pushing herself off of her bed. She needed a glass of water. Stopping over to the replicator she pressed a small button, a pre-programmed icon that shimmered a glass of clear water into her presence.

She took a mild sip, before finding comfort in her sofa.

It had been almost a year since the attack that had nearly sent her out into space. And yet, she was still no closer to overcoming these nightmares. She had heard stories from war veterans, whose nightmares followed them for much longer. Carnage and violence. But for her, it was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was all it took to traumatize her.

It was half past four in the morning. Nobody would be awake except for the late shift. That was the advantage and disadvantage of being a fighter pilot. You usually get to sleep in, even during normal working hours.

Part of her wanted somebody to talk to, to help calm her nerves even if they didn't know why she was agitated. That option was unavailable however, and she would have to remain where she was... and calm herself down.

Maybe walking the corridors would help a bit...

"Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered"

Lt. Cmdr. Spa'an
Chief Science Officer
USS Miranda

Ensign T'Ashaya
Science Officer
USS Miranda

The smoothness of her flesh under the caress of his strong hands sent waves of passion through both of them as his lips pushed harder against hers. The pent-up energy of years of celibacy drove him into a frenzy of desire that neither logic nor duty could extinguish. The universe would wait, wait for him to claim what was rightfully his, to have this woman in every possible sense; the thought of which only served to push him yet closer...closer....

With a gasp, Spa'an bolted upright in his bed, sweating and breathless, and immediately feeling a strange twinge of Vulcan guilt for his reaction.

She had gotten to him.

Somehow in their brief contact many weeks ago, she had set a foothold in the most primitive reaches of his psyche that would not release him. With each passing day, and particularly each passing night, he felt an urgency that threatened to explode if not for the monumental effort of Vulcan self-discipline. But even Vulcans had limits, and Spa'an was more than a little concerned about how close he was getting to his.

= = =

T'Ashaya woke up early. She had a big day ahead of her. It had taken some doing, but she'd managed to get permission to visit some of the centers for the scientific study of the sea life on Romulus and Remus. It was the chance of a lifetime and the cetacean biologist planned to make the most of it. Who knew how much time she'd actually get, especially if things turned ugly here.

She ate her breakfast in the lab, grabbing bites of it between packing her equipment. So much to try to see. So little the Federation actually knew. The Vulcan Tsunami tried to pack efficiently, and still take gear for all the conditions she thought she might encounter.

Darwin splashed to get her attention. "Where is Beloved going?"

"The question is *when* are you going?" Spa'an interrupted as the door to the lab slid closed behind him. The only thing he wanted more than to avoid seeing her at all was to see her get on with her research -- research that would mercifully take her far enough away to be less of a distraction to him.

"Peace and long life to you, too, Commander." She walked past him and climbed up to the ledge around the tank. "Romulus, Darwin. I am going to Romulus. That is what the humans call the nearer of the two planets."

The whale made a low, soft clicking sound. Darwin nodded and chattered. "Long Migration says he hears songs. Are you going to find the singers and trade songs?"

She touched the dolphin's head. "Something like that. It is my hope at any rate."

"Take the good talk-toy and watch out for sharks." The dolphin dove under the water and chattered some more at Long Migration, but the translator could not quite make out the dolphin's words. The Vulcan Tsunami took one of the newly modified Universal Translators and crossed past Spa'an to shove it into her kit.

She did not look at the Chief Science officer, save a sly glance from under her eyelashes. "Unless something changes, I will be leaving within the next hour."

That look. It was as if she knew it had unspoken power, like she was wielding some invisible weapon that sliced through to the very core of his being. It made him want to come at her in a seething, blind rage -- something between Nausiccan assault and Klingon love-making. Or maybe both.

"There is no reason to assume anything will change," Spa'an replied, exercising every ounce of self-control to keep himself thinking and sounding rational, but he was talking just a shade faster and with more intensity than was his usual. "Your skills make you the logical choice for this task and the window of opportunity is finite."

She continued to pack. "Of course. I am the logical choice." T'Ashaya repeated his words, but when she repeated them, they didn't sound quite as convincing as Spa'an had intended them. "And you always make your decisions based on thoroughly thought out logic. It is admirable. I am certain your strict devotion to logic makes you the pride of your clan."

The last of her gear refused to sit properly in her kit. She began pulling it out to repack more efficiently, silently ruing the fact that she hadn't put her wetsuit in a compression bag to start. She fetched the suit's compression bag and started over, rolling it down as small as her slender hands could make it and pulling the straps tight. She cast Spa'an that look again.

"What did you really want when you came down here, Spa'an?"

The Vulcan's brow reflexively knitted at her implication. And then there was the look . . . . It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain his demeanor with her around, and he became all the more eager to see her leave.

"I require . . . only that you leave, Ensign," he answered with obvious strain.

"Because my presence here disturbs your perfectly ordered world?" T'Ashaya kept her voice calm and neutral. Somehow in the void of emotional inflection in her voice, she conveyed sarcasm perfectly. "Or do you tell yourself that it is logical I leave because I have work to do?"

She shoved her swim fins into her kit more forcefully than necessary. "Answer truthfully, Spa'an: You have managed to avoid me successfully for six months. Why do you seek me now to tell me to leave? Because I remind you that you are not the automaton you would seek to be, or because I repulse you that completely?"

"You must leave because we both have work to do," he insisted. "I am no automaton and you are not repulsive. Yet I must be able to focus on my duties."

The Vulcan Tsunami considered a moment. "Two Buddhist monks were on pilgrimage to a great shrine when they came to a river. It was swollen with flood waters and there was a pregnant woman there who needed to cross to the other side. Now, the Buddhist faith requires good works, but it also forbids touching women. The first monk passed over to the other side, giving his apologies to the woman, because he could not help her. The second monk picked up the woman and carried her across the river. He put her down on the other side, washed his hands, and continued on his pilgrimage to the great shrine.

For the rest of the afternoon the first monk did nothing but talk about the second monks actions. 'A woman,' he cried. 'How could you touch a woman? Don't you know it is forbidden?' Finally, at dinner, the second monk spoke. 'Brother, it is true I carried that woman across the river, but I put her down on the other side, cleansed myself and continued my prayers as we made our way toward the great temple. You have done nothing but carry her since we left the river.'" She slung her kit across her shoulder and walked past Spa'an, toward the door. T'Ashaya paused before tripping the eyebeam and opening the door. "Tell me, Spa'an: which monk do you believe was the more logical?"

"Enough!" he snapped, his head whipping around to face her. "Just go about your duty, Ensign!" He glared at her, practically one step away from foaming at the mouth. The primitive reactions her presence stirred in him were shrieking to escape, but with his face contorted and his hand shaking, Spa'an persisted in holding them in to the bitter end.

"As you wish, beloved." She walked out the door. It shut solid behind her.

"Family Affairs"

LtJG Chris Daniels Tactical Officer

Cadet First Class Ezri Daniels Engineering Midshipman

Docking Port 6, Starbase Atlantis

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

Towards the end of the Miranda's stay-over at Atlantis, Chris was feeling a lot better than he had been during the last mission. The back injury had finally stopped nagging him, he had taken a week of shoreleave in between weeks of CIC duty, and the sting of watching Janeen head back to Earth had gone away. He had talked to her a few times, but the outlook of them getting back together didn't seem good.

Somewhere in there they had found reason to promote him to JG. It had come out of the blue, with K'aa and his new Lt's pip simply dropping his new hollow one on his desk and walking away. Of course, a few seconds later everything made sense and much celebration followed. It meant he sat a lot more CIC chief shifts, which took away from his new primary job as chief analyst on Eianne's TAG team, but he made do.

Now it was time for a more exciting duty. He was standing in the reception area of Bay 6, where the USS Arapahoe had docked a few hours before. He was tasked to accept and confirm transfer of his sister from her interim cruise onto her official one aboard Miranda. He had checked in with the personnelist outside to do the paperwork, and now he just waited until she made her way out.

Ezzie came bouncing around the corner a few minutes later in her ever-upbeat manner. A few bags in tow, she saw her brother and started to walk a little faster with a smile on her face, which Chris returned. When she reached him, they embraced in a big bear hug.

"Brother!" she yelped as she hugged him. They let go and she looked at him. "Wow, you got promoted?!" Chris nodded. "Not bad for the member of '82 voted most likely to never make it past Ensign." She smirked.

Chris shrugged. "Ehh, well, you know how it is sometimes....even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while." He looked at the assortment of bags. "So, where's the rest?" He said it with a little venom in his voice. Ezzie had always been notorious for having more stuff than she would ever need.

"Oh, they beamed it over earlier." He grabbed two duffels from her, and the personnelist had her sign a PADD and then they were free to go. They started to walk back to the other side of the station and her waiting home.

"So where's Janie?"

"She left back to Earth a few weeks ago."

"You didn't tell me?"

Chris shrugged. "I didn't know you weren't talking to her. How was I supposed to know?"

"We've just been to busy to keep in touch. You OK about it?"

"We agreed to explore other options...but yeah, I'm fine."

Ezzie's response was to the point enough. "Liar."

Chris shrugged. "Whatever. You haven't told me everything about your past dating either."

She rolled her eyes. "Why, you want to kill them all?"

"No, but as big brother shouldn't I get some info once in a while?"

"Maybe...well, just so you know there was a boy on the 'Rap, but it wasn't anything serious."

Chris nodded. "Well, there's lots of single guys aboard, so you should be OK if that's the way you choose to go."

Ezzie shrugged. "What should I know about the Engineers?"

"Not much. I know they work hard. The chief, Commander Dawson, sounds cool, but I've never met him. You'll have to meet Lt De'dro...she's real nice and you'll get along well. Other than that, not much."

"OK, good. Guess I'll just have to explore."

"Hell, maybe you'll teach 'em a thing or two, Einstein."

She rolled her eyes again. "Right...the cadet teach the officers something."

"Hey, you never know."

"I guess." By now they were on the ship, outside her door. They entered and she placed her bags amongst the other cargo containers holder her stuff. Chris was in awe at the amount of crap she had. Before he could say anything, she abruptly changed the subject to another, less happy one.

"Talked to Bralen yet?"

"Ezzie--"

"Dammnit Chris! You're both ridiculous. Just call him. Who knows, maybe he's over it. He's out doing some research in less than safe territory and you two still refuse to speak."

"What, and getting attacked by the Borg isn't dangerous either? For God's sake Ezzie, I'm not going to try and rekindle a relationship with a brother who doesn't approve of what I, or You for that matter, do for a living!" One might have seen this as a fight between the siblings, but this was how things were when they talked about Chris' estranged brother.

"Just...please try Chris...please?"

"I'll consider it after this mission...which by the way, you got a doozie to come aboard for." He handed her a PADD.

"Oh really?" She scanned the PADD and noticed the number of times Hydrans and Romulans were mentioned.

"We're heading into Indian Country. Have a gun nearby."

The serious, work face on Chris was something Ezzie had rarely ever seen in her brother. She looked him in the eyes and nodded. "Right. Anything else?"

He shook his head. "Just have fun out here kid. Otherwise it gets boring real fast."

She smiled. "Thanks. Catch you later then?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Be seein' ya. It's good to have you around again." They hugged one more time and he left.

As he left, another one of the Tactical Ensigns, Ramos, walked by him. "Already moved on, Lt?"

Chris just stared at him strangely. "Dude, that's my sister."

"Oh." Ramos headed off, embarassed. Chris just shook his head and walked away. Janeen was right. If he didn't stop going big brother, he'd lose his hear by the end of the year.

"More Than Deserved, Less Than Desired"

(Takes place before M'Kantu departs for DS 5, about 2 1/2 months ago)

Principle Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Dr. June M'Kantu

****

Utopia Planetia
Deck 43
Dr. June M'Kantu's Quarters

She was setting the table when the doors to her assigned quarters rang.

June straightened a plate and then walked over to the door to greet her guest. "I was beginning to think they had had second thoughts about dropping the charges, Dar."

Daren didn't answer for a moment as he stepped into the room. "They... had other issues I needed to deal with; paperwork, forms, reports, all of that. I think the idea is to make even being cleared so painful an experience that Captain's will try and avoid being brought up on charges out of fear of the paperwork alone."

"What's the idea for officers that have obviously lost anything resembling intelligence, rationalization, and sanity?" June asked as she went to get the food. "I've heard that Breen is one of John Bhrode's better ideas."

"They promote them to Admiral," Daren replied with a sigh.

The smells from the food finally registered and he found his mouth watering at the idea of the traditional Tanzanian dishes. "Are we really having what it smells like we're having?" Where *had* June found a haunch of wildebeest? It wasn't as if there were herds of them running free on the surface of Mars, or there was an admiral missing. He stopped before going so far as to imagine Livia Proctor roasting on a spit - not because she didn't deserve it, but because he didn't want to ruin his dinner.

"I hope you like it." June said setting the dish before Darren. "I haven't made it in awhile."

"I tried the replicator version once," he admitted as he looked down at the plate. "But it tasted like cardboard." Privately he considered the real reason to be the fact that June hadn't been sitting at the table with him. Everything tasted like cardboard when he let himself remember that she wasn't there. That was why he drank his coffee and tea strong enough to strip duranium deck plating - so he could taste it at all.

"Well, I think it is slightly better than cardboard." June said with a smile.

Daren looked down at his plate and admitted to himself that if she smiled at him like while doing it, June could serve him Horta waste byproducts and he'd think they were the best meal he'd ever had. "You're too good a cook to make anything taste like cardboard - even cardboard," he said awkwardly, reaching for his fork.

Her smiled widened.

"When will you leave for Galaxy?" June said after they had taken a couple of bites of their meal.

"In four days. I'm done with the paperwork and reports, but Murdoch ordered me to take the time off before they load me on a high-speed shuttle and send me back to Galaxy." He frowned down at his plate. "I think that he knows something is about to happen and can't tell me what it is."

"That's typically Starfleet," she commented before switching topics. "I was thinking of staying for a few days longer myself."

Daren considered that for a moment. "I'd... like the chance to spend some time with you," he said as slowly and awkwardly as an ensign reporting his first critical failure to an impatient captain.

"I would like that as well." June replied. "However..."

"However?" No conversation with your wife that started with that word ever ended well, it was a Universal Law. Even if you weren't really married anymore.

"I'd like you to start being honest with me, Daren."

For a moment - just a short one, but a measurable span of time nonetheless - Daren almost asked 'What do you mean?' He had, however, actually learned something in the years he'd been married to June - legally and emotionally - and he didn't say it. Instead, he set his fork down, and met her eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"You're not telling me something." June replied. "I thought it might have been something to do with the trial but now I'm not so sure."

Well, there it was. He'd worried about it, feared it, and now the moment was here... and he realized that there was nothing *to* fear. All he had to do was tell her the truth. She might hate him, might never speak to him again... but she wouldn't be ashamed of him, and that would be enough.

"It isn't about the hearing, June. There were things I couldn't talk about regarding it, but they're not important."

June wiped her mouth gently with a napkin and then set it aside, her hands folded in her lap. "Go on."

"There are two things I should have told you years ago, and didn't. No excuses; I had reasons but they're unimportant. I just didn't know it at the time. It took all these years to realize that, though."

She frowned slightly, unconsciously tightening her hands. "And these two things would be?"

He took the path of least resistance first, and said the words that had always come easiest to him: "That I love you, and have never stopped loving you, June. Whether we're together or not, I will always love you."

Her frown eased into a smile. "I know that, Dar. I've always known that. You know that I..."

Daren took a breath, let it out, and let the words flow out with air from his lungs, "Bahiyah didn't die on Tevron VII."

The words died in her mouth and something sharp hit her chest, as it always did when her daughter's name was brought up. If it had been anyone else, she probably would have forgotten her maturity and had told them to do some unpleasant things with themselves, but this was Daren and Daren didn't say things that he didn't mean. Still...

"What?"

"She didn't die on Tevron VII, June." Strangely, the words seemed to slip out easily once he'd said them the first time. "I found her there, she told me that she'd been used by that..." he eliminated the first six words that came to him and went with the seventh "...piece of garbage that she'd been involved with to help set up the colony, thinking that they just steal things, not hurt anyone. I... I looked at her, and I couldn't do what I was supposed to do as an officer... so I did what I was supposed to do as a father, instead: I lied. I reported her as dead, I falsified the reports, and I helped her to get away, even though I knew it meant that I couldn't ever see her again... or that you likely couldn't, either." He kept looking at June, watching the expression change on her face so quickly that it was unreadable. "I don't know if it was right or wrong, but it's what I did. I should have told you long ago but I... couldn't. We were always on open coms, or being recorded by Livia Proctor most recently and..." he sighed. "I was afraid that you'd hate me for taking her away from you."

"I... alive?" June repeated, the concept not seeming to fit in her head or perhaps she was afraid that if she dared to say it out loud her daughter would be taken away from her again.

"Alive," Daren repeated gently.

She really couldn't have said how it happened only that it was sometime later that she found herself wrapped tightly in her ex-husband's arms. Apparently, she had been sobbing for some time.

"Where is she now?" June demanded. "Is she all right? Why didn't you tell me? When was the last time you spoke with her?"

"I don't know where she is," Daren admitted softly, trying to memorize the smell of June's hair and the way she felt in his arms so firmly that he would be able to remember it when he was tired and unable to sleep on the lonely nights aboard the Galaxy. "I haven't spoken to her since I helped her vanish, and she hasn't tried to get in touch with me through any of the channels I set up, so I have to assume that she's all right. Unless something's gone wrong, she's somewhere on the frontier, outside the Federation's boundaries. I left her to choose the place so I couldn't let anything slip at an inopportune moment." He took a breath and let it out slowly, savoring the *rightness* of holding June in his arms again, even though he knew that it wouldn't last.

"Why didn't you tell me, Dar?" There wasn't anger in her voice, only confusion.

Why hadn't he told her? What in Allah's name had he been thinking? "I was afraid," he said, his voice still soft and even, the words as much for himself as for June. "Afraid that you'd hate me for taking her away from you again. Afraid that I'd say something over an open com and cost her what freedom she has. Afraid that despite the fact I'd chosen her over the Fleet and my oath I'd done the wrong thing again. Just... afraid."

"I can't believe she's really alive." June whispered, holding him just as tightly. "My little girl is alive."

Daren didn't say anything for a time. "I should have told you," he finally offered. "I shouldn't have left you hurting all this time, all these years. I'm sorry June."

"Yes, you should have," she said softly. "But I forgive you. Bahiyah's alive."

"She's alive," Daren agreed. "I can't give you holiday dinners with her, or visits with grandchildren or any of the other things I know you wanted with her... but I can give you that, late as this is, at least."

"It's enough, Dar." June said after a moment's pause. "It's enough."

It was enough that she didn't hate him, and that she wasn't ashamed of him anyway. That was something. Actually it was more than he deserved... but that didn't stop him from wanting more as he stood there, holding June, and wanting to hear her say the words that he'd waited his whole life for and would wait the rest of it to hear again.

Strange Encounters

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG USS Galaxy

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath ACI Officer USS Galaxy

<<USS Galaxy Gym>>

Sweat. It was a good thing. An evil gross good thing. McAlister never did like it, it wiped the picture of femininity right off of her. Yet, staying physically in shape was important to the woman. Not that she didn't get enough during nightly activities, but that activity did not build muscle.

Meanwhile outside the gym was staring at the door... he had been for several minutes now, debating if he could ever really get enough of a work out to maintain his hieght Ronin abilities... he doubted it, and if he could, he would have to do it in such a way as to not attract attention.

'Maybe no one will be in there...' he thought to himself.

~And maybe I can walk on water...~ Madden sarcastically remarked.

'You can, moron... you just need to put on your special issue water walking boots, you can get the right beside the rocket boots you know...' Zev sniped back.

~Yes well... those are darn idiotic inventions...~

Raynor just shook his head and thought back, 'Sure they are...' and with that he openned the door. And of course it wasn't empty... its never empty... Raynor sighed and dragged the rest of his carcass through the door.

McAlister yanked her ponytail tighter as she grinned. "Hi!" She stated in a rather annoying perky tone. "Who are you?"

Raynor silently cursed, now he had to be all socially... then he became cheerful from his neutral expression. "Ensign Zev Raynor... Assisant Chief Intelligence Officer... and you?"

McAlister bit back a laugh as she viewed his expression. "Ensign Faylin McAlister.....Judge advocate. Please don't be chiper on my account, honestly, it does you no justice." She had to wonder if the academy taught the intell officers to have a stoic face constantly, or if they all just needed a powerfull Ferengi laxative.

Raynor must of been losing his touch, she noticed that he wasn't a grinning idiot already... eh he had been playing that card too long anyways, and with his new responisibilities ACI he couldn't really pretend to know nothing anymore. "On your account? This is for the children who will be watching this encounter years from now because the we don't throw out useless records... oh no we keep them, so that some analyst can decide what every move we make means later on," Raynor joked sarcastically... he was infact suprized that Federation Starships hadn't just figured out a way to store literally an infinite amount of information yet... but that was just him, and his overly simpilistic yet brilliant way of looking at the world.

"So how long you been here anyways?" Raynor asked, trying to make idle conversation.

McAlister bit her lip, trying to keep a straight face as Raynor rambled on. Try as she may, she couldn't keep quiet and permitted a light chuckle escape. She found sarcastic humor intellectual in nature, only certain people could carry it off. He did it. "Long enough to meet some interesting characters." She stated with a roll of her eyes. "You?"

Raynor looked at the clock... "Well, a minute or so... you saw me walk in..." Raynor stated, before answering seriously... "Been on board just over a year now..."

"I see. So, what are you into...anything other than being sarcastic and sneaky?"

"I'm into being God, Evil, Helpful, Satanic, Demonic, Good, Neutral, Immotral, Invincible, Laid, Laid Back, Hungry, Full, Thristy, Not Thristy, and pretty much everything inbetween... how about you?"

"Mmm, basically all incarnate then. I'm into men-any shape, form, or species except Gorn...., getting laid, being laid, having been laid, an angel attorney of God, the Devil's advocate, a bitch, mother, lover, sinner, saint....I think that's about it. A little redundant, but you get my point." Faylin finished with a quick wink.

'Wink? Oh hell's no... even I have standards,' Raynor thought to himself. Then again, he never actually been laid pyshically... of course there was that whole trying to aviod that whole accidental reproduction thing, but he had a good relationship with old righty, and he had gain an sightly amount of experience from dead guys to know that the first time he actually got around to doing it, he would be like a freaking porn star. Which would be weird given his virginity.

"Anyways... I'm going to run a few laps now... nice talking to you?" Raynor asked confused.

McAlister smirked. 'That went over like a ton of bricks.' She thought. "Look, I wasn't propositioning you. That's for prostitutes, and I have standards. Anyway....have a good one." She waved him off as she exited the gym.

Raynor watched her exit the gym... the things he did to look like an idiot... he would really have to set aside some time and feel embrassed every once awhile... but that would take too long now... So Raynor went for his run...

off: slight backpost

"A Simple Ceremony"

For'kel
Arel

****

She'd enlisted the Klingons to give For'kel a relatively hard time prior to the event, because that's what Klingons did best, but the actual ceremony was just between her and her brother.

Arel had decided to forego all the heavy black leather for this one and had instead wore a long sleeved brown shirt and loose black pants. She lit the candle between them, made sure the tea was ready, and then placed her only memento of her mother (an old picture of her mother and father hugging outside their home on Qo'nos) down on the table.

For'kel in turn layed a copy of his family amulet on the table. It was hand-crafted in the traditional manner, inscribed with Arel's name in Stagnorian on the bottom. It was a golden Stagnorian Eagle ironically created from gold, imagine that? It was superimposed over the ensign of the Confederacy, a four pointed silver star, ironically made of platinum, which in turn was encircled by a pine wreath, white gold borders with crafted emerald insets. "Strength and unity through peace" was etched into the tab on top of the wreath, one of the prophetic teachings that were particularly important... especially in these times.

One would have sworn that it was impossible to complete given everything else he'd been up to lately... and they would have been right if he'd waited until now. Fortunately, the ceremony had been on his mind for some time, and he came prepared.

"Tell me about your mother." Arel said.

"Le'lei Arvelion... she's 62 Terran years old, resides on Al'Klei'sh, has a position as a senior nurse in charge of staff at the district hospital in our town. She served in the Armada as a nurse for twenty years, it's the main reason my family ended up coming to this Quadrant. Had one child so far... specializes in epidemiology, lives in a simple house on the far side of the bridge."

It wasn't exactly easy to do, spill one's guts about a subject without a template for what should be said. "Met my father when he was injured in a training incident. They married when she was 25. Attained the rank of Master Tenente."

"My mother's name was Alena." Arel said. "Her was born on Earth and has Russian origins. I really only have faint memories of her because she died when I was young but Father tells me that she was a very gentle woman."

Arel smiled. "She liked to dance. She also liked the Klingons although she would have preferred to settle on Earth. I don't know much else about her background because she never told my father much."

He gave a quick nod, committing the facts to memory before looking up, the question of 'why' clearly echoing in his glance, even if it remained unspoken.

"We honor our mothers during this ceremony," Arel explained. "Because as we become brother and sister, we also share family. My mother is your mother, your mother is my mother."

"And our fathers?"

Arel shrugged. "This is perhaps the one ceremony where they are not as important. Perhaps because one is already expected to know one's father and his father before him."

"Fair enough." For'kel gave a small smile and quick nod. "What's next?"

"Drink the tea."

That seemed fairly simple. Usually Klingon ceremonies, at least from the popular belief, involved physical suffering verging on torture... this one had been, to this point, remarkably devoid of that. There had to be a catch... was the tea laced with something? Oh well, if it was, he would be avenged. Without hesitation, he took a sip.

Arel did the same. "That's it."

"That's it?" Now he was 'really' confused. "No ceremonial cutting or combat?"

"Well," Arel drawled. "I could kick your ass now and *then* conclude that we're brother and sister if you want."

For'kel chuckled. "You could try, soritar, I doubt you'll get far."

She smiled. "Thank you for being my brother."

"Thank you for being my sister. For future reference..." For'kel placed his hands on her cheek, and leaned his forehead against hers. "This is how Stagnorian families greet each other. It's equivalent to a Terran hug."

"Easy to headbutt someone you're pissed at." Arel commented.

He smirked. "It's a sign of trust and compassion. You wouldn't do it to someone you feared you'd headbutt."

"I don't know," Arel admitted. "I get cranky sometimes."

"Into the Mix"

Captain Margarethe Vogler
Commanding Officer, USS Exeter

Commander Marc Reardon
Executive Officer, USS Exeter

Bridge, USS Exeter -- en route to Romulus

"Captain's Log, Stardate 60104.7 . . . . After two months in dry dock the Exeter is once again on the active duty list. And while it's good to get away from the meetings, desk duty and shoreleave and return to action, never in my wildest dreams would I have predicted that Starfleet would be sending us to join the task force recently dispatched to aid in the defense of the Romulan homeworld while the Imperial Fleet takes on the Hydrans. They're fighting a losing battle in my opinion, given Romulan stubbornness in not asking for direct military aid, and the initial reports that have been flying across every comm relay from here to Velara don't paint a pretty picture either. Still, in the name of stability in the quadrant -- not to mention our own self-interest -- I don't suppose there's anything else we can do for the moment but wait and see.

"The crew has gotten back up to speed as quickly as I could have hoped and to a man has already shown the level of focus and effort that a mission of this nature requires. Save for my most senior officers, it is largely a young crew, but they're energetic, creative and full of youthful zeal; I think they'll perform admirably. Unfortunately we are also about twenty-five percent less than a full complement; ideally, I would have insisted on getting our numbers back to what they should be before going anywhere, but the urgency of the situation didn't permit. I suppose such luxuries as exobiologists, yeomen, intel liaisons and counselors will have to be left for the more well-to-do.

"Speaking of the well-to-do, on a personal note I'm looking forward to seeing Daren M'Kantu again. I haven't seen him since our days in the Academy, and while I won't bet my commission that he'll remember me, I certainly remember the man whose keen mind was as strong as the leg he kicked me with during a co-ed soccer match our junior year. To this day I still feel a hint of tenderness just below my left knee now and again.

"I am not personally acquainted with Captain Summers, though it is my understanding that he has Murdock's personal stamp of approval following his service during the Dominion War; and that, as they say, is good enough for me.

"At this point we are estimated to arrive at Romulus to rendez-vous with the task force in ten-ish hours, so I think while things are calm around here this would be a good opportunity to spend a little time getting to know the crew. It always gets their blood flowing when they see 'The Iron Frau' standing a couple meters behind them. End Log."

"What do you think, Marc?" the well-seasoned but still fleet of mind and body woman asked. Having put the finishing touches on her log entry, she stood and turned to her first officer. "Engineering or Sickbay?"

The forty-ish man standing not far behind gave a conspiratorial smirk. He knew that while she was eminently fair and dedicated to her crew, she still loved to put the fear of God into them now and again with her unannounced visits.

"I think you just might have time for both, Captain."

With a wink and a click of her tongue, she pointed at him approvingly. "That's why you get the big bucks. The con's yours -- see you in a few hours."

"Cats on a Starship"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan, Security Chief
And Ensign Regenna Holmes, OPS USS Galaxy

Location: Security Central, Deck 36

Soundtrack: "The Seed 2.0" By The Roots (feat. Cody Chestnutt)

"Bored... bored... bored...." James muttered to himself, tossing casually a phaser energy clip up in the air, catching it with one palm, then repeating the process, "A... f**king... bored."

Since returning from Romulus, and not missing at all the overbearing security precautions the citizenry below took for granted (but rankled on poor Starfleeters not used to having spooks follow their every move), James had looked forward to returning to his duties, refreshed and ready for all that was going to be thrown at him. And so he fell onto the reports about his stay on Romulus, the reports on the Jem'Hadar still in their cargo bays, and the general reports that used to pile on his desk.

The lack of stress, released once James and Mika worked out their endangered relationship, made for carefree work.

It also made for quicker work than usual. James was done and still with energy to burn. That left him with a few hours of time to kill on his shift, and nothing to do.

No emergencies. Nothing.

The Jem'Hadar were uncharacteristically quiet, and so too were the squads that watched them. The words 'nothing to report' have become a mantra for those involved.

The Romulans were through giving him more grief about his visit planetside. Even the unannounced way in which he and girlfriend Mika came was smoothed over. He was also surprised when his Captain didn't decide to pursue the matter, even though breaking a custom or two and being red flagged by the local authorities would have most certainly pissed James off if his security officers did the same, daughter's birth or not.

There was nothing. Nothing at all.

And so he was bored.

James looked for anyone else. All that was left in the security office was Lieutenant T'lan, his Vulcan deputy, manning the security console. Her placid, emotionless face didn't betray any boredom, but neither was it proven that Vulcans never got bored manning inactive consoles. Lieutenant Walter Marsh was in their armoury, cleaning the type three phaser rifles and placing them in order starting my serial number.

James thought of joining Walter in sorting the rifles, but decided to pester the Vulcan instead.

"Hey Lieutenant." James asked T'lan. She rotated on her office chair, her head tilted to as what was going on, "Tell me... do Vulcans get bored?"

James prepared to duck. Even under the confines of no emotions and pure logic, T'lan still managed to pull off very plithy remarks. She said, "Sir, Vulcans never get bored. We always have problems to solve."

T'lan had James at curious, "Oh yeah? What are you working on?"

T'lan responded, "The standard technique to preoccupy a Vulcan's mind, as taught by early childhood, is to think of a logic problem and try to solve it. When it is solved, we move onto the next problem. As we grow older, we expand our problem solving repetoire with problems from our professions. Since I am versed in security measures and engineering, I am currently thinking over the problem presented to me by my electron imprint collider that I am using in my telescope back in my quarters. When I solve that problem, I will turn to my analysis of the Earth/Romulan war in which I only received a ninety nine percent in my academy history course, and try to find the error that contributed to the one percent drop in my mark. After that, I have many more to think about. I have enough to think about, given my expertise, to last me one month, twelve minutes and fifteen seconds, a number that increases as I learn more and encounter more problems. What I don't know is supplimented by reading, learning and experimenting, which multiplies the time I spend trying to solve problems. Therefore in theory, a Vulcan can never get bored."

"Facinating!" James grinned, "What do you do when you run out of problems?"

T'lan looked at him seriously, "Then we talk to humans."

"Ohhhhhh... ouch." James looked pained.

Not for long.

A faint, pleading 'boopboop' called his attention from a console over at the communications hub in security central. Lieutenant T'lan waved James over as her hand clasped on her communications earpiece. Lieutenant Walter Marsh also heard the beeping, and came over to the console, as thouroughly bored as James and anxious to answer a summon.

"Oh thank god!" Walter exhaled, "Something to do."

"Something to do alright." James Corgan perked up, "I've been waiting to do something other than suck space vacuum all day. Patch 'em in, T'lan."

"Affirmative Sir." T'lan flickered on the viewscreen, as James and Walter huddled closer.

On the screen appeared a young woman, an ensign with a yellow collar, OPS or maybe engineering. She was quite a looker but at the moment, her face was splotchy with tear stains. Her dark hair was not confined neatly to a bun or pony tail. It was wild around her face. Her uniform and face had dirt smudges on it. She was breathing hard with occasional hitches as happens when someone has just stopped a major crying fit.

"Hey boss." Walter Marsh quipped, "You get to be the knight in shining armour again."

James fired back. "Shut up, Lieutenant. Try to keep a semblance of professionalism in front of the young ensign. She's distraught." He scolded his lieutenant, who wore a faked and pained expression on his face as he shrugged off the verbal warning shot.

Come to think of it, the Ensign was pretty, if not enough out of the ordinary to halt James in his tracks. Being older and less of the misguided young gentleman that saw any attraction as love, he could look at the Ensign with a dispassionate eye, acknowledge her attractiveness, and leave it as nothing more. The tears and puffed red eyes were a heart yanking touch, encouraging him to take more care with this officer. Ensigns were fragile creatures emotionally, prone to break if an officer of authority, much less a security officer that could tower over her and use a phaser rifle as efficiently as most people used stylus writers. He had to be careful with this one.

T'lan added, breaking James out of his daydream, "It is noted Commander that you have three point six eight to one ratio of call responses in favour of females. You are in a permanent mating arrangement, are you not?"

Sheepish at first, James snapped to reality long enough to aim his sarcastic jibes at T'lan. "Ixnay, logic bomb! Shut... up..." James hiss off cuff though tightly clinched teeth, to which T'lan raised an eyebrow and returned to manning the console, a round won by the Vulcan officer for the time being. James demeanor turned to sunshine when he turned his attentions back to the ensign on the screen, "This is security, Commander James Corgan speaking. Anything I can help you with?"

"Um, security office? I'm Ensign Holmes. Regenna Holmes. I -- I have a problem. Um, I asked my on duty OPS officer -- but, uh, they couldn't help right now. There's a sensor diagnostic and they, um, can't help with what they would need to to, um, find him. They, uh, told me to contact you -- security. To contact security. That you could help. I've looked everywhere. I just don't know what to do. He doesn't know the ship at all. We just came on board a, uh, week ago and he's been in my quarters -- the whole time. Can, um, you help me find him?"

"Ok... let's see what I can do." James flipped a PADD into his hand, starting off the initial report. "Ok, I doubt it's a crewmate. They tend to keep their badges on them... so that leaves common housepet, wild animals, specimens and subservient sentient beings and since we keep tabs on the middle two and the federation bans slaves... that leaves a housepet, correct?"

"Oh. Spellbreaker. He's a cat, uhhh, a Terran cat. He's black. Totally black. I found him on the USS Frankford. He was a stowaway and they told me I could have him. I woke up this morning and he wasn't in my quarters. He -- he was there when I went to bed, curled up at my feet. And I KNOW I secured the door. I even verified it -- with the computer. But he's not in my quarters now. I even took a tricorder and scanned them to be sure when the sensors were unreliable due to the -- the diagnostic. He's is NOT here. I don't know how -- how he got out, but he DID. I need to find him. Please, help."

"Sure, no problem Ensign. We can find your kitty in no time. Let's see here... T'lan, find the file on Spellbreaker." He directed, a second later the Vulcan had Spellbreaker's profile on a separate screen. "Lets see... domestic shorthair. Pure black... no red tones in the fur or white hairs whatsoever, that's rare by the way... a male tom. Un-neutered. Ahhhh... your boy kitty is probably looking for a girl kitty in the jeffries tubes. We have problems with pets running off like that all the time, like dogs and Cardassian Voles, especially when they get into season. Don't worry. We'll retrieve your cat and bring him back to you in time for the Ten Forward meet and greet. I just need you to do me a favour."

Regenna's eyes widened. She wondered what he needed her to do. She was very upset which wasn't good for her or anyone else. Her inner shielding was fading at points. She didn't want to collapse in a heap if they failed completely. But she knew that if she didn't calm down there was a good chance that they would. She took a deep breath and replied, "What can I do for you, sir? How can I help?"

James requested, a confident smile on his lips, "I'm getting an unknown heat signature in the jeffries tubes that looks like a terran housecat. We'll need you to help identify the cat, and maybe even bring him out. He'll trust you more than us goons. Meet us at turbolift junction 18C on deck 25. Corgan out."

As the screen winked out, James breathed a sigh of relief. So far, he put a rosy spin on the job without upsetting the Ensign further. He had a close call when he almost slipped the word 'identify body' instead of 'identify cat, but overall handled the upset woman well. After all, it was not as if there was anything tougher in those turbolifts, and there were only a few pet species that had the adaptablility, survivial instincts and ferocity of a terran housecat in heat. Still, there were dangers and it was best not to mention them all, even if he thought of them.

Though he could have been frank with the Ensign, there was the crying from before, and he couldn't bear to see those pure black eyes well up again...

He thought back to her eyes. His own widened in fear.

"F**k." James muttered, "She's going to be more scared than ever."

T'lan said, "She is part Betazoid. The dark irisis are a clear indication..."

"Don't start, Lieutenant." James sighed dejectedly, "Just... don't. We'll have to do this job by hand. No phasers on stun. No animal catchpoles or nets. We'll have to do this by hand. Besides... it's just a goddamn housecat. What's the worse it can do?"

T'lan was about to pipe up, but James intercepted her words with a stern wave of his finger. "Don't start." He warned again. T'lan left the issue with another one of her raised eyebrows.

James whispered to Marsh in return, "Bring the tranquilizer gun just in case."

*****

Regenna frowned at the screen as it went dark. She could swear that she had felt something bad as he signed off but she couldn't get a handle on it. Not unusual for her. And she didn't really want to know what he was feeling. She hated it when it happened. She knew she had to get to Deck 25 but she needed to get herself under control first. She had to lock down her empathy or things would get ugly, mostly for herself.

She sat in the chair and closed her eyes, breathing deeply and looking inward. After three minutes, she opened her eyes and sighed. She hoped that would be enough to keep her stabilized. She thought that it would as long as she didn't lose control of her own emotions again. She got up and hurried to the turbolift, instructing it exactly where to take her.

*****

"Heeeeeeerrrrreeee... kittykittykitty." James crooned in the turbolift, carrying his voice across the access ducts like a sweet pied piper. He tapped the conduits, repeating a clunking metal sound.

Finding the animal and isolating it in a section of the ship was easy enough to do. Closing key access shafts kept the housecat hemmed in. It was just a matter of retrieval.

From what James remembered, wrangling terran cats that didn't want to be caught was in a difficulty level easily up there with targ wrestling and solar wind surfing.

=/\=T'lan to Corgan. We are in position. Awaiting retrieval.=/\= His Vulcan officer announced.

James impatiently tapped his badge, "Corgan to T'lan, acknowledged. Keep me appraised of the animal's position. Activating heads up display. Accessing your tricorder readings... now." He flicked on the small eyepiece. A dot in the center of the orange field pounded out a pulse; the motion sensor that mapped the jeffries tube and kept track of other movements, with James as its nexus.

"Motion tracker activated. All's clear. Direct me." James said.

=/\=Thirty eight meters, north. Target is immobile at this time.=/\= Said the impassive T'lan.

"Approaching." James crawled on all fours stealthily. "Marsh, if he runs, get the dart gun ready and intercept at corridor 12 c."

"Aye sir. I'm already there."

"Good. Carrying on."

His legs and arms made a clank clank sound on the floor grilles, even though he was crawling as quietly as he could. The motion tracking HUD pinged in his ear like a tinny bell in his ear. He looked left and right at an intersection. There was not a cat in sight.

But his motion tracker pinged off. A small blip on the screen hung around on the periphery, right where T'lan promised.

"Corgan to team, I have the target on my tracker. Moving in." He whispered, slowing to keep quieter. His breathing went shallow, the ping of his tracker the only sound he made. Creeping closer, the dot indicating the cat came closer to his own, until he was near an intersection where he would be withing sight of the elusive creature. His breathing transitioned from shallow to ragged. He felt an itch in the air, his nose tickle. The pings of his tracker became more rapid as they came closer. James willed himself not to itch anymore. His crawl became a plod. The itch overwhelmed his nose. The pings thumped like pulse fire. He itched. It pinged. He didn't breathe.

He heard the scamper of tiny feet for one second, and found that in one shake to dislodge a cathair from the top of his nose, the ping disappeared.

"Hell." Sighed the resigned and failed cat catcher, "T'lan, I spooked the little bastard. I must have an allergy to him or something. I'm coming back out. We'll try again elsewhere."

=/\=Sir, that may not be necessary.=/\= T'lan crackled.

"Oh? How so?" James dared.

There was a long pause, with James waiting and T'lan holding back. Finally, she said, "Facinating. I had that hatch sealed."

"What are you talking about? What's going on here Lieutenant?"

The ping returned to his motion tracker. This time, it was rapidly approaching. "Incoming, six o'clock!" James bellowed, and in trying to turn around as fast as he could, banged his head on top of the jeffries tube. "Ow! F**k!" He swore with venom and hatred. The brief second his focus was off the motion tracker, he had missed the ping's movement; turning back to it he found an object approaching his rear at an amazing pace.

"It's coming!" James alerted. The pings went off with a machine gun patter. He successfully turned around again.

"MMrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww..... FFFFFSSSSSHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

He was face to face with a black cat, crouched in a pouncing position, its hindquarters wiggling as if poised for a strike.

James hadn't enough time to react, much less scream.

*****

Regenna got to the junction and stepped off of the lift. She looked around but didn't see anyone. She walked down the corridor towaards the panel leading to the tube and bent over to remove it when it swung open towards her. She fell backwards onto the deck in shock. Staring at the officer crouched in the opening, her mouth gaped open and she gasped, "You scared me."

James looked ernestly at the Ensign, and said to her with calm and aplomb, "Oh, hello there. Sorry to keep you worried like that Ensign, but I was able to retrieve the cat. No bodily harm has been done to him and I was able to keep him contained while you arrived."

He emerged from the jeffries tube, tiny needle like scratches on his face and hair mussed up as if mauled by a vicious animal. When he emerged from the jeffries tube, it was with a midnight black housecat clamped on his back, its claws hooked into his uniform and digging deeper into the flesh in his back. The cat's hindlegs would bat and rake furiously, as of yet undetermined if it was an attack or an attempt to get a better grip (the result was the same, sending a shiver though James that was not mistaken for anything other than discomfort). Spellbreaker's fangs would sink viper quick and viper deep into James exposed neck, drawing a tiny speckle of blood but otherwise astonishing the cat over the human's thick hide, yet not detering the cat from trying again.

Keeping as calm as possible with an attacking housecat digging into his shoulders, James said, "Trying to throw him off only makes his claws dig deeper. Please get him off."

"I'll try." With that, the young ensign held out her hand towards the cat and murmurred, "Here, kittie, here sweetie. Come here Spellbreaker. Let's go home."

The exhausted feline sniffed the air and, releasing his claws dropped to the ground and with his tail in the air, he walked regally over to the brunette. "Meow!" He vocalized and then leaped into her arms, purring.

Regenna petted the cat in her arms as she smiled at the security chief. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your help. I think I had better get him back to my quarters and try to figure out how he got out in the first place."

"Heh heh... no problem, Ensign. Just make sure your vents are properly secured and your cat has some holographic prey to chase and he'll be fine." James sheepishly smiled at Regenna, and scowled deeply at Spellbreaker. "Meanwhile, I suggest a tracking collar. Also, neutering will help weed out his more... aggressive impulses." James said the last word with an extra ichorous spite. Spellbreaker, as if knowing exactly what James meant, had a steely, hellspawn gaze for James as a warning.

~"Round one is yours, you little... bugger. I don't care if you owner's a psychic. I still don't like you."~ James halted his own thoughts. The cat, with an air of superiority as if to say 'that's right, I won', buried itself in Regenna's arms to play off her sympathy. He hardly needed to imagine hard and deep how Regenna felt about his surface emotions involving the cat.

The tired ensign carried the exhausted feline into the turbolift and spoke, "Deck 2." The doors swished closed on the pair, leaving the security detail standing in the corridor.

"Hey boss." Marsh butted in, "A cat kicked your ass."

"A logical deduction to a logical conclusion." T'lan chimed in.

James shot a hateful glance at his deputies. He warned with the confidence of heaven's wraith, "This never... ever... happened. Ever. Got it? Good."

"An Old Friend"

Dr. Katara Elarin, ACMO, USS Miranda
Navarre Shinta, Former CC, USS Miranda

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

Katara sat down in her quarters and poured herself a small glass of Kanar, she never usually drank but today she felt like a bit of a change. She sipped the liquid and leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes and smiled. She felt like doing something long overdue.

"Computer...display contact details for Navarre Shinta."

"Bajor." It came up with a connection number.

"You have and interstellar call." Her communication device beeped. Shinta came out of her easy chair to make the connection, curious who was calling her. She was almost back to her old self. First there had been a difficult operation to restore the balance in her brain. Then she had fought to get her license back, which involved many hours of therapy. Therapy she was still receiving. Right now she was relaxing in their hands on bajor. The children were settled going to school and enjoying the company of their great-grandparents.

"Navarre here."

"Shinta." Katara said as she looked at the woman on the screen "Must we be so formal?" She smiled at her friend.

The bajoran smiled. "Katara what a surprise! How are you, are you in the neighbourhood?" Shinta asked.

"If only that were true...no we're headed out to meet the Galaxy at present. It's been a long day and I just felt like a talk." She pulled up the chair at her desk and switched on the monitor. "So," She Began. "How are you Shinta?"

"I am well, my friend. The last couple of months have not been easy. But I am on my way to recovery." She smiled. "But how are you? Anything particular you need to talk about?"

"I just felt like a talk and a catch up between everything else that's happened in the last little while I felt like talking to a familiar face. I see your living on Bajor at the moment. Holiday or are you working there now?"

"Recovering still. And enjoying my own planet's heritage. It's good for the kids as well to spend time with their great grandparents. I am not thinking about working again yet. Taken a year off. How about you?"

"Oh you know me, keeping myself busy. It's been a long few months."

"Trouble?" She asked still very interested about her old shipmates.

"Where do I begin...I suppose News filtered back about Jordan?" Katara's voice took on a more sombre tone, thinking back to the events which changed so much much in such a short space of time.

"Yes, I heard. At least some of it. I don't know how much is true." Shinta said. She had not known the other woman very well.

"She was a good person, a person I never really knew until after the fact. I just hope she finds some peace and that she and Jii will be together again someday."

"They will. I think they definitely will."

"Apart from that we've had French revolutionaries running around sickbay, a clinically depressed android, been catapulted to the furthest reaches of space and back and, oh yeah, had a funny ghost like thing roaming the place..." Katara paused. "Were things always like this, or did I miss something when I applied to come aboard?"

"It sounds like nothing has changed." Shinta said laughing. "And I guess you wouldn't want it any other way. So tell me about your life excluding work!"

"Is there such a thing...I've been trying to keep fairly busy. Catching up on reading and the like. In all honesty when I've finished a days work work I just like to turn up the heat, turn down the lights, and relax. And yes, Shinta, before you ask I am still single."

"I wasn't asking." The bajoran said laughing. "I am glad you are doing well, and keeping in touch. I hope we can meet each other again soon. I will be spending time on earth as well if bajor is awkward for you."

"I'd like that, it'd be nice to see the children again too. How're they getting on by the way? I imagine they're enjoying not being couped up on a starship all day."

"They love it. And they needed after what happened to James. I don't see myself taking a position on a ship any time soon again. Haven't decided what I want yet, now that I have my licence back. I might decide to go into private practice."

"Well...I dare say the hours will be better." Katara said with a smile. "Seriously though, I'm glad the children are doing well and I think it would be a shame if you didn't keep working as a counsellor, you have a real gift for it."

"Don't worry, I will stay involved with counselling. And thank you for the heads up, it means a lot, my friend."

"Well that's what friends are for, and I'd be more than happy to provide you with a reference if you wanted one...not thought you'd need one, your credentials do speak for themselves."

She grinned. "Thank you. And I hope we will see each other soon."

"Yeah..." Katara breathed. "Me too Shinta. Take care of yourself."

"You too, my friend." The bajoran said.

"Oh before you go, like I said we're meeting the Galaxy. Anyone you want me to give your regards to?

She smiled. "That brings back even more old memories. I am not sure who is still on board. Karyn maybe, if she is give her my regards. And ask her to drop by soon."

"I'll do that, stay safe Shinta." Katara tapped the console and ended the transmission before sitting back down onto the sofa for a nice, quiet, relaxing evening.

"Lessons Learned"

Commander Na'sav Lorem
Commanding Officer

Lieutenant Commander Sorena
Executive Officer

USS Vigilant

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

It was practically impossible to find a place to oneself on a Defiant Class starship. It wouldn't have been 'so' difficult for him had he not made things difficult for himself by insisting the room set aside for actual CO's quarters be transformed into a recreation room, but hey, he'd always made self-depricating choices... it was part of who he was. Most considered it downright stupid... despite appearances to the contrary a philosophy of 'do for yourself before others' was still a powerful force in the Galaxy. As a result, and he was convinced it was an attempt at defending an untenable position, the seeming majority that advocated said position tended to shove people like him around as 'push-overs'.

It was, as he had once learned, a very good characteristic to have. It allowed people to view you in simple terms... and allowed one to hide things, essentially, in plain sight.

That was but one lesson he'd learned over his (relatively) young life. The best place to hide things was in plain sight. A second, equally important and similar lesson that he'd picked up as a young man was, that sometimes, despite the seeming intentions of the universe, or the prevaling tendencies of those that proclaimed they knew better, self-sacrifice in the name of kindness, mercy, was a virtue that allowed for rewards. Against the way of things, the good didn't always die young, nor did they need finish second.

Laying in his bunk, his mind started drifting back to exactly 'when' he'd learned that lesson. The combat drills were over, they'd be at Romulus in a couple of hours... Sorena had promised to wake him when they were about to. The crew was on temporary stand down, and now it was simply a matter of time of waiting.

Waiting... waithing... and (yawn) waiting some more.

As he was waiting, his eyes grew heavy. Hell, he was the Captain, he could afford to rest his eyes for a bit. If the ship started shaking, or they 'really' needed him, they would come and get him. It wasn't as if he had to be 'totally' alert...

His mind darted back to when he first picked up his lessons... both times were, well, stories that could be told, but likely never would. =============================================

(SCP Se'lon- Costal Patrol Corvette, Gamma Quadrant- 2365)

Then Apprentice Na'sav Lorem pulled out the black vest from it's storage locker in the boarding team's staging room. By Terran standards he was all of 17 years of age, just out of the basic educational system, out of recruit training, and was now completing a 'hands-on' advanced training program in customs enforcement. It was going to be the 'very' first time he was being taken on a boarding party. Boarding parties were considered to be elite in the Costal Patrol, the proverbial bread and butter of their operations... sufficing to say for a young man looking for that kind of status, to be selected for one was indeed special, and helped his ego in no small way. It felt heavy. Rather than the typical, light fabric of a duty uniform, he was wearing an expedition outfit, which was heavier, and had the virtue of micro-fibers that absorbed and dispersed the energy throughout it's entirety... and did a lot to prevent the concussion damage caused by energy weapons. Atop of this body armor, sat an armored vest which in addition to having a great deal of utility pockets... which prompted one to weigh themselves down with a great many optional pieces of equipment. He had the required weapon, a typical Stagnorian phase-disruptor pistol, model SA-7, in a holster on his right thigh. Just under his left knee was tied a sheath, containing one standard utility combat knife... he had to laugh, what other military would be comfortable enough with their professionalism to use an item with the acronym of SUCK? On the back, side pannels of his vest, two canteens rested. Yeah, it was going to be a 'real' short mission, but when one is brand new to things they don't always take what's needed as often as they took what they were trained to bring with them... mission perameters be damned. Marena couldn't help but shake her head and laugh. She got a bit of a kick watching the rookies work... particularly as it wasn't too long ago that she was in their shoes. "Na'sav..." she murmured, correcting him gently when he turned. "We're going on an inspection, not a field exercise. You don't 'have' to carry 'all' of that with you."

Na'sav looked down at the equipment he'd packed up already. "Umm, err... what do I bring?" "What you will need affid, based on common sense." "If it's based on common sense, perhaps I 'should' bring everything." He smirked. She chuckled in a fairly melodic fashion, a characteristic among his people really... they all liked to laugh. "You can laugh at yourself, a good trait for any student." "Aim to please, afidav." "Prophets, Apprentice Lorem!" A masculine voice tinged with experience, or age, shouted. Boot falls echoed the words as he came up, the team's leader... and ultimately the man responsible for his performance evaluation walked up. "Going to fight a war I don't know about?!" "No afid!" He answered simply, snapping to attention. "Then what the 'hell' is with all this?!" "Thought it best to be prepared for everything possible, afid!" That got Senior Tenente Al'am laughing. He was the kind that enjoyed putting those under him in these kinds of situations, and even more a quick response. "And the impossible it would seem." Slapping the kid on the back, Al'am made his way down the line, inspecting the other five that would be coming. Sure enough, they were all ready. "Okay, listen up. The CLE thinks that 'this' freighter is a possible runner... there's been higher than normal activity in this area as of late. We're going to inspect the crew, the ship, and the navigation systems. Be on alert for any signs of tampering, any signs of unreported life-forms, or illicit contraband in the holds or secret compartments. Remember the SOPs... now pair off and let's get going." Marena gave him a punch in the arm... ow. "Come on buddy, let's go." It wasn't long before her voice filled the entire cutter with the words "boarding virgin walking the line!" Sometimes the followers of E'doni were too much, he thought to himself, his cheeks flushed red as he was left following her lead.

{{OOC: This is our Challenger plot-arc finale. I realize most of you are swamped by the massive amount of posting right now, so even if you don't have to it now – I urge you to keep this one for later, and you won't regret it. Ian, if you could archive this at the end of 'Open Fist', I would be thankful - Ed. Note: "I don't feel like it. Too much to do, and too much of a pain to do it. Sorry".

Finally, I'd like to dedicate my part in this to Srgt. Jonathan Einhorn, the cousin of someone very close to me, who - like the fictional crew of the Challenger - will never return home from the battlefield.}}

"Let This Be Your Last Battlefield" - part 1 : "No Angel Wings"

Galaxy :

Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer

Ensign Running Tree, Engineer

Turan Trelar, juvenile ambassador and engineering trainee

Lieutenant 8-ball Hunter, Chief Science Officer

Ensign Artim, Science Officer

Challenger :

Commander Regina Mulrave, Executive Officer (Michael)

Lieutenant Commander Audris Schneider, Intelligence liaison (Oded)

Lieutenant Rhon Aclestone, helmsman (Marco)

Lt. Gianna Crestine, Chief Science Officer (Lori)

Ensign Rob Crestine, Science Officer (Kylee)

* * * 2383, USS Galaxy, Deck 21 * * *

The engineering laboratory was crowded with officers who recently returned from Cheron, all hunched over the technicians' table where the tall Quentite and the attractive science chief were carefully prodding the Challenger's flight recorder.

Saul Bental, naturally, was standing on the front row with a clear view of the setup used to decode the flight recorder. For the entire journey from Cheron back to the Galaxy, he was eager to see what the small device had in store. It was like being a young kid waiting for the next installment in his favorite holovid show. And now, the opening commercial will soon be over and the actual show will start. The anticipation and suspense were almost overwhelming.

8-ball hated to admit it. . .she hated to admit when anything about work was interesting. . .but she was sitting on the edge of her seat too, so to speak. She was actually lounging back in her chair, idly playing with a few strands of her dark hair, but she couldn't feel as casual as she appeared. Exploring with Running Tree, as frustrating and irritating as that was, had made her more than just curious about the lives of these people on this ship, particularly the married couple from Sciences. In anthropology, it was so rare that you knew anything but some bones and some tool making traditions. Here, they had bits of real lives . . .and they were about to see how those lives ended.

Running Tree stood there with his arms crossed, watching in curiosity. Artim stood back a bit, not really concerned much with this piece of human history. He was a tad curious since he'd been dragged aboard the ship. The more pressing concern to him were those missing warheads. Well, maybe all this would answer one question.

Turan wiped away a small brook running down his temple and his cheek. He checked the device's pin layout once, twice .. over and over. Nevertheless, the feeling of uncertainness didn't vanish. The tall Quentite looked up from the table to catch a nod of approval.

8-ball tried not to look at him. This was so not about their stuff. Instead, she caught Turan's eye and repressed a smile . . .he looked so cutely nervous. "Go ahead, Turan," she told the Quentite.

"Ok" murmured Turan "resistance is futile ..." and fumbled the old age style much to filigrane plug into the flight recorders interface "... if less than one Ohm."

Like magic, the tables display came to life.

"Flight recorder USS {registration number} Challenger

Please wait while booting ..."

followed by a rather long list of technical and diagnostic output of an obviously antiquated operating system residing on the box. After a few few seconds the techno-babble ended

"Boot sequence complete. No avionic information input devices found. Device not installed or host system not responding. Switching to maintenance mode.

Enter your choice: (H for help)"

Turan smiled. Flight recorder was responding. The 'oracle' decided to wake up to answer the audience's questions.

Running Tree looked at Turan expectantly, thinking the large boy-man would be able to figure it out.

* * * 2160, USS Challenger, Battle bridge * * *

The doors gave way, and she let her left foot advance into the boundaries of the battle bridge. Such a small motion, barely requiring energy, yet with so much meaning to her.

On her way from her quarters to the bridge, Audris contemplated on her present situation. Given the circumstances, this could be her last bridge duty. She was a fool, and tossed her career away, only space knows why. Audris was a firm believer in consequences, and she would accept the results of her actions no matter how severe they will be. Right now, however, there was work to be done.

She could feel the security guard's breath on the back of her neck, and turned back to glare at him. She had no problem with being escorted by him, but he could be a little more polite toward someone who outranked him by far.

But the guard in his silent and uncomfortable way was right. There was no reason to delay it any further.

Audris entered the battle bridge, and in the most natural manner took the empty CO's seat.

Silence fell on the battle bridge crew as they realized who was going to be their commander for the duration of the combat. Rumor that something unusual was going on with the intelligence liaison already spread its wings, coupled with the uneasy feeling among the ship's crew which wasn't only noticed by Audris herself.

An ice cold wind seemed to rush through the room. The uneasy rumor instantly changed into an uneasy deathly silence. Lieutenant Aclestone swiveled is seat to look for the reason. To a certain degree the helmsman felt relieved. With the intelligence Lieutenant Commander manning the center seat he no longer was the highest ranking officer on the battle bridge.

"Commanding Officer on the bridge!" he reported.

Rob stood at attention and watched Audris from behind the Science Station. Last he heard, she had got caught poking around in the things that she wasn't supposed to be sniffing around, and had wondered if he was going to be thrown down in the brig with her. Apparently her fortunes had changed just a bit in the last few hours.

Rob's fortunes had changed as well, and he wasn't sure if they had changed for the better. He wasn't sure how he had pulled the short straw for battle bridge duty . . .there were plenty of other, senior rank officers on the ship who usually were here when the big things were about to happen. He didn't mind so much except that he wished he was with Giana. There was a feeling go around the ship, pre battle blues, probably, and Rob wanted to be close to his wife. There was no way to protect her from here.

But Giana was on the main bridge, and Rob couldn't change that. He'd just have to focus on the task at hand.

Audris leaned toward him, whispering in his ear. She summarized what

happened to her only collaborator, starting with stalking Raj into the Delilah module and ending with her release from the bridge. The German did not believe in overburdening with details, so it did not took more than a couple of seconds.

Rob *did* believe in details. . . but sometimes he didn't have the words appropriate for a situation, or, in this case, the very bare skeleton of what had happened to Audris. Instead of speaking, he let his whistle and raised eyebrows speak for him.

* * *

Normally Theirry would be stationed with other MACO and security personnel guarding the corridors and preparing to repel any boarders, but this time circumstances had dictated him being given new orders. Commander Mulrave had given him very specific orders since she had a feeling about the captain. He didn't like spying on people for the first officer over the captain's orders but Regina had flashed him a datapad with orders from Admiral Elgin and after that he didn't question what he was being asked to do. When he arrived at the battle bridge the commander's suspicions were correct. His eyes leveled straight into Audris' as he said,

"So, he let you out. That figures."

Audris sighed as she realized who the newcomer was. Were the Captain and the Commander intent on undermining their crew's morale just when they needed to feel confident and high-spirited?

"That's correct, Lieutenant. We have a battle on our hand, and the Captain decided he prefers to have me on duty right now, and discipline me for my behavior once we're done."

She raised her voice a little, so that even those manning the back posts could hear her. "I don't like shoving things under the carpet, gentlemen, so I won't. I'm being questioned at the moment for trespassing a classified area of the ship. This is a moderate offense, which will be addressed by those responsible - the Captain - at a later time. Right now I'm sure all of us have many things of our mind - doubts, concerns, and so forth."

Her final words seemed to be directed to Thierry alone, although they were for everyone to hear. "Let's put them aside until we're done here. And Lieutenant, as you can see, I already have a security escort - another decision which I respect, though I doubt it's necessary." Thierry was not impressed. True, there was wisdom in those words, but orders were orders and he was not going to disobey the commander and admiral.

"Audris, as much as I may agree with you, my orders are to remove you from the battle bridge and return you to the brig. These orders come from Admiral Elgin himself. Your acts are being treated as sabotage and treason by Starfleet. The choice is yours whether you come along quietly or resist. I really don't care if I have to shoot you.", Thierry said firmly as three more MACOs filed in behind him.

Again, Lieutenant Aclestone swiveled his seat. Fighting evil alien was not what he thought off as he joined the United Earth Starfleet. Fighting one of his poker fellows during a battles with a feared alien race wasn't worth a thought either. Till now.

"Thierry?", Rhon called his friend. "did you realize we are in the end game of a dogfight battle? To remove an officer from a bridge without delivering adequate replacement may not be a serious move. How do you think may the Commander manage to escape from the vessel? What do you think about first searching her quarters for her? With a little bit luck we may get this battle done before you realize she isn't there. If you take her with you we may have to cancel our poker match and stand in line together with the rest of the crew to get our angel wings fitted."

"Can I second the notion of not doing the angel wings thing?" Rob said. "Seriously, Thierry, I'm not quite ready to meet my maker just yet. We need Audris here. She's no help to us in a cell."

Audris was touched by her fellow officers' support, and hoped it would be enough. Nonetheless, she signalled Rob, pointing at her hip.

Suddenly the ship shuddered, the gravity inducers failing momentarily to catch up with the Challenger's sudden leap forward. The battle has begun.

Theirry leveled his own rifle and sighed. "Orders are orders. I don't agree with them, but I do intend to follow them. I really don't want to have to shoot my own crew during a battle, but I will remove someone that command thinks is a TRAITOR from a position of authority during a battle. Now Audris, please, come along quietly."

~Yeah~ Rob thought to himself. ~That'll happen~ He positioned himself behind Thierry, who was too intent on watching Audris to notice. Rob glanced at the others on the bridge and hoped that they were with him.

The other MACOs seemed equally unexcited to start a firefight here, but then again, they were just doing their jobs too. Rob approached them from the other side, appearing as if he is heading for the science console by the door.

"The Commanding officer of this ship doesn't seem to think so.", Audris retorted. "We have work to do, Lieutenant. GET OUT."

~I really hope I don't get court-martialed or killed for this~ Rob thought to himself and then pulled out his phaser and slammed it down on the back of Thierry's head.

"Computer, combat procedure initiated, seal doors!", Audris commanded. The doors began to descend on the MACOs, who just began to take aim at Rob. That split-second of confusion as they leaped forward to avoid the doors, cost them their consciousness as the battle bridge crew disabled them.

"Let it be clear - the moment I receive a command from the CO of this ship, I'll relief myself from command. Lt. Acelstone, in that case, you'll take over. Until that happens - stay sharp, and prepare to go into action at a moment's notice."

There didn't seem to be any more objections, but with four unconscious MACOs, Audris had no doubts that the bars were raised yet again.

'What are you up to, Regina?'

"Let This Be Your Last Battlefield" - part 2 : "Charge!"

Galaxy :

Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer

Ensign Running Tree, Engineer

Turan Trelar, juvenile ambassador and engineering trainee

Lieutenant 8-ball Hunter, Chief Science Officer

Ensign Artim, Science Officer

Challenger :

Commander Regina Mulrave, Executive Officer (Michael)

Lieutenant Commander Audris Schneider, Intelligence liaison (Oded)

Lieutenant Rhon Aclestone, helmsman (Marco)

Lt. Gianna Crestine, Chief Science Officer (Lori)

Ensign Rob Crestine, Science Officer (Kylee)

* * * 2383, USS Galaxy, Deck 21 * * *

"That's a sixty-rotation right there.", Saul pointed out, excited like a kid watching his favorite team playing basketball. He has been 'plowing' maneuvers like those performed on the battle of Cheron for months now, and it was amazing to see all of the theoretical material come alive in this true-to-reality reenactment.

The laboratory lights were dimmed now, allowing the holographic simulation to be seen with ease. Miniscule ships streaked past the observers' heads, launching tiny rays at each other.

Eventually, more and more miniscule Romulan vessels exploded in tiny sparks of glory, and a much greater number limped toward the edge of the laboratory.

The central body of the United Earth taskforce, however, remained intract. It changed shapes rapidly as the long-gone minds behind it molded it into complex tactical patterns.

Running watched the simulation with a mix of awe and sadness on his face, shaking his head at times and muttering something or other under his breath.

"Look, the Challenger is almost alone at the point right now.", said Ensign Ferguson. And indeed, the rest of the task force's vessels began to regroup, and only a handful still stalked remaining Romulan vessels. The Challenger seemed to be leading the horrible hunt, its weapons tailing the retreating Romulan ships.

So far, the flight recorder's data seemed to match the rest of the data they had on the combat perfectly. But now came the questionable part.

"Computer, pause simulation. Mr. Trelar, what about the sound recorder?", Saul asked. The second artifact returned from Cheron was yet to be activated.

"Shouldn't be a problem", Turan answered. With the 'experience' he got from the flight recorder he felt much more self assure with the second device as its pin layout was similar to the first one's. There was no sweat, no shivering hands and voice recorders interface seemed to draw up the improvised connection cable. Again, a boot log appeared on the tables display screen. This one was much shorter. After less than fifteen seconds the log ended:

"No auxiliary input found. Switching to maintenance mode.

Enter 'P' to play back: (H for help)"

A voice boomed through the room's air, firm and unyielding, like a crusader awoken from an eon of dreamless slumber.

"Helm - twenty degrees left. Commence Avery-Tsu maneuver toward target three!"

* * * 2160, USS Challenger, Bridge * * *

The massive dogfight, which was later named 'The Battle of Cheron' and marked as the final victory of the Earth-Romulan war, was nearing its critical moments.

"Helm - twenty degrees left. Commence Avery-Tsu maneuver toward target three!", The Captain of the United Earth Starship Challenger proclaimed. He was buckled to his seat, like the rest of the bridge crew, but one could see that he was itching to bolt up and fight. His fists were clenched, teeth gritting as volleys of weapon's fire crossed the view screen ahead of him. He didn't seem so alive and full of energy for months, if not years.

Gianna watched the sensors with a furrow in her brow. Thoughts raced in her mind. She prayed, for once since her childhood that Rob would be safe.

"Sir" Regina Mulrave said as they began their evasive maneuvers, " Recommend we ready Delilah for deployment. The longer we wait the less effective she'll be. "

"Crestine, do we have Delilah in ready mode?", The Captain inquired, somewhat irritated. Mulrave just mentioned Delilah in the ears of people who had no clearance. But there was no time to think of it at the heat of the battle.

Gianna didn't consider the top secretness at the moment as she didn't look away from her console, "Yes." She kept her voice crisp and steady, a mask over her uncertainty.

"Good. Helm, come around. All weapons at their midsection."

"Aye."

The Challenger swiveled sharply, then dashed sideways so that the enemy ship's midsection became in the line of the main cannons' fire.

The enemy began to turn away protect its weakness point, but too late. Fire burst out of the hellish pits that were the Challenger's weapon ports, hitting the Romulan ship hard in the midsection and sending it rolling.

"Good work.", The Captain's voice roared as a final volley of missiles impacted upon a Romulan vessel, crippling its propulsion system. The vessel partly exploded soon after and drifted around without showing any energy signature.

"I think we're done here.", The Captain indicated, his grey eyes now focusing at the nearest group of Romulan vessels rushing toward the outskirts of the Cheron system. "Helm, get us back in formation."

"Belay that order " Regina shouted as it became clear that their orders were about to be ignored. "Commodore, if you do not return this ship to its stated battle plan now, I will be forced to relieve you and order Delilah's deployment myself. I really don't want to have to do that sir."

The Captain was furious. Not only that his executive officer dared to belay his order in the middle of combat situation, and not only that she mentioned a classified device which now should remain classified – what she did was on the verge of mutiny.

And he will not have that. Not on his bridge. Not a month before retirement.

"The stated battle plan, Commander, is to win the battle decisively. And we did, even without using ALL the measures we have. Stand down."

Gianna clenched her jaw and kept her mouth closed. She was a bit peeved. This was a hell of a time for this.

Regina shook her head and stared at the captain.

"I really didn't have to do this, but by orders of Starfleet Command, signed by Admiral Elgin, since you refuse to follow our standing orders, I hereby relieve you of command and respectfully request you retire to your quarters."

As she said this, Commander Mulrave handed over a datapad containing the orders to relive the captain and detain Audris. She was hoping Theirry could do his job gently, but then again, she worried for the young man...this would be hard on him,

The Captain grimaced. Elgin was only one of several Admirals capable of doing this. The admirals' opinons about using Delilah were varied, starting from those who wanted to use it only as a final countermeasure if Earth itself was under attack, and ending with those who thought it could shorten the war and keep the Romulans at bay well into the next century.

Elign was one of the latter.

The Captain knew that at this moment of time, confronting his second in command was futile. He hoped...

"Very well, Commander. But I beg you to let me stay here and watch it. You, and your Admiral, owe me at least that." Regina looked to the security men and said, "If he attempts to interfere in any way, remove him from the bridge."

She then turned to look at the weapons station and said,

"Weapons control, prepare Delilah for firing. Three warheads, firing pattern Kappa 3. Firing codes Omicron Charlie 4-3-1."

"Delilah enabled Commander, eta to effective range against battle group 1 - three minutes."

Gianna wanted to look back, but she kept her cool about her. She wanted to object, but what good would that do other than likely get her thrown off into the brig for mutiny? She just hoped this weapon she helped create didn't cause a big mess. Somehow she felt like Einstein when he realized his formulations could create a bomb. History was repeating itself.

* * * 2383, USS Galaxy, Deck 21 * * *

"It's such an irony that people get such stubborn opinions when it's life and death. Perhaps the best time for convictions, but the worst time when no one agrees." Running said it above the volume of his usual mutterings.

"Maybe," 8-ball said quietly. "But you can't ask for people to not have beliefs. It doesn't work like that."

Saul's response was a little less refined.

"Son of a bitch. I can't believe it. And do you realize what would've happened if they used those weapons? The UFP was established a year later, and it took tremendous efforts to convince the non-Human members that this young species it stable. I had a seminar about the 2160's on the university, and the general air was that if something like this happened..."

His angered chattering was cut short by what happened next.

* * * 2160, USS Challenger, Battle bridge * * *

The battle bridge team was following closely all telemetries coming from the bridge, ready to take over in a moment's notice. They were aware of what transpired on the bridge, of course, but combat routine demanded that the central bridge won't be contacted by the battle bridge, unless a disaster happens. And given the four unconscious MACOs lying in a heap next to the door, no battle bridge crew member was eager to contact the bridge following the change of command.

Lieutenant Aclestone shook his head. Although the battle had gone into a short break, the situation wasn't finally cleared. Anytime an other of the strange looking enemy warships could have appeared from virtually nowhere. And who in hell was Delilah?

Suddenly, the Challenger was shaken by a strong explosion. Light went off leaving the bridge illuminated by the stations pale lights only. Incredible long seconds went by before the emergency lights finally came to life.

"Where did that come from?", Audris Schneider demanded.

"Direct hit in our weapon bay. None of our weapon system responding. There wasn't any secondary explosion yet so I expect the nuclear torpedo warheads to be intact. Can't say. The tactical computer doesn't respond. Our warp engines are offline, too. Our communication is dead and life support is down too. Things will become critical in ten hours" reported Ensign N'Dgalo who manned the battle bridges ops. In a rush of gallows humor he added: "Would have been easier to enumerate what is still functioning"

Audris bolted upwards. "Is the bridge still intact?"

"Main brigde ops responding. According to my controls there is somebody really sweating up there" reported N'Dgalo.

There was no need to go into action just yet, Audris thought.

"A penny for their plans" commented Aclestone. "It's much easier to fly the lady than sit aside and wait for what will happen."

"If they keep it up, Rhos, things might get a lot 'easier'.", Audris told him.

"The wreck ... they seem to have got their forward weapons back online. Goddamn ... they seem to target by releasing small amounts of atmosphere. Not very efficient ... but obviously working." Confirmed Ensign Iljushin from Tactical"

Audris glanced at the few working panels at the Tactical post. The supposedly dead Romulan ship was now behind them, but the damage was done. Nonetheless, the Challenger still continued rushing forward toward the retreating Romulan forces, and showed no signs of slowing down.

Then, a green single dot splitted from the battered Romulan battlegroup.

"She's covering their escape.", Audris said the obvious. "I think that's the first time we saw the Romulans do something like this."

"The Clutter of Echoes"

K. Jordan Elaithin Passenger, S.S. Auriga

With Damon Greyheart Captain, S.S. Auriga

and technically unauthorized appearance by Elaithin Jii

---

The Auriga’s deck platting hummed softly with the energy of the engines. It was a small ship, an older ship; Jordan wasn't sure there were many of the class still flying the skies, though she supposed that wasn't necessarily surprising. From the bits and pieces Jii had told her over the years, the Aurgia had been well traveled when he came onboard at 18. She could only imagine the space it had traversed in the time since.

She had slipped out of her husband’s arms and eased out of his bunk, the same room he had been given the very first time he had come onboard. Making her way barefoot along the uncarpeted metal decking of the vessel, she found herself in what appeared to be living quarters of some kind: there was a rug thrown, a patched up sofa, a small table and some cushions along the floor. It had the look of something that had decoration thrust upon it merely because someone felt there should be something. Regardless, it appeared well used by the small crew of questionable lawful fiber.

Attached to the area was a small triage infirmary, walled away by transparent aluminum panels and sealable sliding doors. There were a few old blast marks she couldn't help but bend to inspect, fingers rubbing over them. She decided it was a story she would inquire about later, probably several years down the road.

If they had that long. She wasn't sure if the gift would hold. How long would the Prophets give her? How long could they give her? Perhaps this was simply a temporary situation, her new life, her second chance…

She crossed the common space, finding a nook; the round window was half above the deck and half below it, but there was enough space for the body to edge down in, to nestle there against the metal edge of the platting between this deck and the one below it, and the thick window that separated them from the abyss. Laying there, it was all she could see; nothing but the black. At one point in the not so distant past, it might have frightened her. She had never liked to think of the void, the nothingness, the cold outside the ship. She blocked it from her mind. The worst experience in her Starfleet career, the whole of her Starfleet career, was her zero-g space-walk training.

But things changed.

“If this ship could speak,” she whispered, unsure what language she used; she hadn't taken mind to it until the restaurant, when she realized there was no translator in her ear. She wasn't conscious enough to tell Standard from Bajoran from… hell. Romulan or worse. “Image what she would say… the stories she would reveal…”

Jordan rested a hand on the window, seeing it framed by the blackness of space, the pricks of stars drifting in the void. The thick barrier was cold. She nestled further down in her thick, silk robe.

“I'm not sure you'd want to know.” Damon’s voice was familiar and Jordan smiled softly, eyes closing, feeling his presence up above the edge of the deck. It was about two feet up, maybe. “You know,” he continued, “another troubled passenger of mine used to like to hide down there.”

“Why would you think I'm troubled?”

“Why would you think you aren't?”

“Mm,” she murmured.

“You know what’s going on, doncha? With the two of you. You plannin’ on tellin’ him?”

“Jii doesn't want to know,” she said. “If he did, he would have asked. He’s never asked. He accepted the realities as he wanted to accept them.” There was something almost disturbing in the woman’s voice, a remove, perhaps, one as cold as space and as distant as the furthest star.

“Ya know, Kit. Doesn't matter to me where that kid’s gone after he left here. Not the first time, not the last, not the next. What does matter? He’s a part of my crew. And if someone hurts a part of my crew? They might as well be hurtin’ me. Bride you might have been, but you destroy him like that again? I swear to you, I'll send you back to the Prophets myself.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she said, “but that will not be necessary. I would never hurt Jii.”

“No? You did a pretty decent job of it six-odd months ago.” Silence. “I seen him in bad shape before. But drunk in some dive, on the outskirts of civilization, getting the shit knocked outta him?”

“Damon,” she murmured.

“That’s not his way. It almost killed him, almost got him killed. And Kit, you just don't do what you did to someone who loves you as much as he does.”

“I was selfish,” she admitted. "And I knew he was the stronger one.” A tear threatened, stinging before dropping onto the gold silk of the robe. “It was the best for our babies… I wouldn't have made it out of the shuttlecraft without him. But I knew… he would have found peace, eventually…” A pause. “Of course… it was all beyond our control anyway. What happened was meant to be; it would have, no matter what we did.”

“You keep telling yourself that, if it makes ya feel better. But I stand by my promise.”

“I know,” Jordan said. “That’s why he considers you family, Damon.”

There was silence from above her, then the heavy sounds of Damon Greyheart’s boots against the metal decking as he moved away. Skin covered in goose bumps, she shuddered, staring out once against into the black of space. Dimly, in the slightly reflective surface of the window, she could see the amulet glow soft; it set cold dread within her spirit and send the strange echoes sounding through her mind, but she relished in its warmth permeating through her physical form.

How long she stayed there, huddled on the edge of forever, she couldn't say, but then she emerged and retraced her steps, finding herself back in the cabin they shared on the way toward Romulus.

Jordan slid into bed, staring at her sleeping husband before brushing a hand to his face. He stirred, opened his eyes, looking at her with a questioning gaze. Before he could manage a word she bent and pressed her lips to his, kissing him for the first time since her return. Her arms tightened around him as his came up around the body -- her body -- and she realized then, how new it really was, that it had never been shared, that as much as it was hers it was his. And she suddenly had an overpowering need to be with him, to consume him, to be as close to him as she possibly could.

She loved him beyond life and death, and one of these days she would discover the definitive way to tell him. Yet for now, with that way unknown and the words yet unwritten, this would have to do.

"Let This Be Your Last Battlefield" - part 3 : "Gallantry"

Galaxy :

Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer

Ensign Running Tree, Engineer

Turan Trelar, juvenile ambassador and engineering trainee

Lieutenant 8-ball Hunter, Chief Science Officer

Ensign Artim, Science Officer

Challenger :

Commander Regina Mulrave, Executive Officer (Michael)

Lieutenant Commander Audris Schneider, Intelligence liaison (Oded)

Lieutenant Rhon Aclestone, helmsman (Marco)

Lt. Gianna Crestine, Chief Science Officer (Lori)

Ensign Rob Crestine, Science Officer (Kylee)

* * * 2383, USS Galaxy, Deck 21 * * *

"Naienn, they're playing 'chicken'.", Saul narrowed his eyes.

Unlike what Ferguson thought, the Challenger never intended to ram the Devoras, which was the Romulan ship that remained behind to cover their comrades' retreat. Instead, the Challenger intended to bypass the Devoras, and get close enough to launch Delilah so that it'll reach the middle of the Romulan group before it jumps into warp.

And since the Devoras was exactly between the Challenger and the Romulan group, the fastest way to reach launching range was through the Devoras.

The Devoras was badly damaged, but still a few weapon systems works. And those weapons scored a hit on one of the Challenger's nacelles, and then peeled off parts of its hull. Eventually, the Devoras also scored a second hit on the weapons bay, the one which released the radiation that ended so many lives.

And yet the Challenger kept heading forward at top speed, as if inertion and some divine force was pushing it forward.

* * * 2160, USS Challenger, Bridge * * *

The Devoras grew larger and larger on the view screen.

Everyone watched it intensely, some bracing themselves on the stations, others leaning over the railing. All but the Captain. He intentionally stopped breathing one minutes ago, to gain the desired affect. Once he couldn't hold it anymore, he began caughing, and stumbled backwards. As he fell down, purple face, he reached to a nearby panel to support himself.

By the time the MACOs reached him and grabbed him, he accomplished his mission. Now, all he had left to do is catch his breath and wait for his XO to realize what happened.

Gianna almost turned, but kept her eyes on her readings and the viewscreen ahead. Several seconds later, when she tried to optimize Delilah's launch spread plan, she realized her console was not responding. She tapped again and again, but the spread factors hadn't changed

She swiveled toward the Commander.

* * * 2160, USS Challenger, Battle Bridge * * *

Rhon grew nervous. did the Captain really set a collision course to ram the enemy vessel? Or was he not able to order an evasive maneuver?

Rhon tapped his comm-link. "Aclestone to main bridge. Please confirm collision course."

For several seconds there was silence.

Again, the Terran helmsman tried. "Aclestone to main bridge. Confirm collision course!"

Again, there was no answer. "All right.", Audris' authoritative voice thundered behind him. "Confirm contact loss with the bridge, and if positive begin command relinquishing procedures."

"Contact loss verified.", Ensign N'Dgalo the officer manning OPS called out. "Either they're down, or something malfunctions over there."

"Rhon?"

"Taking over control. Evasive maneuver!", Rhon ordered without looking away from his console. "Ops? Adjust inertial dampening units. Sublight propulsion to full back. Tactical report distance to enemy vessel"

"1500 Miles" reported Ensign Iljuschin

"1400 Miles ... 1300 ... 1200 ... 1100 "

Lt. Aclestone's fingers started dancing on his consoles keyboards. Settings were readjusted, controls were switched. The engines low humming changed into a loud whining roar. Audris was sitting on the edge of her seat, knuckles whitening as she gripped the handles.

Rob prayed under his breath, every now and then missing a word as he forgot to breathe.

"1000 ... 900 ..."

The whole vessel was shaken by vibrations. Wall panels which seemed to be concreted in place started to rattle. Slowly, the Devoras began to turn on the battle bridges main screen.

"800 ... 700 ..."

The giant enemy vessel filled the screen almost completely. The Challenger was still too fast to turn away without overloading the inertial dampening unit.

"600 ... 500 ..."

Rhon stroke his panel with his fingers. He was ready to press the button which at this time would have meant to jam himself and everybody else who remained of crew to the nearest wall or bulkhead.

"400 ... 300 ..."

There was indeed only a small path between dieing by ramming the enemy vessel and dieing by inertia.

"Prepare for impact!" shouted helmsman Aclestone then pressed the 'button'.

The Challenger turned to her port side like a giant roller coaster. The gravity increased. About three or four G, Rhon guessed.

"200 ... 100 ..."

The Devoras disappeared from the battle bridges view screen.

Suddenly the Challenger or what remained of her was hit by a giant impact. Obviously the evasive maneuver failed. Although there were just a few feets missing.

Audris found herself on the floor, after not having braced herself. She jumped to a standing position, cursing in German as the universe seemed to dance around her, and flashes of light blurred her vision. The klaxons and the the ship's shaking sent her tumbling to the floor once more.

"Damage report!"

"Audris," Rob said blankly. He was staring at the console in front of him, too stunned and too scared to remember rank before name. "Radiation. . .we're leaking radiation." He looked up to stare at her. "And the levels are rising. Fast."

The view screen flickered, but what few visual sensors that survived the hit displayed a grim view. The Romulan survivors, which until now rushed toward the system's edge, now turned around and began to converge on the Challenger.

"Delilah..."

Audris wanted to see Romulans, true. But she knew that if they raid the ship and put their hands on Delilah, the scales of war will be tipped in the Romulans' direction. Not just the chance for a great galactic alliance will be shattered; All that was achieved today, all the sacrifices would be in vain.

Then, another object emerged on the view screen. At first, she thought it was the rising sun. Then, she figured what it is, and how close to it they were now. Closer than any other Terran ship in history.

"Rhon, can you direct us to the planet?"

It took some time before Lt. Aclestone managed to answer.

"At least we are drifting in the right direction. We lost propulsion. The atmosphere maneuver thruster seem to be all we have. I'm trying to stop the stalling."

Rhon switched some controls. Few seconds later the stalling slowed down to gave view on Cheron. Although Cheron didn't compete with a blue green class-M planet like Earth it was somehow inviting.

"That's done ..." commented Rhon. "... course is set towards Cheron. That was the easier part I must admit. Now I am torturing my brain how to enter the atmosphere without heating up to much or being torn to pieces. I remember in the childhood of space travel they used to land shuttles like gliders. I think if we find the right angle and keep 'her' stable enough we can slow down enough to eject the escape pods with an acceptable likelihood to survive. Nevertheless compared to those shuttles we have the aerodynamic capacity of a kitchen cabinet."

'and even one of those shuttles was destroyed during reentry procedure.' he added thinking. Time was simply not right to bother the others with useless historical fact. There was a small chance to survive - not high enough to bet, but luck was always a companion if space traveling mankind.

"Do your best." Audris turned hastily toward Rob. "And you, you're responsible to evacuate everyone from the ship. And I mean everyone. We're going to crash-land on Cheron, and I want everybody in escape pods beforehand. Anyone who stays here too long may be permanently damaged by the radiation."

Rob didn't want to be responsible for evacuating everyone. He didn't want to be responsible for anything. He just wanted to run to the bridge to find Giana and pull her the hell away before things got any worse ... although it seemed a little impossible at the moment that things could get any worse. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, and then nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

* * * 2383, USS Galaxy, Deck 21 * * *

The Challenger raced toward the planet, leaving behind a cloud of spores made of emergency pods. Some of them drifted toward the Devoras, which was surrounded by a circular spore cloud of her own.

None will survive the encounter.

The recording soon faded, leaving a frozen image of the Challenger penetrating the atmosphere of Cheron, and behind the battered Romulan fleet giving up the chance to capture the Challenger and turning back instead.

The battle of Cheron was over, and the road to establishing the United Federation of Planets was paved.

"Thank you all for coming.", Saul Bental said, placing a hand on the tall Quentite shoulder.

It was the first time any of them saw him moist-eyed.

* * * 2160, USS Challenger, Battle Bridge * * *

"Entering Cheron's atmosphere… now. Hold on tight.", Rhos exclaimed. The bridge was now empty besides him and Audris. Even the unconscious MACOs were dragged to the life pods.

"This is it.", Audris said quietly. She didn't bother wishing him safe landing. She knew it no longer mattered.

"We're not going to make it, are we?", Rhos asked, as though reflecting Audris' thoughts.

She paused for a moment, thinking. Then shook her head slightly. "I am confident that you can land her, but we already absorbed so much radiation that even if we're rescued… it won't last much longer."

"I see."

Rhos looked back at his console, gritting his teeth. It was now or never. Literally.

"Audris?"

"Yea?"

"I think you're a real nice lady, Audris Schneider, and I think that I've fallen for you."

Audris bent forward, and kissed his cheek. "You're a good man, Rhos. Thank you."

Cheron already filled the entire screen ahead of them, and Audris thought to herself that it would be pointless now to tell Rhos that she was married.

"The Little Explorer"

Lieutenant Commander Audris Schneider

"I woke up on the battle bridge, alone.

There was no sign of Rhos, and the ship didn't shake either. Since I do not believe in heaven or hell, this could only mean that Rhos managed to land us safely, and then…

I stood up. It wasn't easy. My legs barely held my weight, and my head immediately began spinning. I bent forward, and felt like throwing up. But nothing came out.

Once I stabilized myself, I felt that something moved in my mouth. I moved it back and forth with my tongue, then spit it out. A tooth.

A metallic taste tingled my tongue. I licked my lips to make sure. Blood. I was bleeding from my gums. Clear sign of radiation poisoning in advanced stage.

I, Audris Schneider, am going to die.

The very thought itself nearly sent me crashing to the floor. Have you ever tried to imagine what a terminal patient must feel like, when she realizes that her life, that sparkle of consciousness, will soon cease – forever?

Forever is something we can't comprehend. Death is something we can't comprehend. People have been weaving tales around it for millennia – Heaven and hell, the coming of the Messiah and resurrection, transformation of the soul to a newborn… but for all we can tell, death simple means the end of all things forever.

And that's what is going to happen to me soon.

I'm scared. I'm scared like I've never been scared in my life. I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared. No one can save me… I'm going to… oh.

I considered suicide. Everyone say 'Why suffer'? But I can't. I want to live… I know I won't but I can't bring myself to take my own life. Even though that's what I did when I ordered the crash course into Cheron. Such stupidity… what does it matter if the Romulans have me, Delilah, or even nuked every square inch of Earth if I'm dead? It won't matter.

I couldn't bring myself to lie down and wait for the end either. It'll drive me insane, and… I just can't.

Then, it hit me.

Not just a wave of nausea, but an idea as for what to do with the rest of my life. The rest of my life, haha… very funny Audris. I decided to dedicate my life to exploring Cheron. I'm the first Human on this planet, and an officer of UESPA. So that's what I'm doing right now. I'm going to leave the Challenger, and tread the sands of Cheron, recording everything I see. Not because I care that one day someone will find this. I'll be long gone by then. But because I AM curious.

So I picked a functioning recording device – that's you – and just exited airlock seven on the lower deck. The Challenger is casting a long shadow over me, and beyond stretches a sea of sand. I can see mountains in the distance, outcrops rising from the send and reaching with their barren heads to the sky. There's a canyon between two of the highest peaks, and I think that this will be my next destination.

Another tooth. I lost half of those already, and my nose began dripping too. Thank goodness the natives of Cheron are extinct, because it would be embarrassing to appear in front of them in this shape. I probably look 50 right now. A fifty years old German with a severe gum disease. Bah.

Half a kilometer away from the Challenger, I kneel down and scoop a handful of sand. The violet sand slips my fingers, raining down toward the surface. It is sleek, and warm. Inside, however, I begin to fill a little cold. I regret not taking an overcoat from the storages, but it didn't seem required at the time and I was anxious to see what's outside. Sand, that is what's outside. But let's see if the canyon holds more interesting artifacts.

The sun is high in the sky, and I'm very tired. But I reached the canyon and the shade from its walls protect me from the searing heat. The canyon walls are sculptured beautifully, dotted with cave entries and layered. I remember visiting the grand canyon once… it was broader, I admit, but much more dull. This one has layers of all colors, it is… magical.

Perhaps I'm delirious.

I need to sit down.

I choose the most comfortable rock around, and lean my back against it. A cool breeze passes through the chasm, bringing a tired smile to my lips. There, I'm smiling. It's nice. It's comforting. I think I can close my eyes for a little rest now and proceed in a minute. There's no rush. No deadlines.

Noises.

I open my eyes, and push myself off the ground. Definetly noises, not accountable to wind or a random landslide. I hope you can still hear me, whispering like this…

It's a rhythmic sound. I think it comes from below. It's definetly not natural. I'm kneeling behind the rock, trying to identify its source. Maybe I'll get to see some animal. That would be exciting, as our long range scans couldn't determine whether there were any life on Cheron.

I think I should've brought water.

A funnel formed in the middle of the canyon. Really. It's so curious, I have to stand up and get closer. This… no one ever saw something like this, you understand? Probably not even the Romulans. Bloody Rommies.

I take a step closer. The funnel looks like a tunnel entry, and there are voices… voices, not sounds.

Someone emerges from the tunnel! Ugh!

I fell down. I'm dizzy, I must be delirious. There's a man, and he approaches me.

This can't be right.

The radiation poisoning finally got me, it seems. This can't be right. He stands above me.

This is so strange. Half of his face is white—"

"Opening the Box of Worms"

Nara/Bran/Saia

*****New Quarters*****

It wasn't known, nor would it be asked, how the boxes got back in the new quarters, but Nara rummaged through one while Saia stood, pouting across the room. "You were supposed to label the boxes, Saia."

"You and Bran marked yours. Mine are the ones not marked."

The answer came back a bit more disrespectful than Nara liked, she looked over at Saia, "Excuse me? Since when did you think it was ok to have that tone with me?"

"Since you hadn't been here for days, leaving me with Jerik."

Nara's tolorance level was really low. She was tired of coddling Saia, "I'm a Starfleet officer. I go on away missions sometimes."

"You told me it was a favor to someone."

She located the PADD in a box and stood, "I don't mind the meloncholy sulking, but I won't have this attitude. You do have a room I can send you to now."

"There's boxes in the doorway." Saia's smirk cleared seeing the look Nara gave her.

"And you'll help me unpack them."

On finally coming back from the disastrous mission, Branwen had completely forgotten that they were moving. So she was very confused when the door to their quarters would not open. Only then did she realise it wasn't theirs any more.

After consulting the computer she quickly found the new home, and now entered. "Good afternoon." Branwen said looking around the undecorated living room.

Saia was unpacking her things, generally just throwing them onto a bed. Nara was about to say something but looked over at Bran and smiled, "Hey there! How are you?"

"Fine. How are you guys? Do you like your new room, Saia?"

Saia didn't answer. Nara looked at Bran, "She's in a mood." She looked at Saia, "But that doesn't mean you can be rude, Saia."

Saia mumbled, "It's fine."

Nara looked at Bran and shook her head, clear she wasn't sure what to do. She continued unpacking. "How was the mission?"

"Next question." Branwen said laughing. "Everything that could go wrong went wrong, unbelievable." She put her bagpack on the couch. "Which room is mine?"

"Well, there's two left. I hadn't picked one yet."

"Feel free. I will take the last one." Branwen said. It didn't matter that much to her. "How did the mission go for you?"

Nara lifted a box and set it inside the room closest to Saia's before coming back out and sighed, "More exciting than anticipated. Not as exciting as the Sakarian Civil War, but it was like thinking you're about to get a nice sip of Romulan Ale and it turns out to be Vulcan Suicide. Or like discovering the person you worked with for months turned out to be a clone who tried to blow up the ship." Nara shrugged and gave a sarcastic smile, "Just another day in the universe."

"Let's agree to talk about other things. Yours sounds about as bad as mine." Branwen grinned.

Nara nodded, "Agreed." She rummaged through a box and pulled out something wrapped in paper. Unwrapping it carefully, she revealed the tree-ish sculpture. It was very detailed with subtle carvings within the texture of the tree. She smiled, running her fingers over it. "Would you mind if this went on the coffee table? I can put it in my room if you rather it not."

"Of course not. I have always rather liked it. Is it from your home world?" She asked.

Nara nodded, "It's a duplicate of the original which is with my mother."

"It's beautiful. We have to put it somewhere special in the living room so it cannot accidentally fall."

Nara smiled and set it on the coffee table. "It should be fairly safe here, right?"

She looked at the table. "I guess it is big enough."

Nara looked up at her, "What?"

"The table, to hold the sculpture. We don't have any animals around, or small children. So it should be okay."

Nara laughed, "No, it'll be ok."

"Anything else I can help you with? I need to think before I decorate my own room. I have no idea what I want to do yet." She admitted.

Nara looked at her, thinking. "What's your favorite color?"

Bran thought for a little while. "Bright red. Doesn't sound right, does it?"

Nara thought a moment and shrugged, "Not something I would choose to decorate with, but it's your room." Nara smiled and picked up a Sakarian sword sheath from one of her boxes. "Like this shade?"

"It's lovely. And I wouldn't mind having some ancient weapons on my wall. Maybe I should go shopping." Branwen said.

Nara looked up and smirked, "Not a bad idea."

"I have even given myself some leave to do it. So I had better go and make a list of things I might need. Can I get you anything?"

Nara shook her head, "No thanks."

"Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. I'll go and see if Saia wants something."

Nara nodded, "Be careful. She's snappy."

"Thank you for the warning." She walked over to the girl's room.

"Hiya! So, crappy isn't it, moving?"

Saia ignored her at first, then replied, "Khest gozhe."

Nara turned and furrowed her brow, "Ok, first off, that's redundant and second, where did you learn that?"

"Sam." Came the simple curt response.

"I really think you aren't allowed to be around her anymore. You're better than this attitude."

"How would you know?" Saia walked into her room and hit the button to close it.

Nara stared at the door and looked at Bran and threw her hands up exasperated, "Impossible!"

Saia's had obviously gotten worse since her absence. Branwen knocked on the door. "Could I come in please?"

"NO!" Saia's voice was stern and bitter. She finally had a room all her own and SHE had control over it.

"Fine." Branwen said. "If you have time could you come see me in my room, I could do with your help."

After realizing Bran didn't want to pester her, only needing help, she came to the door, "Help with what?"

"Ideas to decorate. Maybe even some shopping down on the Starbase." Branwen said knowing better than to ask her to talk right now.

A slight smile came to Saia's face and she nodded.

Nara was watching and sighed. She was the worst parent ever. Maybe Branwen should had been the one to meet Saia on Trill. Or anyone else for that matter. Nara was clearly screwing the girl up worse than had she stayed on the dicrepid Trill.

Second lieutenant Branwen London
Furies XO and staff psychologist

Doctor Anjoli D'Bari
CMO USS Miranda

***Starbase***

Finally she had a few of hours off, and Branwen wanted to spend them away from the ship, away from baile to be honest. Not that she was so much the shopping type. She liked it, but as a child it had been drummed into her too well not to want frivolous things, that she rarely bought something for herself. And yet she liked windowshopping as much as the next woman, and that was exactly what she was doing this afternoon.

Nearby a door swished open, and a striking emerald-hued woman strolled into the shop. She wore a rather brief dress of cunning design made of a diaphanous dark gold fabric. The toned shoulders, back and legs exposed by the dress drew the eyes like visual magnets. Tiny bells on her sandals rang quietly with each new step.

The woman examined several racks of merchancise casually. Each movement was languid grace itself, casually enticing.. Her hand trailed over the racks as she moved, as if the touch itself was important to her experience.

Branwen not in uniform herself but in a very prim dress gave the stranger a very disapproving look. Sometimes she was not completely over the xenophobia her parents had raised her with.

Seemingly oblivious to the stranger's disdain, the woman continued to shop. Finally, she seemed to notice the Terran woman watching her. Her light accent only added to the woman's exotic mystique.
"Excuse me. I have never had a chance to shop here before...what kind of stores are available?"

“what kind of store are you looking for, Miss.” Came a very familiar Welsh accent, but a lot stronger then Gwen’s.

"That's a very good question. I'm looking for an anniversary gift....but I simply cannot narrow down my choices. Are there perhaps some quality jewelers aboard? Perhaps I might commission a piece."

Rich by looks of it. Branwen thought, probably some Orion pirate chick. Yet she was a polite girl. “I think I passed one just a few blocks ago, miss. Looked like they had a big collection.”

The woman's smile brightened..
"Excellent. I'm terrible with directions....would you be so kind as to guide me? I would happily buy you lunch for your trouble...."

Branwen was watching Anjoli with interest, although she herself of course didn’t realize that. She was straight. “I don’t think if I have time for that, miss. But I would be happy to show you the place..” She said in a friendly manner.

"That's very generous of you, thank you.."

The emerald woman motioned for the Terran to lead the way.
"Please, after you. By the way, my name is Anjoli...what's yours?"

“Branwen.” She said in her lilting voice. “Nice to meet you, Anjoli. You.. you don’t come here often?”

"Sadly, no. My ship just returned from the Delta Quadrant filled with refugees. Shopping is a rare luxury...but then again, so is the lady with whom I am involved."

"What about you, Branwen? You don't sound like a native to this area,.,,,"

~Dyke~ Flashed through Bran’s mind and she took a step back. “Ehrm, no. I am from Earth. And do people like you take refugees along? Pirates I mean?”

Anjoli noticed the sudden wariness, but shrugged it off. Most humans thought of green women as strange for some reason. Then she caught the reference to pirates and couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'm no pirate....I'm a Starfleet officer, shockingly enough. I serve aboard the good ship Miranda. Where there's trouble coming, we're not farahead of it."

“Oh.” Bran said. “Right, Miranda. We are going to work with you guys then, I think.”

Anjoli pulled her hair back behind her ear, turning to face the Human.
"Oh, you're in Starfleet as well? Wonderful! Upon what ship do you serve?"

“The Galaxy. I am a marine and you?”

"I'm a physician....." Anjoli admitted. "The Galaxy? I served aboard a Galaxy Class ship a long time ago. Did they ever get around to making her seem more like a starship than a hotel?"

“Hmpf…” Branwen said. “Marines don’t live on hotels. You are a doctor?” Her eyes got large.

Anjoli stopped to look into a shop window.
"That's right. Some of my patients even survive the experience...." she said dryily. She looked at the Terran in the reflection of the glass with a playful smile.

"You're a marine, eh? I like marines....they're always ready for just about...anything."

Branwen blushed deeply red for some reason. “Ehrm, what do you mean?”

Anjoli gave Branwen a coy look over her shoulder, the toned muscles playing under her emerald skin.
"All the marines I've ever met were brave, stakwart....and passionate."
With a tilt of her head, she gave Branwen a direct look.
"Is there something for which you feel passion?" she said quietly.

~Eeeek! ~ and ~Yummy! ~ went through Branwen's mind at the same moment and were also visible on her face. "My jobs and the marine corps." She said as if it was studied.

Anjoli's eyebrow rose in amused confusion. Her dark eyes studied the Terran's expression carefully.
"Those are roles in life. Surely there is a woman under all those thick layers of duty and honor?"

"Of course. It's just that I have no time for hobbies, my boss is very strict, so I have to work even harder." She sighed.

"All work and no play makes life very dull." Anjoli sighed ruefully. She felt badly for the poor Terran.. "One must want to live! Sieze life with both hands and savor every moment of it. There are no guarantees that there will be another day coming."

"I could try going to church some more." She hesitated.

Anjoli nodded with approval, moving onward once more.
"Placing oneself in the hands of a higher power can be quite liberating. One's inner self must be set free to soar upon the winds of life. To be forever grounded would be a terrible waste."

"Eh?" Branwen didn't understand. "Liberating?"

"Absoultely! One must feel safe to make difficult decisions in life. Some feel better if they place their fate in the hands of another, such as a higher power."
Anjoli smiled over to the skittish Terran, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Is that what you need, Branwen?"

Branwen sighed for some reason forgetting to be skittish. "Maybe. Do you think I am ugly?" Maybe this person could tell her why it seemed to be impossible for her to get a man interested.

"Not at all! I am especially fond of Terrans, and you are a very comely young woman. Perhaps a bit....restrained. But that can be overcome."

"You are not just saying that are you." Branwen came closer and whispered in her ear. "Have you ever…. Have you ever had sex with a man?" She blushed. Bran really didn't understand why she was saying these things to a complete stranger.

With a completly straight face, Anjoli nodded soberly.
"I've been with a man or two. In fact, men are one of my favorite sexes. Why do you ask?"

Branwen looked at the ground and fumbled around a little bit. "Does it… does it hurt much? And how do you find a man that is interested. They always keep going for the other woman. That's why I thought I must be very ugly."

Anjoli took the poor girl's elbow and began to lead her away.
"My dear, the street is no place for such an important conversation. Let us find some privacy, and I shall reveal the answers to all of your questions...."

"Uhm…. all right." She allowed herself to be led..

Later....

"And that's how it is supposed to work. Granted, there are many variables. But if you relax...it's quite enjoyable."

Anjoli sipped her drink as she looked to the young woman.
"Now...questions?"

"How do you attract a nice man? And I am looking for a serious relationship, of course I do not do sex before marriage." She said seriously.

Anjoli downed her whole drink.
"Such a...quaint attitude. But I salute you for maintaining your standards."

“It is part of my beliefs.” Bran said softly.

"As for attracting a man of high quality who can appreciate such standards...well, perhaps this is beyond my own realm of expertise."
She balanced her chin in the palm of her hand as she balanced her elbow on the table.
"Men are not a challenge to snare. The good ones are a challenge to keep."

“But you live with a woman now right now?”

"Absolutely."
Anjoli's face lit up with a dreamy smile as she thought of Gwen Parri.
"Bright, beautiful, generous of heart and spirit....legs that go all the way to the floor.....a blessing to me from the Great Mother herself."

Bran didn’t know were to look at that.

“Are you not afraid to go to hell?” Bran was worried about this nice lady.

Anjoli motioned to the barkeep for refills.
"My new friend....I've been to Hell already. I won't return based upon who warms my bed."

The emerald woman smiled softly at the Terran.
"I will not disparage your beliefs, my dear. But ask yourself...would your god create all the wondrous varieties of love in the universe and then demand you not sample any of them at all? It seems cruel to me, and I refuse to pay homage to any superior being that is so mean-spirited. But that's my choice.."

“Well I was taught it is unnatural to have same sex. Good thing I am straight.” She giggled.

"Are you?" Anjoli asked quietly from over the rim of her glass.

Branwen blushed. "Of course I am."

"What makes you say that?" Anjoli asked simply, refilling Bran's drink..

"I wouldn't dream of leven looking at another woman. And I do not find women attractive." And yet she was blushing and looking at the floor.

"Interesting...so if I were to...perhaps dance for you...you would be completely unfazed?"
Anjoli made a curious sound in her throat and swirled her drink around in her tumbler.

"Of course." Branwen finished her drink still not looking at the other woman.

Without further word, Anjoli got up. She strolled over to the large music making device in the corner. After a few moments, she selected a choice and turned back to face the Terran with a evil little grin.

The device began to play--a single drum with a reed flute flirting with the soft beat.

" Ehrm… what are you doing?"

The emerald woman said nothing. She began to slowly move to the slow patter of the drum. Her movements reminded Bran more of something reptilian rather than human. The woman's sinuous steps were like a cobra's hypnotic sway before a tasty bit of prey.

Branwen watched mesmerised, she could not take her eyes of this exciting woman. She was sitting on the couch just watching every move.

Anjoli moved closer, her dark eyes only for Branwen. Each new shift of position revealed a new bit of jade delight. The dancer turned her back to the Terran, her hands stretching skyward. The subtle play of toned muscle under the soft flesh drew the eyes from the elegant neck down the sculpted shoulers towards the curves barely hidden by the clingy fabric.

Branwen started to pant slightly. She didn't understand the strange feelings that were going through her body. At she eaten or drunken anything wrong. And this woman, this woman was amazing.

Anjoli looked at Bran from over her shoulder, the evil grin still in place. She twirled over to Bran, her hands motioning for Bran to stand....

It was like somebody was pulling her strings, she had to stand and follow the beautiful woman. Anjoli danced around the standing human, close enough for her body's heat to flow over her. Branwen even began to move a little bit with the music herself. But still she could not take her eyes of the other.

Anjoli began to mirror Bran's movements, encouraging the human to continue to free herself. Emerald hands rose high over their heads, moving slowly. When Bran's hands rose as well, Anjoli's fingers drifted over them.

It was like an electrical charge, but a pleasant one. Branwen smiled, then closed her eyes in bliss. She didn't know that dancing could be so much fun. And even with a woman. The thought alone made her giggle.

Anjoli maintained contact with Branwen's hands as she slowly writhed around the human's body. A brush of contact here, a whispy breath there....

And Branwen began to crave more. Gingerly she touched the woman herself, blushing and not really understanding what was going on. Anjoli's movements slowed, allowing the skittish woman the chance to explore this side of herself. Gingerly Branwen touched the other woman, as if against her will, like some kind of witchcraft pulling her in.

The emerald skin felt feverish and soft as satin. Anjoli's rhythmic motions slowed, her expression one of focus upon the human's face.

"What are you doing to me." Branwen whispered her eyes closed with passion.

"You're the one touching *me*....I'm just standing her...." purred the Arrin'Haleri.

But now, Anjoli's delicate hand reached up to cup the human's pretty face. Her features were so delicate and pleasing. Anjoli mused...the things she could make that face express.....

Branwen moaned. "This is not me, you must be making me… enjoy this."

Anjoli's soft accent caressed Branwen's ears.
"I am doing nothing more than unlocking what is already within you....."

An emerald thumb softly ran across Bran's quivering lips. So soft, so sweet...
The marine moaned again and kissed her finger. "No, you are making me. It is not me."

"Then I shall stop." she said simply, without anger. With a final brush of her finger across those lips, Anjoli's hand dropped.
"Now...you must ask to touch me...and for me to touch you."

She looked at the Emerald woman like somebody caught in headlights. "Please, touch me."

Anjoli slowly circling Branwen once, her fingertips grazing as she moved. She leaned into whisper into the human's ear.
"Show me where...."

"Everywhere." Branwen whispered back.

[A slight backpost - likely the only one from Curran. Have a personal arc to run with it]

"Disjointed"

By Kylar Curran, Chief Liaison Officer, USS Galaxy

*** Ki Baratan, ch'Rihan ***

Late June/Early July, 2382

Scenes flitted by his eyes, or whatever it was that he was seeing with or through, with increasing intensity. He didn't know how he got to... Wherever here was.

The last thing could recall was a disjointed series of what he supposed were memories, but it felt more like was a witness to events seen through someone else's eyes. Or watching scenes on a holovid.

A flash, his body being thrown about, then nothing. Nothing except the feeling, or instinct of protecting himself. Something cold pressed against his neck and haze cleared up, bringing the face of someone he didn't recognize into focus.

Blinking away the spots, his eyes adapted to the dimmed lights that shone on him without heat.

"Where am I?" His voice grappled with the sterile air, coughing fits shaking him to an almost upright position. A rush of dizziness and nausea threatened to send him into unconsciousness again.

"Take it easy, Legate. You suffered extensive injuries in the crash along with a bout of onsetting pneumonia." Strong hands pushed the Legate back down on the resilient but even surface. "Likely from a combination of internal bleeding in the lungs and hypothermia. It was lucky we located your party when we did. Any longer and your prognosis would have been much simpler to define." Another press against the neck, followed by a hiss. The nausea receded almost instantly.

"There was a crash. I can remember little of it." He lay back on the headrest, taking in the details of his surroundings. Besides himself and... the Romulan (?)... Yes, no, wait... Rihannsu! Yes, the tapered auditory organs and green-tinted skin identified the being as that, or... Vulcan, but the latter didn't feel correct.

Shifting his searching eyes off the stranger, the Legate's focus had adjusted and was now taking in his environment.

Along with the two of them, the room comprised of nothing but themselves, the raised surface he was laying upon, a screen above him scrolling hieroglyphs and symbols in a language he understood, but failed to grasp their meanings. There was nothing else in the nondescript room but a door.

"Not surprising." The Rihannsu looked above the Legate to read the screen that obviously held meaning for him, even if it did not for the patient.

"We've had you under an induced coma for the last two weeks while we performed major surgery to repair damaged organs and connecting tissue. It was the only way to keep you stable, I'm afraid. I awoke you as we needed to verify your motor control and upper brain functions. You'd also suffered head trauma." With a look upon his already grim features, the man turned his probing gaze from the wall display to the Legate.

"Do you know your name?" From out of his pocket, one assumed, he produced a small device, which whirred as he passed it up and across the patient's legs.

"Of course. My name is Legate. What are you doing?" He'd again elevated himself up on his elbows, but this time the Rihannsu male didn't make a move to stop him. Instead, he was engrossed in whatever the device was telling him.

The man closed the device into his fist, hesitating in thought for only a moment, then connected his darkened eyes with the Legate's own.

"Legate is your title, not your name. You do not remember?" The Terran reduced his eyelids, trying to determine why the Romulan was lying to him. What would they gain by trying to trick him? Perhaps it was a simple method of information extraction.

As if seeing into his thoughts, the Romulan interceded. "Your name is Kylar Curran. You are the Chief Liaison Officer stationed on board the USS Galaxy, now in orbit of ch'Rihan. You remember none of this?"

Curran said nothing. He didn't remember any of it, but that didn't mean anything. It could still be a trick. The door behind the interrogator looked inviting.

The Romulan saw Curran's glance towards the apparent exit. "No one is holding you here against your will, Legate. You're only in a hospital. I can guarantee you, holding cells are not this clean." He stepped to the side. Curran eyed him warily as he threw off the sheets.

"Oh! I am Doctor tr'Dhaen. My apologies. I should have introduced myself earlier." He raised a hand up to stop Curran from moving any further. "Before you leave, let me at least get you a hoverchair to move about on."

That won't be necessary, 'Doctor'. If you're telling the truth - which I doubt you are - walking out of here on my own two feet will go a long way towards earning my trust."

"No, you don't under-" Before tr'Dhaen could complete his sentence, Kylar rolled off the bed. Problem was, his legs didn't go where they were supposed to. He tumbled to the floor head-first.

Tr'dhaen dropped to his knees beside Curran, who looked between angered and scared as his eyes went from his dead legs to the doctor and back.

"What have you done to me?" He lunged at tr'Dhaen, but missed as the Doctor captured Curran's arms, locking his own under the pits and lifting him up.

"I tried to explain, Mr. Curran," he rolled the Legate back on the bed with the assistance of two orderlies that had hurried in on hearing the struggle. Kylar struggled against the three, to no avail. Without his legs, he had no leverage.

"You're paralyzed from the waist down."

(OOC: I probably picked the worst time to introduce a new character.....with the all the crossover posts Alli's probably getting lost in the clutter.....oh well I'll keep plugging away)

"ENTRY LEVEL POSITION"

Crewman Allison
Crewman Clarence (NPC)

USS GALAXY: Main Armory

"Yo......anybody in here? Helloooooooo?"

Young Allison's voice echoed off the thick duranium walls of the Galaxy's Main Armory without responce.

Standing alone in the doorway , the girl from Iceland surveyed the interior of the cavernous bay and let out an appreciative pop of her bubble gum.

(If you're good enough, you can convey any emotion through bubbles.)

"So this is where it all takes place...." she mused to herself, " All the stories I've heard.....all the laughter....all the heartache......its REALLY real. I'm really here."

She'd heard stories of the Security Department aboard the USS Galaxy as a child, and had made it her business to memorize everything about the place......and now here she was standing outside the main Weapons Amory.......a member of Secuirty herself.

~~~If I get away with this, it's gonna be the greatest thing ever.~~~ she thought.

Stacks of polished phaser rifles lined the walls in rows of chrome plated deadliness. Tiny Type 1's sat on glass shelves under soft lighting, looking fresh off the showroom floor.

Stepping inside and allowing the door to hiss shut behind her, Alli made her way up to a simple service counter set before a massive vault- like door. Obviously the heavier weapons such as those used by the Marines during ground operations lay deep within.

A flash of color drew Alli's glitter-speckled eyes to a series of small posters lining the front of the service counter.

GALAXY ARMORY: SERVICE WITH A SMILE! declared one drawing of a grinning crewman cradling a phaser rifle.

ASK US ABOUT OUR TYPE II HEAVY MORTAR SPECIALS admonished another.

WE PUT THE "OH MY GAWD" BACK IN ARTILLERY stated a third that seemed to be decorated with little shredded corpses.

~~Yeeesh...~~ Allison grimaced, suddenly a bit nauseated.

Bending over to peer closer, she noted a small Type 1 phaser sitting atop the counter under a small glass bowl.

A hand written note advised, -THIS PHASER FOR DISPLAY PURPOSES ONLY-

"I know what your thinking." a voice boomed from out of nowhere causing her to jump with a startled squeak. "You're thinking.....so this is where it all takes place.....this is where the magic happens."

"M...magic?" Alli squeaked, tounge tripping over her own bubble gum.

"Armory magic." A gaunt, stoop shouldered man wearing thick horn- rimmed glasses stepped into the light. He was perhaps 30-35 years in age, had bad skin and greasy hair. He wore a stained apron over his standard Starfleet uniform emblazoned with the logo SERVICE WITH A SMILE. At his left breast was a large pin proudly proclaiming ==CLARENCE - Shift Manager - 10 years ==

"This IS where the magic happens...." Clarence breathed in a whiny voice. "We specialize in the inventorying and distribution of 100% high quality firearms and firearm accesories." The man stopped to heave a wistful sigh...."What could be more magical than that."

"Uhhhhh....right." Alli raised a doubtful eyebrow suddenly unsure of where she was.

"Young lady, do not mock the noble proffession of firearm storage," the man admonished with a unwavering stare. "You may not be aware, but Armory Department was listed as being one of the most efficient on the Galaxy last quarter.........well in the top 25 anyway."

Clarence fixed Alli with a stern glare....his eyes huge behind his cokebottle glasses. "When you've been her as long as I have," he said lovingly touching his -10 YEAR- pin...... "you'll have more respect for what we like to refer to around here.......as the CALLING."

Alli rasied two doubtful eyebrows this time. "The calling......er.......yah whatever Bucko. I'm like sure you have a woo- hoo of a time down here alone polishing your mortar tubes and all, but I'm supposed to report to Security Department......My boss is supposed to be James Corg...."

"SHHHHH!!!!!!" Clarence urgently silenced the girl with a finger to his lips. "This is Security!" he breathed in an awe-filled tone.

Motioning Alii to lean in closer as if he was about to impart some great secret, he whispered, "Security......is nothing........without us!" Clarence giggled a little insanely. "Besides........HE........HE is always watching."

Alli followed the sweaty man's trembling finger towards the ring of silent secuirty cameras that lined the ceiling.

"The Cameras? Duh...its like a weapons locker and all........Like...who's watch...."

"SHHHHHH!!!!!" Clarence urgently pressed his finger against Allisons's pink glitter lipstick silenceing her again. "Dont even THINK it!!" he whispered, "HE is always Watching!! "

"Ugh....okay like first of all....lets keep your paws off the lip gloss Buddy boy....and second of all.......WHO?"

Clarence hardly dared breath, but his buck teeth cracked into an eerie smile as he pointed to a small alcove near the Armory Entrance. There enshrined under bad lighting was a single 8x10 photograph of a blond man sittng behind a desk. Somehow drawn, Alli took an involuntary step closer to the photograph to examine it closer.

The man within wore a bored expression, and his eyes were half closed as if he blinked just as the picture was snapped. Below it on a little brass plate was the inscription. JAMES CORGAN- DEPARTMENT HEAD.

"Behold! The Corgan!" Clarence squeaked.

Allison peered closer, "This is James Corgan?" she muttered....a little disapointed in the pasty faced photograph.

"Well its not the best picture......"

"Yah....ok ....whatever...." Alli waved her hand dismissivly, "Okay so when do I meet him?

"Meet him?" Clarence seemed confused. "Sorry....but you report to me and me alone......Corgan is the head of one of thge largest departments on the Starship......and you...." he paused to hand Alli a small bundle from behind the counter. "...You are in what we like to refer to as an 'Entry-level position."

Taking the proferred gift Alli examined it: a small name badge labled == HI MY NAME IS: ALLISON ==, and a greasy apron advertising : ==ASK ME HOW I CAN POLISH YOUR PHASER BARREL==

Entry level indeed....

~~~Oh dear lord........~~~ Alli thought aghast. ~~~it cant get any worse.~~~

"Well....." Clarence muttered motioning to the back room, "Lets get you clocked in, I have about 3 hours of employee orientation videos for you to watch."

~~~Wrong...its worse.~~~

"Sins and Pennance"

Lieutenant Branwen London, XO Furies

ND Chapel, USS Galaxy

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

Once inside the little church area runner made sure the priest was not there. Then she removed the cloak she was wearing, underneath was a very old-fashioned hairshirt. The only thing she was wearing. It had been easy to replicate. Along with some metal bushes gathered together in a string.

She walked towards the simple cross standing at the back of the room and prostrated herself in front of it. "Heavenly Father, forgive a sinner. I am here to add to myself for the sins I unwittingly committed. She bared her shoulders and started whipping them with the branches.

"Please forgive me Father, I am an unnatural creature. Please forgive me heavenly Father." The branches kept coming down on her flesh until a firm hand grabbed her wrist mid-stroke.

Turning to see the interloper, she saw a large, bearded man in black with a white collar bearing the gold pips of a lieutenant. "I assure you, ma'am," he said in a calm baratone, "what you're doing isn't neccessary. Stop this, please."

Red rimmed eyes looked up at him. Her dark blonde hair was in a ponytail behind her. And Branwen was shivering in the uncomfortable shirt. She looked at him uncomprehending then handed him the branches. "I apologise, Father. It is your duty to punish me."

The man's face bore an expression of surprise and shock. "Punish? He to whom I pray doesn't offer punishment, ma'am - only forgiveness for those who seek it." He gestured to the oak pew with the hand not clutching the flail. "Please, sit down and tell me what's driving you to this."

"I would ask you not a break anything at the moment, because I might be going on a mission soon." Then she looked up and heard what he was saying. "You are priest, right? Then it is your job to punish me for my sins."

"I'm a Chaplain yes, but I don't punish or judge, only help." He knelt down on the carpeting in front of the Welshwoman, grabbing her gently by her uninjured shoulder. "What sin do you think you performed to merit flagellation?"

She looked at the ground. "Couldn't you just punish me? It is a sin so heinous that I cannot talk about it."

The large man shook his head. "No, ma'am. As odd as it sounds, accepting a blanket penance would be hollow - you'd find no comfort in it. By talking about your problem, you take the hard route, the painful one perhaps, but the one that leads to solution." He smiled behind the beard, stood and offered Bran a large hand for assistance. "Pain and suffering don't absolve sins, ma'am. They only drive their stain deeper."

"Not the way I was raised. A parish priest would have broken both my arms and beaten me until I felt unconscious for this." She said matter-of-factly.

The Chaplain hesitated briefly, looking at the kneeling, shivering young woman before him. "Well, he's not here, and you're no longer a child", he said at length. "You're an adult, capable of making your own decisions, seeking your own truths and facing your own fears - and you needn't face these hurdles alone." Again, Bran felt the large hand rest gently on her shoulder. "I'm here to help you if you truly seek it, and you don't wish me then I can help you look for another who will help. As vast and as unforgiving Creation may seem, none of us are truly alone. Now please ma'am, rise off the floor - you deserve better."

"Are you suggesting I see a shrink? I can assure you that I am not crazy, in fact I am a shrink myself." She finally came to her feet still shivering.

"No - I'm saying you're not alone", the man said calmly. "I'm here to help you in whatever capacity you see fit. If you want a Chaplain who's willing to help you overcome your sins, I'm here - but I need to know what you've done, ma'am. You've only told me what you believe your parish priest's reaction would be, and what you believe he would expect of you."

"I..." She blushed and shivered. "I let... I let a woman touch me."

The Chaplain knew enough that when a women said "touch" in such a manner, it didn't mean a casual contact. "I see. Was anyone harmed or hurt by the... touch?"

"She... She deflowered me." Now the tears came. "She is some kind of alien witch who holds power over others. I am the normal person, father. I don't like women that way." She looked at him in despair.

"Did she force herself upon you? Were you hurt physically?"

"She bewitched me. I couldn't help myself. She made me think I liked that. I... it.... I...." She couldn't talk anymore and cried again.

The Chaplain held the young woman close, letting the tears of her guilt and shame coarse down her mottled, pale face. Sometimes she would try to speak and he would try to listen, but the words were mixed by the intense sobbing that wracked her frame. Eventually the tears slowed, but the haunted look on her face remained.

"Ma'am, this woman... I know it's hard, but please - bear with me. What did she look like?" The voice was calm and quiet.

"Green!"

~Ah. Green. Two probabilities - the first, a Gorn, the second, possibly more worrysome~, the Chaplain thought.

He spoke to the sobbing woman as gently and patiently as possible. "Ma'am, there are thousands of different peoples in the Federation alone, each with dozens or even hundreds of different beliefs in divinity - humanity itself has many different faiths. What may be sacred to one culture or faith may seem profane to another. This ship is manned by more than a few Bajorans, and while I respect their beliefs, I know that theirs is not my own - neither better or worse."

The woman's sobbing ebbed slightly as he continued. "This green woman... do you, ah... know who the Orion are?"

Branwen looked up between sniffs. "They are pirates, right?"

"They're people, ma'am. The pirates of Orion are the most famous, or should I say infamous, part of their culture", he said gently. "They are prolific, but represent a small part of their population, and they are all male - I don't think I've ever heard of a female Orion freebooter. For each pirate, there are dozens of servants and perhaps hundreds of slaves - that may be what your green woman had to endure. Now, you mentioned that she... held power over you. Were you lightheaded during when you spoke to her? Did you feel like you had taken something that made you feel euphoric?"

"Yes... yes exactly that was it." Branwen said. "Witchcraft."

The large, bearded man slowly shook his head, understanding at last. "Not Witchcraft. Pheromones", he answered. "Completely odorless and very potent. I've only ever met a single Orion woman, ma'am. She was at least ninety, free from bondage, and was involved in some charity work on Earth. I spent only an hour and a half in her presence, and I felt... ah, the... er... full effects of the pheromones." The Chaplain's face slowly darkened as be blushed at the memory. "Ahem... anyways, her motives were completely honorable as many after the Breen attack on Earth can attest to... it's simply the way God made her."

"The Orions are a very... organic people, ma'am. Much of their culture, their communication, is sensually based in ways we as humans still don't understand just as we don't understand the practice of, say, the Deltans. Still, the green woman should have been more aware of her effects on others, and made more effort to understand you." His large hand squeezed her shoulder a little more pressure. "You have committed no sin, ma'am, understand that."

"She deflowered me against my will. I wanted that to be.... A special.... A special man." A few tears came again. "I shouldn't be crying, I'm a blooming marine."

"Cry the tears if you need to", the Chaplain advised. "I've seen marines larger and meaner than you shed them freely. If something was done to the body, take the proper action to heal it, but this", he said thrusting the makeshift flail to the decking, "*this* is a sin against the spirit. Ma'am, promise me you'll never attempt this again. I'll be with you as long as I am able - I'll never abandon you, and God will never leave you in your time of despair. He's with you always, believe it."

"I... I promise to come to you first if I have problems in the future. You are so different from the priests I have known." She dropped to her knees again and pressed her forehead against his hands. "Thank you father. Now you must devise a fit punishment for me. And then I will take action against that... that woman."

The Chaplain, shocked by the display of blind obedience, brought Bran quickly to her feet gently by her shoulders. "Another thing, ma'am - I've found it best to seek redemption bravely with your head held high", his brow knitted in concern about this young woman's spiritual upbringing and the scars it bore.

"Not on your knees."

She looked at him with trusting eyes. "If you say so, father. Your word is His word."

He watched the young marine bow to the altar, cross herself and leave the chapel - the stains of her tears still fresh on her face. Alone, he picked up the makeshift flail and frowned at the instrument and the need for suffering behind it.

~So needless. So unneccessary.~

The Chaplain left to incinerate the branches, not noticing the streaks of crimson that were left behind on the carpeting.

"I'm Sure his hearts in the Right Place"

Lieutenant Commander Anjoli D'Bari, Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant John Ramirez, Chief Flight Controller

Anjoli sat quietly in the Miranda chapel, contemplating the veil of stars beyond the wide port that ran along the wall. The chapel changed decor nearly every day in order to meet the needs of the group using it that day.

The emerald woman didn't have a preference for the decor, just as long as there was some place calm and inviting to allow relaxed freedom of thought. After all, the prayers of an Arrin'Haleri did not require burning incense or stained glass or glowing orbs. They merely required a chance for one to directly connect with the cosmos.

After his shift had ended, John had been concerned that he was actually going crazy. Talking to what he percieved to be his own father, who had been dead for 4 weeks, didn't seem like the best of things to be doing in the middle of a duty shift. He needed to talk this through with Someone, and Dave wouldn't be available. After all, his friend had a lot on his plate himself, his new promotion to Assistant Chief of Flight Control was a big move.

No, Dave was not the one to talk to about this. Sanchirez would only think he was going crazy. Fair enough, it was a belief he was starting to share, but he couldn't have other people thinking it to. He needed someone he could trust, someone he got on with better than the others. The best person for the job could only be one person. The Computer told him she was in the Miranda's Chapel, which seemed like a good place to have a conversation like the one that faced him.

Anjoli heard the quiet hiss of the door opening behind her. Another visitor seeking guidance and peace, perhaps? Anjoli smiled and let the universe unfold around her, as it should.

"Anjoli" he said as he approached her. John hoped he wasn't interupting anything, but he needed to talk with someone, and Anjoli was his friend. "Have you got a minute?"

Anjoli turned her head up and around to see her good friend John Ramirez. She gave him a smile and patted the bench next to her. "You can have a whole hour."

"Thanks" he replied, flopping down onto the bench beside her.

Anjoli turned to face him, crossing her legs on the bench next to him. "I don't think I've ever seen you in here....what can I do for you?"

"Thats 'cause I don't usually come in here" he replied, "I came here looking for you actually. I need to talk to you about something, without you thinking I'm crazy."

Anjoli nodded, intrigued with John's need. "You have my full attention, John. What is troubling you?"

"Well" John began, "when we got back to Atlantis, I got a letter from my sister, telling me about my Dad's death." John paused for a few moments, before continuing, "at first I never thought too much about it, you know he and I have never been close. And I knew that death was bound to happen, especially in the Starship Command track. But now, I'm seeing him, everywhere."

Anjoli took John's big hand in both of hers with a look of genuine sympathy. "I am sorry for your loss, my friend. The loss of a parent is never easy. I know that with such a deep loss, we tend to see the person in the things they taught and shared with us. It's how they helped is grow into the people we are."

John felt Anjoli's hands on his own hand, and could tell that her sympathy was genuine. The problem was she was way off base. "No, that's not what I mean. I think I've accepted his death, and I even understand it. In our profession, its part of life. It's just that, I am actually seeing him. This morning, I even had an arguement with him. On the Bridge no less. I'd swear they already think I'm crazy."

Anjoli didn't say anything immediately, trying to absorb what John was telling her. "You must realize that contact with loved ones--direct contact--is exceedingly rare by any standard. That being said, tell me what exactly happened on the bridge."

"Well, first thing was, he appeared, and said he didn't like our current assignment." John replied, trying to reccount everything. "He said how there was every chance that the Romulans would stab us in the back. He said that there would never be peace between them and us. Not in his lifetime anyway. I reminded him that he was dead. We argued about the future a bit, then Commander Jaxom interupted us, and I haven't seen him since."

"Nice comback, but you should really be more polite to your father, dead or not."

Anjoli pondered this information, clearly intrigued by the whole episode. "Intriguing. Extrabiologic entities rarely comment on current political events. Then again, there are not many rules pertaining to such encounters."

"Now...how do you feel about this event? Besides the doubts of your sanity. By the way, I think that you are quite sane."

"Thats one of us then." John replied, before saying, "I'm not sure how I feel. It wasn't like I was talking to his spirit, or talking to a dead man. It was actually like he was there, everything about the whole conversation was exactly as if he'd been right there, stood next to me. I'm not sure what to think at all. I know it doesn't make sense, and yet at the same time, it makes perfect sense to me. Do you know what I mean."

"I think so." Anjoli rubbed her lips as she looked up at the big Terran. "And no one else saw him, correct?"

"Just me" John replied. "At least, no one else acknowledged him, which suggests to me that no one else saw him."

Anjoli nodded in understanding. "How much credence do you give what he said to you?"

"Well, Everything sounded like things that he would actually have said." John tried to think of things his father had ever done or said to him. "He didn't act like he was dead. If I hadn't have known better, every time I've seen him he's acted just like he always did."

"Was your father especially familiar with the Romulans? Were they a point ot contention between the two of you, for example?"

"I don't know" John said, thinking hard whether that was actually true or not. "He never talked about the Romulans before, and I don't think he ever had an assignment where he had to come up against them. Although he may have done, I'm not really sure."

"But it was clearly not an issue between the two of you. So for this entity,,,spirit..whatever...to expouse a litany against the Romulans smacks of being too random to be ignored." Anjoli's puzzled look didn't improve. "I've of a mind to investigate this further on a scientific level. Perhaps we could get a scanning team to the bridge to determine if there are any traces of this incident."

"Now your just humouring me" Ramirez replied.

"She's not son" Ramirez senior said, appearing behind Anjoli. "She's deadly serious." He fell silent for a moment, before saying, "pardon the pun." He was once more dressed in his Dress Uniform.

Anjoli, unaware of the spirit behind her, continued. "Not at all. I know there are many things in the universe that cannot be explained. I do want an answer to the riddle of what happened to you. That's the rational part of me that balances the spiriual side."

"You are troubled, and a true friend would not ridicule you in this matter."

"I told you son. She's good this one." the Spirit/ Ramirez senior entity/ whatever this apparition is gonna get termed as, said smiling.

"I know that" John said with a smile, answering his father, as much as he was Anjoli. "And despite everything, I really am glad that we have this opportunity to talk."

Anjoli's smile lit up her face. She squeezed his big hand in hers. "You know that I am your friend, John. I won't lie to you. You may never get the answers you seek on this. You will just have to take it on faith that if this is truly your father...that he means well."

"I'm sure he does" Ramirez said, smiling, looking at him as he sat behind his friend the Doctor. "Something tells me that his heart's in the right place."

"Actual Work? Say it ain't so!"

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC Commanding Officer/ Alpha Company CO 101st Battalion

Lieutenant Nathan 'Cowboy' Everett- SFFC Pilot/Squadron XO USS Miranda

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

With the input from the Galaxy's attachment, For'kel was more certain in the plan, but what he wasn't certain of was the SFFC's contingent. Would they be able to provide any kind of support, or were the Marines on their own?

And then there was the matter of who he could send to try and find any downed pilots. He could certainly use a fly-boy's touch.

The flyboy in question strolled into what someone promised him was, in fact, the deck the Marines used to hold their drills. He'd never actually been down in Marine territory before. It just seemed unnatural, the idea of a fighter pilot being down here. He wasn't sure why he'd been sent down instead of one of his superiors, but sadly, he wasn't allowed to complain unless he wanted to get an earful from Colonel Mitchell, his CO Major mel'Thora, or worse, Major Starburst.

And so Nathan trudged along, eyeing his surroundings interestedly. The place reeked of order and discipline, a far cry from the chaos of pilot country, and Nathan suppressed a shudder at the sight of it. He cringed a little as the shouts of "Hup! One! Hup! Two!" and "Hoo-ra!" rang through the room, and Nathan was about ready to turn and flee this hellhole when he finally noticed the man he was supposed to be meeting. Desperate to get this over with quickly, he hurried across the room to him.

"Lieutenant Everett reportin', sir. Just like y'asked," he drawled, giving the Marine a stiff nod. "What kin Ah do fer ya?"

"Pleasure to meet you Lieutenant." For'kel held out his hand, offering a small smile. "Colonel Arvelion, by the way. I was wondering if you could brief us on the SFFC's plan in the event of an invasion on Romulus?" The last thing they needed after all, was another Mitchell induced misunderstanding that got people needlessly killed and risked the ship in the progress. "I'd rather not get in the way of you guys if it's avoidable."

Nathan grasped Arvelion's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you as well, Colonel," he replied, finally smiling. He nodded in response to the Marine's question. "No problem, sir. That's why Ah'm here, after all." He looked down at the holotable he and Arvelion stood over, leaning over it a bit. "The plan's pretty simple, actually. What we've got in mind is--" He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced sideways at a gorgeous human female clad only in PT gear. She was in the middle of some Marine training regimen, and damn did she look good doing it. Nathan began to wonder what she'd be like in bed; no doubt she'd kill him in the process, but damn if it wouldn't be a hell of a way to go...

He suddenly remembered where he was, and he looked over at Arvelion, who was giving him an odd look. Nathan shook his head and smiled, only looking a little embarrassed. "Uh...sorry 'bout that, Colonel. Somethin' caught my eye..."

For'kel couldn't help but snicker. "Don't worry about it Lieutenant, and call me For'kel." In the Stagnorian military, the use of first names was common. Over radio, nobody found out who was what rank or of what relation if first names were used, so it was seen as a security precaution. "Lieutenant Collins captures the eyes of plenty people, usually but not exclusive to the male sex." For'kel was, after all, aboard ship for a very long time before finally marrying Bery, he ought to know. "All right, I think that we'll be able to stay out of your way. I'll have artillery aimed at low altitude, so if you do have to approach the deck, be careful."

The pilot nodded, mentally filing away the female Marine's name. "Alright then, For'kel. Mah name's Nathan." He grinned at the alien, then looked at the holotable again, looking over the artillery placements. "Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem. Ah'll brief mah superiors on yer artillery so we'll know what to avoid and where."

"I appreciate the help, Nathan." He'd heard that name somewhere... one of those historical videos he watched before transfering over to Starfleet. "Your family doesn't happen to have a 'hot dog' farm, does it?"

Nathan looked at the Marine, blinking. "A hot dog farm?" he asked, unable to keep himself from laughing at the idea. "Naw, no hot dog farmers in mah family tree, so far as Ah know." He shook his head, chuckling. "Why do y'ask?"

"Heard something about Nathan's hot dogs at one point. Figured it might have been a name sake or relative... totally unrelated to the mission, anyway." For'kel downloaded the Marines' plans. "You might want to give this to your higher ups too, just so they have the whole story ahead of them. We'll appreciate any straffing runs you guys can make on the potential landing zones. If any of you have to beam out, we'll have teams ready to pick you up."

"Sounds good to me," Nathan said, looking over the plans again. "Yep, Ah think this'll work nicely." He looked up at For'kel and gave him a playful, lopsided grin. "Ah guess the rumors ain't true after all, you Marines really do know what the hell yer doin'," he joked.

For'kel smirked. "Yeah, we get it right on occassion. Every one has a stroke of luck in their lives." He nodded over towards Collins. "She's one of my platoon leaders. You break her, you better buy a replacement."

Nathan followed For'kel's nod, and he smiled. "Honestly, sir, Ah'm more worried about her breakin' me..."

For'kel laughed. "Probably right to be. If there's nothing else Nathan, I think we're done here."

"Right. Guess Ah'd better git these back on up to the CAG, then. Nice meetin' ya, For'kel!" He saluted the Marine CO with the PADD in his hand, and then he spun around and started to walk away. Instead of heading for the exit, however, Nathan turned and made his way over to Lieutenant Collins. Duty could wait until later.

"The Open Arms Of Home"

(Takes Place 2 Months Ago)

Primary Characters:

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Lt. Ella Grey
Major Corran Rex
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Vanguard Flight Deck

Silence once again reined in the cockpit of Vanguard One as Corran Rex and Victor Krieghoff finally returned to the starship Galaxy.

Corran, likely moreso than Victor, felt changed by the trip. A little colder, a little harder, and just a little bit older in his soul.

And when one's combined soul was about four thousand years old, one would think that he was quite old enough as it was. A man could always feel a little older, it seemed.

Still, there, on the flight deck, was something - someone - that raised his spirits considerably.

Ella.

****

He was back.

She wasn't certain whether to be relieved, overjoyed, or afraid when she'd gotten the word an hour ago from a friend in Flight Control. Relieved because he'd come back and wasn't headed straight to Sickbay this time - whatever he might have tried to say, Rex wouldn't have stood for that and would have called in a team of medical personnel if it had been needed. Overjoyed because he'd come back to her and the part of her that had been missing all these weeks was here, and she was going to be whole again. Afraid because... well because every time he did this, every time he'd gone away on a mission or a landing party since they'd been together he'd come back more distant, more withdrawn, and each time it seemed harder and harder to reach him.

In the end, she settled for feeling all three at once. He was back, and that was all that mattered. She could work with anything but his not being there.

It was torture waiting as their ship landed, as the Major shut everything down, and as the two men disembarked and retrieved their luggage.

He seemed... different... somehow as he reached for his baggage. She wasn't certain how yet, but he wasn't the same - perhaps something in the way he stood, or carried himself? It didn't matter. He was back and she was... running.

****

Victor heard her over the background noise of the flight deck as he straightened up, a full six paces before he saw the recognition of the sound in Rex's eyes. That was time to set his bag and the weapons case down, time to straighten up, and time to turn to face her as she arrived.

It was Angelienia of course - he'd known that after the second step. She didn't run like the only other person that would be approaching them this way. Lieutenant Grey's steps were sure-footed, but not as smoothly natural as the Ktarian's. He'd danced with her too long to mistake those footfalls for anyone else's. Besides, the sounds were headed straight for him, not Rex, as Grey's would have been.

He did not, however, know that she was going to keep moving forward and throw her arms around him, her thick blonde hair hiding her face as she buried it in his chest, and hold on to him so tightly that he doubted a black hole's gravitational pull could have separated them.

For a moment he stood there, unable to move, unable to think. She was touching him. Holding him. Her arms were tight around his chest, tight enough that he ought to have trouble breathing... but he didn't. He felt... something. Not the emptiness that had filled him for almost a year now, but something. Something....

She was saying something now, her words lost in his chest, her grip just as tight. He couldn't make out the words, butt hat didn't seem important. Not really. The important thing was that he felt something again and he didn't want to stop feeling it. He awkwardly reached up and put a hand in the middle of her back to hold her there, so she wouldn't let go and take the feeling away, his other hand falling onto her hip naturally, as if they were dancing. Except they weren't.

She stiffened at his touch, as if it were unexpected, made a single soft sound that was, perhaps, the happiest noise he'd ever heard from her, and tightened her grip even further as he tilted his head and rested his cheek on her hair, the smell of it filling his nostrils.

He felt... warm.

****

From the doorway Ella watched, frozen, her words sticking in her mouth.

It was funny, she mused, how in under a minute she had gone from feeling the elation of knowing what to do to feeling like she had been drop kicked or perhaps body slammed into concrete pavement.

Ella knew what to do. She had come here to do it.

... And she couldn't.

She couldn't because this was the first time in months that she had seen an emotion - any emotion - other than his blank, neutral expression on Victor's face. It didn't matter who had put it there, even if knowing that it was Angie did make her almost physically ill and desperate to spend a long night drinking with Indigo.

It didn't matter because Victor was *feeling* something again. And Angie, not Ella, had caused it.

She honestly didn't know if she wanted to kill the woman or thank her. Probably both.

Corran watched the entire scene in a mute silence, taking it all in. Seeing the expression on Grey's face, his twisted for a moment in a not unreasonable fit of jealousy... which he quickly tamped down before she turned to see.

Ella turned and for a moment couldn't hide the pain despite the years of training. And then she smiled because she was genuinely happy to see Rex. "Hi."

No trace of the burning jealousy the Trill felt inside showed as he greeted his - what? Girlfriend? Lover? Fellow screw-up? What term applied, really? And honestly, he couldn't say if he was angrier at Ella for what he'd just seen in her face, angrier at Victor and Angel for causing it, or angrier at himself for voluntarily placing himself in the middle of this situation. Still, he smiled as he greeted Ella. "Hi yourself."

She was reluctant to touch him so soon after her near public display of grief over another man but she also couldn't help wrapping her arms around him for a hug. To give comfort. To be comforted. "You look tired, Spots."

"I could use a good long nap." he chuckled, trying to force those rather negative emotions to the back of his mind, where they belonged. None of it was anything new, anyways. "Or just some quality time with you."

Ella cracked a smile. "I think that can be arranged."

"Catching Up"

Arel Smith (USS Miranda)
Samantha Widdlestein (USS Galaxy)

****

Of course, what Arel expected to happen and what usually took place were not always synonymous.

Case in point, her expectation of Sam howling with laughter about her marriage to Mitchell was light years off course as the young girl unexpectedly bellowed 'AND YOU DID'NT INVITE ME TO THE WEDDING?"

"It was an accident, Sam." Arel snapped. "I didn't exactly have time to send out invitations."

"That's not the point." Sam snapped back. "I had this thing ALL planned for you. It was going to be the BEST wedding ever. And you probably made a big fat mess of it."

"So sorry." The security chief said in a voice that really sounded more acidic than sympathetic.

"I WAS GOING TO BE THE MAID OF HONOR!" Samantha whined."I was going to be in this red leather bridesmaid dress and have a brand new bat'leth and HOW COULD YOU, AH-REL!"

Arel muttered some explanations in Klingon.

"I know what all those words mean!" The girl said. "I bet you didn't even wear a dress. And *I* would have designed you the BEST dress."

"It was an accident, Sam." Arel growled. "As in, it was a frelling accident."

"But noooo you have to go and get married to Mitchell. And I mean, really, MITCHELL?" Samantha exclaimed. "Get hit in the head too much? Some kind of malnutrition from that planet you were stuck on? Accidentally ate a plate full of stupid?"

"Shut up, Sam." Arel said with a bright smile.

Samantha placed her hands on her hips. "So is it an accident that you're *still* married to him now even though these supposed marriage-loving Klingons are now gone?"

Arel looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I've been busy; haven't had the time.

"Ah-rel," Samantha said sternly. "I know you. If you wanted the time, you'd make it."

Arel gave a very impressive glare, which Samantha just waved off. Well, no matter what the brat was implying, she really hadn't had the time to divorce Mitchell yet. She'd been busy with stuff. Ship's security and all that.

Even if a Klingon divorce was as simple as backhanding the man....

"You actually LIKE being married to James Mitchell." Samantha accused. "You like that steaming pile of for'shak and want to have like five hundred of his babies."

"I have a brother now." Arel countered, knowing it would piss the girl off. "And Korvin just completed his first semester of school!"

"Oh, fine!" Samantha yelled. "Rub it in!"

She plopped down next to Arel in a huff.

Arel crossed her arms.

Samantha grinned. "I've missed you, even though you're completely hopeless."

"I've missed you too." Arel said. "Even though you're a pain in the ass."

Samantha snorted.

"So let me get this straight." Samantha said after a moment. "You're dad, who's human, was recently adopted by a Klingon, making you a member of House Ralok. You're blood brother to a Stagnorian now and you just accidentally married the father of your partly Bajoran child."

Arel considered. "That pretty much covers it."

"I think I could use that in my next novel," Samantha mused. "As the Universe Turns in Hell."

The security officer threw a pillow at her.

"The Job"

Captain Christopher Summers, USS Miranda

------------
Ready Room
USS Miranda
------------

"Captain's Log, Stardate 60129.7 The Miranda and her accompanying task force have now entered the Romulan star system itself. While we may officially be allies, more than a few of us remember when the Empire wasn't nearly as friendly to Starfleet - and more than a few of us wonder if they are yet."

"While my gut still tells me something's wrong about this entire business, I have to admit that it couldn't have gone smoother. The expected challenge at the border was almost perfunctory - two warbirds joined our task force from there as escorts. We've moved through the rest of the space between Romulus and the Federation Border without incident."

"Word's come, however, of just how busy the Imperial Romulan Navy has been. The Majority of their fleet is now fighting the Hydrans, who are invading in force from Galactic north on a direct line for Romulus. the fighting, from what Majors McKeon and Weber have been able to turn up, does not go well. I hope to get actual confirmation once we're in contact with the Romulan government."

"In the mean time, our mission remains the same - to aid in the defense of the Romulan homeworld should the Hydrans make it this far. I pray they do not. It seems more and more likely however, that they will. End log."

Chris Summers pressed the key on his terminal that was stop the recording. He could have done it with a voice command, he knew, but he was old-fashioned enough that he preferred pushing the button. It was far too easy to allow technology to do everything for a person. It was a little thing, perhaps, but Chris Summers was a man who felt that the little things mattered - perhaps a great deal more than the big ones.

As he looked out the window - the window that, some days, still didn't feel like it was his - Chris thought briefly of his old ship, the Anchorage. Thirty years commanding her, from one end of the Galaxy to the next. The ship had been home, the crew, a family. A crew that was gone now, to other things - some had retired to the private sector, some had moved on to other assignments, a few had commands of their own now. He thought of Darren M'Kantu, down in his temporary quarters here aboard the Miranda, no down eagerly awaiting his return to the ship that had become his home, the Galaxy.

He envied M'Kantu that connection. The fact, that, despite inheriting his ship from men like Shoak, Lee Price and John Bhrode - though opinions on that last varied a great deal, of course - Darren had still turned that ship into his.

Here on the Miranda, Chris didn't know if it was Victor Murdock's presence or Elaithin Jii's that he was trying to fill in for. Or truthfully, when he remembered the new Anchorage sitting in her construction slip at Starbase 12, he wondered if he was even trying. He didn't feel that connection with Miranda - this ship, even after six months, was an assignment. Her crew, associates. Valued associates some, but that connection just.. wasn't there.

"Because I'm on the wrong damn ship." He muttered aloud. It was an admission he'd never make to another living soul - certainly not in front of any of those under his command.

The stars didn't streak now - In-system, they'd be traveling at full impulse as a matter of course. it didn't matter - Summers wasn't looking much at the stars anyway.

["Bridge to Captain Summers."] the voice of Commander Dakota Harris, his communications officer, interrupted.

"Summers here." he replied, tapping his commbadge. "What is it, Commander?"

["You've got a message, sir, marked personal."]

Chris frowned, wondering who could be sending him a message. "Put it through in here."

He sat back at the desk, watching as the image cam of.

Of course.

Allison. His estranged wife - who hadn't returned any of the message he'd sent since the Miranda had returned from the Delta Quadrant.

["God, Chris. How do I begin?"] Allison shifted in front of the camera.

["You can call me a coward if you want for sending you this message instead of talking to you directly, but I'm tired of fighting with you and I can't deal with your pulling boy-next-door charm routine another time. I fall for it every time, and this time I can't let that happen. I have things I have to say, and this is the only way I'm going to get to say them. Just this once I'm going to get to say everything I'm thinking." ]

She shifted again, as if the cream Aran sweater she wore were a lead weight and not Irish wool. She looked guilty. The last time she had that look, she told him she'd taken care of the question of their having more children permanently, without even asking if he minded.

"Do you remember what I said the last time we spoke? I told you if you decided to take command of the Miranda, we were through. I told you I couldn't go through it all again: the waiting, the wondering if you were safe, the rumors of firefights coming in from the fringes of space and the praying you'd make it home one more time. I begged you to retire. When you said you couldn't retire, I pleaded with you to take a desk job, something where we would be together and you could be safe.

"We argued about it for more than a year, Chris. When you took command of that ship, I knew you didn't care. It's so dangerous, I just knew that was the last time I was ever going see you again. I could feel it. You've been too damn lucky over the years, Chris and you should know that. How many friends have you lost because they had to go charging off on some damned last crusade like they thought they were still young and full of vigor, pretending that those aches and pains they felt were battle wounds and not age creeping up on them?" She sighed. "You were the worst of them all, Chris, like you thought you were immortal.

When you took command of that ship, I knew you didn't give a damn about how I felt or what it was doing to me. I knew you didn't give a damn about us."

She ran her hand through the shock of silver curls at her temple. "And then I got that knock on my door. The one I've been dreading for fifty-five years."

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She was silent for a long time. "For three months I was a wreck and now, when I'm just starting to get my life back together, you come riding back up on your white horse and you want my forgiveness?"

She was silent again. She swallowed hard. "I forgive you, Chris, but I can't do this again." She looked at the table. She twisted her hands. She looked away and tears welled in her eyes. Allison reached forward to turn off the recording and he could see that she wasn't wearing his ring.

The recording resumed with Allison settling back into her chair. Her eyes were red and she looked like she'd cried for a long time. She tried to cover it as she started speaking again, but he could tell. "For a while, there, I didn't think I was going to make it. I've had good friends though."

She glanced away from the screen and smiled softly. "One in particular, actually, that's really been here for me, like you never were. I don't know that there's an us, but we were just starting to explore that option and Chris, I loved you. I love you, but I'm done crying for you. I've spent so many nights over the years crying for you, praying for you, wondering why, if you loved me, that you were gallivanting across the galaxy in your damned ship."

She looked off away from the screen again, then looked down. "I never could understand it. I never could understand you. It took me fifty years to realize it, but there it is. All I know is it was wrong of me to try to cage you here with me and I'm tired, Chris.

I'm tired of the pain, and the loneliness. I'm tired of loving someone who isn't going to be here with me." Allison wiped her eyes with a tissue. "His name is Arthur Reynolds. He's currently director of Mars Shipyards."

She looked directly into the screen. "I've been happy, Chris. He makes me happy. You always said that's what you wanted for me. I want that for me, too."

She smiled sadly. "Take care of yourself, Chris. Goodbye." The screen went black.

Well.

That was that. No conversation, no ..

Just that.

["Bridge to Captain Summers."] It was Jaxom this time. ["We're approaching Romulus, sir. We have rendezvous coordinates with the Galaxy."]

"Under.." he started, a coughed a moment, catching himself. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself - he had a mission to carry out.

It was all he had now, after all. The job.

"Understood." he said, his voice clearer and surer than it had been in some time. "Inform Captain Henderson that I'll be coming aboard with Captain M'Kantu and pull us into orbit. Henderson should have our contacts for the Romulan government. Also, I want all department heads to meet with their counterparts on the Galaxy to be briefed on the current local situation. Have them prepare status reports for dissemination through the Task Force."

["Aye, sir."]

"Summers out." he replied, and looked out the window one last time before straightening himself. He felt the weight of the ring on his finger, that he'd worn now for fifty five years. It felt, suddenly, like lead on his hand.

When he left the ready room to do his job, the ring stayed behind on his desk.

"Flight of the Damned, Pt. 1"

khre'Arrain Vaebn
RNI Operative (NPC - Stuart)

****

Vaebn awoke to the sound of the door to his cell opening for yet another torture session. Three men, at least he assumed with their manly physique that they were men, entered the cell. Clothed in black, with black masks, Vaebn still couldn't detect anything that would give away which house they belonged to. They moved forward, to grab their prisoner. Vaebn stood before they reached him and allowed them to grab him tightly in their strong hands, ready to lead him down the nondescript hallway to the interrogation chamber. It was a sequence of events that had happened every day, and on most days, multiple times.

The precision at which they did everything, repeated each time indicated a strong military background, though which group, if it was one of the agencies, he could not say. "No. ieuyye!" A fourth, a woman's voice this time, covered in white robes with a white mask said. Her dialect made that she was from the southern reaches of ch'Rihan, though she could have been faking it.

Following her orders, they roughly turned Vaebn over onto his stomach. He tried not to grimace at the rough handling but failed. Luckily they had not seen it as he had been facing away from them when it happened. Surprisingly they didn't strap Vaebn down this time. And that got Vaebn a briefly nervous at what they were planning. It passed as he watched the four men step back a few paces and take positions around the room. Vaebn wasn't going to try anything. He doubted he had the strength to even fight one of them, let alone four.

"This looks painful." The white hooded woman said, gently pressing down on his sore back. Vaebn gave no outward sign of pain, even if on the inside he felt every movement.

Vaebn chuckled, regretting it as soon as he did. "I've had worse... vaehkh!" He said defiantly, adding the derogatory remark after a moment.

"There's no need to be crass, Vaebn." She slapped him on his rear.

"Why not? You have me in this gaehl. And all you do is torture me."

"Not today" She replied. "Today, I heal you."

"What... no beatings, no whipping? You disappoint me."

She laughed. "An you vex me Vaebn. But tomorrow we will get our answers. Tomorrow we begin the interrogation again."

She applied some healing salve to his wounds, ensuring that it got deep into the cuts in the skin. He winced a few times at the pressure she was putting on his back a few times, but when she was done, it felt better, slightly.

"Is that better?" She asked, feigning concern.

"Much. You are a grand healer." He replied sarcastically.

She shook her head from side to side. "There is no need for that tone." Turning towards the three men, "Take him back to his cell."

**** Later that evening... ****

Vaebn sat on his cot clenched in a ball, his knees pressed close to his chest, arms encircling them rubbing them up and down his legs for warmth. It was freezing in the cell, and Vaebn couldn't recall when it had ever been this cold. In his mind he saw only three options. The first being that he was close to death. His teacher, while growing up, had mentioned several times that when you were close to death, you sometimes felt unnaturally cold. He doubted that this was the case. But if death overcame him, it would be a welcome relief from the constant torture he was enduring.

The second thought was that this was the start of a different from of torture that they were trialing. Since he had beaten everything they had thrown at him, perhaps they were trying to get him out of his element by changing the temperature. The third option, the one Vaebn believed was the most logical one, was that the 'healing salve' she had used wasn't in fact just a normal healing salve, but had something else in it.

Vaebn had received Survival, Escape and Evasion training upon joining the RNI, as had the other RNI agents who joined and he knew that he could take anything they threw at him. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to strike back.

**** The next morning ****

The clang of the door opening brought Vaebn to his feet. He felt refreshed, despite the cold temperature during the night. Vaebn marveled at the good feeling he felt in his back. The pain was gone. One of the hooded men came over and placed a hand on Vaebn's shoulder. He brushed it off. The men raised their weapons in his direction.

"Fire if you must." He said. "But I am quite capable of walking to the gaehl by myself."

One of the men nodded and indicated, with a quick movement of the end of his gun, for Vaebn to start walking.

"Good morning!" He said in greeting to the white robed woman as he entered the room. "At least I assume it is morning."

She smiled, though he couldn't tell through the facial mask she wore. "Indeed it is."

The door clanged closed and Vaebn took a quick peak at the door. Only two of the guards had entered. Perfect!

"And what kind of torture are we going to start with today? Breaking my fingers? Slicing me open? The Whip?" He kept talking about the different ways of torture they had previously used on him. And as they were listening to him ramble on, he tensed his muscles in preparation for what he was planning to do. Quick as a flash he had taken two steps towards the woman in white, snatched up a scalpel from the bench, and pulled her hood off. Grabbing the top of her head he pulled back, forcing her head up and her neck out towards the two guards. He placed the scalpel at her now exposed throat, the tip cutting the surface ever so slightly. So well had he timed it, that the two guards had their weapons only half raised by the time he had finished his maneuver.

"RELEASE HER!" One of them called out.

"No. Lower your weapons or I will gut her open." He replied, a devilish look forming in his eyes.

"Release her now." He said more softly.

Vaebn shook his head slightly. "Drop 'em or I push this in here." He pushed the blade a little further, drawing more blood.

The guard nodded. "Okay, we will lower our weapons." He nodded to the second guard and started lowering his weapon to the ground. The second guard moved towards the torture rack, his weapon held at arms length away from him as her moved to place it on the blood stained bench.

The Terran's had a saying, 'Fortune favors the bold' yet as it happened, the bold sometimes also required a little luck. As was the case that developed in the torture chamber. Vaebn wasn't a fool. He had seen many winters due to his cunning and guile, and a little distracting behavior wasn't going to fool him. Eyeing up his target, Vaebn pulled the knife from the throat of the woman and threw it at the guard.

The second guard could not but watch as the scalpel whistled past his face and embedded itself deep within the rear guard's throat, dropping him rather quickly. Vaebn watched as, in an unfortunate turn of events, the fingers of the dying guard's hand contracted around the disruptor that was aimed for Vaebn, firing the emerald beam through the second guard's back, burying it's energy into the wall mere inches from Vaebn's face. And then he too slipped down to the ground, lifeless.

"Looks like it is just you and me now." Vaebn whispered into her ear, his face contorting into a maniacal grin as he did so.

"We Knew What It Was"
Major Corran Rex
Lieutenant Ella Grey

---------------------------
Rex's Quarters
"Fighter Country"
USS Galaxy
--------------------------

In the soft-lit glow of his quarters, she sighed and unwrapped herself from his body.

She drew the sheet up and then rested her head on his shoulder, wondering if he could see the look in her eyes, wondering if he knew what she was about to say.

Sure, it wasn't the best time for this but what was?

"Corran," Ella began.

Out the viewport to their side, the Galaxy orbited Romulus. If one looked closely enough, the other ships of the Federation task force, and their Romulan escorts. After so many months here, it was a familiar view for the Galaxy's crew.

That troubled world, just this moment, was the farthest thing from Corran Rex's mind.

"You want to break up." he replied aloud.

He didn't sound upset, or angry, or surprised, or any of the other things he probably should have sounded like, he knew.

Ella sighed. "Yes."

Corran took a deep breath before he replied, still not looking at her, just maintaining his thousand-yard stare at the featureless ceiling of his quarters. "Why?" His tone was flat, unemotional - curious.

"It's not fair to you. It's not right." The engineer said. "But mostly I don't want to pretend anymore that it will all work out in the end."

"Oh, so this is for *my* benefit?" he asked, irritation and disbelief finally creeping into his voice. "That's rich, princess. Here I thought it was because you just wanted one last pony ride before pulling the plug."

Ella shrugged, raising an eyebrow, and trying for the casual and careless way that she had left others in the past, the others she'd used to get by. The shrug didn't quite have the right feel to it, the eyebrow wasn't as cold as she would have liked. Maybe because, for once, she had really tried.

"I'll be gone in five minutes." She managed, moving to gather her things.

"Like hell." he finally replied, his hand darting out to catch hers. "You don't get off that easily, Ella. You want to end it, just like that - you damn well owe me a real explanation."

"I don't love you." She said.

"Bullshit. We've known that since we started. Why now?"

"I should by now." Ella said, yanking her arm free. She grabbed her shirt and put in on quickly.

He just stood there, and despite all his years of life experience, he still didn't know what to do next. "And that matters? Ella, we had something good here. Yeah, maybe it wasn't the One True Love, Happily Ever After kind of thing.. but gods - you know how rare that is? Most people go their entire lives never finding that. We're not soul mates. That's not news to either of us. But we're happy with each other. At least I thought."

She made a pfft noise, although translated by the implant it came out more of a pfft-ta-ta-ta, and continued looking for her underwear. "You're wonderful. You're loving and fun and we have fun together...."

Ella decided to just forget the underwear and pull on her pants. "And I'm the whore who goes running to meet Victor because I finally figured out how to apologize to him."

"You're not a whore." Corran said sharply. "I might want to call you a lot of things - especially right now, but whore's not ever been one of them."

Silence reigned for a moment as neither spoke. "That's it then, though, isn't it? Victor's changed. You think he's free now, so it's time to ditch the slug and move on?" it was impossible for him not to sound bitter about that.

"No, he's not free. He's with Angie." She said angrily, pulling on her shoes. "The point is that I didn't even think about you, Rex. And I should have! Because you're my boyfriend and I really tried to make this work. But I knew how to say I was sorry to Victor and..." Ella shook her head. "I told myself I wasn't using you. But I guess I was, huh?"

"I know that!" Corran yelled back. "I've always known you were using me, Ella. And I was probably using you, too. I wanted to try to find something real, and if it wasn't well, it was close enough, dammit."

She said nothing.

"Just not good enough for you, then?"

"Is it really enough for you?" Ella asked.

He wanted to lie. More than anything, he wanted to lie. He wanted to say 'Yes'. He wanted to say that it was enough, or that it could be enough, or that they should give it more time. He wanted to say a million things.

He said none of them.

"No." he finally said aloud, his voice quiet. "No, I guess it isn't."

Ella took a deep breath that bordered on wavering. And here she had vowed never to become a romance novel cliche, she thought. "I'm so sorry, Corran. I really did try, you know."

He turned his back, not trusting any words that might come out of his mouth for the moment. The hell of it was - he knew she meant every last damn word.

Corran was very quiet when he spoke, in a voice that rang of every one of Rex's four thousand years. "I think you should go, Grey."

Any control she might have had of the situation slipped suddenly from her and her voice, mechanical as it may be, went from wavering to cracking. "Don't. Don't do that to me, Corran. Call me Ella."

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "I think you should go, Ella."

Ella blinked back tears but nodded. "I'll, uh, see you around."*

"Yeah."

She left, thinking it both the smartest and stupidest thing that she had ever done. *

Corran fell back on the bed after she left, running his hands down his face after she left.

Good god, did he ever need a drink.

ooc- This will take place after the next marine JP gets out, but I wanted to get it out now as it's moving a little slow.

"Preparations"

Major Peter Shaw- SFMC Executive Officer- Bravo Company CO 101st Battalion, USS Miranda

Lieutenant Saul Bental- SFI Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

Pilot Paulo DiMillo- SFFC Intelligence Liaison Vanguard Squadron, USS Galaxy

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

***USS Miranda - Marine Country***

Pete looked down at the PADD. On it held the Miranda's and the 101st orders. They where in orbit of Romulus to help them secure the planet while the Romulans go head-to-head with the Hydrans. "This is not good," Pete murmured to himself.

"Major," Pete heard a voice coming from his doorway. "I have the communication link with the Galaxy's Intelligence Team as you requested."

"Thank you specialist," Pete replied as he turned his monitor on.

A Starfleet Lieutenant appeared. He was sitting in some sort of office, and gazing back in a rather disturbing way. His chin was decorated by day-old bristles. In the corner of the monitor, Pete spotted something that looked like the uniform of a Starfleet cadet.

"Shalom there. I'm Lieutenant Saul Bental, Galaxy intelligence."

"Good to meet you Lt. I am Major Peter Shaw 101st Battalion XO aboard the USS Miranda."

Saul nodded. "Ah yes, welcome. We where getting lonely out here."

Pete nodded. "I wouldn't usually contact an Intelligence team on board another ship, but I need some Intelligence and you are the only Starfleet team in the area. The Miranda team is currently is turmoil while a new CIO is picked, and Marine Intelligence just doesn't have the presence. What I need is a layout of the Romulan capital, up to date as you can get me. We are going to be deployed in and around the city and I would like to know what I am going to be facing."

"Of course. We're passively mapping the region ever since entering orbit. Maps should be up to date, minus whatever damage today's riots caused.", Saul shook his head in disappointment, then looked sideways at the gray spot. He began lecturing about the importance of passive intelligence, while he tapped on a console just outside Pete's view.

A second data stream began flowing from the Galaxy toward the Miranda. It was much more heavily encrypted, and sophisticated hidden within the original stream. It did not contain the maps Pete requested; Rather, it featured new standing orders from SFI, and schematics for specific devices to be installed on the marines' standard equipment and the Miranda's fighters.

Pete looked at the steam of data. "Lt., what is this?" Pete asked. Some of it looked intriguing, thought suspicious at the same time. He didn't like the idea of SFI prying their grimy hands into the Marine Corps, and he usually wouldn't even be making this call, but Marine Intelligence was limited in this area of space. Though Pete would have to bring it up with For'kel at some point, but right now he was more concerned with getting the maps he needed and getting positions setup. The first stream had contained the preliminary data, and was good enough to make some preliminary plans.

Once the secondary stream closed, Saul naturally finished the short lecture and returned to face Pete. "Sorry for that. We have three trainees on board, and are using day-to-day activities to show them the ropes."

The gray spot bent forward, and he could see the head of a Human female, of Indian heritage. She actually winked at him.

"Anyhow, I will compile the data you required and send it to you within two hours. Would that be satisfactory?"

Pete was now officially creped out and didn't really want to know what the Lt. and Cadet where doing. "Yes," Pete said. "I am also forwarding a message that gives us permission, more or less, to do fly byes over the Capital so we can setup a viable defense. If you could do a few, that would be helpful. A topographical map would also be beneficial."

Saul simply nodded.

"Thank you Lt. Miranda out." Pete then looked up to find the specialist still standing there. "Remind me to not call the Intelligence team on that ship again. That creped me out more then Slim ever did."

"Noted sir, but you will have to meet with them when we arrive."

"Good, have them come here then," Pete said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Again noted," she said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, if you could deliver a message to Jenna for me," he said handing her a padd. "That would be great."

"You know, you could just call her."

"Yeah, but I figure doing it this way she will have to come down here to get a response."

"Sneaky. You are almost as bad as the Intelligence folks."

"Don't even kid like that."

The specialist didn't reply. She simply smiled and walked away.

***

Back on the Galaxy, Saul finished his explanation - the real one, not the charade - to Lali Indrakshi. "... presume that the Romulans are listening to all of our incoming and outgoing transmissions. Thus, we use methods such as this to send classified notes so that they won't be intercepted."

"And if they will?"

"You win some, you lose some.", Saul shrugged. "And that's also why I just instructed them to install the devices, without giving their purpose. What SFI want to do is to take advantage of our presence, and utilize the starships and the fighters as mobile listening posts. Telecommunications will be intercepted by the fighters, brought back to the ships and decoded there. Also, visual and elint data will be collected. Obviously, this has to be done in complete discretion, in order to prevent a diplomatic crisis."

"In other words, if I tell anyone, I get to see the airlock from outside the ship."

Saul looked dead serious when he replied.

"Precisely."

"What next?" Lali asked, after they were done reviewing SFI's schematics.

"Next, I need to deliver the instructions to our own fighter squadron. Get your fellow cadets, we're heading there right now."

Saul seemed slightly hesitant to Lali. She wasn't aware of the bad blood that ran between her new boss and the Vanguard squadron's intelligence liaison, and Saul intended to keep it that way.

He considered asking Raynor or Shtazai to do the courtesy visit, but he did not know how cooperative DiMillo will be, given the identity of Cora's replacement.

His fist clenched. Some problems you needed to solve by yourself.

***

Paulo was sitting in his little office off the side of the hanger deck going over some reports and reviewing the most recent information on the Romulans. He had a report due to Major Rex by the end of the day, and he didn't want to be late on it.

Someone outside depressed the door console, and an all-too-familiar voice was pitched through. "This is Bental from intelligence. May I come in?"

Paulo looked up. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting, but it was something that needed to be done. He wished Cora hadn't transferred to Flight Control. "Come," Paulo finally ordered.

Saul Bental entered his office, followed by a delegation of Starfleet cadets.

"I'd ask Paulo to explain to you about the role of the squadron's intelligence liaison, but with everything that's going on it'll wait for another time.", Saul told the cadets, then turned back toward Paulo. "Sorry for the blitz... cadet cruise, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Paulo replied and examined the room full of people. "What can I do for you?"

Saul put down a PADD on the liaison's desk. "To sum things up, SFI wants to take advantage of our presence and gain intelligence on ch'Rihan while we're here."

He gave Paulo the brief speech which Lali received earlier, quickly summarizing SFI's objectives. "I sent a message to the CAG, and was told to work with you on it."

"I am the Intelligence Liaison for a reason," he told Bental. "I will take the AWACS down in a little bit." He paused and looked at the PADD again. "If there is nothing else, there is some work I need to do before I head down."

"Sure thing.", Saul replied, not ignorant of the cold manner in which his presence was accepted. It could've been worse, though. The cadets' presence probably prevented any serious clashes, though. "Though I told them I would have the information within two hours."

"Got it, within the hour," he told him. "Now, if you don't mind I have to go prep the AWACS runabout to do the fly byes." Paulo got up and started to walk the large group of cadet. He headed right for the runabout and start the preflight. He wasn't interested in talking with the CIO anymore, not that he wanted to in the first place.

A few minutes later Paulo was in the air and entering the atmosphere. This wasn't going to be one of his more interesting trips, but at least it got him away from the new CIO. He wished that Cora had given him some warning, but she was dealing with her own things right now.

The first fly over was done from a high orbit and as he descended he got higher rez scans.

He did a few more fly byes without incident from the ROmulans before heading back up to the Galaxy and sending Bental the scans.

***

Pete stood in the transporter room of the Miranda and awaited Lt. Bental's beam over. "The Galaxy has responded and Lt. Bental is beaming over."

"Thank you crewman," Pete replied. A few seconds later the familiar blue swirl of stars appeared and a trio of humanoids appeared. "Welcome to the Miranda. I am Major Peter Shaw, Battalion XO."

"Bental.", Saul smiled slyly, extending his hand. "Good to see you in person, Major."

"You as well Lt.," Pete said. "If you will come this way, I have a conference room setup just down the hall."

"No such luck, I'm afraid." Saul gave an isolinear chip to the Major, which inserted it into the central holoprojector. The up-to- date image of the Romulan capital appeared. "Ki Baratan is a major stellar capital, extended and built layer over layer as years pass by. Major recent changes could be seen in sectors 13d, 51a and 96k."

As Saul named each section, the projector zoomed on it temporarily, revealing wide areas under construction or repairs. The image was frozen, but one could imagine tiny Romulans crossing the brick roads or observing the city view from the decorated roof-gardens.

"Such terrain is an excellent challenge for anyone who deal with urban warfare.", Saul continued, "But you know more about that than I do. At any rate, riots take place in open areas, such as section 54h, right there by the building that looks like a Roman temple. It's their domestic affairs office. Open areas can easily be dealt with. The problems begin if you have to enter crowded areas such as 44g."

Again, the holo-projector zoomed in, this time showing a labyrinth of alleys, shallow mud rivers, and three story buildings which saw better days two centuries ago.

"Well hopefully we wont have to do much fighting in the city." Pete studied the image some more. "What about the outskirts of the town? Forests, open areas. Hopefully we can do the fighting out there. Trying to fight in the city is going to be hell at best."

"That depends on where the potential enemy can land its troops. If they'll be able to use transporters, or act within the city, then setting a perimeter outside the city won't do. If the enemy uses shuttles to land troops, however, their LZs will probably be here, here or here.", Saul pointed at three regions in the holographic map. "Closest open areas which are flat enough. Since the city is rather wide, the terrain around it is varied, but my men did mark a dozen areas of significance which could be used for tactical advantage."

"We are planning on them using ships to land troops. There is just no way to transport that many troops using transporters, not to mention that the ship would have to lower it's shields and that is to risky. No, they will use drop craft to do it. There is no other way to do it without risking the whole ship."

"You have a point. That's all I have to say about the area of operation. Let's hope all of this information won't be used."

"Hopefully Lt., hopefully," Pete replied as he studied the charts a little more.

"Best Laid Plans"
Commander Arel Smith
Major Rena "Spitfire" Starburst
Lieutenant Nathan "Cowboy" Everett

---------------
The Cantina
USS Miranda
---------------

"So Fork's my brother now?" Rena asked her sister over their usual lunch table in the Cantina. "That's damn weird, you know."

What's so weird about it?" Arel asked after taking a bite of her burger.

"Well, I've known him for like, ten years." the redheaded sister replied, tossing her hair back as she lifted her own burger. "Thank god I never slept with him."

The security officer coughed a bit. "Er, yeah, that would be weird."

"And then you went and married Mitchell. I'm not even gonna get NEAR that one." Rena chuckled. "So tell me, sis, anybody else on this ship you're planning on making me related to? Some sort of Klingon ceremony for a brother's uncle's father's cousin's former roommate that'll make Summers our grandfather or something?"

Arel scowled. "No. But Summers does know Kern. Small universe, huh?" She took another bite of her burger. "And shut up."

Starburst just laughed and returned to her meal.

As the sisters continued their nice, peaceful lunch together, a voice unmistakable to Rena's ears rang throughout the cantina. "Hey, Spitfire!"

Friend of yours?" Arel asked with a raised eyebrow.

Rena close her eyes and muttered more than a few colorful curses before she met Arel's gaze. "Cowboy." she finally muttered, louder, as though that should explain everything.

At Arel's questioning glaze, she explained further. "One of the Rogues."

"Great. Another fucking pilot." Arel muttered.

"Hey!" Rena replied indignantly, drawing a shrug from her sister.

As if on cue, Cowboy ambled up to the table, looking down at Rena and giving her a wide smile. "There y'are! Ah've been lookin' all over fer ya, darlin'..."

"For the last time, Cowboy, I'm not your 'darlin'"" Starburst replied through gritted teeth. "Call me that again and I'll.. Nevermind. What do you want?"

Nathan thought about coming up with a colorful excuse for his being there, but the truth was he'd just happened to see his favorite Rebel and decided to pay her a visit. They hadn't talked since he got reassigned to the Rogues, after all, and he thought he should rectify that. He grinned at her. "Ya know, the usual...Ah haven't seen ya in a while, Ah was startin' to miss those fun little chats we used to have."

Suddenly he noticed that Rena was, in fact, not alone, and his gaze turned towards the near-identical woman sitting across from Starburst. Naturally, Nathan immediately gave her his best smile. "Well, hello there..."

Rena just buried her face in one of her hands and started muttering again.

Arel threw a look at her sister. "He's kidding, right?"

Starburst's red hair shook from side to side, but she offered no verbal reply.

Cowboy's attention remained on the other woman, though his next question was directed at Starburst. "Well, ain't ya gonna introduce us, Spitfire?"

"I'd rather not.."

Then, a new light - and a particularly wicked grin - struck Rena's face. "Why. As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I would. Lieutenant Nathan Everett - better known as "Cowboy", particularly to the less-intelligent (or just less-discerning) young and nubile female crew of the Miranda, meet my sister, Commander Arel Smith."

If Nathan was offended by any of that, he didn't show it. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow and looked back at Rena. "Yer sister, huh?" he wondered, looking at Arel again.

Arel was torn between wondering at her sisters grin and whether this man actually wrestled bovines and wore funny hats. "So I was told."

"Yes. And she's a very lonely woman, my sister. I think you should do everything in your power to.. comfort her. She's raising her son alone, you see. Very.. lonely." Really, Rena thought she deserved credit for getting that out with a straight face.

"WHAT!" Arel almost shrieked, startling half the people in the Cantina.

"Really?" Cowboy grabbed a chair from the next table and dragged it over to theirs, sitting down between them. "Hell, Miss Arel, if yer anything like yer sister, Ah can't possibly see how ya could be lonely." He looked at Rena and gave her a good-natured, playful smirk, ignoring the scowl on her face.

Arel gave them both a murderous glare.

Rena's scowl, of course, was masking her inner amusement as she waited for Cowboy to turn his full.. charm on Arel. "Please, Cowboy. Have a a seat. A drink."

"Don't mind if Ah do," the interloper responded, leaning back in chair and looking back at the bar. "Hey! Zaphod! Ah'll have one of mah usual!" Arel's glare turned into a full on murderous gleam. "You're going to be at the next family gathering in a little black bag, Rena."

"PGGB, comin up." the two-headed alien replied. "Three?" he asked, looking over at Rena and Arel.

"Yes." both sisters responded simultaneously.

He turned back to the ladies and leaned forward a little, grinning at both of them. "Well, Ah must say, Miss Arel, it's a pleasure to meet ya. Y'know, Spitfire never actually mentioned you before..."

"Dear sister," Rena added, adopting a playfully innocent tone that Arel and Nathan were both certain they had never, ever before heard from the foul mouthed starfighter pilot. "I'm just following centuries of tradition in trying to find my poor spinster sister a good man." She turned to Cowboy then. "Did I mention Arel was raised by Klingons? Ever had sex with a Klingon woman, Cowboy?"

Seriously," Arel growled at her soon to be ex-sister. "You're just a coroner's wet dream waiting to happen."

"Can't say that Ah have, Spitfire. But now ya got me all curious," he added with a lopsided grin, glancing over at Arel again. "So...Klingons, huh?"

"Yeah." Arel said, wondering which knife she could get to the quickest.

"Huh. Ain't that interestin'." Right about then, Zaphod showed up with the PGGBs, and Nate took a sip of his before continuing. "So what else about yer darlin' sister have ya been hidin' from me, Spitfire?"

"I'm armed." Arel offered. "And get pissed pretty quickly."

"Explains the Klingon thing."

Seeing that only whetted Cowboy's interest more, Rena decided to step in before Arel killed someone. (Hopefully not her.) "Oh, she's married to the Colonel. Did I forget to mention that part?" she asked innocently.

"Colonel who?" Nathan asked, not really listening.

"Mitchell."

Nathan frowned and looked over at Rena. "Our Colonel Mitchell?" he inquired. He looked at Arel, then Rena, then Arel, then Rena again. "How the hell does someone like him end up with such a lovely lady?!"

Rena couldn't possibly have replied over her own laughter.

"Fuck off." Arel told her sister sweetly.

Nathan shook his head, smirking. "Come on, Spitfire, you shoulda known better than to introduce me to the Colonel's own wife, of all people..."

Starburst blinked.

She hadn't expected the little rat to STILL be interested after that. "Wait. You're telling me you'd STILL go for it?!"

Cowboy's eyebrow rose."Why're you so disappointed?" He looked over at Arel and grinned, lowering his voice. "See, Ah knew she was the jealous type..."

"You should keep asking her out." Arel said. "She might come around."

"Darlin', Ah've been tryin' fer months now. What makes ya think Ah'm smart enough to give up now?" he asked.

"Good point." Arel said. "Well, since you're committed... have you tried love songs yet?"

"Cowboy, smarts aren't something I ever credited you with an overabundance of.." Rena fired back, returning a glare to her own, traitorous sister.

Nathan took a long drink of his PGGB, a thoughtful look on his face. He paid no attention to Rena's retort. He knew that, deep down in that cute little heart of hers, she didn't mean it.

Of course, she really did, but denial wasn't just a river in Egypt.

"Come to think of it, Ah haven't. Know any good Klingon ones Ah could try?"

Let's see," The security officer said. "There's ''I'll rip the heart out of that lowly pthak who's stolen you from me." It's very romantic." Arel added with a bright smile

"I'm sure." Starburst muttered, and downed her PGGB. Then for good measure, she stole Arel's and downed hers too.

Nathan made a show of writing that down in the PADD he just happened to be carrying. "Certainly does sound like it. Hmm...do Ah really gotta rip some poor fella's heart out, though?"

Not unless you're Klingon." Arel said. "But you do have to sing it VERY loudly."

Starburst quickly flagged down Zaphod for more PGGBs. Several, in fact.

Nathan grinned and quickly downed the last of his PGGB, glad that Starburst had ordered more before he could. "That should be doable. Would it be better to do that outside her quarters, or on the flight deck where all the other Rogues can see?"

"The flight deck. Of course."

"Right, the more witnesses, the better." He made another note. "Better acoustics there anyway, Ah think."

Briefly, Rena wondered if threatening her sister would do any good. Deciding it wouldn't, she instead downed another PGGB, and thanked every god she could think of that she wasn't on the flight roster this afternoon.

Nathan kept a close eye on the amount of PGGBs Rena was consuming as he and Arel continued chatting. "Y'know, Klingon courtin' rituals've always been a bit of an interest of mine. Ya think Ah should dress up in full battle gear, in case some other--what's the word? p'tahk?--tries to claim Spitfire fer his own?"

"Yes but to someone unused to the armor it would be more of a hindrance." Arel told him. "You'd be better off wearing clothes you could unzip quickly. Rena would probably like that better."

"Hey!" Rena popped up, not conscious at all of just how much she was slurring. "YOU haven't CLAIMED anyth.. anyt.. nothin, buster."

Arel raised an eyebrow at her sister. Then she moved Rena's drink away from her.

Rena took it back.

And drank it, quickly, before her sister could interfere.

Arel shrugged and let her have it. "Suit yourself."

If this conversation kept going the way it was, the redheaded pilot was pretty damn sure she didn't want to remember it.

A beaming smile lit up Nathan's face then. "Yeah, that might be best. Ah hear she's kinda impatient, lahks to get things over with quickly. Ya think she might be tryin' to hide some inadequacy or somethin'?"

Arel shook her head. "No. I think she's just impatient."

Starbust's eyebrow's knitted together in a remarkable imitation of Arel's best glare. "Inadequacies?!"

Nathan shrugged innocently and downed a PGGB. "Just callin' it lahk Ah sees it, darlin'."

Rena snorted, and pressed her finger into Cowboy's chest. "According to Tails, I'm not the one with inad.. inadeq.. shortcomings, bucko."

"Oh really? Remember that Nausicaan friend of yers? He and Ah had a little chat the day after Ah interrupted the two of you. Let me tell you, darlin', after hearin' his stories, well... let's just say Ah didn't feel lahk Ah was missin' anything anymore."

Rena's eyes went wide.

Wider, really, than an observer would have thought possible.

"Uh-oh." Arel said.

Nathan took a sip of his next PGGB and grinned at Rena. "Somethin' wrong, darlin'?"

Rena promptly leaned across the table and dragged Nathan over by the collar, forcefully locking lips with him in what was likely one of the most passionate (albeit drunken) kisses he'd ever received.

Completely ignoring the fact that Arel was at the table now, she pulled back just enough to have Cowboy's attention. "My quarters, you cocky little shit. Now. You're gonna find out EXACTLY what you're missing."

Nathan was quickly pulled to his feet as Rena grabbed hold of his hand, and he shrugged and smiled at Arel as her sister began to drag him away. "Nice meetin' ya, Miss Arel!" he hollered just before he was pulled out the door.

Arel just laughed as the pair disappeared, finding just how much the whole thing had backfired on her sister absolutely hilarious. Especially because she knew JUST how pissed Rena was going to be when she sobered up.

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

Later....

Starburst woke up to the familiar sight of her quarters, wincing at the hangover she now had. She was, shortly, aware of the body in the bed next to her, and her eyes narrowed as she pulled the sheet back from over his head.

Cowboy.

"Goddamnit." she muttered.

Lieutenant Shiarrael t'Khnialmnae Chief Tactical Officer

Lieutenant Th'Khiss K'aa Assistant Chief Tactical Officer

LtJG Chris Daniels Tactical Officer

Lt Arlen Hammertly Weapons Control Officer

CPO Seran Aerk Tactical Holography Specialist

Various other tactical NPC's

"Grilling the Tactical Staff"

USS Miranda CIC
Chief Tactical Officer's Office

So far, Shiarrael had 8 individuals arrayed before her on the guest side of her desk: 4 officers - among them K'aa - and 4 senior enlisted ratings. "I've been seeing and hearing of rather disturbing events in this deprtment since my return to duty. Each one of you is a leader, by dint of comission or proven experience and longevity in the field. Each one of you is required to set a proper example, guide and mentor those you woork with and those you supervise. However, given recent events, it apears as if some of you have forgotten one or more of any number of things to include chain of command, respect for those appointed in positions of authority over you, respect for your fellow officers and enlisted, and just plain respect."

She picked up a PADD and continued speaking. "After the Indy Incident, departmental efficiency dropped by 5%. Though not an imediately notable drop and well within operational parameters, it does not hold up to MY standards. Much of this deterioration stemmed from Lieutenant K'aa and his participation in the events of that encounter." She eyed everyone, K'aa included, and then continued. "After a short period of time, performance picked back up by a few points, untill shortly after the conclusion of the battle with the Borg. Here, the performance ratings of almost the entire department dropped sharply, with two notable exceptions: Lieutenants K'aa and Daniels."

She put the PADD down on the desk. "Now, since I had the decency to take a good long nap after having been asimilated, forced to serve the Collective, rescued, and deassimilated, and Commander Hammond condition we all know, I have naught but reports from various individuals on the happenings since then. However, there are a few facts that remain consistent, of which includes Captain Summers authorization for Lieutenant K'aa to assume acting Chief Tactical Officer during my incapacitation, and LT K'aa's decision to appoint Lieutenant Daniels as his second during his tenure as acting department head."

"So, I need someone to tell me a story, one that depicts what's been going on behind the scenes, and why my department currently has one of the lowest levels of readyness, morale, and performance among the entire ship." Shiarrael paused for a second. "Oh, and since I have K'aa's official statement on file, I'm sure he'll be more than content to let the rest of you go first."

A tall, blonde human male Shiarrael recognized as Lieutenant Hans Gustavsen quickly piped up. "Ma'am, what preciptated the decision to have Mister K'aa placed in charge of the CIC in the first place? Many of us have more seniority and higher rank than the two of them combined!"

"Mister Gustavsen, who has senority: you or the ship captain? Given your performance since that decision was made compared to K'aa, I can safely say that you have a long way to go before even being considered for assistant chief." Shia looked around, "any other takers?"

"Ma'am" Lieutenant Arlen Hammertly chimed in. "With all due respect, those two have no leadership experience. K'aa and Daniels are both only a year out of school, and K'aa's decision to leave Daniels--" he glared out at the young Lieutenant sitting CIC duty "--a freaking ANALYST, in charge of the CIC during a Borg attack as his first leadership experience is downright dangerous!"

"Mr. Hammertly..." Now, newly promoted Chief Petty Officer Aerk looked at the big Brit. "K'aa and Daniels have a lot more talent than any of you care to give them credit for. And even though they aren't as experienced, they did manage to hold down the department pretty well during a combat situation when the senior leadership was out of commission, something I didn't see you doing."

Shiarrael let the bickering shoot back and forth for a bit longer, gauging reactions and judging characters before finally silencing them all. "Now that everyone has had their fill, it's time you all recieve the official, for the record statement. The Chain of Command, and therefore the Chain of Sucession should something happen to myself or K'aa, is as follows. I, by declaration of Captain Summers, am Chief Tactical Officer, which should be simple enough. Lieutenant K'aa is my assistant, and by default your superior officer, due any and all respects and courtesies as required by such a position if you are of a mind not to like him personally." She picked up a PADD, made a few annotations, and then set it back down. "Lieutenant Daniels is next in line, on the Tactical Chain of Command and Sucession."

She heard grumbling and paused, narrowing her eyes. "If you can't, or won't, follow these simple orders, then I expect to see combadges and PADDs on my desk by tomorow morning. I won't have any more of this infighting. I don't expect any one of you to simply follow orders like an automotaun, but I won't have this department belittle itself by such actions. Our job is to defend the Miranda and crew when put in peril, K'aa and Daniels did just that. By their own actions they warrant their promotions, comendations, and current positions. Senority of rank only matters when two individuals are equivalent in all other respects: those two have shown they have the capacity and capability, despite their relative lack of practical experience."

"Now that we've gotten THAT matter settled, there are a number of assignments I have that our department has been tasked with taking care of, in adition to a few specailty projects that have been requested and aproved. Lieutenant K'aa, the request to allow Tactical a claw in edgwise on the disection of the hydran fighter is still under consideration. As for everyone else, here are your taskings ...." Shiarrael reached under her desk and pulled out a stack of PADD's, and groans could be heard all around.

=Present time= Shiarrael stepped out of her office and into the CIC Proper, observing the hustle and bustle of activity. Ever since her little chat with her senior personnel, things had improved dramatically. There was still some amount of bickering and infighting, but not only was that to be expected, but when properly monitored and guided by those in the proper place to do so, such was actually a multiplier, increasing the various individual's drives and desires to think of a better or more unique way to do things. Yes, things were shaping up nicely.

"Memory Loss"

Cole Slaton

Pausing for a moment Cole glanced at the bed. Light came in from the window, part of Romulus visible in the window, curtains had been left at the sides held in place by small rope ties. Nic still lay half covered, her back to him showing off a small black tattoo at the base of her spine. Her Trill spots did ran down her body, all the way down. ~Her name *was* Nic, right?~ he thought frowning trying to remember.

Last night had been all about celebrating, and once the bottles of whiskey had vanished he remembered opening something else. Of course most of the night after was a slight blur, until arriving here with the sexy woman now sleeping softly.

He mouthed the name “Vic?” still staring at the tattoo trying to remember. Shaking his head, conceding defeat, unable to recall the name, he slipped his shoe on before making a discreet exit.

Buttoning up the last of his shirt buttons, not caring that he’d matched the wrong with a hole half way up. With the Miranda poised in high orbit around Romulus, it was quite possible he never would have imagined using those two words in the same sentence. Miranda and Romulus. Not without guns blazing at any rate. But here they were, waiting.

There was still a lot to do, being Hazard XO and with the Renegades he had a mountain of paperwork, which in his opinion had been purposefully left by Arel and Deuce respectfully. There were three more applicants for Hazard training, two from security with the third being a young nurse. But with the coming invasion they would have to wait until things calmed down sufficiently enough to make any decision.

Of course when did it even become calm on this ship?

The Renegades had a training exercise scheduled for later that day, which he’d only just found out about, the datapad having been buried beneath the mountain of paperwork. It would feel good to get back into the cockpit of a fighter again.

It was the destination he chose, being closer to the Fighter Bay than his quarters. Of course looking as he did the aircrew and groundcrew he passed gave him grins, and surprised glances, knowing full well what he’d gotten up to that night. “Don’t say a fucking word...” Cole said to one man inparticular. The chief only sniggered, quickly turning into full blown laughter when Cole turned the corner echoing after him.

Grabbing a quick shower, feeling refreshed with the water washing away the hangover, Cole pulled on his flight suit, going commando beneath not having a spare set of clothes in his locker, he crashed on a chair in the crewroom.

A cup of steam black coffee sat in front of him.

God’s answer to a night out.

“God bless ya,” Cole muttered picking up the coffee as *Bluejay* shook her head while leaving him, which Cole took as disappointment until she flashed him a mischievous grin.

Though his brain felt six sized too big, pushing against the inside walls of his skull, it was worth the discomfort. Last night had been a blast. The memory loss was a clear indication.

What had he gotten up to?

OOC - Most of my references for Rihannsu words and names comes from http://www.pfrpg.org/RH/

Lieutenant Shiarrael t'Khnialmnae

Chief Tactical Officer

"Home"

========

She looked out of the windows ov her quarters onto the planet she had last seen almost ten years ago. Had it really been so long? She doubted anyone planetside would remember her, or if they did, it would only be negative.

Traitor. Vulcan lover. Dove. Any number of other little names or epithets used in a derogatory manner to describe someone who felt favorably towards vulcans, and by default the Federation. She had been a loyal officer, served unflinchingly in the 4th Galae, participated in any number of actions. All of it meaningless in light of the fact that the Commander was a member of the Reunification movement, and was caught attempting to transmit Rihannsu secrets to the Federation.

She was one of the lucky few, though how being beaten and raped to within a meter of death and then dropped uncermoniously on a starship on the Federation side of the border translated into "lucky" She didn't always quite understand.

She was Shiarrael Laiir t'Khnialmnae, and homesickness had struck with a vengance.

Unfortunately, having one's family brutally executed didn't normally make for a welcoming return. She did not request planetside authorization, though if it were offered Shia didn't know if she'd accept the invitation or not. If it came from the Miranda Command staff, she'd be suspicious of alterior motivations, such as pitty or whatnot, and if an invitation came from planetside, she'd be equally suspicious of potential foul play.

She remained at the window, gazing down upon the emerald orb bellow for some time before the "incoming message" alert chimed from her desk. Curious, she sat down at the chair and keyed on the display, which opened to the usual UFP seal. What happened next was both confusing and further intriuging. The name of her first fvai. The guest at her 8th birthday celbration. Numerous other tidbits, odds and ends, useless erata important only to Shiarrael herself and many of which brought about quite painfull memories. The last one was the killer, the one that convinced Shiarrael that whomever had sent this was authentic.

An array of faces were displayed on her screen. The header of this specific page requested only taht she indicate which face belonged to the captain of the warbird tasked with depositing her on the Federation side of the Zone. That face was burned into her memory, it was one she would never forget. It didn't take long to pick him out of the multitude of Waldos.

The screen darkened, and then displayed scripting in Rihannsu, translated roughly into "Identity confirmed." The face that replaced the script was the last one she expected.

"Jolan'tru, paenhe."

"History Repeats Itself"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG Ensign

T'Rei
Security NPC

Olivia McAlister NPC

Location: Undisclosed crew quarters

"Is this channel secure?"

"As secure as it can get. I highly doubt with the intell team on this ship, that we have anything serious to worry about." The woman sat at the console in her quarters, studying the figure on the screen.

"What's her schedule?"

"She's planning on going to the planet for a few days, then coming back. I have volunteered to do the duty that she asked me to do. That will give me the opportunity I need to do what needs to be done."

"Are you clear as to the method?"

"Yes. Poison first to insure a non painless death, then set it up as an accident. I have the supplies needed."

"Make sure you get what we talked about. The information is vital to the success of our objective."

"Understood."

"You need to be positive that this is done in the proper manner. One slip, and your identity is revealed. If that happens, you will be dead."

"I understand. It will be executed with perfection. This woman has no idea what is coming to her."

"Just make sure it gets done. Out."

The woman sat perplexed at the console. Standing and spinning on her heel, she walked over to the small table where the black hard surfaced case sat. Clicking open the lock, she viewed the tiny syringe that obtained the light blue liquid needed. Taking the syringe from the foam case, she held it up to the light, it's blue liquid signaling the quiet death of someone that she had grown close to. Emotions did not stir in her, they sat subdued as she ran through the plan in her mind once more. It's execution would go smoothly. It had no other choice. The information she needed would be obtained, and so would the sweet revenge. Placing the syringe back in the foam, she closed the lid, locked it, and slid it back into it's hiding place. It was at that point, that the chime to her quarters rang out.

She stood by the door that led to T'Rei's quarters. Olivia's hand was nestled in hers, the warmth providing the security the little girl had grown accustomed to over her short life.

The woman spoke in a kind manner. 'Come on in Olivia. Faylin, Want some sweet tea?" She drawled.

"Yeah, sure."

"So, how you holding up?"

"I'm not." Faylin sighed heavily with the anticipation of leaving her daughter yet again overcoming her emotional boundaries. "Leaving her just sucks. I really appreciate you watching her while I'm gone."

"Don't worry about it. Everything is worked out, she's safe and sound here. Look, when was the last time you had some real time to yourself? You're a single mother for God's sake."

McAlister smirked. "I'm just going to update my personal library with any new Romulan cases. No big deal."

Faylin reached up, unclasping the necklace and pendant her mother had worn. The silver knots intertwined each other, a symbol of her heritage and a symbol of her mother. The pendant was a locket, and inside held a tiny piece of cotton soaked in rose oil. McAlister gently traced the knots, recalling how she had removed the locket from her mother's neck after she lain slain. Glancing up at T'Rei, her eyes misted over. "I need to talk to Olivia for a bit, okay?"

"Yes, absolutely. Olivia? Your mother wants to talk to you."

"K." Came the chirpy reply.

The child bounced into the room, with a content look on her face. Upon viewing her mother's tears, happiness grew into concern. "Mom?"

Faylin patted the sofa, offering a seat to her daughter. "Come here for a minute babe."

Jumping up, Olivia placed her tiny hand on her mother's, attempting to offer support. "Yeah?"

"Honey, mommy's gotta go for a few days….just down to the planet. It's for work. You are going to stay here with T'Rei."

"But mom, I wanna come with you!"

"Sweetie, you can't. But, you'll have lots of fun here! I bet, you'll play and laugh…and have lots of fun. Heck, you won't even know I'm gone!"

The little girls eyebrows knitted as she viewed the necklace in her hand. "Mom coming back?"

"Why yes, of course I am!" Faylin stated, obviously avoiding the harsh reality of being a member of Starfleet. Anything could happen at anytime.

"Here, you can borrow my necklace. It was grandma's….." McAlister offered Olivia her necklace. The child took it gently with apprehension.

"It smells like you mommy"

Faylin chuckled. "Yes, dear, I know."

"Wait! I have sumthing to give you." She leaped down off the couch, running into the bedroom. A moment later, she came out with a small pink piece of fabric….her lovey. Hoping back up, she handed the bear to her mother. "You keep while your gone."

McAlister softly smiled. "Okay." She held the fabric up to her nose, pretending to sniff it. "It smells like you!"

Olivia giggled.

"Come here." Faylin enveloped her daughter in a large, warm embrace. As she snuggled with her daughter, McAlister sighed. It was at that moment, with Olivia in her arms, that an overwhelming feeling of dread over took her.

"Orders"

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC Commanding Officer/ Alpha Company CO 101st Battallion

Second Lieutenant Greg Ward
SFMC Special Operations/ARC Trooper CO
Furies Battalion

Lance Corporal Grace Waldron
ARC Trooper/Recon Expert, Furies Battalion -ONPC

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

(Marine Drill Deck, USS Miranda)

The large, bay like area was completely vacant at this hour. For'kel left instructions that everyone was to get rest prior to deploying to Rpmulus...

however he was high enough in rank to countermand his own orders when they applied to himself. Besides, the burden of command relented for no man... at least not any worth his weight. Berilyn was kind enough to let him know that the ARC... the commando's of which their CO apparently had a low opinion of, were transported over.

BSM Drake let him know they were assembled on the Drill Deck... 8 people, 9 if you included the Stagnorian, in a room designed to pack in 500. It was kind of weird... kind of 'real' weird. "Attention on deck!" one of the ARC's shouted as For'kel walked into the room. Never failed to make For'kel stop for a moment. The moment passed quickly however. "At ease." He held up a hand to the group, the rigid discipline unnecessary for a simple mission briefing. "I'm Colonel For'kel Arvelion of the 101st Battalion, and I'll be commanding Alpha Company of the same for this little jaunt of ours." For'kel struck his left palm with his right fist, the interstellar sign for 'starting'. "Let's get down to business then, shall we? I'm sure you all know by now we're being deployed to Romulus. This is, at this moment, a precautionary measure... it's quite possible that the Romulans will repel the invasion on their own, and this would end up as nothing more than an extravagant dress rehersal. However, we have to be prepared for everything... that said I'm going to brief you on the operational plan as it stands, and your part in it." With that, the Colonel signaled them to follow, and lead them to the holo-table, activating the plan. "Okay, quite simply I don't intend on losing Marines for nothing... we're not going down to be heroes." Especially in units like this one, there was always the odd guy out with medal lust. "Our mission objective, in the event of enemy landings, is to secure and evacuate the VIPs designated to us by the higher ups, the list will be included in your pre-mission summary. This is our primary mission... we're not there to single-handedly beat back a massive assault force, and I don't intend on fighting battles we can't win for the sake of going down guns blazing. You'll be working attached to my company, Lieutenant I trust there will be no issues with the chain of command?" Greg looked at the Stagnorian straight in the eyes when he said "No sir, there won't be any problems. I gave my squad the same talk back on the galaxy." the half-trill then looked at the display, "What do you require of us, sir?"

He was just about to get to that. "You'll be given a list of VIPs you're to secure, and bring back to our landing zone here..." the Stagnorian pointed. "You'll be working with other teams, and there will be Romulan units operating in the area, so don't shoot the first thing you see with a weapon, understand?"

"Not a problem sir." Greg said, his mind was partially reviewing the display and checking various points against what he remembered from both personal experience and the recent misadventures of the Galaxy here.

"Speed is the key. The less time we're on the surface, the less exposure we'll have to bombardment and enemy attack. Don't daddle, secondary objectives may crop up, particularly if we start losing pilots. You can count on artillery support, a full battery of surface based micro-torpedo howitzers, and four batteries of mortars. Use it sparingly, their primary goal will be to try and hit the enemy landing forces as hard as possible before they have a chance to organize, and hopefully buying us the time to complete our mission. Once we've got the VIPs, all Marines will fall back to the landing zone for evacuation. If they manage to land troops in any numbers, it will mean most of the Romulan surface and space defenses would have been destroyed... and it wouldn't do us any good to fight a loosing battle. Questions?"

Greg turned and nodded to one of the ARCs and the squad's recon expert stepped up to the display and looked it over for a moment, thoughtfully stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Sir, any estimates about what kind of hostiles we will be looking at?" she asked, looking at the Lieutenant Colonel.

"No, not as of yet." For'kel answered directly and succinctly. "We'll find out on the ground, unfortunately. Any other questions?"

Grace took another look at the display before answering, "Sir, permission to take three ARCs down to the surface and do some quick recon work. That way we can double check some of the exit routes and find new ones just in case?" Grace asked.

Well it wasn't like there was much else for them to do, they were pretty much without a mission until things were sorted out, and he had more than enough Marines for general policing duty. "By all means Lieutenant, report back to me when you're done. Prepared to be recalled at a moment's notice however. The way the defenses are arranged, there won't be transporter access if something goes wrong. Any more questions?"

Grace turned and gave Ward a look who simply nodded and the recon trooper turned away from the holotank and walked over to where two other troopers were and stood there.

"None at this time, colonel." was the only thing that Ward said in a crisp and professional tone.

"Dismissed."

"Chance meetings" Pt 1-"Kaylee"

Featuring Staff Technican Kaylee McGreggor Technican, Renegade 11 -PPC

& Alexa K. Slayton Civilian Journalist -ONPC

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

Location: Kaylee's quarters, Deck 19-USS Miranda

Kaylee was stretched out on her bunk when a slight beeping caught her attention at which point she chose to simply try to tune it out because she didn't want to go back on duty after pulling two shifts in a row.

But when the beeping didn't stop she simply muttered to herself "Frak this..." and rolled out of her bunk and tagged the terminal, "McGreggor here, go." but the face on the screen wasn't that of a superior officer but that of her friend, Alexa.

"Damn girl, what took ya?" she said with a smile on her slightly freckled face, "I mean seriously I thought you were still on duty or something."

Kaylee ran a hand through her short brown hair, "Nope, I thought you were someone telling me that I had to go back on duty after pulling a double." Kaylee said as she sat down at the terminal's chair. "So what can I do for you?"

Alexa smiled in that way that made Kaylee cringe because it usually meant that she had some kind of trick up her sleeve. Kaylee had met Alexa a few years prior during one of the Beowulf's many escapades across the federation. Since then the two were close friends and much to Kaylee's frustration-Alexa felt that she needed to play matchmaker.

"You know that guy I told you about that you would like at my wedding next month?" Alexa said, the smile growing stronger on her face.

"Yeah..."

"Well a friend of mine on the Galaxy told me that his ship is next to yer's and well.." she said, purposly trailing off.

"You want me to go over, meet him and possibly bonk him?" Kaylee said, rolling her eyes.

"Well bonking isn't what I had in mind for ya, but it's not like you *don't* need it either." Alexa said, that smile still on her face but then it slowly slipped off as she said "But the thought of you and him doing it isn't something I wanted to think of."

Now this made Kaylee confused, "Let me guess, he's handsome for a gorn?" she asked.

Alexa shook her head, "No, alot of people have said that he's quite handsome but the thing is he's...well..strange." Alexa explained.

Kaylee sighed, "Alright. I'll go and meet him." she said at which point Alexa's face lit up and Kaylee was afraid that the other woman would leap through the several parsecs of space through the view-screen and deliver one of her bone crushing hugs like she would do in person.

"He's going to be in the Miranda's cantina in less than half an hour. Trust me, you'll like what you'll see. Oh and his name is Marcus, bye!!" Alexa said and then she quickly disappeared as the link closed.

Kaylee stood up and quickly pulled off her uniform jacket which she tossed onto the bed before heading towards the bath room to grab a quick shower before heading out.

But as she went one thought went through her head, "What kind of parent names their kid Marcus of all things?"

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