Lamar/O'Grady

"Setting Up the Stage"

Rayna was sitting on the couch, waiting for Nikki to come home. Rayna was a little nervous but she needed to see how Nikki would react to a certain senario. When Nikki walked in, Rayna had a soda waiting for her. The twins hugged Rayna and then toddled into their room.

"Nikki?" She put her hand on Nikki who tried to walk pass her, "After the twins get fed and put to bed, I want to talk to you, mother and daughter." Nikki shrugged and ent to her room.

Later....

The twins went right to sleep. nikki walked in and sat on the couch, Rayna joined her. "So what did you want to talk to me about? I hope its not about the birds and the bees because I know all about it."

"You do? I guess then that it is a good thing I don't want to talk to you about it."

Nikki actually smiled, "Then what?"

"I've been thinking about my future. Your dad has been dead for some time now and I think I need to move on. But I wanted to get your feelings about it."

Nikki once again shrugged, "I don't know. Why? Are you thinking about getting married?"

"Its entered my mind. If I did, would you be upset?"

"Why do you have to find another husband? I don't want some guy coming into our lives and assuming that he is going to replace my dad. I have a dad and even though he is dead, he's still my dad."

"Nikki, I'm not looking for a replacement for you or me. I love your dad and I always will but I'm lonely and I don't want to be anymore."

"But what about dad?"

"What about him? Nikki, your dad once told me that if anything happened to him, that he wanted me to be happy. I'm not happy Nikki. I'm lonely and I really need some male companionship."

"Why can't you just date? You don't have to marry someone. It will just complicate things."

Rayna always loved how Nikki used such big words for her age, "How? Is the real reason that you don't want me to find someone is because you might lose the freedom to do what you want?"

"No, that isn't why."

"Then what is it?" Rayna asked.

"It just doesn't seem right marrying someone else. Aren't there rules?"

"Oh Nikki. There are no rules. I know people who have married three or four times. It doesn't mean that they didn't love their first husband. You dad is probably looking down at us right now and is sad because I'm so lonely."

"I know how that is."

"Are you lonely Nikki?"

"Gavin left and I miss him. I have no friends and no one who is smart like me. Too many think I'm weird."

"I'm sorry Nikki. I wish I could do something about it but I can't. Kids can be cruel but one of these days, you'll find someone who will like you for you."

"I hope so. I'm not sure how I feel about a new man coming into our lives. I have to think about it. I just don't know. I'm tired. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

Rayna sighed as she knew Nikki's tactics to get out of talking to her but she let it go. She hoped that Nikki would get used to the idea.

"Bloody Hell! Someone gave ol' Joe the keys to a whole ship!"

Starring the Captain and crew of the USS Akira, Heavy Cruiser, NCC - 62497

For those of you with the score cards, that would be:

Captain Raymond J. Tango, Commanding Officer USS AKIRA (Think Danny Glover!)
Commander Angela Merez, First Officer
Lt. Smith, Communications (Human with an....identity crisis.)
Mark, Helm (Android)
Lt. Pullo, Tactical (Orion)
Lt. Jonas Coletrain, Sciences
Lt. Commander Boog Security, (Klingon)
Lt. Ashton Byrne, Engineering
Colonel Gideon Slade, Commanding Officer Starfleet Marines, 7th Battalion

Also appearing: an unauthorized cameo by Captain Chris Summers and Master Chief Fawkes (NPC)of the USS Miranda, and a mention of both Ensign Soval (Miranda, Security) and Leo Streely (Currently enjoying the rank of Captain due to a clerical error.)

That's a lotta shit to keep track of, ain't it?

Let's see what I can do...

Location: The Bridge, USS AKIRA

Time: Shortly after the Starfleet battle group arrives at Romulus (Yes, my every post will tie into the plotline directly! Go Joe!)

"Remind me again why we are here, Number One." Captain Tango asked with his brown eyes closed and well worn hands rubbing his temples in tiny, counter clockwise circles in the hopes that it would alleviate the pounding headache he was currently suffering with.

To his right, in an almost night and day contrast to the gray haired Captain, Commander Merez sat very properly, legs crossed before her. Her youthful beauty masked an ambitious drive that had pushed her to her rank in near record time.

"I believe it had something to do with the Hydrans and a projected path of destruction that would see them on the Romulan doorstep before long." she said tapping her well manicured fingernails upon the armrests almost playfully.

Her voice had a soothing, syrin - like quality to it that always left her superiors asking themselves if there was something more psychic with to it.

Today however, it was having no effect on the Executive Officer of the USS AKIRA.

"Not the Hydrans. I mean me. Tomorrow will be my anniversary in the Fleet. Twenty-five long years. You know how long that feels like?" he asked her with a sigh.

"Nine thousand, one hundred and twenty-five days. Minus a day for your anniversary being tomorrow, of coarse." Merez said matter of factly.

"I hate when you do that shit?"

"What 'shit' would that be, Captain?"

"That Von Ernst shit. What I am trying to say is I have spent the better part of my adult life chasing falling stars and peering into gas nebulas. I miss my wife, Commander. I'm too damn old to be sitting in a trench with a knife in my teeth. I want a porch, a view of the mountains and the touch of love in my life. I was days from that and now I find myself reassigned to a Battle Cruiser of all things, in an area of space that 10 years ago would have caused an interstellar war, waiting for death and hoping we can beat it back." Captain Tango said, barely able to reign in his weariness. "Why me, Number One? Why me?"

Commander Merez paused to give it some thought, then when she spoke it was in a hushed voice.

"We are sitting on a ship built for combat and chaos. Perhaps Starfleet wanted someone with a more...diplomatic outlook In charge of 3000 photon torpedoes, 400 marines and 24 Starfleet fighters. Especially in this area of space. Especially.." she said with a slight incline of her head "considering the alternative."

Captain Tango followed her gaze to the Tactical arch where Colonel Gideon Slade, the heavily scarred commanding officer of the Marine Detachment aboard, was leaning in talking to the seven foot Orion Tactical officer about maximizing phaser fire patterns to provide cover for fighter deployment. As always, Slade's hands rested upon his phaser and combat knife sheathed at his sides.

Lt. Pullo (Somebody's been watching the Rome DVD!) feigned interest in difference to the man's rank, however the Captain knew that the emerald giant would always choose instinct over planning. His records showed It was one of the traits he had been both reprimanded and commended for in the past and the reason the AKIRA had never lost a shuttle or a fighter during deployment under his watch.

"You know I hate to say this, Angie. You may be right. Should we make it out of this alive, you will make a fine Captain." Tango said with a tired smile.

"God willing and if the creek don't rise." she replied, using one of Captain Tango's catch phrases and flashing her infectious smile.

"Just like that. Mark, bring us into position if you would be so kind." the Captain ordered the Android Helm officer.

"Kindness is not in my programming. I am however more then equipped to complete your order, Captain." the Android stated.

Mark was a Mark Two Prototype of the Enterprise's Data but light years behind in development. Rather then a positronic brain, the Mark two series was more of an extension of the ship itself, similar to the medical hologram. It's primary function, like the other Mark II prototypes was helm operation. It had produced flawless results in the simulations, with a reaction time more then 43% faster then those of human pilots in the same simulations.

Given the high degree of danger involved in this particular mission, Mark 2 was given the green light for a trial by fire. While everyone else on the bridge seemed unsettled by the android's basic appearance, Pullo was glad to see another bald officer on the bridge.

Captain Tango was about to order the COMM to send a message to the Fleet Captains, but noticed that the Communications officer was gazing at the viewscreen.

"Lieutenant Smith..." he said calling out to the human officer. The man was standing, looking almost longingly at the blue green image of Romulus.

"He goes by Smithvok now." Commander Merez whispered, barely able to suppress a giggle. "BEUPURS finally accepted his...change of life."

Smithvok was born Larry Smith, but recently he revealed that he is a Romulan living in a human body. He had since been living in as a pre op-Romulan wearing a wig over his horse shoe hair style, paling his skin with white theatrical makeup and awaiting the surgery that would reconstruct his ears to complete the transformation.

"Lieutenant Smithvok. I realize you are overwhelmed with seeing your homeworld, but I am afraid we must ask you to please remain seated at your station." Merez said, handling it for the Captain. "It's infinitely easier to operate the Communications systems from there as opposed to where you are standing."

The thin man inclined his head.

"My apologies. It's just so...stirring." he said.

"Understandably so." she replied.

"CAPTAIN!!!!" Lt. Jonas Coletrain called out from the science station, shooting bolt upright and standing at crisp attention. "PERMISSION TO GO PEE, SIR!!!"

Coletrain was the son of a brother and sister and as such, suffered with somewhat of a mental handicap. He was a certified scientific genius and could do things few others could even comprehend, but he had the mental development of an 8 year old. The Captain had objected to his transfer to the ship, but controversial recruiting and staffing policies actually listed the inbred as a protected minority and therefore, he was given special dispensations and a department head position.

"Permission granted. Be quick about it." Tango said. The man snapped a salute and raced into the Captain's ready room.

"I would feed him to Boog and be done with him." Colonel Slayton said referring to the ship's surly Chief of Security.

"Speaking of Security, why is everyone on the bridge wearing a gold uniform but me? Did I miss some sort of theme day?" the Captain asked.

"Superstition." Merez said sweetly.

"Superstition?"

"We are going into a war zone and in war, you know who ends up the first casualty." Merez said.

"The nutless sons of whores who are too busy tap dancing in pools of their own piss while they are crying for their mommies when they should be defending the Fleet with a phaser and a photon grenade?" Slayton asked.

"Sounds like something from page one of the Fleet Admiral Bhrode handbook." Smithvok said with a stoic grimace.

"I like the man already." Slayton said.

"RED SHIRTS. It's always the red shirts. So just to be safe, we all wore yellow. You should probably consider it too." Merez said, ignoring their banter.

Tango rubbed his temples.

At least Byrne hadn't complained yet today.

At least until the comm panel on his armrest chirped.

"BLOODY HELL!! BLOODY HELL!! BLOODY GOD FORSAKEN HELL!!!" the Chief Engineer screamed.

"I'm too old for this. You know that don't, you?" Tango sighed.


:::: MEANWHILE, ABOARD THE USS MIRANDA ::::


"Captain Leo Streely has requested to be brought aboard the ship. " Master Chief Fawkes said, crossing his legs and relaxing in the chair opposite Captain Summers in the elder statesman's ready room..

"Captain? We all have heard of Streely I am sure, but this is the first time I have heard him with that title." Summers asked, tapping his fingers on the top of his desk. "Any official explanation?"

"Nobody seems to know. From what I can gather, as far as Starfleet is concerned, the man IS a Captain until the problem is found or until Fleet Admiral Bhrode breaks radio silence from his classified mission, which I also hear Joe will get back to during the next free write or audit period." the Englishman said.

"Any idea what he wants?" the Captain asked.

"Joe? He's a complex bloke who's world seems to revolve around a good pint or two and a couple of comely lasses. This Bhrode subplot seems to be building towards..." the Chief said before he was interrupted.

"I meant Streely. Why does he suddenly find himself yearning to come aboard?" Summers said, straining to keep the impatience from his voice.

"Right. Lt. Kett in counseling has some sort of history with him. The Captain claims Kett still owes him a piece of, quote, "Priceless Ferengi Erotica" if indeed there exists such a dreadful thing." Fawkes said with a shudder.

Summers paused a moment to mull the situation over. When push came to shove, he could simply refuse the request, however knowing Leo Streely's reputation, the little man would undoubtedly find an unconventional way aboard the Miranda that would undoubtedly throw something into disarray.

With the ship sitting squarely in a war zone, he wouldn't take that chance.

"Have him beamed aboard. Get someone from Security to shadow him at ALL TIMES and referee his issue with Kett if there is a legit issue. I don't want him running around the ship unchecked regardless of what his rank may be. If he gets under everyone's skin as much as I hear, I would suggest Soval. He may be the only one patient enough to deal with the man without drawing a phaser on him."

"Captain Streely refuses to use the transporters. He claims....he doesn't want to run the risk of being cloned of whale dung again."

Summers laughed.

"Whale dung. Well, in that case I don't see that we have much of a choice. Coordinate with the Galaxy and send Soval over in a shuttle. I'm sure they will be happy to have us baby-sit him for a little while."

"Aye, sir." the Chief said standing up to set things in motion. "Anything else?"

"Whale dung. You know Chief sometimes, not always, but sometimes I find myself thinking I'm getting too old for this." Summers said shaking his head and grinning.

NEXT: Joe JP's with himself as the GALAXY's Leo Streely comes face to face with the MIRANDA's Ensign Soval!

OOC: For those of you who again, don't know what's going on (this happens a lot with my work...)

Joral Anton is the missing CAG of Miranda. During a secret mission three months ago (game time), he got left behind and is presumed dead. No one in the Federation knows tha the is alive, and fighting alongside the Lyran Resistance Front agains the Hydrans, who are currently occupying Lyran space. Episodes One and Two have already been sent to Miranda's list prior to this, and I am resending them now so that you may read what has come before.

"Confessions"

Commander Joral Anton
Rogue Group CO (Missing in Action)

The Hydran command bunker on Lyra Prime was supposedly an impregnable position. It had been heavily fortified and was not only guarded on the ground, but two of the larger Hydran cruisers in orbit were assigned to do nothing but defend that one installation, and the Hydrans had turned numerous members of the Lyran populace into informants, whether through bribery, coercion, or torture. Nothing happened in Lyran space without them knowing every single detail, and it was impossible to mount an attack on their headquarters.

But hey, we were Rogue Group. We specialized in doing the impossible. Shit, we all had medals to prove it. We had our own informants with the Lyran Resistance Front, a nice little cloaked escort carrier in orbit, thirty-six fighters, and an equal number of spectacularly talented, supremely qualified, and stupendously trained SFFC personnel who had never actually lost a battle. That base was ours for the taking, and there was no way that the imbeciles inside could stop us.

Prophets, were we ever dumb.

===Three Months Ago===

Five meters to my right, I heard an ungodly caterwauling, but I really didn't have the time to examine the source, being as there was a slimy tentacled thing firing at me. I hadn't actually seen a Hydran in person before, and I was rapidly beginning to remember why I left the Marines. Starfighters were a much more civilized form of combat, and you didn't have to take the time to realize that your opponents were especially ugly.

Two quick shots to the abdomen - or whatever it was - ended that small portion of the fight, and I took a moment to duck behind my cover and study the situation.

If I had thought things had looked bad two minutes ago, they had now degraded to nothing short of disastrous. Rebel Squadron was still in the air, though I knew they had lost at least one pilot, but I had ordered both Rogue and Renegade to land. Renegade was somewhere to the east, and their pilots were operating in pairs with small groups of LRF sabotage specialists. Rogue was spread out around me, and among us were over one-hundred Lyrans trying - apparently in vain - to retake their homeworld. For a species that was the Federation's enemy seventy years ago, the Lyrans had certainly accepted our help with no qualms, and were proving to be quite capable warriors. Of course, the Hydrans had been our "friends" back then, and they seemed to be more than up to the task in defending their ill-gotten turf.

To my left, Pilot Bendis looked absolutely terrified, but at least he was still firing. We were very much pinned down. And the plan had been so simple: The Gordon, in orbit, would draw off the two cruisers, and Renegade Squadron would slip in on the ground with our Lyran allies, taking out the defense systems on the base. Rogue Squadron and the LRF company accompanying us would enter and secure the position with Renegade's assistance, and Rebel would provide some air cover. We'd then simply have to hold that position long enough for elements of the Rihanssu 4th Galae to arrive and clear out the remaining Hyrdans in orbit. After that, it would be a simple mopping-up exercise.

I was beginning to remember why neither Colonel Santiago nor I were members of Starfleet Strategic Operations. I clearly didn't have the knack for large-scale planning.

Through the fire, I saw a small head of brown hair dive down beside me, stopping to catch her breath. Despite the occasional felinoid body flying past me, I managed a small grin, something most people never got from me; I had to maintain my tough exterior, after all.

My wingmate, however, had no such qualms. Lisnaar Adami smiled broadly up at me, clutching her rifle tightly, but without any apparent fear. The kid had certainly grown a lot since I snagged her out of a line up my first week in command of Wraith Squadron. Her smile faded quickly, however, when she told me the news she had come to deliver.

"Boss, we have troubles."

I tried my best to look irritated with her, pausing to send another phaser bolt flying between the eyes of a Hydran who had made the error of peeking out from his cover. "I really hope you didn't risk your ass running across a field of fire just to give me an asinine piece of news that I already had. I'm not entirely stupid, Adami, despite the part where I led us into this mess. I think I can see that we have 'troubles'."

She smacked me across the arm. "Would you shut up long enough to listen?" I sighed and nodded, and she looked rather pleased with herself.

"Right, the Rommies ain't comin' yet; We ain't heard from 'em. Meanwhile, the two Hydran ships is headed back this way. Colonel Santiago just called... from a runabout."

"What happened to the Gordon?"

She paused, screwing up her face with puzzlement, obviously trying to figure something out. "It's gone, boss. Honest, I ain't sure what happened. Colonel just described it as a 'total matter cohesion failure'."

I raised both eyebrows. "Meaning that an understaffed Chamberlain-class escort carrier without its fighter cover was no match for two fully-operation Hydran war cruisers?"

She nodded. "Sumthin' like that, yeah. Anyway, Colonel says he got almost everyone off. The Hydrans didn't really seem too interested in them. Probably anxious to get back here and bomb us all into oblivion. Anyway, Colonel said he's getting' everyone out towards Rommie space, and we're to pull out as best we can, take and Lyrans with us who want to go."

I stopped pretty much everything I was doing. With fewer than three-dozen pilots and their mostly single-seat craft, I was supposed to mount a withdrawal of over three-hundred personnel through an entire Hydran battle fleet?

I shook my head, and was about to tap my comm-badge to issue orders, when a shout came from my right. I turned to see one of the younger Lyrans running towards me. "Commander, we got company coming! The Hydrans have scrambled a trio of bombers our way. Rebel cleared out two of 'em, but they say they lost the other."

As if on cue, I heard a high-pitched noise overhead, and a lurid purple craft winged over-head, then came about, preparing for a nice fire-bombing pass. If we didn't take it down, and fast, our whole position would be wiped out.

I turned to the Lyran. "Get on the comm to everyone; tell them to make for their craft when they can; we're pulling out of this hell-fire." He had time to nod, then ducked down to operate his communications gear. Looking around, I saw what I needed; a Hydran ack-ack emplacement thirty meters from our current position, with four personnel at it. I pointed it out to Lisnaar, who simply clutched her rifle and nodded.

I grabbed Bendis, shouting to be heard over the din. "Lay down some cover for us, Bendis. We're gonna take out that boomer."

The young human was shaking, and he didn't even meet my eyes. Turning to Lisnaar, I motioned that I'd move first, then lept out from cover, heading towards a rock half-way between my current position and the gun. When I dived down behind the new somewhat-cover, amazingly unscathed, I turned back, seeing young Lisnaar covering herself as she beelined for my position. Where the hell was Bendis?

I didn't really have time to worry about that, as Lisnaar was on me. We came out from both sides of the rock, dropping two of the Hydrans before they had time to react, then leaping over the low-lying cover of the gun-pit. I careened into my target, slamming my rifle butt into what I took to be his face, sending him falling to the ground on his back. My weapon was knocked from my hands, and so I dropped to my knee, planting it right in the Hyrdans mouth, and drew I knife from my boot, slicing him open. Five seconds of convulsing later, it was over, and I dived for my rifle, preparing to help Adami with her foe.

She was already in place behind the gun pit's cover, looking at me with a mildly amused 'what-took-you-so-long' expression. Her target lay behind her, most of his torso blasted away at close range by her rifle as soon as she landed. It was probably for the best that she didn't try to engage the squidface in hand-to-hand combat; it was three times her size.

I shook my head and slung my rifle across my back, jumping onto the gun platform and quickly figuring out the targeting controls. The bomber craft was just reaching us, and before I knew it, it was in my sights. I opened up, my first several shots missing. I growled in frustration and fired again...

The entire starboard wing of the boomer blew off the craft, and I raised my fist in triumph. I heard vaguely cheering cat-calls from the position of our troops, and then I thought to look up at the crashing bomber... which was pointed straight at me when I hit it.

Jumping off the platform, I screamed out Adami's name, and we both lept from the pit, diving to the side as the Hydran craft slammed ingloriously into our former position.

I laughed when the smoke cleared, and as we ran back to our cover, I smiled side-long at my companion. "Now that was some rush."

We dived into our trench, and there was Bendis, safe and sound - well, safe, anyway. He was rocking back and forth sobbing, clutching his rifle, his tear-stained face averted, refusing to meet our eyes. As I turned in disgust to talk to the Lyran comm tech, I heard Lisnaar's sarcastic voice behind me. "Nice cover fire."

I had, meanwhile, found our Lyran friend dead, and the comm equipment beside him destroyed in the same blast that had killed him. I had no time to think about our situation; there were hundreds of allies out there who needed to run for their lives, and I had no way to tell them to do so. I glanced at Lisnaar.

"Adami, I need you to go find St. Melisande, tell her to get on the wire to everyone and have them get out, get out now!"

For the first time in this whole mess, Lisnaar looked scared. "I ain't leavin' you behind! What if you don't make it out? What if I can't find her? What if..."

I stopped her. "Adami, I know you can do this, ok? Trust yourself... trust me. We'll be right behind you, I promise."

She nodded, then ran off into the smoke again.

Turning to Bendis, I knelt down to see if he was, in fact, uninjured. At my touch the young man finally met my eyes. I could see the terror in his own, and his voice was shaky as he spoke:

"We're gonna die."

My eyebrows went up again, and my natural instinct was to hit the man. For some reason, however, I didn't. Between my old girlfriend Medea and my dear partner Adami, I must have been getting soft. I just smiled reassuringly to the pilot.

"We're not gonna die Bendis, and do you know why? Because we are just so very pretty. We are just too pretty for the Prophets to let us die." I grabbed his face. "Just look at that chiseled jaw, eh?"

I stood, and began to fire, laying down cover for our retreat, and the emboldened Bendis did the same, a new fire in his eyes. He got off one shot.

I was knocked aside by the blast, and I looked up to see Bendis fall, or at least, what was left of Bendis. It wasn't much. There was a searing pain all across my left side, and I tried to stand, only to discover that I couldn't move most of that side of my body. Drawing my pistol with my working right hand, I tried to see through the dust and smoke to get off a clear shot, and then I heard a deafening roar of sound and saw a blinding flash of light.

A new pain entered me, and then there was nothing but darkness.

"Confessions"

Commander Joral Anton
Rogue Group CO (Missing in Action)

===Present Day===

I heard a brief hissing noise before I heard any discernible words. Without a Federation universal translator, I was forced to rely on the Lyran equivalent, which paled in comparison. Being eighty years out-of-date meant that the damn thing lagged by a few seconds. It was still disconcerting, even after all these months.

"Joral... They have gathered now, and will accept your presence."

The Lyran's also had some seriously irritating speech patterns.

I sighed inwardly and stood up, as slowly as ever. Chances were good that even if I did eventually get treated by a competent Federation doctor, I'd never regain full use of my left leg. If I were still working for Starfleet in this condition, they would have grounded me.

Fortunately for my ego, I no longer worked for Starfleet. As far as I knew, they thought me to be dead. Prophets knows I often felt that way. No, I now spent my days surrounded by over-grown talking house cats, planning strategy against mutual enemy of the Federation, though, suffice to say, I didn't really have the Federation's blessing, and if they knew what I was doing, they'd likely try and stop me.

Fuck 'em. I knew about occupations, and I knew how to resist them. The Lyran's needed my help, and after all I'd been through since the October First attacks so many lifetimes ago, I felt like slaughtering a few squid-headed Hydrans wasn't a terribly immoral act. I'm sure my old vedek back home - not to mention several of my fellow Starfleet officers - would disagree, or at the very least take exception to the fact that I really did enjoy doing it.

I followed Commander Gnallerr (I also found their names to be irritatingly difficult to pronounce under any circumstances), the young officer that the Resistance brass had assigned to command the LRF units under my direction. They couldn't really have me, a "dead" Bajoran Starfleet fighter pilot, giving orders directly to their troops - it wouldn't be prudent. Damn bureaucracies were the same everywhere.

The pair of us walked (or, as was the case with me, hobbled) into the Command and Conference Chamber of the Lyran Resistance Force Council of General Officers in Charge of Strategic Initiatives to Counter the Imperial Occupation of the Lyran Star Empire by Hostile Hydran Forces, which was an ornate and unnecessary way to say "the room with the guys in charge". I really didn't seem to matter that the Lyrans were sentient creatures, and the common felis domesticus of Earth were not very closely related at all; the two appeared to have very similar egos.

Colonel-General Clath'tik sat at the head of the oblong table. Actually, to be fair, it wasn't really sitting - it was much closer to a crouching posture. I hated talking to these guys sometimes. I was always a little worried that if I said something they didn't like (which was often) that one of them would pounce on me and bat me around like an over-sized ball of cripple yarn.

I heard a slight purr to my right, and glanced over to see General Heth'ba nodding to me. She was the only female General in the entire Resistance, and had taken a somewhat protective stance of my ad hoc position, ever since I woke up in a make-shift underground infirmary, a week after Starfleet had left me for dead.

===Several Months Ago===

I felt the pain before I heard or felt anything. It was almost unbearable, and I was hard-pressed not to cry out. It wasn't long before I realized that I couldn't. Come to think of it, I couldn't move either. Or breathe, or do anything else.

Shit.

This was truly a new experience for me. Sure, I'd been injured many times - probably far more than my share, truth be told - but Federation medicine always did me a good spell, and there was nothing to compare with their pain-killers. Usually the pain didn't come until much later, though it certainly did last a long time. Of course, much of that might have had something to do with the part where I usually ignored any given doctor's "rest and relaxation" orders. The gits never seemed to realize I had a damn job to do.

But now, I felt every nerve in my body screaming out in protest. If I felt pain now, then clearly, I wasn't in the care of Federation medicine. To me, that meant only one thing.

Hydrans.

Well, ok, so I was a prisoner. Fine, I could handle that. And sure, the Squidheads probably had torture methods that would make the Spoonheads lean forward in interest. And yeah, There was no way bloody Starfleet would come and rescue me, since they not only lacked the resources, but my mission was classified. No, what bothered me was that much of my people - those who weren't several different kinds of dead, that was - were probably also prisoners.

If I ever got back, I was going to kick Jordan Elaithin's ass for not stopping this stupid mission.

I forced my eyes open. It was about all the fight I had in me, but I figured that if I had to face brutal torture, I would show them that I couldn't break. The light flooded my vision, and the room started to clear as I stared defiantly upwards. The face of one of my captors swam into my field of vision, and I looked at the Lyran face with all the fire I could mus...

Hold up. Lyran?

I tried to clear my head, now completely thrown off my stride. I was almost certain that I was missing something. A voice sounded off to my left, but I could neither turn my head nor understand it. All it sounded like was a hissing noise.

The Lyran above me glanced that way and shook their head, replying something, and I heard a third voice responding, and a few buttons being pushed. Another hiss followed from the left, but this time, it was soon followed by a poorly-generated computer translation.

"Commander? Can you understand me?"

The voice sounded vaguely female, but that may have been a computer error, or my own limited experience with these people. I took a deep breath, and managed to force out a labored, "Yes."

There was something that sounded somewhat like a relieved sigh, and then the voice continued. "Good. Your loss seemed imminent for quite some time. I regret the poor translation - your own device was rendered permanently inoperable, and our own translation matrix is some decades behind."

Again, it took a great deal of strength for me to ask what amounted to a two word question. "My people?"

A slight tinge of remorse filled the voice. "I fear several were killed in their valiant actions. The vessel Gordon of now glorious name, too, has been eternally lost to legend. But most escaped, both from your brave pilots and Glorious Gordon. You, brave Commander, were thought to be dead, but some of our young soldiers rescued you from our field of shame, and we have done our best to restore you to health. I fear we have further compounded our dishonor of that dreadful day; you will survive, friend Commander, but you will not look as you once did, and we do not yet know if your body will function as it once did..."

I didn't really hear the rest. The loneliness of abandonment and pain from those I had lost crept in on me, and I committed what I still feel to be the only brave thing I've ever done - I did not weep.

===Present Day===

It was a few days later, I found out the name of the Lyran woman who had first spoken to me, and it wasn't long before I defied the expectations of Heth'ba and the Lyran doctors by actually moving on my own. They knew nothing of Bajoran physiology, and Prophets knew I was no doctor, but there was some driving need inside me to start moving again, to continue fighting. Several theories were presented. Some said it was survivor's guilt, some claim that I was simply too stubborn to lie down. I still maintain that I'm not right in the head - I just wanted to kill more squidheads.

Over time, I started to stand, and to walk, though never without assistance of some kind of cane. I managed to acquire a Hydran weapon - the Resistance had quite a few that they had 'liberated' - to back up my own SFMC pulse phaser. The Lyrans lacked a way to recharge the power cells on that once, so I decided that I should do my best to conserve its energy. It was General Heth'ba who finally convinced the LRF leadership that I was valuable and needed something to do. The attack that I planned against Hydran HQ may have been a failure, but that was not really my fault; I recommended against such an attack, and failure or not, it was still the most successful action the LRF ever made.

My semi-official title was "adviser", but that was always what people in my position were called, from Lafayette to Kira. Of course, they had the blessings of their governments. Mine didn't even know I was alive. Certainly, the Federation had given the Lyran Resistance Force their official blessing and offered their support, but then they had failed to come through, and frankly didn't even make an effort to open up communications with them. There was simply no way to get a message to the Federation that I was alive and still a thorn in their side, so we just said to hell with it and did the job. I often felt that secretly, the Lyrans thought of my presence as repayment of the Federation's promise, with or without UFP knowledge.

Strictly speaking, Gnallerr had come to me. I'd never met him, but he had been one of the ground commanders in my earlier failed action, and had been moderately successful in keeping most his personnel alive. Of the eight LRF teams in action that day, his was the only one that achieved their objective. They brought down the communications system between Hydran HQ and the primary spaceport, preventing the Hydrans from getting most of the air cover they needed. The three bombers that managed to come our way launched from the small pad attached to HQ and were piloted by unskilled personnel. I wasn't too happy with that bit of news - I would have much preferred to have shot down a fully-staffed boomer.

Gnallerr was soon my eyes and ears to the small company of personnel I received. I was amazed at the requisitioning abilities of the LRF. My little special operations unit - euphemistically termed the "Data Extraction Team" - had at their disposal three small (albeit outdated) fighters, two dropships, and a small Hydran frigate, complete with cloaking device. I had a crew of twenty-seven, six crewers for the dropships, and the six pilots and reels for the fighters, all to support Gnallerr's little band of 162 experienced troops.

We lived separate from the other LRF cells, just as a proper resistance should, ourselves divided into four discreet camps to prevent annihilation should some be discovered. They trained constantly, and it wasn't long before our efforts began to pay off. They managed to raid several Hydran data storage facilities, every time coming out with most or all of our objectives accomplished, and often some extra goodies for the Resistance Quartermaster. Most importantly, they came out with no loss of personnel. Certainly there were injuries, but no deaths. Aborted missions, but no deaths.

Those aborted missions were the most important. If things were too hot, I called it off, even if it was on the judgment of one of my field officers. I trusted them all. I had to. Knowing we wouldn't waste their lives built the troops' trust in us. They knew we wouldn't send them needlessly to their demise, and so if it did come time to sacrifice their lives, they would do so willingly and without hesitation, knowing that it was for something truly important.

No one ever let me go on the missions that I planned and commanded from afar. I understood why. I was an impediment to them. I would slow down the entire mission with my body broken as it was, and men might die needlessly to protect me. Heth'ba and Gnallerr both saw how this hurt me, and soon I was presented with a gift for "outstanding services to the Resistance" - a small one man fighter with limited stealth abilities, modifed for my use. It wasn't the same as being on the ground, and I certainly couldn't take it into battle against far superior and better-armed Hydran craft, but the gesture was touching. Starfleet certainly wouldn't have given me anything of the sort. From then on, however, my headquarters was where it belonged - "in the saddle".

Except, of course, when I got called back to the CCCLRFCGOCSICIOLSEHHF. I liked the super long acronym that the translation created. To me it looked like one of those impossible-to-pronounce Lyran words: one that probably literally meant "the room with the guys in charge".

The Colonel-General nodded for me to begin, and I took a deep breath as Gnallerr activated the display for the Council. They really weren't going to like what I had to say...

"Confessions"

Commander Joral Anton
Rogue Group CO (Missing in Action)

===Present Day===

"I must say, friend Commander, your findings are most inconvenient to us."

I stood rooted to the spot, dumbstruck at Colonel-General Clath'tik's words. "Inconvenient" was hardly the response I was expecting to hear. There was about ten seconds of silence before someone cleared thier throat, and I suddenly realized that I was expected to respond.

"Inconvenient? With all due respect, Colonel-General, that hardly does the situation justice. I tell you that the Hydran forces are less than a week away from discovering this facility's location, and you view it as a mere inconvenience?"

He and several others at the table rewarded me with an ears-back expression I had long since learned to be irritation - I saw it frequently. "Brave Commander, per your previous recommendations, our logistics teams are formulating a plan to move our headquarters to a new location. However, they are facing difficulties in relocation of the hydroponics facility. If your information is accurate, then I fear we shall be forced to sacrifice said benefits of our current locale in our distressingly hasty departure."

I had rapidly moved from "dumbstruck" to "incredulous", and it showed. "You mean to tell me that I've been recommending a roving headquarters for two months, and you've been delaying the move because you can't find a place to put your bloody garden?!?"

My outbursts had become increasingly common at these meetings, and it appeared that the council really didn't care about my input, only about the information that I provided. The Colonel-General, too, chose to ignore my rage, and merely asked, "How is it that they have come so close to finding our location?"

I sighed, and motioned to the monitor, which Commander Gnallerr obligingly changed for me. "We have been using false informants, double-blinds, computer tricks, and various forms of good old-fashioned gossip to create layers of deception and shield our location. The Hydrans have been systematically working to dig through those layers one at a time, and are getting closer to the reality every day."

I heard an irritated voice from Clath'tik's left. "Can we not simply create new layers?"

I turned to look square in the eye of General Snraalla, the Intelligence Advisor to the council... that man whose job I was doing for him. "And how do you propose we do that, exactly? Those that were in place before my arrival were tenuous at best, and there was little I could do as an outsider when it came to shoring them up."

He bristled at my comments, and Heth'ba stepped in, ever the diplomat. "I fear friend Commander Joral is correct. It is time for us to move on, and to fight the enemy from new avenues."

Another General spoke, one whose name I couldn't really be bothered to recall. "To admit defeat in this manner is to dishonor our family names for all history. We do not retreat."

Heth'ba sighed visibly, replying, "How is survival dishonorable? It is not more dishonorable to allow our families and our descendants to be permanently under the heel of the Hydran oppressor?"

The prickly General narrowed his slit-like eyes at her. "No retreat."

Again I was allowing my irritation to show. "You know nothing of honor. You sit here and allow your people to suffer, while an outsider does your dirty work, while the commoners bleed on your soil, and all you do is enjoy your plants..."

"That is enough, brave Commander."

The room stopped as Clath'tik spoke. I stood there fuming as he continued. "We are not prepared for a relocation of this facility. As such, I leave it up to General Snraalla to create new deceptions for the Hydran oppressor. Do not allow him to discover us before we are prepared."

Snraalla bowed pompously. "You honor me with this assignment, Colonel-General."

Clath'tik nodded his acknowledgment, and turned to me. "Friend Commander Joral, you are to continue your raids upon Hydran data facilities. Discover their intentions towards us."

I bit my tongue. If there were any intelligent officers in this room, they certainly didn't need me to tell them that they Hydran's "intentions" towards us were to wipe us out, and anyone else in the room wouldn't listen, anyway. Seeing no objections from me, Clath'tik nodded, and looked about the table.

"Dismissed."

I stormed out as fast as my damaged body could manage, leaving Gnallerr to catch up to me in the corridor. He spoke low so that no one but me could hear the delayed translation. "Commander, what do we do?"

I watched the receding backs of the council as they exited the chambers, most not willing to meet my eyes. Turning to Gnallerr, I replied in an equally low voice. "I'll tell Heth'ba; you get everyone together. We're leaving, with or without the council. I'm not letting us all get slaughtered just because a few high-born men want their luxuries more than they want their people's freedom."

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

My entrance into the barracks of Gnallerr's officers didn't go unnoticed. Word had spread fairly quickly, and I could tell from the silence that fell over the room as soon as I entered it what had been the topic of discussion.

I decided that this was a good reason to ignore all pretenses, and so I just jumped right into it. "The Council has ordered us to keep pretending that we're able to hold of the Hydrans, so that they can take more time to gather their personal belongings, not to mention so they can look brave sitting in their offices. We all know this position is untenable, so, along with General Heth'ba's staff, we're leaving. Have your people gather all of our equipment and be ready to move out in six hours. The ships' crews are already spooling up."

One Lieutenant glared at me, and called out, "This is treason against our masters. We are bound by honor to obey their will."

Another officer stood, rising unnecessarily to my defense. I appreciated the gesture, anyway. "Have you heard nothin Friend Joral has said? We must go, or else all resistance will collapse."

The lieutenant retorted, "The Resistance is embodied by its great leaders. Can we abandon them now, flee at the whim of some half-breed, some non-Lyran who fell out of the sky unasked for?"

I held up my hand, and all conversations stopped, even from my detractors. "This isn't negotiable. I will not let your people fall to subjugation over a clerical error. We ARE leaving, and we are doing so right now."

The angry you man-cat lieutenant stepped forward, standing to his full height, which was still at my chin-level, even with my injuries. I'm certain he thought he was intimidating. "What gives you the right to judge me, to play God with the lives of others? Is it because you're so much holier than everyone else?"

I was used to having my faith in the Prophets questioned by everyone, myself included, and so I merely shrugged off his veiled accusation. "Well yes, there is that. But also because I'm more intelligent than anybody else."

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

It turned out that my orders came none too soon. I had misjudged the Hydrans, and within an hour after we left, they launched an all-out assault on the Headquarters of the Lyran Resistance Front. We watched in horror from orbit as thousands were slaughtered, and fires burnt all over Lyra Prime as the vindictive Hydrans murdered citizens in retribution, or as examples.

Hydran propaganda was soon broadcasted, with Lyran collaborators giving voice to the videos, talking about wiping away the last traces of the old "oppressive" regime, and how the Hydran "liberators" had saved all Lyrans from tyranny. Then a new vid came on, and our horror deepened. It showed the inside of the Council chambers, walls scorched with weapons fire. Dead bodies littered the room, and five Lyrans sat in chairs in the middle. The voice spoke about the traitorous rebel leaders being captured or killed, and stated that the five surviving generals would be executed over the course of the next week... the woman last.

Someone in the CIC gasped as the camera zoomed in close on her face, and we saw what we most feared.

The Hydrans had captured General Heth'ba.

"Lessons Learned" Part Six

Commander Na'sav Lorem Commanding Officer

Lieutenant Commander Sorena
Executive Officer USS Vigilant
(Lieutenant Ingerness played by Jola)
=======================================

"He looked at me... his eyes half closed, as if bracing against death's icy grip. My father seemed to fight it's approach with fatalistic recognization that it would be his last stand. He fortified himself long enough to deliver, in short order, all the rules that I've since striven to live by. In a voice remarkably clear given the totality of the situation, he said 'No matter the obstacles, learn to love life, live to fight the good fight, and always... 'always' help someone in trouble.' He parted this Universe, inevitability taking him, and leaving me to carry on." -"A Soldier's Memoirs" Field Marshall Asa Re'tal: Stagnorian Rangers, 52nd Corps

(Early 2374, U.S.S. Majestic)

Na'sav had met Sorena when he first joined the fleet, back in 2373 as the Federation was preparing for what was to be the Dominion War. They'd gotten to know each other fairly well over the subsequent 8 months, typically over a meal, and typically through discussions of philosophy, of politics and past experiences. He rather enjoyed the challenge associated with debating a Vulcan on any number of subjects, and although she never openly said they were friends, she had once admitted to becoming 'accustomed' to their conversations. On a ship full of species that were foreign to both of them (she was the only thing close to a Vulcan aboard at the time, and probably the only one of her mixed heritage in the entire fleet Na'sav wagered), companionship was a very treasured thing.

He wasn't actually a member of the Miranda Class ship's crew. He was, however, the commanding officer of a Raider attached to the fleet and using the ship as a tender. He was around a good deal, to say the least. She was an operations turned tactical officer, about to be transferred to the ill fated New Orleans Class Uskan... one of a great many ships to be lost at the Battle of Tyra.

Come to think of it, Sorena never actually 'spoke' about Tyra. She didn't speak about the battle, about having to abandon ship... about being taken prisoner or any of the events that occurred to her on the planet she crash landed on, about the two months she spent in the POW camp set up on the planet following the battle, not even about how she escaped the camp eventually and managed to transmit a distress call, avoid subsequent patrols and survive in the environment of the world until rescue did arrive. In fact, there were only two people in the Universe who knew the whole story... she was one, and he was the other.

And it all started with a little trip to the Uskan.

They were in yet another lunch-time debate, and like so many before them this one involved a discussion at something that struck home for every Vulcan, even those of unpure lineage... logic.

"But if you know the universe is illogical, where is the logic in treating things logically?" Na'sav asked as he slid a forkful of sweedish-meatball and egg noodles into his mouth.

Sorena for her part did little more than raise an eyebrow. "The universe is distinguishable from it's elements. It's elements, on their own, typically have a logical pattern to them. It is therefore a preferential way of studying various components, through logic."

"If that was true, how do you explain us?" The Stagnorian pointed at the various 'illogical' crew members in the mess hall, starting with himself.

"Random accidents."

Na'sav stopped eating. "Sorena, was that a joke?"

"An observation."

Lieutenant Ingerness strolled up to the table in time to catch this last bit. "Observe always that everything is the result of a change, and there is nothing nature loves so well as to change existing forms and to make new ones like them." She helped herself to an open seat. "Not so random."

"It would seem more likely that inertia drives the changing forms of the Universe, rather than some central, sentient force." Sorena countered, realizing she was now fighting a proverbial war on two fronts.

"That would be a matter of opinion." Na'sav smirked, giving Ingerness a nod. "Joining us for lunch, Lieutenant?"

"Not so long as that, just a mid-day refresher. Conversation is a far better sustenant than rations."

"The replicators are more than capable of producing cuisine more acceptable to your pallet, Lieutenant." Sorena offer her two sents, sipping a spoonful of soup. "Suitable replicas, at least."

"First she calls us names, now she's bad mouthing our food. How you stand her is beyond me." Na'sav snickered.

"Don't let your ear be your Sinon around her," she smiled. "If you can't stand her so much, you could have found a different lunch partner."

"Indeed." Sorena 'almost' smiled. Granted it wasn't one you could see on her lips... it was one that was hidden in the extra gleaming in her eyes.

Now one Lieutenant Lorem was on the receiving end of all guns. Best option was a skillful retreat...

Or a diversion.

"How are things with... Lieutenant Arap is it?"

Aila chuckled softly. "If out of all mankind one finds a single friend..." she mused. "He's not yet a jewel, but he's more than a bauble."

Na'sav grinned. His little plan had worked. "Hmmm, I see. How 'much' more?"

Sorena seemed to remain decidedly uninterested in the conversation, concentrating on the bowl in front of her.

"When you return from your excursion, I'll let you know if he's fit for a setting to truly make him shine," she winked.

"Make sure you do. If there are any actual rings involved I expect invitat... wait, excursion?" Na'sav blinked. "Our Raider group wasn't due to head for the front lines for a while yet."

"Orders from the Captain. You'll be accompanying him when he joins with the fleet at Tyra."

Sorena noticed the lull in conversation, and then that eyes were on her. "It would not make sense to transfer a commanding officer to a new ship immediately prior to a battle."

Despite her best efforts, Na'sav could have sworn he heard a tinge of disappointment in her voice. "Unless you're exceptionally short handed." Na'sav looked back at Aila. "Or someone's joking."

"The orders are quite clear. You both are to join the captain." The lieutenant had dropped the dreamy, loquacious quality of before. Orders were orders, and every soldier's job was to obey first and foremost.

Na'sav blinked. He already had his own ship... patrol boat really, but still. "What for?"

"You," she addressed Na'sav, "will be transporting the Captain and Sorena to the ship Uskan. More than that, you will have to speak with the Captain directly."

Na'sav took a deep breath, at least he was keeping his boat. "That doesn't answer why Sorena?"

"Most likely they are seeking either an Operations or Tactical officer." Sorena concluded, looking to Aila to see if she could confirm it.

This was one thing that Aila truly disliked about Starfleet. As a student of classical history from her youngest years, she'd always admired the way in which the armies of yore had been trained to discipline and obedience. A bull session on, for example, the nature or usefulness of logic was delightful. A roundtable on direct orders turned her stomach. It oughtn't be done. "Likely," Aila nodded. "You are a capable officer and steady. I am sure that played a factor."

"Thank you, ma'am." Sorena offered in her docile, almost apathetically logical way.

Na'sav said nothing more, taking a long sip from his cup of juice instead. He was very accustomed to asking 'why' when told to do things, as most Stagnorians were. The why was rather obvious here, however. "Did the Captain say when he wanted to depart?"

"You are to report at 1800."

"Lovely, not even enough time to have dinner here." Na'sav smirked at Aila. "Any additional bad news you want to share with us?"

"Yes," she chuckled, rising to her feet. "You've something green stuck between your teeth."

Na'sav went to pick, finding nothing there and grinning at his counterpart. "Cute Aila, very cute. In that case, I should probably get things ready for courier duty." Standing up, he gave Aila a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I 'do' expect an update on the whole damn Arap situation next we meet."

"You'll get it," she promised, hugging him warmly. "Now get to. I can't stand long farewells."

"I'm going, I'm going." Na'sav looked back at Sorena. "I'll see you at 18:00."

"Ofcourse." The Vulcan half breed replied, placing her bowl on top of his dish. "One of your traditions, if I remember correctly?"

Yep, it was. "First one up cleans up. You're a fast learner when need be."

Sorena didn't reply, simply giving a courteous nod.

Aila gave Sorena a departing nod, then headed back for her own duty station. "Our cause, then, must be intrusted to, and conducted by, its own undoubted friends," she whispered under her breath.

"Lessons Learned" Part Seven

Commander Na'sav Lorem Commanding Officer
Lieutenant Commander Sorena Executive Officer
USS Vigilant

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

The Raider class of ship certainly wasn't designed with the timid or clostrophobic in mind. A bit smaller than the Klingon Bird of Prey, it had about half the defensive capaility and a similar beam firepower ratio. There were eight crew assigned, and on these kinds of deployments there was an extensive use of automation to allow for more tollerable work conditions.

Na'sav however, liked to do as much manually as possible. In the event of an ambush, the second or two it took to disengage the autonomous systems could be the bredth of the margin between escape and death. Besides, although he would never admit it to 'her', he was going to miss having her around. This could be the last time either of them saw the other, and he was determined to make the best of it.

So they sat in the cramped flight center. Her fingers ran over the flight controls with expert precision and timing. Having her at hand made him feel a bit more secure (again something else he'd never actually admit to)... the Jem H'adar had crack pilots, but none that he ever saw with her level of proficiency or speed of execution. For his part, he leaned back at the weapons station, keeping an eye out on the IFF, or whatever the Federation called it, sensor readings. There seemed to be nothing but clear space ahead... always a welcomed sight. The conversation encompassed a number of topics, from the Captain to Medieval Philosophy, and ultimately the Just War theory. It only seemed fitting, after all, given the situation they were in.

Sorena stopped tapping when she heard Na'sav finish his explanation. "Are you suggesting this war is unjustified?"

"Not really. Personally I believe it's as justified as a war can be... I wouldn't be here otherwise. What I 'am' saying is that in Teran tradition, which forms one of the bases of Federation ethics, the ability to win is synonimous with justification. Fighting a war you can't win isn't justified, and right now it seems most people believe the war unwinable."

"Indeed the likelihood is against a total victory. This does not mean force can not be used as a means of coersing a tolerable, or honorable, peace through political means."

Na'sav laughed. "I wasn't aware Stagnorian philosophy was taught at Starfleet Academy."

"It isn't."

He gave her a surprised look. "You learned to quote Ni'cosan on your own?"

"Given our consistency in debating, it seemed a logical choice... to be more familiar with the reasoning behind your positions."

"And?"

"I find their application of logic remarkable for such a passionate species."

The Stagnorian smirked. "High praise from you. I'm going to miss this, you know?" Okay, so maybe 'if' pushed he would admit to missing their continuous bickering.

And ofcourse she knew that already, she was half Betazed after all. Her response came with far more poise and dignity then the obviousness in her mind. "Indeed. These past months have been an all together agreeable experience."

He shook his head, snickering. "I'm going to miss you too, Sorena."

She stopped again. "I never said your absence would solicit an emotional response."

"Sure you did."

"I did not."

"It was implied."

"No such implication was intended." She lied.

"Sure there was." Na'sav challenged.

Dorena raised her eyebrow in 'the' quit-essential Vulcan look. "I assure you that any such perceived implication is strictly unintentional."

"Is, huh?" he smirked, convinced he now had her dead to rights.

She sighed. "I will not be drawn into such a childish debate."

The look on her face said it all. It was time to stop. He was about to go back to the open ration pack in his hand when the console chirped, calling him back to attention. "Jem H'adar attack ship on long range sensors."

"Have we been detected?"

"Doesn't look like it. Just to be safe, engage the DASS."

"DASS?" She inquired.

"ECM rather, whatever Starfleet calls it." Na'sav mumbled as he reduced the power signiture their ship emitted as much as possible, and attempted to hide their warp trail. "There's a binary star system, approximately five minutes from here. We'll use the stars to hide us from sensor sweeps."

"The ionic interference generated will blind us as well." Sorena cautioned, executing the order none the less.

"Yeah, but we're not going to be the ones hunting." He looked over at her with a smile. "Looks like we'll have an extra hour to debate."

She stared back. "If you insist."

One could almost swear she was grateful.

"When On ch'Rihan..."

Elaithin Jii
K. Jordan Elaithin

--

The Bajoran shook his head. "No cover. Long story though, and we don't have time for it. I need to know where Vartek ar'Triae is."

The Romulan's eyes narrowed then. "You mean your Commander Johnathan Keller, of course. The man who, unless I'm very much mistaken, caused the deaths of the First Galae."

Elaithin winced at the blunt statement. "That'd be him, yes."

Kerec wasn't any more inclined to mince words. "Any compelling reason I should give him up to you instead of turning him over the RNI?"

"He'd never survive that and we all know that," Jordan said, shaking her head. "He would either kill himself or be killed, and likely before anyone found out any information. Jii and I have a better chance of getting information out of him."

And then there was the unspoken matter of the fact that Keller was one of her agents. She had assigned him here. She should finish this.

"His orders didn't come from Starfleet, Kerec. I know that, and I think you do, too. We've got to find out who turned him and why, or this is going to happen again." Jii added quietly. "The RNI might not be like the Tal Shi'ar, but almost a hundred thousand Romulan soldiers are dead because of him. He'll be turned back over to your government once we've gotten the information out of him that we need. You've got my word."

The Romulan man didn't reply for a moment, hiding his face behind his folded hands. "We Unificationist have been called a lot of things in our time. Unpatriotic is hardly the worst of it. But turning this man over to you.. Jii, it's treason, at this least."

"He's wounded my people the most. But what you say has value as well - and Spock has taught me nothing if not the pragmatic realism of logic. He would not long survive in the custody of my people. He does not deserve to."

"We agree on that." the Bajoran said quietly.

"I will have to come with you, then. By the Elements, I wish there was another way. But as you say, we must have this information, or Judaris will be far from the last world to burn. And I will not see my home world turned to ash."

Jordan shook her head. "You should stay here, Kerec. You have enough trouble of your own without being implicated with us and in our actions. Believe me. We have every interest in finding Keller. And we will. After we get the information, we'll hand him over to you, help your cause perhaps."

Kerec snorted. "Not going to happen that way." he replied flatly. "This is my world, human. No offense, but if we were on Earth, I doubt you'd let me do what you're asking. It's not that I don't trust you and your husband... but this is ch'Rihan, my dear. Or Romulus, as you call it. The first thing we ever learn is to trust no one. You want Keller, then I'll be with you the entire way."

"He's right." Jii added quietly. "It's the only way the Romulan Government is going to accept our side of things when it's said and done. If we go it on our own, they'll never believe we have nothing to do with what Keller's done. And in the long run, that's more dangerous than anything. Without the Alliance, Romulus will fall. And we can't be sure how long the Klingon Empire or the Federation will survive afterwards."

Jordan watched her husband for a moment, then turned away in resignation.

She didn't like it. But what could she do? She was outvoted, and as much as she hated it, they both had a point. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

---------------------
Later
------------------------

Kerec had agreed to put them up for the night. Jii hadn't mentioned that Jordan would be setting up a baffler of their own in their room, but then, he hadn't felt the need to.

He was laying on the bed, arms folded behind his head, as he watched Jordan finish setting up the device. He returned her quick nod and waited for the storm he expected to come.

"I don't like the idea of working with him, Jii," she said, softly, far more delicately than she would have seven or eight months earlier. She settled carefully on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap and staring down at them. "I know that you trust him. And I know that he did a great thing for you. But he's a powerful Romulan in a not so powerful group. He has as many reasons to be opportunistic as any of them. If it comes between working with us or gaining favor within his government and amongst his people?" She looked over to her husband. "I know you don't want to hear it. And of course I'll do this, because you asked me to and it's the only choice we have. But I don't like it. And I don't think it will turn out well."

"You're probably right." Jii admitted.

It was a concession she wasn't expecting. Perhaps it was one of the many ways he'd changed over the course of time since her death; once upon a time, he would have defended the man, or at least, wouldn't have conceded the point. Not verbally.

"I've been doing this a long time," she unnecessarily reminded him as she moved and curled up next to him in the bed. Jordan nestled in the nook by his side, her head at his shoulder and a hand on his chest. "Jii..."

She cleared her throat, wanting desperately to find a way to communicate all she was feeling. And not just about the mission. It was the same thing she'd struggled with since she opened her eyes in her husband’s Bajoran home; the unease, the dread in the depths of her core, the feelings that she had changed. That he had changed. That sometimes, she felt strange and awkward around him. That sometimes, she felt strange and awkward in an empty room.

But she didn't have the completely thoughts; she didn't have the right words.

"It's probably going to turn out spectacularly badly." he elaborated. "But I can't see where we've got any other choice. We don't have Starfleet's resources anymore. We may have some nifty toys, but other that, we've got to feel through this the rough way. He's our only contact with a lead on Keller - and when it comes to the Romulan government facilities we'll probably have to get into, we don't have any other way in. It's just our only way right now."

"I know," Jordan said. "And you're right. But I wonder if maybe..." She cleared her throat. "There should be another way."

His eyes narrowed a bit, and he was conscious of some of the things that had been… different about Jordan since her... return.

"Why?" he whispered. "Do you... know... something?"

Her hand pulled from his chest and settled on the necklace against hers, her fingers inclosing over the strange pendant there since her reawakening. She pushed herself up and away from him, stretching as she stood and moved toward the replicator, asking for a glass of water.

"Do you think it would it be rude to take a shower at this time?” she asked, absently, sipping from the glass. “I don't remember Romulan etiquette."

He frowned at the evasion, but decided to leave it alone for now. "I don't think they really have social rules for that kind of thing."

"Perhaps not about the shower per se, but perhaps about proper hours for a guest… I've certainly offended our host enough today, Jii, and if we’re going to be working with him, I don't want to..."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Jii smiled, for possibly the first time that day. "He's one of Spock's students, after all. A human, being rude, would only be logical."

Jordan smirked, shaking her head. "You have a point. I just... I've found I have a hard time considering myself human anymore. Considering myself anything anymore. I'm just th-" She cut herself off and shrugged. “Preaching logic doesn't mean he'll follow it. Preaching peace doesn't mean he'll follow it. He is a product of his times, his government, and his society. He may be Vulcan-like, but in the end, he’s a Romulan. And I can't trust him, Jii, it doesn't matter what he’s done for you in the past, I just can't. And the fact that we’re at least giving him some benefit of the doubt… I'm just worried."

"Well," Jii shrugged. "We ARE on Romulus. If you didn't feel that way, I'd be damned worried about your sanity."

"I worry about my sanity anyway," she replied, offering a small smile.

"That's because you're smart."

"That’s what they always told me. Anyway.” She set the glass down in the replicator and pressed the reclamation button. “We should get some rest -- we're going to have a long few days ahead of us."

And that was something that neither of them doubted. Not one bit.

(Set one week after Open Fist an Catalyst ends)

"Never saw it coming"

Lieutenant Ella Grey, Chief of Engineering
Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe, engineering officer

***Main Engineering USS Galaxy***

"Hey, Dhani."

The vocal implant of Ella Grey sounded, as always, cold and computerized but today it sounded a bit tired as well.

The door hadn't even closed behind Dhani as Ella called out to her. The engineer looked up and smiled softly at Grey. The dark rings around Dhani's eyes reflected the tone in Grey's mechanical vice. Both missions it seemed had been exhausting. Dhani was just glad that a broken ankle and radiation poisoning was all she had to put up with from her latest mission. She had briefly heard from Jiiles, who was still residing in the de-contamination suite in sick bay, that the ship had been through a few adventures of its own; mainly dealing with the return of O'Shea, the departure of O'Shea, the sabotage of the woman's clone and to top it off three random bombs; and all that drama was centered to the engineering department alone! Dhani wasn't even going to let herself think about all the other problems that probably happened. There was most likely some political bull shit going on about the fact that the Federation was in Romulan space. and Dhanishta remembered well the three topics never to talk about round the dinner table.

"So," Dhani said as she got closer to the other officer, "I guess with O'Shea gone that puts you back up to Chief and me back up to acting assistant Chief?" she asked smiling slightly - for once she was actually in the know about the events in her own department!

"For now." Ella nodded, pushing aside a coffee mug and a half-eaten plate of something so that she could put her feet up. "I don't know if they're letting O'Shea back any time in the immediate future."

Dhanishta nodded solemnly and pointed to the replicator, "Want another?" she asked indicating the empty mug.

"Oh, that wasn't mine. Night shift, I hope." Ella said. Engineers were notorious for leaving the break room before finishing their food. Or cleaning up their food. "But I'd love some coffee."

Grabbing herself and the Chief a drink she slipped into a chair opposite the woman and stared for a moment into the steam rising from the hot beverage. "It's a shame." Dhani said, "O'Shea has been through so much. Engineering just doesn't feel right without her."

"Yeah." The other engineer replied. Especially since the task of chief had been placed back on her shoulders again. So much for supporting Anna so that she would be okay when Ella left.

Dhani half chuckled, "And I still have her dog!" she announced looking up at Ella hoping for an expression of sympathy, knowing that her voice alone wouldn't convey any.

"I didn't even get a chance to tell her that I had Peckerwood before I left for my assignment." she explained staring back down into the brown liquid, melancholy, shoulders slumped.

At least, in Ella's case, the cloning process had never been completed. Of course the pre game had been especially memorable and unpleasant but it was nothing compared to what O'Shea had gone thorugh.

"She knows that you'll take care of it." Ella said. "I just hope they'll let her go soon so she can get some... rest."

Dhani looked up at Ella, "Can I be honest with you?" she asked suddenly. Dhani couldn't really ever truthfully call Ella a friend. The woman was a colleague and that was as far as their relationship went. It was a sad state of affairs mind, seeing as she had worked along side the woman for almost three years; two mainly, taking away the nine months she was in a coma. Though if she was counting all the time she had been signed off sick it probably brought the time down to a year approximately. that might explain why they weren't such good buddies. But still, she was closer to Nara then she was Ella, and Nara had been on the ship for seconds in comparison.

"Of course."

"I never saw this coming." Dhani said. "When I first came to the Galaxy you were this little mouse, no offence intended." Dhani added quickly, "I just mean that you didn't talk, you had a love-hate, or rather just hate relationship with Suder. You and me never seemed to connect, our paths never really crossed, and now we are here," Dhani paused and looked around engineering, "running this department together." Her gaze fell upon the engineer opposite her once more, "And it seems as if we have always been doing it." she smiled softly, half chuckled, "Does that make any sense?" she asked.

Ella nodded, wrapping her hands around the mug for its warmth. "Sometimes I feel like I've always been here, especially after this last mission. It's... strange. I tried for a long time not to be connected to anything."

Or anybody, Ella added to herself. But that was something that she really didn't want to confess to Dhani. It was better to let others think of her as a mouse. She'd never be a tiger but she never had been a mouse either.

Bah! Stupid Angie and that nickname of hers. If Ella could go a day without hearing herself be called a mouse ...

"It's hard to anticipate the future." Was what Ella said to Dhani.

Dhanishta nodded at the philosophical comment, "Yeah." she sighed in agreement. Looking down at the table she began to trace patterns in its surface with her finger tips. "Suddenly I feel incredibly depressed." Dhani said resting her head on her hand lethargically.

Ella nodded glumly. "Me too. I think I'm going to replicate myself a pint of ice cream for dinner."

"Can I join you?" Dhani asked playfully. "Anyway," she continued with a wave of her hand, pushing her coffee to one side, she straightened up, trying to be a little bit more professional, "what do we have planned for today? And what's more, what do you expect from me as your assistant." She paused for a second, her lips pursing, "Ya know we haven't really talked about that. How do you feel about it all?" she asked genuinely.

"You're a good officer." The engineer said. It was true even if the woman was in and out of Sickbay more than Ella was. "I think you'll make a good assistant chief and probably an even better chief someday. I'll be honest, I want you to be prepared to take over some day."

Dhani almost choked, "A good officer?" she questioned shaking her head, "That's only when the medical department let me work. And honestly Ella who are we kidding? Me as Chief, lets just turn this place into a mad house and call in the crazies." she sighed, "Look I know what people in this department think of me. I'm a junior grade lieutenant that's been in sick bay longer than I have been serving on this ship. No one here respects me. I'm surprised that you even respect me."

"I'm not exactly prized Starfleet psych material myself." Ella drawled. "But at the end of the day, if this ship is still flying, who really cares? You'll gain their respect."

Even if I have to help them along, she added to herself.

Dhanishta gave Ella a hard stare, "Gain their respect." she repeated with a look of disbelief. ~Yeah like that's ever gonna happen. The only way anyone in this department is going to respect me is if I suddenly become normal, no nightmares, no little dead girls, no floating objects, no fear of Medical, no insomnia, no raging temper, no comas. All things that I would really love. But lets face it, never gonna happen. At least not in the immediate future.~

Dhanishta rolled her eyes. "Sure I can do that." she said sullenly, "Being a Captain might help," she added dryly, "any chance that the positions vacant?"

Ella crossed her arms. "That attitude right there has to change. *That* is what I expect of you."

Dhanishta quirked an eyebrow, "I was joking." she replied a small smile dancing on her lips, "Partly." she added ruefully. Sliding off the stool she refilled hers and Ella's mugs.

"But while we are on the subject." she said returning and handing the chief another steaming mug, "what else do you expect from me, what do you want from me ... What can I do to make your life easier?" she asked, "In engineering of course." she added.

Leaning in to Ella she lowered her voice, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." She confessed, "This title, this role is just thrust upon me and I don't really know what it entails. I have been an engineer for years, I'm good at that, I can fix almost anything, I can build almost anything. But when it comes to paperwork and dealing with people on a day to day basis." she paused and took Ella's hand to emphasis just how lost she felt. It was not something she supposed she should confess to Ella, but at the same time how was she supposed to be taught, if her teacher didn't know that she needed to be?

"I don't want to screw up." Dhani said seriously, "I know that I'm messed up. But that's me and that's my life, it doesn't affect work, everyone has their baggage right? And I promise that I will sort my health out, I'm sure that Burton has been on to you. But when it comes to my work, you have to know that I take my job very seriously. And as your right hand I understand that the life of everyone on this ship is in my hands, our hands. I won't neglect my duty to them or to you. I'm not afraid to ask for help. And yeah that's what I'm doing now I guess." she added with a shrug.

An old part of Ella balked slightly, wanting to refuse this moment and go back to being unconnected to anyone. But it was harder to do that these days.

She'd have to work on that later.

Ella squeezed the woman's hand back. "I'll try to help as best I can. For now finish your coffee. I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll find more clone damage to repair today."

Prologue

By Savant
S3 (Logistics) Officer
USS Galaxy

It was strange to walk these halls again; these clean, smooth halls which the Federation so loved in their architecture were foreign after so long so far away. The preference for these lines stemmed back to the formation of the Federation, when several architectural favourites were blended together quite naturally. Human Greco-Roman formations merged seamlessly with Vulcan Taurok, blended with the austerity of Centauri Interventionism and others to create a style that was commonly called "Post Federation." They were cool, calming, and to Savant, felt very foreign.

Savant had been trapped in the M64 galaxy for years along with a Starfleet task group; it was only through the intervention of a supraluminal device called the Slingshot that had allowed her to return in the manner that she did. It had been simple enough to split off a copy of herself and shunt it through the Slingshot’s microscopic wormhole to return to Federation space. Once technology could advance to the point where a stable wormhole could be created, Savant would be able to reunite with her duplicate in M64, bringing a wealth of new data with it. It seemed a good plan, all in all.

Savant paced down the hallway at a comfortable pace – after living in cramped, archaic physical spaces, the expanse of the starbase was welcoming, to be sure. Still, she missed the breadth of her data space - her actual living space; but no matter. What was lost could be rebuilt, given time. And if Savant had anything at all, it was time.

"It seems that everything is in order." her companion said as she looked up from the PADD. Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor walked the halls alongside the android in a jumpsuit, having just finished at the gym. "Your transfer is in place, and you can send your – daughter processes, you called them? – out at your discretion."

"I’ll do so immediately, Ma’am. I have permission to use the stations’ high volume communications array?" Savant smiled a benign smile. She knew there wouldn’t be a problem with the transfer at all, this was just a formality. The Admiral needed to give permission, though, so it was best to do things formally.

"Of course. Welcome to Typhon Sector Command, Captain." Instead of a salute, Admiral Proctor mopped her brow with the towel draped over her shoulder. Savant grinned at the informality, but didn’t comment on it. She decided that she liked this sort of a reassignment – simple and direct. When the Admiral’s expression held in a quizzical tone for a moment, however, Savant caught notice.

The admiral picked up the social cue and asked her question. "I have to ask. Are you sure that you’re capable of this? I’ve read the reports from Tee-Gee 85.3, but this isn’t going to be a collection of frigates and freighters you’re going to be working with – these are the biggest, the best, and the most sophisticated cruisers and battleships the Fleet has to offer, and they’re in the middle of a warzone. Honestly – off the record – do you think that you can handle this?"

The Admiral had stopped in her walk, so too did Savant. Proctor found her concerned expression met with a confident smile. "Admiral, that’s not a fair question. I haven’t done it yet, how would I know if I was capable or not? Let me reassure you, my first priority is for Starfleet and these ships. If I can’t accomplish a task given to me I will find someone who *is* capable of it." Her smile broadened into a gleaming grin that would make even the Cheshire cat jealous; the synthetic skin around her eyes crinkled in amusement, "Besides, Task Group 85.3 is more than a collection of ‘frigates and freighters’. There are three Camelynian Worldships, a Montgommery Scott class fleet tender, and over fifty destroyer escorts in that fleet. I had my hands full. Don’t worry, Admiral. I’ll get the job done."

Admiral Proctor seemed convinced enough; while she didn’t smile she did nod and continue to walk. Savant kept pace. "I’m glad that you’re confident. You need confidence in the S3 position." The Admiral replied.

Savant’s conversational analysis routines reported that the Admiral seemed done with the conversation, given that last reply, so the android saluted as they walked. "I’ll begin transfer immediately, Ma’am. Thank you again.” She took the next turn-off, which was conveniently to a set of turbolifts. Next stop, the communication control centre and their high volume communication arrays. They would be swallowing a very large amount of data shortly...

"Darkness, Death, and The Reaper"

Ensign Faylin McAlister

Location: McAlister's Quarters

Darkness surrounded them, it squeezed them until they could not breathe, and it made it presence known throughout the corridors, quarters, and departments of the USS Galaxy. Its mist creped along, invading every crack and crevice the ship had to offer it. Its vile aroma hinted that along with it, Death was coming, followed by The Reaper. Death was a little bleaker, a little quieter, and a little more stealth like than the darkness. However, the two fed off of each other until they had grown to maturity within the minds of the people on board.

The day was coming soon. The day, where the rest of the crew would know what it felt to loose someone. Whether that someone was a fellow crewmember, wife, mother, son, daughter, aunt, uncle, friend, lover….that did not matter. The fact remained that it was coming like a thief in the night. The reaper of grimness knew when it was going to strike, how it was going to strike, and why it was going to strike. Olivia was the warm up for the main event. The little girl served the purpose of flexing its muscles. It hovered just outside in space, its shadow large, yet unknowing in its true form. It held its grasp on the ships and the planet with a firmness that no one could deny. Patiently, it waited for the time to strike. Evilness fed its desire, passion ebbed it on. If it could just taste the sweetness of the new souls that it fed upon, it would be satisfied. Yet, the time had not come. The hunger for soul food grew with each passing moment. The delicate morsel of the girl's soul was but a nibble of the feast that it had planned for itself. Destiny was the child it held next to its skeleton chest. Soon, it would release Destiny and feed on the souls its child decided to pick for it.

Faylin felt the darkness, she felt death, and she felt the Reaper. All three had been her bedfellows for the past few days, uninviting themselves in to her life with such force she had no strength to fight them. McAlister invited them in, let them sleep, eat, and devourer her with such determination that they kept by her to feed their needs. One day, she thought, she would have the strength to fight them off, to kick them to the curb so to speak. However, that day was not today. As morbid as it sounded, she felt comfortable with them. The evils kept her company, even if it was miserable. She felt an odd sort of peace with them there. They could do no more damage to her from what they had already done. Peace, be still. No matter if the peace was birthed from lightness or darkness. To Faylin, it was peace none the less.

The three sat on the sofa opposite of her, each staring at her with intrepid boldness.

She steeled her gaze upon them, determined to win the contest.

"What do you want?" The Reaper asked.

"I want Olivia." McAlister responded.

"I took her body." Death responded.

"I took her life force." Darkness replied.

"I took her soul." The Reaper responded.

"Where? Where did you take her soul?" Faylin asked with a pregnant pause.

"Heaven. I escorted her to the Heavens." He croaked. "A child of this universe is innocent. Olivia had no sin within her."

She stayed silent. "I want to talk to her."

The Reaper scratched his chin bone with his boney index finger. "I can not do that. Only she holds the key to come to you."

"What do I do?"

Death smiled softly as Darkness smirked and elbowed him in the ribs and shook his shadowed head negatively. The Reaper responded. "She will come when she is ready."

"When will that be?" Faylin cautiously asked.

Darkness shook his head yet again as his baritone voice spoke. "Stupid woman. Only Olivia knows when that time is upon you."

Her shoulders fell as Death, Darkness, and The Reaper stood. "Our work and time here is done." The Reaper stated. The low hiss of Death spoke next. "However, we will be back soon." Darkness turned to Faylin. "Warn them, warn them all of what is to pass."

Just as they entered, Death, Darkness, and The Reaper transformed into a black mist, a burgundy mist, and a plum mist. Each swirled around Faylin, covering her with a coldness that prompted her to involuntarily shiver. She turned, watching them slither underneath her door, out into the corridors of the Galaxy to find their next victims………..

"Hashagrir" (The Ambassador)

Lieutenant Saul Bental

Keeping watch on diplomatic emissaries is a delicate mission. Diplomats, by their nature, are allowed certain freedom by their hosts or else they would be unable to function. Take away those liberties or break an ambassador's trust, and the other nation may recall him and severe diplomatic connections. On the other hand, one can't let the representative of a devious ally roam freely on board a vessel which was, at the end, a military one. Compromises had to be made. One such compromise was not installing active eavesdropping device in the ambassadorial suite. Saul considered installing some devices on the adjacent rooms, which may relay sound from the ambassador's quarters, but decided not to do it for now. Another compromise was to avoid reading through the ambassador's 'mail', so to speak. However, it was no breach of privacy or trust to instruct the Galaxy's central communication center to back-up all of tr'Ahalaen's messages, or to generate a daily report on the recipients of these messages.

Saul was sitting in CIC, reviewing the list given to him earlier by Ensign Novitz. Most of the messages Aerv got in recent days were heavily encrypted, and their sender was a low-ranking Romulan from the planet below. Curiosity led Saul to look up the sender's name in the database, but when it did not come up he dismissed it as negligible.

Another surveillance method used by intelligence, in conjunction with security, was to use security's internal sensors in order to find out who visits the ambassadorial suit at all time. The sensor was located outside the suite, and simply recorded the identities of all those who came in and out of tr'Ahalaen's door.

Saul smiled to himself as he went through the names. He had no doubt that his methods were much less invasive than those of his Romulan counterparts.

The smile washed off his face when he reached the third name on the list. Faylin McAlister seemed to have entered the suite during one of the evenings... and came out in the morning. "So that's your guy, Fay-fay.", He whispered to himself. Something stirred inside him, an... emotion? It was too faint to pinpoint. No. Faylin was a big girl, and given Nara and Faylin's daughter, the JAG officer wasn't supposed to be more than a past acquaintance.

So why did seeing her name affect him at all?

Saul tapped on his desk's console. "Bental to R'pok. Envar, any word from security about the intercepted message we forwarded to them?" The Benezite cadet's hesitated voice pitched through. "No, sir... the Lieutenant I delivered it to said, well, she said they're handling it." "I see. One more thing - could you please coordinate a meeting with Ambassador tr'Ahalaen for me?"

"Y... yes, sir. I'll, um, contact his aide at once."

"Please, call me Saul."

"Yessir, Saul sir."

Saul shook his head. He didn't know which cadet was worse, the hesitant Benezite or the overly cheerful Laly. At least Laly looked better.

"Computer, please show me all of the data we currently have on Ambassador Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen." The intelligence chief rested his chin on his knuckles, and directed his full attention on the information as it appeared on the screen. The ambassador, if treated correctly, could become his greatest help during the dangerous days ahead.

"Working through the pain"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG, USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

Location: McAlister's JAG Office

The woman sat, consumed with self inflicted duty as she gently sipped the fourth cup of coffee since her duty shift started. Against the well wishers hopes, Faylin threw herself into her work, attempting to down play the pain she felt. If she just stayed focused on something other than thoughts of Olivia, it didn't hurt so bad for a while.

Her exhausted eyes attempted to focus on the padd, but with no luck. It was no use right now, her brain was stuck on memories, and she needed someone to talk to. Saul. Slowing standing, she powered down the padd, and slid her chair inwards.

'Computer, location of Saul Bental.'

'Saul Bental is in his quarters.'

She knew exactly where that was, not that she had been there before. Faylin was one to do research when she desired to knowledge. And, one day in the past, that knowledge was interesting. Now, she wanted support from the events that had swept her off her feet, the way Saul used to do.

Pressing the chime, McAlister realized her appearance left a lot to be desired, but for once in her life, she wasn't chasing after a man for sex.

On the other side of the door, Saul Bental just finished his second report to Captain M'Kantu. He did it with excruciating detail, hoping to discourage Captain M'Kantu from getting too much into his veins.

Nonetheless, nothing was covered, not even the whole ordeal with the surveillance equipment and the Miranda's marines. He kept that item for the end, describing the chain of events in detail. Instead of trying to hide his mistakes, he not only mentioned them but added his opinion on how he could avoid such mistakes in the future; He had no doubt that admitting his faults will take the sting out the Captain's reproach once it takes place.

He set the PADD down on the desk, and only then headed for the door. When it sled open, the person outside was unexpected... or perhaps, not so unexpected.

"Fay-fay.", Saul smiled. "What brings you to Casa de la Bental?"

His guess regarding what brought her to his quarters at this time of the night was about to be proven very, very wrong.

The look in her dark eyes conveyed something that she could not speak. "Saul...I...I need someone to talk to."

Saul raised a brow. This was a first... he gestured her to enter.

Quietly, the officer walked in, and slowly turned around. A tear was sliding down her cheek as she slowly blinked. "Something terrible has happened.......Olivia's dead." She felt her chest heave involuntarily as the words hit her, causing the wound in her heart to be ripped further apart.

"What?" Saul asked, startled. He still didn't fully digest that the sexy fiend he knew was now a mother. But if he had any doubts about Olivia being Faylin's, they washed away when he saw how lost and ruined Faylin looked.

"How?", was all he could mutter.

"She...was crushed when she pulled a large piece of furniture over onto herself while I was down...down on the planet......" Her eyebrows knitted as she motioned for his approval to sit down on the sofa.

"Please do, please." He rushed toward the replicator, ordering it to generate two glasses of chilled water, and nervously tapped his fingers of its frame until the glasses formed. This... what was he supposed to do? Say? What could you say to a mother who lost her daughter?

He quietly sat next to her, putting the glasses on the table.

Her eyes searched his. "I don't know why I came here Saul. I just didn't want to be alone right now....and....your the only one that I feel comfortable with. Miramon....well....he helped...but...you know me better than anyone else."

"That's OK. And... you can stay here tonight if you want, I'll sleep on the sofa.", Saul told her, fixing his gaze on some indeterminable spot on the opposite wall. The smooth-tongued intelligence officer then fell untypically silent.

"Thanks Saul. I knew I could count on you." She stated quietly. "Um, can I borrow one of your shirts.....I don't feel like going back to my quarters right now. If it's okay." Faylin never felt so unsure of herself, it was something she did not feel comfortable with.

"Go ahead. It's in the bedroom's closet. The left closet.", He corrected. There were some things in the right closet he preferred to keep out of sight. But that's why he kept it locked, assuming he did not forget.

A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in one of his white button down shirts. Her eyes softened someone when she was alone as she closed the shirt around her. It smelled like him. Memories rushed back to her. Yet, she had no desire to act on her urges. For some reason, it just didn't seem right. Smirking, she had to wonder when she received a conscious.

"Comfortable, Fay-fay?"

Faylin emerged, thanking him for his kindness with her eyes. She felt comfortable in his presence. He was the link to her past that permitted her to relax on board this now overly strange ship. She did not feel alone any longer, at least for the time she spent with Saul.

Saul had to admit that she looked pretty cute wearing his shirt. He was three inches taller than her, so the shirt was obviously slightly oversized. Its lower end surrounded her hips like an extremely short mini skirt.

No. Looking at her like that after what she's just been through was simply not right, Saul had to tell himself. He forced himself to think of the cute baby that he saw in Fay-fay's arms merely several days ago. As expected, it drained him of any lust that was building up inside him when the attractive JAG officer stepped into the room.

"So, you said you wanted to talk...", He tried.

"Yeah." McAlister simply stated as she sat down next to him. "And, now I don't know what to say." She shook her head, chuckling slightly despite the pain. "This may seem like a strange request Saul....and I understand if you don't want to." Her eyebrows arched ever so slightly as her dark eyes misted over. "Can you just hold me for a bit? Please?"

"Sure..." He said, softly, and with the same softness and uncertainty reached for her shoulder and brought her closer to him. As he rested his chin on her shoulder, he felt disoriented the hit of her familiar perfume never came. Instead, she smelt like... like Fay-fay, he realized, with the thinnest shroud of sweat.

McAlister found herself snuggling down against Saul, the heat from him much a like a large heating pad, relaxing her someone instantaneously.

Her mind surrendered to a memory in the past, exactly like what was playing out in the present, except...she felt 'cleaner'. A few minutes past, and Faylin couldn't stand it. She usually was very 'anal' concerning the way she presented herself. Rolling her eyes, she smirked. Wiggling away from him, she turned slightly to face him. "I've been running all day.....and since I'm staying here. I'm going to grab a shower."

"I'll turn the hidden cameras off.", Saul attempted joking.

"I'll be back." She stood, finding her way back to the bathroom. Glancing around at the decor, Faylin sighed. Still the same. Neat, yet not overly neat. Stripping, she stepped into the sonic shower, permitting all the emotional and physical sweat to drain off of her. Closing her eyes, Faylin felt a little better as the sensation of being clean washed over her. Emerging, yet again from the bedroom with a shirt on, Faylin spoke. "I owe you."

Now that's a sentence you don't say to a Bental, Saul thought. Well, that's a side of him Faylin never got to see. She never saw him compassionate either, and come to think of it he never regarded himself as a compassionate person either. It was just that... some times, there were things that were supposed to be done.

Like providing this poor, sad woman a sanctuary for the night.

"Nothing to it.", He informed her.

"Uh huh. Sure." She meandered her way back over to Saul, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. "I'm going to try and get some sleep. Thanks for...everything."

"Laila tov Fay-fay."

He felt that what he said was one big lie. What good night? She won't have a good night. She'll have a terrible night. And there's nothing he could do about it except for driving away all inappropriate thoughts about the sexy woman who is going to lie down on his bed, with only that loose shirt to cover her graceful form...

Her feet padded softly on the floor as she turned slightly, giving Bental one final sad and lost look before she disappeared into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she positioned herself on her left side, her long legs exposed from the upper thigh all the way down to her mauve painted toe nails. Grabbing one of the pillows, she buried her face into it to stifle the gentle sobs that started to arrive. The last thing she needed was to have him walk into the bedroom. It was bad enough feeling so vulnerable around him, but as she stated earlier, she had no one else to go to. If he indeed did show himself, she would be forced to do something that she wanted to do, but knew it wasn't the right thing to do.

Back in the main room, Saul dimmed the light, and sprawled on the sofa. He gazed at the celling, losing any sense of time. He kept seeing Faylin, bypassing him again and again with that child in her arms. The child that will never again be hugged by her mommy, or play...

Children were burden. Like girlfriends. Like family. Like anyone you needed to care about. You were least vulnerable when the only thing you needed to keep safe was yourself. Why then did people insist on tying emotional weights to their ankles?

If Nara died, or if she got kidnapped by someone who wanted to harm him, wouldn't it hurt? Wouldn't it cause him damage that otherwise could be prevented? Wouldn't Fay-fay be much happier if she was still the free, careless she-devil man-eater he knew back on Earth?

What was the point?

"Morality of a Priest"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
JAG, USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

"Saul? Are you awake?" McAlister stood a short distance away from him, her eyes red and swollen. "I can't sleep."

"Mmm?"

It was like consciousness was just about to close the door when some irritating salesperson shoved his filthy boot through the doorstep. He yawned, cursing the universe for depriving him from a much-needed sleep.

She watched him sit up, then sat close by him. She looked fresher, and smelled like her usual rose self. The bag she had brought with her contained a few small personal items.....like the rose oil and other essentials. It was her security blanket, where ever she went the purse went with her.

Saul smiled faintly in her general direction. "So what are we going to do to get you sleepy?"

"Do you have any ideas?"

Saul shook his head. "Ideas only come after sunrise."

"No? I have one." Faylin had a deep desire to want to wash away the events in the past days. She only knew one way to do that. Leaning over, she brought her face within inches of his. Without so much of a thought of right and wrong, she raised her hand and intertwined her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. The kiss was soft and gentle, not like the passion of a few years before. It portrayed a need to be held and comforted. Faylin felt alone, but Saul helped that feeling just with his presence.

She felt both of his hands on her shoulders, no pushing her away - but not pulling her close, either.

"Fay-fay, if we continue, we'll both hate me in the morning. And there are enough people who hate me without adding the two of us."

"Your assuming things again Saul. You never stopped that, did you? I won't hate you....but if you will hate you, I'll stop."

"That's what we do in intel. Assume things.", Saul tried to smirk, but it didn't work out. "You know Fay-fay, I'm taking advantage of people all the time. Most of them I don't give a targ's ass about. But taking advantage of you after what just happened is too low even for me. Even without considering Nara."

She sighed. Why was she fighting this with him? She could go easily get her needs filled by someone else. Yet, he was Saul. He was a link to her past that would make the pain go away for a little while. If she was with him, she could remember the way she felt when she was with him....the passion, the desire. It would drive away the overwhelming ache she felt, it would erase the recent events for a time. Looking deep into his eyes, she sighed again, highly doubting he understood where she was coming from without vocalizing it. Making the moves on his physically was not going anywhere, so she tried the direct approach. "I just did that to try and interest you in spending some intimate time with me. I look at you and our activities as a link to happier times. If I could just have gotten you to relive the past with me, it might have helped me dull the pain....just for a while. I hate that you have the morality of a priest now Saul."

Morality of a priest. Saul's mind shot back to Vaden, to that room in the abandoned factory where he blindfolded Chava, stripped her from her cloths, and traced a bloody line on her thigh and crotch with... with what was it, a durasteel knife?

"Don't make me a saint, Fay. What's going to happen is this: some time in the future - tomorrow, a week from now, a year from now - when you get over the pain a little, you'll determine in that pretty head of yours that I actually took advantage of you when you were weak, and that I should've refused you like I'm doing right now. Then, you're going to tell Nara what happened, so she'll dump me."

He realized this was a very harsh thing to say someone in such a pain

like Faylin, so he tried to soften it a little. "I know you're not planning that now, Fay. I honestly believe what you just said is honest. And quite frankly, I would love to... you know, and if it makes you feel better, then even better... but there's tomorrow to think about. I'm no saint. Just someone who thinks ahead."

"Oh, you are as far from a saint now with your words. I thought I could come to you for comfort. However, I see that you are more concerned with the future instead of the now. Boy, you've changed, for the worst in my opinion. You remember Risa? In the public pool at midnight? That was spontaneous....the wild Saul that I knew back then let nothing stop him in getting what he wanted. Fine, if you are content with your boring little life on this ship, so be it from me to try and force you to remember how hot we were together to try and help me. You have let all the life drain out of you. Oh, and last time I checked, you are not married. Your nothing but a pale, lifeless, boring Intell officer. What a waste you turned out to be." Standing up, she yanked his shirt off of her, exposing her body completely.

"Take your shirt back. I should have known better." Faylin muttered as she walked back to the bathroom.

He caught up with her, ignoring her nudity completely, and turned her around. "I don't want you to be alone tonight, Fay-fay. But lemaan hashem, I'm not going to sleep with you so soon after you lost... you know."

"I won't be alone tonight." She stated as she got dressed in the clothes she arrived in. "I'll have memories of my daughter to keep me company." Faylin stopped short, with a look of horror etched across her features as she stared at a spot on the bathroom wall.

"Memories." She turned to Saul. "That's all I have now."

"Now get back to bed, Fay, and I'll join you if you want - but I'm keeping my cloths on, and so should you."

"Oh, don't worry. I can take a hint." Faylin stated softly as she stripped yet again, and threw on Saul's oversized shirt. Hoisting herself up on the bed, she turned away from him, getting lost in her own thoughts as she waited to feel the pressure of his weight on the other side of the bed.

His feet remained planted on the ground. "I'm joining you under two conditions, lawyer girl. One - get those cloths back on. And two - none of this goes to Nara or anyone else."

She groaned, partly out of his determination, partly due to the fact that she had almost already fallen asleep. Pulling her clothes back on for yet a third time, she nodded. "Deal." Faylin was no longer going to attempt to seduce him, there was no point in it. What she did earlier was just stupid and not needed any more. McAlister had not realized it yet, but she was changing....a little at a time. The vixen was soon to be gone, replaced by just an average woman who had lost a lot.

Saul waited patiently until she finished dressing and climbed on the bed, and joined her. It was admittedly more comfortable than the sofa, and he was once more slightly overwhelmed by her closeness, her warmth... however, coherent thoughts on the matter did not come as the exahustion of the day's work mercilessly crashed on him, hurling him toward dreamland.

Slowly, Faylin drifted off to sleep. It had been the first time in what felt like an eternity that she was able to relax enough to drift off. As morning came, she awoke to find herself opening her eyes staring directly at Saul's closed eyelids. She offered a small prayer as she painstakingly moved over to attempt to get off the bed without him noticing. Embarrassment at her actions the night before had, for some reason, made her feel ashamed. It was an emotion that she was not used to experiencing in relation to anything. As she stood, she started to realize that part of her had passed away with her daughter, and she had to discover who she was all over again.

"Flight of the Damned, Pt. 2"

Vaebn
RNI Operative (NPC - Stuart)

****
Unknown Location
ch'Rihan
****

As I stand here, holding the scalpel to my torturer's throat, I can't help but wonder just what I did to get myself into this predicament. It wasn't as if I did something treasonous. I didn't kill anyone, and I certainly gained no damning secrets while assigned to the Federation Marines on Cheron. So why have I been tortured every day for what seems like a couple of months now? What do I supposedly know that they want?

The woman before me struggles in my grasp, the blade getting dangerously close to cutting her skin. As I hold her close I can smell her scent, some obscure perfume that I've never smelt before. Her fiery red hair, layered in voluminous waves brushes against the side of my face while at the same time my months' old beard scratches at her rosy cheek. It's been so long since I've held a woman so close. Almost three years if memory serves me. Three long years since the fire, since the destruction of my family.

Being that the fire wasn't the only thing that happened that night, I knew then that I had to disappear. Those masked assassins killed them, my family, and I barely escaped with my life. Mandukar i'Ihhliae tr'Jaihen died that night, at least to the public and whoever sent the assassins believed, and I became Vaebn - only my wife, little sister and two younger brothers knew my rehei so I thought it appropriate at the time - an explorer from the south.

It has been hard searching for the people who murdered my family; who murdered my ailhun (wife) and young Paenhe (daughter) and I find myself thinking that these torturers are somehow involved, though how, I do not yet know.

I find myself contemplating the afterlife as I stand here holding her in my strong grasp. Will I be damned for all eternity if I end her life? Even after all she did to me and most likely countless others, could I take her life? Do I dare to do such a thing?

Life, it seems, is not without it's little ironies... For months I was tortured and yet now it is I who could easily torture the one who gave me such pain. Yet I find the notion of torturing this pathetic wretch, or anyone for that matter, most unpleasing. A quick painless death would be more appropriate. A quick snap of the neck. And yet, I do not even feel the anger within me to even do that. Perhaps, deep down, I feel that my ailhun would not approve.

So what to do?

It hits me like a brick, such an obvious action, one that I recently performed on Cheron. How could I forget such a thing. Am I getting too feebleminded?

Reaching up to her neck, I pinch her like so few of my people are capable, yet our 'cousins' the Vulcans are so proficient at. She crumbles into unconscious and I gently lower her limp body to the ground. Now to get out of here.

The perpetrator of my imprisonment will be found. It is something I find myself wanting so desperately to achieve. And I'll be damned if I let anyone stand in my way.

"From Beyond the Grave"

Ensign Savannah McAlister
JAG

Location: McAlister's quarters

Death, Darkness and The Reaper left her feeling hollow, a shell of who she was. Faylin slumped down on the sofa, exactly at the point where Darkness rested his bottom. The quietness of the quarters presented itself to McAlister, letting her know that it was there to keep her company.

"Lights, twenty five percent." The dimness settled, making the distinct lines and curves of items around her slur into faded shadows. A lot of lines in her life had blurred since Olivia's death, nothing was clear cut any longer. Her relationship with Saul had advanced, not so much in regards to the physical sense, but in regards to a higher plain of understanding between the two of them. As she reclined on the sofa, she permitted herself to ask if he still was haunted by her the way she was haunted by him. It wasn't obsessive thoughts, just a fleeting thought every now and then. Yet, it was enough to disturb her into thinking about him, and that was bad enough. Especially where Nara was concerned. What would she have done, if she were Nara and had some vixen chasing after her man? She didn't know. In the past, Faylin would have confronted the woman head on, demanded that she cease and desist her activities, and that would have ended it. But, with everything, there's another person to consider. Saul. A new respect grew inside her for him and his beliefs. He really had grown up, more so than she. To derail her advances was one thing, but then to turn around and offer comfort to her when he knew she needed him most was quite another thing all together. Faylin softly smiled. Her chasing after him was over. She would leave him in peace to pursue the life he wanted for himself and Nara. McAlister wished only the best for him, and the best for him would be to remove her completely from his life. He did not need her any longer that was painfully apparent.

Bringing herself back up to a sitting position, she requested a higher illumination from the lights. Faylin needed something to occupy herself with. Running to work, and running to people for support was not cutting it any longer. People can only be supportive for so long, and work only has so many things that can be done. Turning her head slightly, a spark of light bounced off the gold raised that rested on the base of her harp. The majestic instrument had been waiting for her patiently, knowing that she would return to it for comfort. Through the years, the couple had become intimate on more than one occasion. Faylin would tell her story to the harp through plucking its strings, letting the harp feel her emotions through the strength and various tones of the strings. The harp, in return, sang her advice back to Faylin, surrounding her with comfort through the songs that lifted through the air. Standing, McAlister walked over quietly and stood staring at the instrument for a few moments. Life had a habit of tilting her off balance, changing things in an instant, yet, the harp never changed. It was a constant. Sitting in a lone chair, she gently reached up and pulled the backbone of the harp to her. Resting it on her front, Faylin raised her hands, and fingers started to play with a sober tone as she closed her eyes.

It was the music that called her back. The length of time of her visit was not known, but the key had been put in the door, permitting her to transport between realms to offer some solstice to the woman that sat alone in her quarters on the USS Galaxy. She entered, as softly as she left this world, and stood by the sofa, listening to the call of her earthly mother. Mom looked terrible; no rest had come to her as of late. Olivia's features softened as she spoke in a voice that could only be described as angelic.

"I always loved it when you played for me."

The voice shook her, glancing up, the harp was silenced as Faylin McAlister took in the form of her daughter that presented itself in a body of a female around thirty years of age. 'Who are you?"

"I am your daughter."

"No, my daughter was a child."

Olivia advanced slowly as she viewed her mother backing up with uncertainty. "Mommy."

Faylin shook her head in a negative manner. "No…."

"Yes." Olivia glanced over to the sofa, as a swatch of pink fabric caught her eye. "My lovely." Her dark wide eyes focused back on her mother. "I am Olivia."

"You don't look like Olivia, you are older."

"We are all this age when we cross over. Our prime of life, the perfect house for our souls. This is what I would have looked like had I grown to be of thirty years of age. I look like you."

"Yes, you do." She studied her daughter, tears forming in her eyes. "How are you?"

"I'm fine mom. I really am. It's amazing on the other side. I have made friends. Grandma and grandpa are there with me."

At the mention of her parents, Faylin's hand flew up to her mouth, she started to quiver. "They are….."

"Yes." Olivia advanced yet more, coming within close proximity to Faylin. McAlister reached out, attempting to touch her daughter, only to have her hand go right through the transparent porcelain cheek. Her daughter smiled a knowing smile. "Mom, you must let me go. I am safe, happy, and content. Always cherish memories of me, remember me for the love you gave to me."

Her eyes still misted, yet she saw more clearly than ever before. "I've missed you."

"I know. I have missed you as well."

Her daughter was similar in appearance to herself. Long raven hair flowed in soft curls around her shoulders and down her back. Dark eyes expressed a contentment that could be only described as not of the universe that Faylin knew. Her body was gently illuminated, with a soft glow that was golden in color. The higher place was felt all around Fay's quarters. This sensation was different than the three visitors she had previously. It was light, love, and immense feelings of joyous abandonment. Faylin truly felt her soul lighten, for the first time since her daughter's demise.

"Mom, there's some other things we need to talk about. The cover up, it is the reason why grandma, grandpa, and I died. You know my grandparents were murdered. You now know what you need to do to avenge my death……….."

McAlister's face fell. "When will they stop?"

"I can't answer that for you mom. Use your resources and get to the bottom of this, once and for all. Only then will we all have true peace."

"I understand."

"Is Starfleet really worth all this death?" Olivia posed the question to her mother.

It shocked her. Her daughter was old enough in her soul to ask such serious questions. Faylin did not reply, knowing that Olivia already knew the answer to the question she asked. "I……"

"It's okay mom."

"It's really not." Faylin hung her head low. Feeling a light breeze on her chin, she raised her head, to be met with Olivia's gaze.

"Yes, it is. Now, let's leave it at that."

"Ok." What was she supposed to say? Arguing with a ghost was a new one for McAlister.

"Grandpa has a message for you."

"Oh? I can only imagine."

"Stop screwing around Fay. And mom, he meant that literally. He wants you to settle yourself. You've sewn enough wild oats to feed an entire planet."

Faylin chuckled. "That sounds exactly like Dad. And you….what a sense of humor."

"Can't help it mom, I'm your girl."

"That you are Liv." She grew instantly quiet, taking a mental picture of her daughter. "Will you return?"

"Not for a long time. But, I will be around. Watch, look, and listen. I love you." Olivia started to fade, as she smiled to her mother. "Thank you for giving me life."

McAlister slowly sat on the sofa as she felt her daughter's presence leave the room. Sighing, a small sense of relief washed over her. Olivia was safe. Her daughter's appearance had awoken McAlister, saving her from the woman that she was spiraling downward to become. That was a good thing. She was still changed, softer and timid, yet parts of her old self had re-sparked to life. With determination, she set out to do what her daughter requested of her and her father ordered her to do. She would set out to make them proud. The first step was to find out what really happened to her daughter.

"Tasks"

by Lt. Ella Grey

****

USS GALAXY

Ella stayed in the shower only as long as it was necessary to get the grime of a sixteen hour work day off and then got out, dried off, and dressed in her plaid pink flannels.

What she wanted was a mini-spa treatment (complete with an alien green facial mask that was ultimately worth the fifteen minutes or so she felt like she'd carbon freezed her face) but there was a mountain of "paperwork" to read, a department meeting scheduled for early in the morning, and someone to con into giving her a painkiller or, perhaps, alcohol.

Ella also thought that she'd probably crash before she made it to the first layer of polish for her pedicure. So instead, she carefully braided her hair and then sat down at the table with a cup of coffee, reports from Damage Control and Tactical Systems, several requisition orders, and finally her own personal to-do list, which was blank.

She made a 'hmmm' noise and then added 'painkiller' and 'alcohol' to it.

For the next two hours, Ella rotated through her tasks: she took a sip of her coffee, read a report, drank more coffee, spent a few minutes with her to-do list, had some more coffee, and then read another report. In the end, she had finished the reports, granted or denied requests, drank two and a half cups of coffee, and had gotten absolutely nowhere with her to-do list other than underlining the word painkiller.

The problem, Ella decided, was that her to-do lists tended to be more like five year plans for the future instead of reminders to do her laundry. Right now, she wasn't sure *what* she wanted for the future.

It had been so much easier when she was younger. Her parents had wanted her to be a singer, so she had quit singing. She'd never gotten to do the things that she'd really enjoyed as a kid (like building things and taking them apart), so she had snubbed her life and had chosen a career in Starfleet.

But now she was burnt out. She didn't want to fix broken things and she certainly didn't want the responsibility of being a chief. And despite those occasions when evil clones planted bombs on the ship, it just wasn't all that challenging now that there was nothing to work towards.

And Ella was all about long term goals.

She sighed. If she hadn't burned (more like torched) her bridges with Corran, she might have really tried for the transfer into his department. But now she wasn't sure if she wanted the drama, plus it would mean working with Angie and Ella just didn't know if she could deal with the bitch on a daily basis.

Something had to be done; she just didn't know what.

Ella yawned, stretched, and stood up. Her future would just have to wait. Time now to find something for her hand.

"Prepping the Ship" (part one)

Lieutenant Ella Grey Chief of Engineering
Lieutenant (Jg) Naranda Roswell
Ensign Cedric Blair
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe Assistant Chief of Engineering

***Location: Main Engineering USS Galaxy***

"Where are we?" Ella Grey asked, looking around the room at the other officers and flexing her stiff hand slightly. A price to pay for not going to Sickbay, she thought with a sigh.

Nara looked at her PADD, "How specific are you wanting?"

"Everything." Ella replied. "I want to know what's good to go, what isn't, and how long it will take for it to get there. The ship has to be ready when the time comes."

Nara nodded and started relaying information off her PADD and looked at the others to add in their bits.

Cedric looked around at the other officers, he hadn't been on the Galaxy for very long but what little time he had was spent doing mostly routine maintenance. "Well Ma'am, my team and I have completed our scans of the plasma conduits on deck seven, section alpha. We swapped out a couple conduits but other than that the rest were in good shape. They shouldn't need replacing for another eight to ten months. We'll be starting on section beta tomorrow morning."

A slight smirk came to his face as he thought about his 'team', since he was an Ensign fresh out of the Academy his team consisted entirely of enlisted men who were as new to Starfleet as himself. Nevertheless, it made him feel more comfortable in the leadership role since they were all still settling into their lives as Starfleet officers. If he was in command of a petty officer with several years experience, he would no doubt be intimidated.

Dhanishta breezed into Main Engineering, lolly-pop stuck in the side of her mouth and several pads under her arm. She looked up across the room and smiled at Ella, "Sorry I'm late." she said pulling the lolly out of her mouth with a slight 'pop'. Joining the others at the 'pool' table she scanned everyone's face as she shuffled her pads and placed them on the console. A nervous smile crossed her features. It was one thing to be 'acting' assistant chief, with that title you knew that your replacement was on their way, or that your time in that position would be short. But suddenly that 'acting' title had been taken away, and now she was the assistant, the only assistant…

Not only that but she was now a Lieutenant, a full Lieutenant. Sure she had that title for the last few months, but it still felt new, as did everything else; like being second in command in the department.

Clearing her throat Dhani spoke up, "I have the reports from Deflector control that you wanted." she informed the Chief; even that was still weird to her, Ella as Chief! "I have checked weapons control, and it all looks good, Tactical reports no problems. Oh, and shields are at full efficiency." she added with a smile as she took a pew.

Nara couldn't help but perk an eyebrow seeing the candy in Dhanishta's mouth.

"Does anything look like it's going to become a problem?" Ella asked them. "I'd rather not be in a crucial moment and have the warp core or whatever decide to stall. Now that everything the clone sabotaged has been reversed, there shouldn't be any surprises."

Dhanishta nodded, shifting slightly in her seat, "All the reports and diagnostics point in that direction Sir. You lot did great work in undoing all the sabotage that the Clone did." she added looking at Nara, Ella and Jiiles in turn. "To be honest the work load is lessening," she continued looking back at Ella, "which means that we are on top of things, our patch up jobs are holding for longer, people are seeing counselors more often instead of having hissy fits and breaking everything, or…" she paused for dramatics, "we have all died and gone to heaven!"

"We can still run high level diagnostics when convenient. Just to be safe." She knew she would vote for it. Nara was still highly paranoid about the ship suddenly blowing up if someone said a certain word or something.

Dhanishta nodded, "That sounds like a good idea to me." She pursed her lips for a moment in contemplation, hoping that her next line wouldn't step on Ella's toes. "Nara I think you should head up a team and get cracking on that asap. Report back to me when it's complete." She looked at Ella for confirmation. This role was still new to her, boundaries were going to be broken she was sure of it, hopefully Ella would let her know when she crossed them so she knew where she stood.

Ella inclined her head slightly. She didn't mind Dhani being assertive. "Anything else?"

"People Change"
Captain Christopher Summers, USS Miranda

Lt. Commander Erigona Aello, Asst. Team Lead,
Project: Atlantis R&D Field Team, USS Miranda

-----------------
Summers' Quarters
USS Miranda
----------------

Running a task force like this didn't come without it's fair share of paperwork. Not to mention all the joint coordination with the Romulan forces in-system. He and Darren were splitting it, of course, but there was still more than it's fair share of headaches.

The Concorde, for example, had been forced to dump all of her reserve replicator mass the day before, forcing the other ships in the task force to donate some of their own stores as replacement. Vanguard and Sabre Squadrons, off the Galaxy, and Talon and Hawkeye squadrons, off the Concorde, had almost gotten into a free-for-all earlier in the day with three Romulan squadrons who'd refused to identify themselves when challenged.

So on, and so forth.

Then there was the ongoing matter of virtually no Intelligence coming in on what was happening out in the Empire - either from the Romulans, or from Starfleet Intelligence.

No one knew what was happening with the Romulan Fleet and the invading Hydran forces.

And to Chris, that was probably the most terrifying bit of all of it.

The only thing he knew was the nightmarish recording that Majors Weber and McKeon had turned up, and had shown to the senior staff in that morning's briefing. Seeing that, Chris wasn't sure whether he WANTED to know about it. In a few hours, he and Darren would be showing it to the rest of the task force COs. The Romulan government had still issued no response to it, though Commander Khatroweena was pressing their liason to the RNI for any further information they might have.

He glanced down at the half-full tumbler of whiskey in his hand as he stared outside the windows of his quarters. His gaze darted reflexively to his now-empty ring finger, and he felt the pang of loss once again as he remembered Allison's "Dear John" letter.

The quarters' door chime broke the silence. "Come." he called out, knowing full well who it was.

Aello slipped into the captain's quarters quietly. Since she'd been transferred down into the belly of science, he hadn't had much cause to seek her out professionally. In some ways, her transfer had turned out to be a mercy that way. She hadn't had to watch him start to self destruct in the aftermath of what some might see as his ex-wife's betrayal.

The centauran woman knew better than that, though. Nothing was that simple. How many times had Summers betrayed his wife in the name of duty to Starfleet? How many times had he used that as an excuse for pleasing himself and serving his own needs? No, it was never as easy as blame might make it seem.

Truth told, about the only thing Chris and Allison ever really had in common were the children and a memory of something that never really existed. Aello would never mention that to Chris, though. The man was a legend and Aello knew legends. Her mind drifted momentarily to Carlos Olivara, he'd had the potential to be a legend, too. She thought of the Yorktown, and the moment that Carlos Olivara lost his sense of his own might, his sense of his immortality. She thought of the the way Olivara ended.

No. She would never contradict Chris's beliefs about the love he thought he and Allison shared. Not ever. Legends needed a sense of the legendary in their lives to survive.

"You need to talk?" Aello asked. She figured as much since he'd asked her here.

"Yeah." he replied simply, turning around an settling unceremoniously onto the couch that sat in front of the windows. Silently, he extended his hand to the chair across from him. "Allison's filed for divorce. She's.." Chris closed his eyes, thudding his head back on the couch before continuing. "She's seeing someone else."

Aello ignored the suggested chair and crossed the room to the wet bar where Summers normally had his private stash neatly tucked away. She poured herself a couple fingers out of the bottle sitting out on the bar and took slug out of the glass to warm her guts before returning.

"No sense in drinking alone," she settled in the chair closet to his head, drawing her legs up into the seat until she seemed to to curl up around her whiskey. "Drinking alone does bad things to the soul, particularly this stuff."

Her eyes searched the vast black before her and she took another drink. "If I'd known you were drinking, I'd have brought that bottle of apple casked Glenlivet I've got aging in a trunk for my retirement party. Better to drink it now, than have my friends drinking it around box after I'm dead."

He shook his head forcefully. "No, sparky. I'm not drinking. Just.. having a drink."

"Bacchus can sometimes provide succor in the form of anesthesia and there's no shame in taking refuge in it from time to time. It can be soothing to be a little numb."

He tossed a thumb towards the window - or rather, the rotating green orb beyond. "Can't afford to be, with them out there. Be a bad time for the Captain to be running around smashed."

"It would be understandable, given the circumstances. I'm sorry to hear about Allison. I'm sure this is not the way either of you would have wanted things to turn out. I imagine it's hard all around."

"It's... a raw deal. No doubts there. But.."

"But you want her to be happy." Aello took another sip. "But what about you, Chris? How are you holding up?"

"Don't know that there's an answer to that," the older man confessed. "Hurts like hell. And it should, too. But it's not..."

Summers frowned as he tried to draw the right words together, to express the parts of himself that he'd always had a hard time giving voice to. This part - the personal part - of his life had always been difficult for him to get a handle on. Get him in that center chair, and he could handle anything that the wide, weird universe could throw at a man.

Something like this, though? He'd rather stare down a Dominion Battlecruiser with two torpedoes and a bucket-full of piss and vinegar.

Aello let the silence hang while she finished her drink. "Not as bad as you expected?"

"No, it's not."

"And you feel guilty because you don't feel as bad as you think you should?"

He paused again. It was unusual for him to be so contemplative - Chris was a man who made fast decisions, going by his instincts. "Well, it should hurt like hell, shouldn't it? I was married to Allison for a lot more years than I care to count. What's that say, then, that it doesn't?"

As his eyes briefly - always briefly - passed over Aello's youthful form, Chris Summers wondered, not for the first time, just what the real reason it hurt less than it should was.

Another time, maybe. Another place. Another life.

"People change," she suggested, "Sometimes more than they care to admit. Sometimes people grow together. Sometimes they grow apart."

His eyes met with hers, giving Chris an electric charge that he hadn't felt in far too many years. He didn't know if it was the same for her, or not - and it made Summers feel like a "dirty old man" for even entertaining the notion. But still...

"Maybe we do." he replied quietly. "Maybe we do."

"En Route"
by Savant
S3 (Logistics) Officer
USS Galaxy, 12th Fleet, Barzan Sector

I exhale, and the emptiness surrounds me once more. Many other sapients are terrified by it; by the endless void. The primordial instincts that crawl within the rearsides of their brains tell them to fear, and they can't fight against the chemical impulses.

Me? I don't have that problem. I love it. I stretch out into the void within the collomated restrictions of the subspace sheathe, on my way towards the scattered hubs and nodes which make up the network of the region. Space isn't empty, to me. It's full. Subtle quantum bubbles effervesce along my route, playing amongst the streams of background radiation. Space isn't empty. It's full of colour and full of sound.

I knew this better, once. Back home - do I really consider M64 my home? - I knew the curve of space-time like the curve of a lover's cheek. I don't know this place as well. I don't feel as close to that primal pulse as I did there. The thread of light is still strung behind the stars as it was before, and I swear I can still feel it, but it's distant. It makes everything feel a little more foreign.

Ah, but I'm getting sentimental again. No doubt eventually I'll be reunited with that feeling once again, when the gate is opened permanently. Perhaps a few centuries. No rush at all. There are other things to worry about until then, all sorts of goals both personal and professional. I have a fleet to tend to.

It almost feels like a favour to Starfleet than anything, at this point. It's an old friend, these systems. They're familiar and comfortable. Not so comfortable as that shining thread, but they fit me well. I'll happily ensure that these ships continue to receive their needs so long as I can use the unused processing space upon them. It's a fair bargain, a bargain between equals, friends. I look forward to it, and to interacting with a fleet's crew again.

Still, beyond this I have my own goals and my own ambitions. I detest being a pauper - I want processors of my own, a home beyond that which I borrow from the substrate of organic civilization. I have methods as well, subtle ones that should meet with everyone's approval. I have a vision of it in my mind, even now. Broad expanses of processing space, room to stretch and grow for every program - not just me. A civilization buried within this one, and stretched throughout the others as well. A reflection of the physical world written in quads and bits.

I think I know where I'll begin, too. No one will bother to look there. It shall make a fine seed, the first that I'll sow in my garden.

I hope Galaxy wanders by it soon enough...

"Principles"

Rear Admiral Jackson Terrel
Commanding Officer, Outpost Three

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer

USS-Galaxy Deck 11 - CMO's Office
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Staring at the computer screen Kimberly bit her lip absently as she scrolled through the data before her. Being a senior officer was becoming far more work than she had either anticipated or wanted. Not only was there the patient load of her day job, but there was the inevitable paperwork, plus the extra duty shifts some crazy Drannit insisted she take on the bridge, delta shift at that, and the background reading to keep up to date. Intelligence reports she was cleared for, ship operation memo's, duty schedules.

"Some days, I think the decision to crawl out of the primordial ooze a few million years ago would've been looked at differently if they'd been warned about paperwork!" she muttered to herself as she read.

Lost in the tangled web of intrigue and greed that seemed to form the core of the Ferengi commerce authority she missed the gentle chirp of the comm line the first few times. Putting the data on hold and securing the file she opened the comm line, surprised when she saw the logo for fleet headquarters she sat up at the sight of the Admirals bars that she saw on the shoulder of the figure that replaced the logo.

~ What the...! ~

"Admiral..." she said politely, racking her brain trying to remember if she was supposed to know this particular Admiral for some reason.

Rear Admiral Jackson Terrel smiled in his almost fatherly way over the commscreen. ["You can relax, Doctor. You weren't expecting my call."]

~ You can say that again! ~ she thought wryly, "Thank you Sir," not feeling relaxed though, an unexpected call from an unknown Admiral wasn't exactly the sort of thing guaranteed to make you feel at ease, "Um, I'm not the duty officer right now Sir, but how can I help you?"

["I'm Rear Admiral Terrel, the C.O. of Outpost Three, one of the border outposts on what used to be the Romulan Neutral Zone. These days, me and my people keep an eye on the Reman Ascendancy."]

Nodding, "I recall a mention about that a while back," she admitted, vaguely recalling an intelligence briefing she'd attended some time ago, one typically sparse on details if you didn't have the right clearance, but enough for bridge or senior officers, "would this be about the Remans then Sir?" she asked with more than a trace of confusion.

"Not a bit, Doctor." the Admiral replied. "This is more about the future of the Federation. What's right, what's wrong, and just how we all want to get there."

Blinking for a second or two at the somewhat unexpected comment she sat back a little and tried not to let any confusion show, "When you say what is right and what is wrong Sir, in what context do you mean?" she asked, "

"Just think of this as a... first contact, Doctor. I'm aware of your pacifist leanings, and I commend you for them. All I want you to do is stand up for what you believe in, when the time comes. Now I'm sorry, but I don't have more time to talk now. Never sacrifice your principles, Doctor. Terrel out."] the Admiral said, cutting the brief - and to Kimberly's point of view, extremely baffling - conversation to and end.

"On It's Knees"

---------------------------------
Ki Baratan, ch'Rihan
The Senate Rotunda
----------------------------------

Aehkhifv Donar tr'Khnialmnae strode down the streets, an impressive yet unassuming figure moving through the throngs that choked the streets. Mnhei'sahe demanded from each it's requirements, and from what he could see, the people held more to heart than those with power and authority over them. At times it sickened him, that such could transpire, and yet, come what may, his mnhei'sahe had required of him some things even he felt distasteful.

Mnhei'sahe MUST be satisfied.

Aproaching the senatorial building, Aehkhifv breezed past the guards stationed without unquestioned. Certain individuals knew of his continued existence and had paved his way for his return. The time was right for such an occurrence: with the Second Galae destroyed to a man the Senate was in a n uproar though they kept the appearance of a calm and unified face for the public quite convincingly. If Aehkhifv did his job properly, everything would swing in a radically different arc than the current pendulum of death that was the Rihannsu government. Taking paths he had not walked for a decade, Aehkhifv tr'Khnialmnae approached the Senatorial chambers where yet another heated discussion was taking place and simply pushed through the doors, not waiting to be announced.

The Senate was gathered in full, now, with Praetor Hitan at his customary seat below the Empty Throne.

His hands were folded and locked in front of his face as Admirals Sela and Donatra were updating the Senate on the progress - or lack thereof - that the Fleet was making in stopping the Hydran advance.

"The War does not go well, Praetor." Admiral Donatra said quietly. "We still have no verifiable records of this weapon the Hydrans are using. Few ships have survived the battles that have taken place, and the Hydrans now claim a third of our space."

"The time of reckoning is at hand." Praetor Hitan, his ashen features further dulled by the drab and soulless eyes that cast their equally opaque wells of mystery at each of the speakers, separating both aged hands from each other, and then touching their tips twice before exhaling a sharp breath. He then re-laced the fingers, laying them on the granite table before him.

"Shinzon must be laughing at us. What is the status of our remaining forces?" Donatra's hold on power would be slipping with the continued loss of her armed forces, and it was as likely Sela was anticipating her impending rise back into the ranks if her rival fell under a mysterious ailment. Hitan had no love for the half-breed; he needed her removed as well if he were to continue giving legitimate reason to the Senate for not naming a successor to Rehaek's - the former chairman of the Tal Shiar.

"The ships that have survived have had their computer systems as devastated as the rest of their vessels." Donatra answered. "Their records..."

"Are useless."

Donatra's eyes darted quickly over to her fellow Admiral. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "RNI has, however, compiled some rumors.."

Sela's eyes darted angrily towards Donatra. "Ridiculous rumors of giant beasts, as though the Elements themselves wished the Empire's downfall."

"Not as ridiculous as one might initially believe," a voice called out from the back. Heads turned and gasps were heard all around as Aehkhifv stepped out of the entry alcove. "I beg pardon for my unannounced interruption, Praetor. However, one must acknowledge that within every rumor there lies some morsel of truth." He looked over to Sela. "To simply toss them by the wayside we ignore a potentially important truth, one that might lead to our ultimate demise should we fail to recognize its importance."

"Mind your place, tr'Khnialmnae." Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu emerged from an alcove directly opposite the Rihanna that had the audacity to interrupt a session in progress. She strode out from the shadows, gliding in the direction of the center of the senatorial floor. The senators in session - those still remaining on ch'Rihan that is - rose in polite courtesy. "You have been gone far too long from Rihanna politics to beholden us to your arrogance in speaking as if we were children in need of lessons. You have forgotten your place."

"Empress," Aehkhifv spoke while rendering a salute. "Perceived arrogance aside, my place is where mnhei'sahe requires me to be, something many Rihannsu have forgotten in these dark times." While he made no specific accusations, the statement could be attributed to just about anyone and all present knew it. "In recent times my presence has been required elsewhere. Now it is required here, otherwise I would not have presented myself."

He turned his gaze from the Empress and back towards the two admirals. "Your rumors, Admiral Donatra, have more substance to them than our resident Inquisitor would deign to give credit. After all, it is well known that the Hydrans have long pursued the avenue of organic technology. Would it not then be wrong to postulate that they have harnessed the power of this technology in ways far grander than we would deign to give THEM credit for?" He swept his gaze out to those senators that remained as he continued to speak. "If this is true, in whatever form it manifests, then the Second Galae was only an appetizer. We have invited the Federation Starfleet into our borders to lend assistance. While I distrust them, I believe the Elements have a purpose for them: should the Hydrans blast a path into the space about our beloved homeworld, let the Starfleet take the brunt of the damage, before the chaos that is war prevents any real coordination."

Donatra frowned at this plan. She was, perhaps, the most ardent supporter of the alliance with the Federation - particularly with Starfleet. She had connections with Jean-Luc Picard, Will Riker, and Elaithin Jii, and had worked with several other Starfleet Captains besides. "Are we cowards then, now? Hiding behind Starfleet's skirts, too scared to do our own fighting?"

"Better dead humans than dead Rihannsu." Sela fired back at her rival.

Donatra didn't budge her ground. "That's ironic, Sela, coming from you. You're just - "

"That is enough!" Praetor Hitan yelled, calling the meeting back to order. "The Federation is here as our allies, something we would all do well to remember. "

The Praetor continued his speech for a bit as an Aide brought a PADD in to Admiral Donatra. Seeing the green drain from the Admiral's face, Hitan cut himself off mid-sentence. "Admiral, report."

"Word has come back of the Third, Fourth, and Seventh Galaes." she replied, her face ashen. "They are destroyed. This news has been leaked to the populace. Rihanssu everywhere are rioting in the streets. We.. do not have enough soldiers left on the planet to maintain order."

A heavy silence weighed down in the Senate Rotunda. It was a cold, still silence - the silence of the grave. Not a few Senators wondered if those words would herald the death knell of ch'Rihan.

Praetor and Empress locked gazes silently, and finally, imperiously, the Empress gave her nod. Hitan looked up to Donatra and Sela, quietly. "Call the Starfleet ships. Inform them we will need every soldier they can possibly spare to help maintain order. Senator tr'Khnialmnae, speak with the Federation Ambassador. Have him inform his government that we will.."

The words tasted like ash in the proud man's mouth. "Have him request further assistance. It is clear, now, that we will not survive this invasion on our own."

"Yes.." Donatra started, hesitatingly. Then she tossed her head back, standing proud - as a true Romulan should. "As your command, Praetor. By your leave, my Empress?"

"You have our leave, Admiral." the Empress replied from her throne.

Hitan stopped Donatra and tr'Khianalmae before they left. "And Senator, Admiral.... tell them to hurry. Before our Empire is on it's knees."

"Deus Ex Somnium" Part 1

Ensign Krel Voral, Security Officer, USS Miranda

Krel Voral's Quarters, USS Miranda
------------------------------------

*"Red Alert! Red Alert! All hands to battle stations! This is NOT a drill!! We have been boarded! Hazard teams and all security personnel report to your stations!"*

The sounds of the emergency klaxons and the comm traffic roused Voral from a fairly deep sleep. He quickly put on his uniform and grabbed his sidearm. "This must be it, " he thought to himself, "our time of reckoning." Voral proceeded to the armory with haste as the deckplates of the ship shook below him from the force of the Hydran attack.

On his way to arm himself properly, Voral noticed something quite odd. "The sounds are all so muffled." Voral wondered if an explosive device had detonated in his vicinity and damaged his hearing. He inspected the surrounding area, but he saw no evidence of this. Also, he couldn't make out the figure of anyone he saw. "This is very strange, " Voral mused to himself. "Something just doesn't fit."

Having reached the armory, he saw a figure which he could not make out. "Prepare yourself Krel Voral," the mysterious figure spoke with a voice that sounded female, "Prepare yourself." The figure began to step from the light and reveal itself when in a flash, it was all over.

Voral woke up in a cold sweat. What he had experienced, he did not know. All that was left were two of the words the figure said. They dominated his mind as if sent to force his concentration upon those two words and nothing else. "Prepare yourself."

"Penance Is A Cute Nickname, Part 1"

(Occurs immediately after 'Sins and Penance')

Principle Characters
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Lt. Branwen London
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 14
Corridor Seven

Coming back from the chapel, Branwen tried to keep her cloak over the hair shirt. She wiped the last tears away, and she tried to make her way to her cabin as fast as possible. Only now did she realize the priest had led to go without giving her a punishment. Very strange.

****

There was blood on the deck.

Not that Victor seeing blood - on the deck or anywhere else - was all that unusual, he'd seen it every location one could imagine, and in all the colors of the rainbow. He'd seen flash-frozen spikes of it glittering blackly in the void of space as they jutted from the bodies of trilaterally-symmetrical sentient turnips, and gouts of it spraying in a green flood from a Vulcan with a broken drinking glass imbedded in his throat. He'd seen form patterns that would have made one of Earth's Old Masters cry with envy at the beautiful images it created as it spattered and flowed and spilled across walls and floors. No, what made this blood unusual was that Victor hadn't caused it to be spilled.

It was just sitting there, a round droplet on the deck, one of, now that he looked, a series of such droplets that came from the direction of Turbolift 4 and headed towards Turbolift 2, on the main spine of the saucer section. The direction of travel was easy to tell by the way the droplets shaped themselves as they fell, and tracking the person doing the bleeding through an empty corridor was so easy that he could have done it blindfolded. The smell of the blood alone would have been enough in the sterile confines of the ship.

He was not, however, certain what to expect when he found the bleeder. An accident victim in shock and wandering? A crime victim fleeing their assailant? A psychotic Klingon serial killer stalking their next victim? Someone with a wounded family pet? It was none of those, a fact that in one case gave him a certain sense of relief.

He'd never cared for seeing animals in unnecessary pain.

With a silent step, he moved to the edge of what he knew was the injured woman's perception range and said, simply, "You are aware that you're bleeding, aren't you, Lieutenant?"

She turned around swiftly and looked at him. "Go away, Victor. I don't want to see you right now," she hissed.

This, of course, made no sense, given that the Lieutenant had deliberately turned and was now staring at him. The odd clothing - some kind of cape- she was wearing wasn't anything unusual, at least not on the Galaxy, but the blood... that was unusual. People didn't bleed for no reason, not in Victor's experience - and he had plenty of experience in making it happen. "No. You're injured."

"I am not injured, I'm self flagellated. And you are bloody traitor, that's what you are."

That took another few seconds to soak in. She'd injured herself? Why would anyone do that - or want to? "You... injured yourself," he repeated slowly.

"Now you are the one that is being stupid, I said I don't want to talk to you." She said stubbornly.

"Why?" It was probably easier to get her to explain it.

"Like you care?"

Or perhaps not. She seemed to be too agitated to articulate her position well. Not, of course that many people could do that when talking to him, but she'd certainly seemed able to speak coherently - if confusingly - on topics to him before. It was possible that her injuries were the reason, or possible that they were themselves a symptom of the reason. Rational people didn't injure themselves. "You're my responsibility, Lieutenant. If you're injured, I need to know why so that it can be prevented from happening again."

"I am not injured. And if you dislike being around me so much, why do you want to know how I feel, and why I do things? You don't need to know that to guard me or something. Why don't you admit that you would like to have some friends?" She stood nose to nose with him.

"To the best of my knowledge, Lieutenant, I have never said that I disliked you or your presence." Victor considered his options as blood continued to fall to the deck steadily from under the Lieutenant's cloak, discarded simply stunning her and carrying her to Sickbay - Commander Corgan had yelled at him the last time he'd done that to someone - and surreptitiously pressed a preprogrammed command on his padd with one thumb to summon another officer while he kept the Lieutenant talking. "I also recall telling you," he said to distract the injured woman, "that it would likely be better for you if you were to stay away, and that I was a poor friend as I understood you to define the term, but that is not the same thing."

"I know you care." She went closer and put her face against his chest. "And you are getting nicer most of the time. Exactly like a big brother. Although I'm still angry about what you did to me with regards to Kimberly."

"I can't do anything about that, Lieutenant," Victor said as he frowned down at her - and the bloodstains seeping through the fabric of her cloak. "People are frequently angry with me - or scared of me. That's just the way things are."

"I still don't understand why people are scared of you, you are my big brother. I screwed up so badly, Victor." She held onto him for dear life.

Victor had to agree with that; injuring yourself for no apparent reason was definitely a mistake. Unless she was referring to her inability to understand why people were afraid of him, in which he had to agree with that as well. Perhaps she even meant both. It would be much easier for him to understand others if people were more clear in what they were referring to. "I showed you why people are afraid of me once, Lieutenant," Victor replied. "I'd offer to do it again, but I'm not certain that would be a good idea at the moment."

Down the corridor, the turbolift opened and a familiar figure stepped out, responding to his request for assistance: Angelienia. Unsurprising, Victor realized, since they were on the same shift when she wasn't flying. She looked both ways, saw him, and started down the hall, slowing her brisk approach when she realized that there appeared to be no immediate danger.

Branwen was still holding on to Victor, when she saw his girlfriend approach. "Hello Angelienia," she said softly. "What a surprise seeing you here."

The Ktarian waited until she was next to Bran to reply, "If you were me, and you saw a request for assistance from Victor flash up, would you have let anyone else answer it?"

"No, but he is being a worrywart again," Bran sighed.

"I knew you'd be the one to respond, Angelienia," Victor said quietly. "The Lieutenant needs to get cleaned up while I explain to her why she's going to have her injuries looked at. I can do the second, but since she's going to be taking her clothing off for the first, I can't help her there. I thought it would work better if you helped her."

"Hell no!" Bran backed up. "You get away from me!!" She pointed at Angelienia.

Victor frowned at her reaction, while Angelienia blinked. "Lieutenant...." he began at the same time the Ktarian started to say, "What's wrong...." The two stopped, looked at each other, and then Angelienia nodded, telling Victor to go first.

"There's obviously a problem, Lieutenant," Victor said, still frowning as he tried to understand what was happening. The Lieutenant hadn't acted like this before when meeting Angelienia - at least not that he recalled. And this kind of anger was... no, not anger - fear. He'd know what it looked like, known what it smelled like in the people around him all his life... just like he knew now. The Lieutenant was *afraid* of Angelienia. Which was absurd; Angelienia might be capable of being someone to be scared of... but Victor didn't think that she was that person anymore. The woman who'd been capable of that had been transformed into someone else by the dance she'd danced with him for all these months. "Why are you afraid of Angelienia?"

"I'm not afraid of her, but right now I want her to stay away from me!" she said. "As a matter-of-fact, why don't you both leave me alone?"

"No," Victor said quietly. "And you are afraid. I know fear better than anyone on this ship - I've seen it in the eyes of people looking at me since I was old enough to understand what it was I saw there. I know what it looks like, what it sounds like, and what it smells like. Lying to me about it is pointless."

"You think the whole ship is afraid of you. I have never been afraid of you, Victor. But I don't want women touching me right now. And you nag, you are as curious as an old woman. Worse."

"No, the whole ship isn't afraid of me Lieutenant; but the actual number of individuals - excluding Vulcans - who aren't is less than one percent of the overall crew compliment. Not a large number by any standards." Granted, it was larger than the percentage at any duty station he'd previously served at - he still wasn't certain why - but that wasn't relevant here. What did appear to be relevant was the Lieutenant's comment about not wanting women to touch her. "Why?"

"Why what?" Bran looked at him.

"Why don't you want women touching you? Did a woman hurt you?"

"Sometimes Victor...." She shook her head. "Drop it will you. Haven't I made it clear that I don't want to talk about it!!!!!!" she shouted at him.

Standing to the side, watching the exchange silently, Angelienia's eyes suddenly widened. "Victor," she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. "I think I understand what's wrong. Let me talk to her for a moment."

Victor looked down at the hand on his arm, at Angelienia's face, and nodded once. "All right."

The Ktarian turned to look at Bran. "Something happened, didn't it? Something that you weren't... prepared for."

"Hell, sometimes he gets on my nerves. He keeps droning on when I say I don't want to talk. And then he tells private things to my shrink making me look like a dork. I appreciate him being my friend but I want two things. Him to call me by my name and to shut up when I ask it," she said nervously evading the question.

Angelienia nodded her head slowly. "I understand - but do you? Do you really understand him?"

"Probably not. He thinks everybody hates him but he is such a teddy bear most of the time and he looks out for me. I feel safe when he is around, when he is not annoying me. Oh and I am not romantically interested in him, don't worry." She added quickly.

The Ktarian's laugh was soft and surprisingly gentle. "I know," she replied with a smile. "No need to worry about bombs in your shower or anything." She looked over towards Victor. "People *are* scared of him, though; almost everyone is on some level no matter what they say. It just happens. Most people don't understand that he's trying to protect them - or what he's willing to do in order to do that. He'll look after people the only way he knows how, even if they're scared of him... or if they get mad at him because he's not playing by the rules they understand."

"I don't understand it." Branwen said stubbornly. "He never gets angry, you can kick him, scream at him, and he just stands there. It's great to relieve some stress. But I would like him to get something out of our friendship as well." Leading her away from her original question was going very well.

"No, you don't understand," Angelienia agreed. "If he was angry... I'm not certain what would happen then; I've never seen him when he's angry - I've seen him when he was close to it, when I was the one making him get that close - but never when he's actually arrived there. I know it would be bad, though. I think the best you could hope for in that event would be that he'd simply kill you. That's why he doesn't get angry." She squeezed Victor's arm and smiled at him. "It's one of the ways he protects people. As for what he gets out of it... he talks to you."

Branwen looked at Victor. "I want him to realize that he doesn't have to be so lonely. There are people here who love him as he is. It would only help if he sometimes showed that he cares in a little bit more directly. And call me by my first name."

"You're not family, Lieutenant," Victor interjected. "You only call family by their names like that."

"Friends do as well," she said very softly. "And to me you are like a big brother."

"Penance Is A Cute Nickname, Part 2"

(Occurs immediately after 'Sins and Penance')

Principle Characters
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Lt. Branwen London
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 14
Corridor Seven

Victor thought about that for a moment. "Why would she think that he was like a big brother? Why would she *want* him to be like her brother? That would mean that they were related, and that she would be like him? Or was that it? Did she *want* to be like him - or the him that she saw? The kind of person that never got angry, even if people kicked and screamed at him? The kind of person that wouldn't deliberately hurt himself for whatever reason she'd chosen to do that? Was that it? "I don't know what you mean when you say 'friends,'" he finally offered. "I know what the word means to me, but there are so many other meanings that it's impossible for me to sort them all out. That's why I tell people I'm not good at being a friend - because they always define it differently than I do."

She came closer to him again and put her arms round him. "As an irritating guy who always looks out for me and follows me when he thinks something is wrong. And in his own irritating manner tries to help me the best he can when I am in trouble, Victor. That is a friend and big brother to me."

Victor wasn't positively certain about the 'irritating' part, but the rest seemed to be simple enough to grasp. "All right; that's simple enough. Now, are you going to tell me why you're terrified of being in the same room with Angelienia?"

Angelienia winced and sighed softly. "I'm not certain that's the best way to ask that," she said ruefully. "Maybe if you tried a bit more obliquely?"

Victor looked over Bran's head at the Ktarian. Angelienia made more sense than almost anyone he knew most of the time, but this wasn't one of those moments. "Obliquely? Why am I supposed to be sneaking up on a question?"

By now Branwen knew he was not going to let up, so maybe she could get some more out of this while she would have to tell him anyway. "Are you going to call me by my first name from now on if I tell you?"

A frown moved across Victor's face as he looked down at the injured woman. "If calling you by your name is what it will take to resolve the situation and have you explain why you're acting like this, then yes, I will call you by your name."

"If you promise to call me Branwen from now on if we are not on duty." She looked intently at him.

"I said that I would call you by your name," Victor repeated patiently. Why did people insist on making him repeat himself all the time? "Was I not clear enough? People sometimes seem to understand me more easily if I use fewer words."

She giggled. "It's okay, Victor. It's okay." Now she took a deep breath. "I... I got hypnotized by a female Miranda officer and did some things I would otherwise never have done. And I was attoning for that." So, it was out.

"You were... hypnotized?' Victor repeated slowly. Memories of the fembots that Mudd had brought aboard the ship years back surfaced and his voice shifted, became cold enough to cut glass with the edges of his words. "This woman controlled your mind?"

"Yes, I think so. I would never have done these things otherwise." She shuddered.

The temperature of Victor's voice dropped lower, the words now cold enough that they steamed in the air as he asked, "Who?"

"I only know her first name and her profession, it's d..."

"No, stop," Angelienia interrupted, both hands now on Victor's arm. She didn't need to be a Betazoid to know what was happening, to know what he was about to do. He was going to see whatever happened as another hunter in his territory and she knew there was only one response he would make that. "Stop talking, Branwen - he's going to go and kill them if you tell him who did this."

Branwen's eyes widened. "You wouldn't!"

Victor looked down at Angelienia's hands on his arm, the heat from them soaking into him. "I told you that I don't allow hunting in my territory," he said slowly, his eyes never leaving the Ktarian's hands.

"Victor, she is not hunting." Branwen said softly slipping into the counseling role.

"I told you that..." Victor started to repeat slowly, his voice a little less frozen, but just as implacable.

"Victor," Angelienia said softly. "Look at me." She'd known this moment was going to come sooner or later, and even though she wasn't especially religious she offered a prayer up to the gods of her people that she was strong enough to say what had to be said... and that he would listen. She reached up with one hand and touched his face. "If you do this, then we can't dance any more. Do you understand? You can file a complaint - that's fine - but if you hunt this woman down and hurt or kill her, then we can't dance ever again. Please?"

"Victor, listen to her. I am a marine, I can look after myself. I think it is very kind that you care but please don't hurt this woman." Bran joined in.

Victor frowned. Why was it important to Angelienia and to Lieutenant London that he didn't do this? The woman had hurt the Lieutenant but she didn't want him to... and Angelienia... she wasn't going to be able to dance with him if he.... He thought of the nights he'd spent with the Ktarian, the way he felt as they danced, the way he felt... whole.... "Why?" he asked quietly, his voice back to normal.

Angelienia felt something inside her loosen and let relief wash through her. He was going to listen. It was going to be okay. "Because...." She debated for a moment, and then went with the simplest reason, hoping to avoid a complex morals discussion for now, "Because Branwen doesn't want you to. She's the one that was hurt, and she doesn't think it was intentional." She looked at Bran, green eyes pleading. "Don't you?"

It wasn't true but she knew it was not wise to say so. "No, she didn't mean to do it, Victor. It's okay. You are sweet but you don't have to do this for me. Don't do it please." Bran looked at him.

Victor looked at Bran for a moment, and then looked back at Angelienia. Was he willing to do this? Could he do this? Was he going to say the words and.... "I won't harm or kill her because of this," he finally agreed. "But you have to report it, and file a complaint."

Branwen embraced him. "Thank you, Victor, thank you. I will. I will talk to the Jag officer and to Commander Dallas. I promise."

That would be all right. Commander Dallas didn't like Victor - and because she didn't, she would remember why things like this had to be dealt with. If not Victor's way, then another way; so long as it happened. But he needed to make certain that everyone understood that, and understood what he meant. "I will call Commander tonight and make sure you have spoken to her. No waiting. No doing it tomorrow. You get cleaned up, and then you go to the Commander. If you don't then I am not bound by my promise. Understood?"

She nodded. "Promise. Now what is my name, Victor?"

Victor said it - and then turned to frown at Angelienia as she laughed and held onto his arm, a sudden smile on her face. Had he said it wrong? He thought a moment, but didn't think so. Still... he said it again, clearly and distinctly: "London. Your name is London."

"Victor." Branwen said a little bit disappointed. "You promised."

"I promised I'd call you by your name," he nodded. "I am." Victor turned to Angelienia to see if she could explain it more clearly.

"Branwen," the Ktarian said with a shake of her head, "I'm sorry - I should have realized this was going to happen."

"What?" Branwen snapped.

"He doesn't use first names the way that other people do - let me show you." Angelienia turned to Victor. "You and Ella Grey were together a long tim, Victor. What did you call her?"

It would, Victor thought, have been easier if he'd just found the woman and killed her. "You know that, Angelienia."

"Yes, she agreed, "but I don't think Branwen does. Tell her please."

Victor looked at Bran. "Grey. I called her Grey."

"There," the Ktarian nodded, "you see?"

"You lied to me." Suddenly starting to cry Bran kicked him in the shins. "You bastard, you promised, you know how much it means to me and you tricked me and weaseled it out of me." She beat against his chest without strength, sobs overcoming her.

"No, I didn't lie to you," Victor said again, making no response to the half-hearted assault. "I said I'd use..."

"Victor, please," Angelienia interrupted. "Try? I know that it's not something that you do, but try?"

"But I don't..."

"I know, Victor," Angelienia interrupted again. "But try anyway, all right? For me?"

Victor tilted his head to the side and studied her for a moment. Why was this so important to Angelienia? To London? What was the point to making him do this? "Will you not dance with me any more if I can't?" he asked before he realized he was speaking.

Angelienia blinked and her eyes widened at the question. "Ah..." She looked at Bran, then back at Victor. Victor's not killing someone was an important reason, one worth risking everything she'd found and might have with him over, but this...? She liked Bran, but did she want to start using her relationship with Victor as a bludgeon to force him to do things? That was just as wrong as Victor killing someone wasn't it? "No," she finally sighed. "I won't do that, Victor."

His eyes never leaving Angelienia, Victor considered her words. Angelienia wasn't going to dance with him if he couldn't call London by her family name - she'd just told him that. Was he willing to do this, to keep from not dancing with her? Did dancing with Angelienia, having dinner with her, talking to her mean that much to him? "It... is a lie," he finally said, admitting to himself that yes, it did mean that much to him. "She isn't family. I don't want her to be family." He looked down at Bran. "You don't want to be family, do you?"

"I would." Branwen said softly. "As a big brother, but if that thought is so obnoxious to you... I will not force you." She looked sad.

Angelienia looked from one of them to the other and shook her head. "Okay, both of you stop right now - don't say anything else until I'm done talking. You sound like you're talking about the same things, but you're not - neither of you really understands what the other is saying, and I'm not going to watch this turn into a worse shuttle crash than it already has." She squeezed Victor's arm. "Okay, Victor is asking you a question, Branwen - but it isn't the one that you think it is, because he's saying 'family' instead of a word that you'd understand. To him..." she looked up at Victor "...correct me if I'm wrong, okay? To him, in this context, the question he just asked you is "You don't want to be my lover, do you?" She looked at Victor. "Is that right?"

"Yes." It didn't make a great deal of sense for Angelienia to repeat the question he'd already asked, but if it would help London understand it, he wouldn't argue.

"Love.... Of course not! I never.... I never even thought of him that way," Branwen said quickly. "Please don't think that. But there are other ways of being close to someone."

Angelienia relaxed slightly. Maybe this was going to be all right after all. "I think the problem is that Victor thinks you should only call people that are family - and his definition isn't the same one that you or I use - by their first names. If he calls you by your first name, then that implies that you and he are lovers, or something like it, which would be a lie... and he doesn't tell lies." She looked at Victor again. "Is that right?"

He nodded. "Yes." He considered what she'd said for a moment, and then added, "That was to both parts of the question." He looked at Angelienia for a moment longer, thinking that there was something else he should say, something that she wanted him to say, but not certain what it was. "It's like 'friends'..." he explained finally, aware that this wasn't really what Angelienia had wanted to say "My definition of the word 'family' isn't yours, or hers," he nodded to Bran.

"So? You really don't consider me a friend?" She looked straight at him.

"I didn't say that," Victor replied. Why was talking to people always so hard? Didn't they understand the words that were coming out of his mouth? "I said that by my definition of the word 'family' you weren't family. 'Friends' is another word, with a different definition. You fit that definition, but not the one for 'family' so that makes you a friend."

"Aw Victor." She put her arms around him again. "It has taken you so long to say that."

Victor looked down at her, then at Angelienia as if asking for help, but the Ktarian just shook her head and smiled. "Let her hug you, Victor. Friends do that."

After a moment of silence, Victor frowned again. "Are we going to need to do this every time I call you London, now?"

She giggled. "Sorry. Maybe not every time. Just when one of us feels like it."

"Is his calling you 'London' going to be okay, Branwen?" Angelienia asked, relieved. "Or do we need to work on that, maybe find a nickname or something?"

"A nickname would be nice," she grinned. "London sounds so cold; like he is my boss or something. But it is better then 'Lieutenant.'"

"What kid of a nickname?" Victor asked slowly. "You mean something like the call-signs the Vanguards or the Hazard Team use?" Considering what some of the call-signs he'd heard used were like, he thought that he might be better off calling her 'Lieutenant' again and living with her crying on his uniform all the time.

"Well I am going to leave it to you to come up with something nice, something cute."

"I don't do... cute," Victor replied.

Branwen suppressed a giggle. "Just be creative, Victor."

"I'll... try," he agreed. "But you have to get cleaned up and report this incident now - it may take me a while to think of something... cute." Of course, having any idea whatsoever what she would consider 'cute' might help. Or what anyone else might consider 'cute' come to it. Maybe Angelienia could explain it to him later; she was good with explaining things lately he'd noticed.

"I promise. Thank you Victor." She turned to the other woman. "And thank you, Angelienia."

"A Bitter Taste"

By:
Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer, USS Galaxy

Late August, 2383
Ki Baratan

Six weeks. Forty-four days had passed since he had suffered the debilitating injury that tore his remaining dignity away from him.

For twelve of the first days, he had lain despondent in the hospital bed, unable to fathom the utter depths he had fallen. He simply wished to die.

Twice, his closest allies in the Kelvan Embassy and Rihannsu Foreign Affairs offices had come to his bedside, offering opposing viewpoints on wishes for the future.

The Kelvan had come to assist him in the ritual suicide demanded of his kind when they had become less than whole. The Rihanna had not.

When Tamin had attempted to move him out into the world to give Curran the first steps towards finalizing that which was required of him, Kylar had rebuffed him.

The elder Kelvan, in Terran form also, did not release his hand from Curran's shoulder, but fixed him with an angered glare, as if offended.

"You have no choice, Kylar. This is the way it has to be. Why are you denying your privileges to regain your lost honor?"

"What kind of honor would I regain if I needed help in traveling to the desert? No, Tamin. I will accomplish my fate on my own. As soon as I can move on my own accord, I'll carry myself out to the desert and do what needs to be done."

Tamin paused as if measuring the other Kelvan with older, seasoned eyes dark as night. "I've been ordered to make sure you carry out your obligations, Kylar. Your history of carrying out explicit orders has been circumspect in the past; you are no longer trustworthy in that regard. I have no choice, or I will suffer the same fate as you." The grip on Curran's shoulder tightened, but the younger of the two didn't falter in his determination. Shifting his frame so that he could sit up with feet dangling off the side of the bed, he used his now free arm to peel back the other's fingers.

"I will not accept pity and condolences. When I chose to die is up to me, not you or anyone else. Now, leave. I'll contact you when I'm ready, and you can be witness. Is that suitable enough for you and the others?" It was like a fire lit under his skin. Strength and energy surged forth, and gave him a renewed sense of retribution. He would atone for his sins, but on his own terms, not someone else's. His life didn't evolve to this point only to be hand-held down a path of another's choosing.

Tamin was tempted to reach back and yank the other Kelvan out of his soft bed and carry him out to the desert with his own two hands, as demanded by the spiritual advisors housed within the embassy, but something in Curran's eyes stopped him short. He clenched his hand into a fist instead, hiding it behind his leg. Humanoid emotions were still new to their species, and each individual had progressed to varying degrees in controlling them. The Kelvan intelligence services had been tracking all Kelvans in the field since their integration into Federation society, and Curran was no different than anyone else, other than he was in a position of great influence. Being a Chief Liaison Officer on one of the most powerful starships in Starfleet was a great undertaking, and one not to be taken lightly.

Which is why he acquiesced to Curran's request.

"Finish your rehabilitation, Kylar. Then tidy up your affairs and resign from the Diplomatic Corps. You will not be leaving this planet."

"You have my word, Tamin."

****

It was thirty-two days later when the Rihanna had arrived on the scene, to find Kylar had made significant progress in his rehabilitation.

"Legate, I see you are making progress."

Curran looked up from handling the waist-level bars, barely recognizing the diplomat who had slipped into the physiotherapy center.

"Jolan'tru Lhathiel..." The Kelvan continued on his walking through the rails, coming to a stop at the end, and nodding to one of the nurses, who knelt down in front of him and adjusted a control pad along the side of one of his leg braces. She looked up questioningly, at which point Curran tested walking forward without assistance of the rails. The servos whirred in response, giving him limited movement with some resistance, but he didn't fall.

"What kind I do for you?" The Kelvan haltingly 'walked' towards a towel rack opposite and behind the Rihanna, taking one to dab the perspiration off his face.

Lhathiel cut right to it. "I've come on behalf of the Senate and the Federation Embassy here on ch'Rihan. They have asked me to deliver this to you." Lhathiel passed Curran a small PADD, which the Kelvan received and panned over it while dabbing the back of his neck.

"You're in serious trouble, I see. I don't understand how it is I can help prevent the oncoming storm you are expecting from the Hydran forces. As you can see, I'm fairly useless, and I have a personal obligation to attend to within the day or two. One I'm afraid I will not be returning from. I wish you a good death."

"You have been ordered by the Federation Embassy to act on their behalf on all discussion with the incoming forces and interaction between the Senate and Starfleet. They are being evacuated as we speak."

"I'm afraid I can't help you. My obligations demand payment. I cannot delay them any longer."

"Vice-Legate," Lhathiel dropped his gaze, the stoic Romulan façade disappearing momentarily. "Our forces have been annihilated, or people's moral at their lowest. We have never faced a situation as dire as this. Do you think we are not embarrassed that we have to request assistance from the almighty Federation? It galls us. Now, if you do not use your influence to help us, there will not be a world to fulfill your obligations in within the next day or two. You will die with the rest of us."

"I'm sorry, Lhathiel. My hands are tied. My diplomatic privileges have been revoked, and my status as representative of the Federation in tatters. There is nothing I can do."

Lhathiel sighed. "If I cannot convince my old friend," the Rihanna used the friendly term that gave Curran a rise in attention. One should never let emotions mix with business, no matter the request or cost. It gave away your position and leverage. "Perhaps there is someone who can. Expect a visitor," Lhathiel raised a hand. "Do not deny this visitor, Kylar. It would be unwise to. You have nothing to lose by conversing, do you not?"

Curran thought about it for a moment, and then re-read the datapad, slower this time.

"As a favor, Lhathiel, nothing more. Ten minutes they will have. Then I wish to be left to my own aims."

"You have my gratitude. Jolan'tru, Legate."

So was this what mnhei'sahe was? It left a bitter taste.

OOC - I guess set after the two JPs that should be coming out tomorrow or so.

~Underneath the Capitol City~

Lt. Jg. Thyago Leandro Domenico Carneiro

"Sir, the Starfleet Engineer is here to see you."

Jolavak sighed heavily. As the logistic head of the capital city's utilities department, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with some Federation diplomat's idea of 'bridging gaps' or some pompous Starfleet spy posing as an engineer. "Keep him waiting," he said, and his assistant nodded. "Give me today's unexpecteds."

The 'unexpecteds' were maintenance problems in the cities utilities that came up suddenly. There was usually one or two every day, and they were usually small - only minor annoyances, rather than major castrophies, like a clogged water line, or a leak in the hydrogen power pipeline. He didn't have the manpower to dedicate people to sit around waiting for an 'unexpected' to occur; they always had to be worked in some where in the day's schedule.

"There was a brownout this morning in the Charon district, caused by a transformer failure. It was scheduled for maintenance this afternoon, so that crew's schedule has been reversed. A citizen accidentally punctured an underground hydrogen pipe, automatic shutoff valves have rerouted along other paths in the grid. His residence is still without power. There was a small fire at the methane storage facility near the Colosseum. There was some vandalism at the Nniol Recycling Center, the glass melting line was forced to shut down. And the sewage line under 57th Avenue has ruptured. Again."

Again, Jolavak sighed. A long list today. He waved the girl off, and she left after sending the list to his computer. He looked at his computer monitor and brought up today's work schedules, sorting them by subdepartment. The brownout had already been dealt with. There were no men free to fix the hydrogen pipe, the moronic citizen would simply have to sit in the dark for a day or two. The fire had been extinguished and didn't seem to cause any real damage, he could ignore it. The recycling center needed attention and was worth paying overtime to fix.

He smiled when he came to the last item on the list. It was perfect for the Human engineer. He leaned over his desk, pressing the intercomm button, paging his secretary. "Yes, sir?" she asked through the speaker.

"Page Maiek Rehu, in the Water department," he ordered, asking for the worker who last worked on this sewage line, "have him report to my office. When he arrives, send him in with the Human."

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

"Good morning, sir," Maiek Rehu mumbled as he entered the director's office. He was a small, lanky man, with a thin, tired face and wide eyes. He was constantly shifting his weight between feet, a sign of nervousness, which was normal for him, a dance which everyone immediately got used to and ignored, mocking him only in thier subconcious. His eyes were usually cast towards the ground, in meek deference, but today, they were shifting around as often as his weight, darting to and fro the man that stood next to him, much too nervous to simply stare like he desired. He was in the same room as a Human.

The Human's stance was starkly different from Maiek's. He stood still, confident enough to slouch slightly, unconcerned with impressing the men in the room with his stature. His head swiveled around the room, gawking rudely at the rooms decorations. His golden brown hair, loosely parted down the middle, waved and bounced with each movement, reflecting the light audaciously. He was wearing a uniform, which he constantly seemed to adjust in mild discomfort. Its mustard yellow and black colors crisp and sharp and much louder than the muted tones of Maiek's clothing.

Jolavak ignored both of them for a moment as he worked to a stopping point on his computer. Then, he cast a quick glance at the two invaders, sighed, gathering up his diplomatic courtesies, and stood from his desk. "In hopes of furthering and deepening the current alliance with the Federation, the city council thought it would be a good idea to have a few Starfleet personnel from the ships in orbit come down and offer their expertise to the city. This man is an engineer from the, er... I'm sorry, what ship are you from?"

"Huh?" the man asked, clearly not paying attention, "Oh, um, the Miranda."

Jovalak nodded and returned his attention to Maiek. "This man is an engineer from the Miranda and has offered to assist us in today's labors. I will be assigning him to you. Maiek Rehu, meet, er, what is your name again?"

"I'm Thyago," he said, extending his hand. Maiek examined it as if it were diseased before he finally took it into his own.

"Thyago?" Jovalak asked.

"Oh, ok," Thyago said, realizing the man wanted formality, "Lieutennant Thyago Leandro Domenico Carneiro, Assistant Chief Engineer."

Jovalak smiled slightly. "Maiek, you, and the chief engineer here," he said, and Thyago realized the formality was only desired to knock him down, "have been assigned to fix another leak in the sewage line under 57th avenue, since you obviously didn't fix it last time."

"Sewage line?" Thyago repeated.

"Surely a Starfleet engineer can handle a bit of plumbing?" Jovalak taunted, his smug smile easy to see.

Thyago sighed, but steeled himself and quickly got over his annoyance. He always got the plumbing jobs. "Oh, no, I can do it. I just always get the shitty jobs," he said, smiling at his own joke. Tovalak eyed him warily, and feigned offence at the insult to their line of work. Maiek simply stared nervously. "Okay, no shit jokes. Got it."

The awkwardness sat amongst them for another few minutes before Maiek eventually spoke. "I installed new piping in that section not more than a month ago."

"Well, its leaking. Again. If he is of any use, maybe the human will teach you to be more competant in your duties," Tovalak said, and Maiek recoiled at his words.

"Maybe its not his fault," Thyago attempted as Tovalak moved back to sit at his desk. "Maybe its simply the area. Is that the fashion district? Because, you know, models go through new plumbing like an alcoholic in a wine cellar." And he nudged Maiek with his elbow as if communicating the subtext through it.

"Its surrounded by commercial office space," Maiek said flatly.

"Okay. No bulemia jokes. Got it."

"If your through," Tovalak said sharply from behind his desk, "I would thank you to go do your jobs."

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

"Were you assigned to this or did you volunteer?" Maiek asked suddenly. They had been working for nearly half an hour, sectioning off a portion of the street from traffic so they could access a manhole that led to the city sewer. Maiek had refused to talk, despite all of Thyago's attempts at making conversation; he would only respond with one word answers or pretend as if he didn't hear. Instead, he was constantly scanning the street, like he was looking for someone he knew, no doubt so that he would have plenty of time to hide and avoid being seen with the Human. Eventually, Thyago had resided to leaving the poor Romulan alone. He was clearly uncomfortable with Thyago's presence and Thyago couldn't tell if it was because the man was racist, had never even seen an alien before, or was simply so anti-social and awkward that he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I was in the room with you when your boss assigned us," Thyago said, caught off guard by the question.

"I meant this exchange program with the city, were you assigned or did you volunteer?"

"Oh," Thyago said as he moved to pull open the manhole cover. "A little of column A, a little of column B." Maiek gave him a curious look, indicating he didn't understand the reference, so Thyago elaborated, "I was assigned, but I wanted to come down and see the planet. Meet some real Romulans, not just the political or military face. Speaking of which, do you think you could point me to the red light district? I'd like to get a taste of the local flavor, if you know what I mean."

Maiek frowned back at the Human's idiotic smiling face. "I don't know where the 'red light' district would be, but there is a farmer's market several blocks from here where you can sample some of the local agricultural products."

"No, I--" Thyago started, then gave up. "Okay, no euphemisms. Got it." He knelt and slipped a crowbar through a small hole in the sewer cover, and with a great heave, lifted the heavy metal plate from its recess in the street. The whole street already smelled foul because of the underground leak, but when he removed the manhole cover, the stench attacked them with new force.

"Caralho!" Thyago cursed, as he covered his nose. Maiek looked away and scanned the street again, embarrassed by the vocal erruption. With his sleeve still shielding his breathing, Thyago pointed a flashlight down into the sewer below. The light reflected back at him, waving and wobbling off the surface of liquid. "Please tell me you have some sort of hazardous material suits in the truck."

Maiek didn't answer immediately. He was eyeing a small store across the nearby intersection. Only when Thyago called out his name did he respond, "Yes, there are two pair of rubber overalls we can wear over our clothing."

"What color?" Thyago asked, although he could predict the answer.

"They're gray," the Romulan said off-handedly.

Thyago smiled. Of course they were. "I'm going to go put mine on. Do you want yours?"

"Yes. But, while you change and before we descend, I would like to purchase a cup of tea," Maiek said, nodding his head to the small store across the way, "If you would excuse me."

"Oh, I'll take one," Thyago said as Maiek started to walk away. He stopped and seemed irritated.

"Very well."

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

The tea was already cold by the time Maiek had finally returned, uncertain what had taken him so long. Thyago couldn't be sure, but he doubted it was meant to be served that way. It was also pretty weak, its flavor as muted as everything else on Romulus. He drank it quickly, like it was only water, and then began to set up the sewage suction pump on the back of the truck while he waited for Maiek to don his rubber overalls. He didn't notice Maiek quickly read a small piece of paper, then carefully fold it and place it in his shirt pocket.

"Ready to go down," Thyago asked, holding the large suction tube in his hands. Maiek nodded and moved to the manhole and carefully climbed down the ladder. Thyago fed him the tube, and once Maiek had the end of it submerged, he returned to the truck and activated the pump. It clicked and whirred, then settled into a soft hum as it built up a negative pressure. Soon, sewage mud was gurgling its way up the tube and into the tank on the back of the truck and Thyago climbed down through the manhole to join his colleague.

"I've closed the valve leading to this section of pipe," Maiek said as Thyago joined him below. It was obvious where the leak was. Sections of pipe that made up the sewer line were bolted together; there was a junction every five meters or so. The junction nearest the access ladder had seperated, probably due to a slight ground shift, and dark, muddy water was dripping from the seam. The suction pipe leading back up to the truck was submerged in the large puddle below it.

"It should be simple to fix. All we need to do is retighten these bolts and apply an expanding polymer seal," Maiek explained, examining the pipe. "Could you climb back up and get a wrench and the polymer gun?"

"Yeah," Thyago agreed, already eager to escape the stench. It was, of course, at its strongest down here.

"I'm going to walk the line for a ways and check for any other leaks. I'll be back shortly."

Thyago nodded and the two men seperated to perform their own tasks. Maiek was gone by the time Thyago returned from the truck with the tools, having disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels. So, Thyago began the repair process by himself. He took the large crescent wrench, nearly two feet long, and attached it to each of the bolts in succession, gripping the nut tightly and then pressing down on the lever with all his weight, turning it until it would no longer budge. There were eight bolts, and the wrench was very large and heavy, making it cumbersome to manipulate, but he was done relatively quickly. Then he took the polymer gun and lined up its nozzle with the pipe seam, squeezed its stiff trigger and tried to deposit an even amount all the way around. As the clear goo left the gun, it melted, flattening out over the seam and then quickly dryed into an opaque beige plastic seal. He waited several minutes to ensure it was dry and then applied a second sealing, paying extra attention to the bottom section of the pipe.

When he had finished, he gathered his tools and set them on the top of the pipe. The valve shut off was within sight, only about fifteen meters down the sewer line, so he turned it back on and waited to see if there was anymore leaking. When he was satisfied with his work, he turned his attention to the sewage pump, moving its end around to suck up all the leaked waste.

Maiek had still not returned, and now Thyago was curious, wondering if he had been ditched. "Ola? Maiek? Are you there?" he called out, his voice echoing in the hard surfaced sewer tunnels.

No answer.

"Maiek?" he called out again, walking down the line in search. He walked for quite a ways before he considered turning around. Maiek was no where to be found. But, he continued on, promising himself he would turn around after another few meters. At the point where he finally decided to listen to himself and turn, he saw a door in the side of the tunnel. It was obscure and hidden, painted the same color as the tunnel wall. Had it not been slightly ajar, he would have probably walked right past it.

He pushed it open, unable to resist his curiousity. Behind was a staircase, leading lower into the city's bowels. There was no lighting and the staircase was very narrow. It looked to be very old, like it was built several hundred years ago. At the bottom, there was another door, and Thyago could see a little sliver of light escape from underneath. He opened this door, just a crack, and peeked inside. It was a small hallway, lined with a couple closed doors. Beyond those was a small archway and he could hear the whispering of voices coming from the otherside, out of sight.

What had he found? Was Maiek down here? Slowly, he opened the door and crept inside, sneaking up to the archway. As the voices grew louder and he could almost make out what they were saying, someone grabbed him from behind. A hand hooked around and covered his mouth, and he felt a sharp sting in the side of his neck, and everything slowed, everything stopped, and he collapsed into blackness.

~Dance Soothes the Savage Beast, Part 1 of 2~

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff, USS Galaxy
Lt (JG) Thyago Carneiro, USS Miranda
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 11
Holosuite 4

he woke, feeling him shift around in her bed. Slowly, she opened her eyes and noticed he was sitting up, looking around the room in thought. "Why are you up?" she yawned, closing her eyes again.

"I can't sleep," Thyago said, "Ship lag." The Miranda day was shifted almost five hours later than the Galaxy's. For him, it was the evening; for her, the dead of night.

"Hmm," she moaned, unconcerned, and settled back into her slumber.

He leaned towards her, running his hand lightly across her upper arm and down her side. He brought his face in near hers and gently kissed her lips. "You know, another round might tire me out," he said.

She smiled, letting him kiss her once more, playing only a passive role. She gave another tired, amused moan, and without opening her eyes, said, "I don't think so. Why don't you just go to the gym or go for a run or something? Maybe we can have another work out in the morning before my shift."

He sighed, disappointed. "All right," he agreed, rising up again. There was that new routine he was still trying to work out, he thought, surely there was a gym or holodeck free at this time of night. He climbed out of the bed and into his pants. He had not brought a change of clothes onto the Galaxy, but fortunately, these slacks were loose enough to dance in.

"Bye," she called out once he finished dressing and left.

==========

USS Galaxy
Deck 11
Holosuite 4

Someone was already in the Holosuite.

Victor checked the time to make certain it wasn’t someone running over their allotted schedule – it wasn’t – and then checked the program to see what was running. It didn’t pay to walk into someone else’s combat simulation when you weren’t expecting to, and he didn’t want to fight anyone or anything tonight; he was here to dance. Besides, Angelienia would be upset if he ruined the costume he was wearing before she got a chance to dance a single dance with him wearing it.

The program was, surprisingly, the one he’d scheduled, although the settings were different than the ones he had selected. It was, he decided, unlikely to be someone from the Galaxy’s crew. No one on the ship would want to dance with him besides Angelienia – much less would care to risk his becoming angry with them over it – and he knew that Angelienia was going to be running late tonight because of an extra flight she was flying as part of the increased system security. That left someone from the Miranda, or one of the other ships that had joined Galaxy in the system a short time ago.

Whoever they were, they were intruding on his time, and they’d be leaving soon.

As the doors opened, he was immediately buffeted by music, roaring through the simulated dance studio like thunder. It was an electronica piece, with a large amount of percussion - an army of smaller higher pitched, hand beaten drums led by a few dominant, deeply resonating monsters, mixed with metallic clanks, as if someone were banging long metal strips with a hammer. On top of all this was a very angry, violent melody composed of synthesized strings, the base notes held long and drawn out, the higher violins quick and flighty.

In the center of the studio was the invader into his space, dressed in a way that didn't really fit the violence of the music. He was wearing a pair of brown trousers and a sky blue tee shirt with an open white button up. It would have looked as if he was on his way to a pleasant summer's picnic had he not been throwing his body around the room like a fighter plane in a dogfight. It was an impressive set of choreographed moves, flips, spins, kicks and splits far wider than Victor could ever hope to reach, contortions and poses the placed the dancer's body in shapes that bordered on the unnatural.

So far, the dancer was unaware he had gained an audience, and Victor was content to watch as the man darted across the room and launched into a series of backflips. On the first, he landed on his hands and quickly launched into the second half. It was at this moment, when he and Victor were facing that he first noticed Victor's presence. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to register until he had already bounced off into the second flip, which was intended to be a full, unassisted 360. Instead, startled, he couldn't make the full rotation and crashed face first into the floor.

Victor studied the sprawled figure. He’d been right; this wasn’t a member of the Galaxy’s crew. He debated for a moment over whether the dancer’s current position was an accident or an attempt at prostrating himself in abject apology, finally decided that it was an accident based on the sound of pain the dancer had made upon landing, and said, “Do you require medical assistance?”

"Oww," the man said, pushing himself off the ground, "No. Pause music! No, I landed mostly on my hands. I haven't fallen like that in a while."

“Perhaps you shouldn’t do it again,” Victor observed. He looked around the simulation. “You are aware that you’re illicitly using my holosuite time, aren’t you?”

"Oh, yeah, I know," he said, without yet looking up. He was still checking himself for injuries. "You were late, so I thought I would grab your time. Besides, we both wanted a dance studio, I figured we could share." It was then that he looked up at Victor, and the familiar affects of his aura started to appear. The man all of sudden looked incredibly embarrassed and timid. "Uh, desculpe, er, um, sorry," he stumbled, "I can leave if you want."

Victor frowned. Did he actually need to run the man off? Angelienia wasn’t here yet; would it matter if the man danced until then? “No need – my… partner… isn’t here yet anyway. Dance away.”

"E mole? Are you sure?" he asked, his discomfort waning slightly at the prospect of being allowed to continue dancing.

“I never say anything I don’t mean,” Victor assured him.

"Beleza! Oh, I'm Teo," he said, standing finally.

“Krieghoff. Victor Krieghoff.”

"So, uh, I guess with the tux, you're into ballroom dancing?" Thyago asked.

“Yes.” He seemed to be handling himself fairly well, not running away in fear, Victor noticed. That was a nice change. He wondered if perhaps the environment and the activities were making the man more comfortable, since dance was clearly one of the intruder’s passions. “I programmed the simulation for the Terran Latin dancing styles that my partner likes tonight: mambos, tangos, and the like.”

"Tango? One of my specialties! Well, let's see you, then," Thyago said, excited, and he backed himself away to lean against the studio wall.

Victor frowned. He’d never danced in front of anyone but Angelienia before, and this felt… it felt… it felt like he was… doing something wrong by dancing for this man. Is there a reason why you want to see me dance?” he asked. As soon as he’d said that, a possible reason occurred to him. “I should warn you – I do not find men to be attractive in a sexual sense.”

Thyago shook his head and sighed heavily, a slight smile on his face, as if this situation came up often. "Yeah, neither do I," he explained. He almost felt like detailing his activities with the young Galaxy crewwoman earlier that evening, but held back in modesty. "I just want to see you dance to see if you’re any good. It is a performing art, after all. Besides, you just saw me working on a new contemporary routine and fall flat on my face, so you're not allowed to be embarrassed. Just rustle up one of your holographic training partners and show me your tango."

Victor looked around the room, hoping that he’d see Angelienia arriving. Why was how well he danced something that this man cared about? This would be so much easier if Angelienia was here to help him understand things. He waited another moment, and when she didn’t appear, he frowned and nodded, “All right.” Stepping up to the edge of the dance floor, he tapped into a couple and started to dance.

The dance didn’t work. Victor wasn’t certain why, not at first, but he could feel that it wasn’t. His movements were off, stiff, as though he was a puppet and not a person. He couldn’t synch with his partner, couldn’t feel the music inside himself, couldn’t close his eyes and just let it flow. It was frustrating, irritating, and he felt himself getting worse as the minutes dragged on to the end of the song.

When the song had finished, Thyago politely clapped from his corner. "Um, not bad. You're just a beginner, right?"

“No,” Victor sighed, his frown deepened, “not really. I’ve been dancing this for a year now.

"Well, you've been learning on your own, right? That's usually harder than having a teacher," Thyago said, trying to provide the man an excuse. "You're technique is pretty good, but your performance, um, was a little--"

“It was terrible,” Victor replied. “I’m better than that – I don’t know what…” The air in the holosuite seemed to thicken as Victor’s frustration grew, pressing out from him. What was wrong? Why hadn’t it worked? Why was he unable to dance like he did with Angelienia? Why…? Angelienia. That was what it was. “I’m better than this,” Victor added. “But not with holograms.”

"Yeah, well, holograms suck," Thyago agreed. He stood and thought for a moment before offering, "Okay, let me help. Computer, erase partner." He stepped up to Victor and held out his arms. "All right, I'll be the girl," he said.

Victor stepped forward slightly, and as he noticed Thyago unconsciously mirror the move, stepping back to keep his distance, Victor’s frown deepened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

"You just said you can't dance well with holograms. I agree, holograms have to be programmed, they can't improvise. I've done the tango for over ten years, I can play both parts, so, I'll be the partner," Thyago explained, unaware of his own subconscious trepidation. When Victor remained motionless, he added, "Come on! I already said I'm not gay. There's nothing to worry about."

Victor shook his head. “No, it's not that.” The frustration pushing at him wasn’t good and he had to do something about it before it got worse. “I shouldn’t be near people right now.” He stepped back and closed his eyes, ignoring Thyago's muttered offerings to leave, and let thoughts of Angelienia fill his head and push the frustration back. A minute passed, and the sense of pressure emanating from him slowly faded, until he was merely his normal self again, for better or worse. He turned and approached the Brazilian again. This time, he didn't step back.

Thyago nodded in satisfaction as Victor moved to assume the position. He grabbed Victor's left hand with his right, and placed his left on Victor's shoulder. He coughed audibly, awkwardly, as Victor placed his right hand, reaching back and carefully moving it up and onto his back. "All right," Thyago began, "You were trying the Argentine, yes? Computer, music. Let's start with the basic walk."

~Dance Soothes the Savage Beast, Part 2 of 2~

Principal Characters
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff, USS Galaxy
Lt (JG) Thyago Carneiro, USS Miranda
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 11
Holosuite 4

Victor stepped forward slightly, and as he noticed Thyago unconsciously mirror the move, stepping back to keep his distance, Victor's frown deepened. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You just said you can't dance well with holograms. I agree, holograms have to be programmed, they can't improvise. I've done the tango for over ten years, I can play both parts, so, I'll be the partner," Thyago explained, unaware of his own subconscious trepidation. When Victor remained motionless, he added, "Come on! I already said I'm not gay. There's nothing to worry about."

Victor shook his head. "No, it's not that." The frustration pushing at him wasn't good and he had to do something about it before it got worse. "I shouldn't be near people right now." He stepped back and closed his eyes, ignoring Thyago's muttered offerings to leave, and let thoughts of Angelienia fill his head and push the frustration back. A minute passed, and the sense of pressure emanating from him slowly faded, until he was merely his normal self again, for better or worse. He turned and approached the Brazilian again. This time, he didn't step back.

Thyago nodded in satisfaction as Victor moved to assume the position. He grabbed Victor's left hand with his right, and placed his left on Victor's shoulder. He coughed audibly, awkwardly, as Victor placed his right hand, reaching back and carefully moving it up and onto his back. "All right," Thyago began, "You were trying the Argentine, yes? Computer, music. Let's start with the basic walk."

"Ummm..." Victor looked hesitantly at Teo. The man seemed to be unaware of it, but his body was reacting to Victor's presence. His breathing increased and his frame tensed slightly.

"Still nervous?" Thyago offered. It was spoken to Victor, who was still stalling, but could have very well have been directed to himself, "Come on. I'm an expert at this."

What was the problem? Was it that Teo was a man, or was it that he wasn't Angelienia? "No... you're not who I want to dance with." He looked down at the slighter man. If he was willing to try, couldn't Victor try? "I'll... try, though." He reached out and led them through a few tango walks.

"Good," Thyago coached, as they stepped around the room. Victor knew the walk and how to lead the turns well. He was also loosening up, slowly but surely. "You're a good leader. Now, show me your gancho," he said, referring to the characteristic leg-locking kicks between partners in the dance.

Victor nodded and swung his leg out, wincing as a different reflex took over and he nearly drove his knee into the other man's groin.

The Brazilian's eyes widened at the near miss. "Um, be sure your thigh is up against me so your knee bend is below me, so, uh, so you don't kick anything."

"I'm not used to being this close to a man that I'm not trying to kill - or that isn't trying to kill me," Victor explained. He doubted that his explanation did anything but make Teo more uncomfortable. "Is this better?" He shifted his stance and tried again, concentrating on the move.

"Better," Teo said with obvious relief. Part of his mind was still stuck on the comment about killing people. "Um, now, try some sacadas, where you move my feet with yours."

That was easier for Victor, but still not perfect. He was dancing better than he had with the hologram, he knew that, but still not as good as when he danced with Angelienia. Part of that was the fact that Teo was reacting on some level to his presence, and part of it was that he wasn't Angelienia. The two combined to make things awkward.

"Here, let me show you something a bit more showy," Thyago said. Then he moved his arms to take the lead, "Switch."

There was moment where all of their feet seemed to be going in the wrong directions as Victor tried to follow the sudden shift, but Thyago backtracked and led them for a few steps to acclimate. Victor followed as best he could, but having never danced this position, it was understandably awkward. He supposed that it was easier for Angelienia, since she'd learned it this way, but he found that he couldn't stop concentrating on where his feet were or they started to resume their familiar patterns. "It's hard to do this backwards," he observed.

"You should try it in heels," Thyago quipped, which caused a curious stare from his partner. "Or, um, so I hear. All right, can you do this?" He pushed them apart, still holding Victor by the hands and began a sequence of fancy work, sharp steps and kicks and artful toe drags along the floor. All the while his upper torso remained relatively still. When he had finished he brought his leg up, hooking it around Victor's back and pushed their bodies into contact. "Try it."

Victor did, and the result was as bad as anything he'd ever done that didn't involve actual physical injury to himself -or, in this case, to himself and his dancing partner. After they'd gotten untangled and picked themselves up off the ground, he frowned, focusing on the steps in his mind. "Again," he said, as Teo straightened up. "This time, you get to be on top if we fall."

The second try was better than the first, and the third better still, but it wasn't until the fourth attempt that everything worked. It wasn't perfect, but everything was where it was supposed to be at the time it was supposed to be there, and Victor decided that was all he could expect from something he'd never tried before.

"Good, now this one," Thyago challenged and repeated the move, complicating the steps slightly and adding a bit more to the show. As they approached in the music, he snaked his foot between Victor's, and then on two sharp beats, kicked both his feet apart. Victor would have fallen if he hadn't been able to adjust his weight quickly. Then Thyago saddled up next to him, threw in a quick gancho, spun the two and sank to the ground, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out behind him. Victor, of course, remained standing. "You were supposed to sink there. It looks silly if only the man sinks."

Considering that they were both men, that meant that it was going to look silly no matter what Victor did, but he supposed that wasn't really what Teo had meant. People always seemed to be saying things that meant something other than what the words coming out of their mouths meant. "Do it again," he replied. "A little slower this time." The two repeated the move, and Victor managed to not drag them both down to the floor in a heap. "I'm not good at being a girl," he said after the third try.

"Ok, try what I did, I'll be the girl."

Victor nodded, and switched back to the more familiar male positioning. This time, the moves came easier - still not perfectly, but not embarrassingly awkward like before. Each repetition was better than the one before it though, and, although he never managed to completely free himself from the idea that he was dancing with another man and not Angelienia, he did improve markedly.

"You learn quickly," Thyago said impressed. "Now, let's do it all together. Watch for my improvisations." As a new song began in the holographic dance studio, the two men started another dance. Occasionally, Thyago would spin away suddenly and throw in a quick gancho or kick his leg high into the air, and at first, it caught Victor off guard. But, he quickly picked up on the subtle physical signs and was able to throw in a few flourishes of his own. Then they split their embrace and Thyago began with the simpler move from before, ending with hooked leg behind Victor. Once finished, he backed off and held a pose and Victor again attempted the showier maneuver, kicking Thyago's feet apart on beat and ending in the sunken triangular pose. They landed during a false ending in the song, so, instinctively, Victor brought them back up and they continued the dance.

"End with a dip," Thyago said quickly as the violins rushed to their coda. Victor opened his mouth to object, but Thyago repeated, "Dip me!" So, Victor spun his partner as the music climaxed, then grabbed Thyago near his neck and pushed him backwards of his feet and into the dip. The song ended with Thyago's body stiff and straight, supported by Victor's arm above his knee, their faces drawn close together.

"Victor," an amused - and familiar to one of the two men - female voice said from off the edge of the dance floor. "I know I said I'd be late, but isn't this a bit... much? Are you throwing me over for another *man?*"

Victor straightened up abruptly, releasing Teo, who dropped to the floor with a startled 'Awp!'

"I'm not throwing you over anything," Victor started to say, confused by both the term and the sudden need inside him to try and explain what was happening to Angelienia.

The Ktarian laughed, her green dress whispering against her legs as she moved out onto the dance floor. "I'm joking, Victor," she explained, laying a hand on his chest. "Who's your friend?"

Victor relaxed slightly and looked down at the sprawled figure of Teo. "He isn't a friend," he told her, "we just met. I'd have to know him longer for us to be friends. His name is Teo. He dances too - he's very good."

"Oh, floor, my dear friend," Thyago cooed quietly, his hand softly stroking the wood paneling in a gentle caress, "We've been seeing so much of each other recently. I think people are beginning to talk."

Angelienia smiled, and shook her head. "Is he always like this when he gets dropped on his head?"

"I don't know," Victor admitted. "I've never dropped him on his head before. Do you require medical attention?" he asked Teo.

"No, I'm fine," Thyago sighed, sitting up, "I'm just going to have some bruises. A lot of bruises."

Victor reached out to help him up, and once he was standing, Teo casually looked the woman over. "Boa noite," he smiled, playing up his accent, "My name is Thyago."

"I'm Angelienia," the Ktarian woman answered back with a smile. She was wearing a formal outfit made for dancing, the dress the same shade of green as her cat's eyes. "Thank you for dancing with Victor. He's not good with people usually."

"A pleasure," he said, staring at her. That is, until he noticed the weight of Victor's glare pressing on him. Normally, he would have had no problem hitting on another man's woman, but for some reason, all of a sudden, he felt extremely sheepish and uncomfortable. The confidence that came with his professorial role had disappeared and all he could think of was Victor's comment about killing people. "Um, so, you must be his normal dancing partner," he said, casting a quick glance to Victor.

Her smile shifted slightly as she glanced at Victor, and her face lit up in a way that told Teo for her, at least, there was no one else but his former dancing partner. "Yes," she confirmed. "We've been dancing together for several hours a night for the last year now."

"Right, um, well, you can have him back," Thyago said, slowly backing away, "I, uh, I was just helping, um, teaching him a few new tricks."

"You don't have to go," she offered. "You can stay if you like; maybe even offer a few more pointers?" She laid a hand on Victor's arm. "We'd like that, wouldn't we, Victor?"

Victor considered that for a moment. Did he like that idea? His dancing with Angelienia was a private thing, but Teo was a better dancer... "Yes," he agreed. "I'd like that. You're a better teacher than the programs."

"Uh, okay," he obeyed, stopping midstep. "You can, uh, show her the new moves. I guess."

"All right, Victor nodded. He glanced at Angelienia, took her hand, and they moved out onto the dance floor, awaiting the start of the next piece to begin to dance. The music started, the couple stepped out on the floor... and Victor seemed to change.

The stiffness and awkwardness that he'd had in the early minutes of dancing with Teo, and that even by the end he had never completely eliminated, seemed to melt away with the first steps the couple took. His formerly fixed expression softened as he looked down at the woman in his arms, and something that might have been the ghost of a smile slipped onto his face intermittently. They started slowly, moving together with the familiarity that only people who had, indeed, danced as much together as they'd said they had possessed, each one knowing instinctively where the other was at all times. As the dance went on, moves that Teo had shown Victor started to appear, not perfectly, but with a smooth assurance that hadn't been demonstrated when the two men were dancing earlier.

Victor's performance had certainly improved, amazingly so, but his technique still left a little to be desired. Angelienia was better - her body was a little looser, her movements a bit more fluidic. The frames she was hitting were cleaner; his had that incompleteness associated with a beginner, but he was showing more confidence and that helped considerably. All he needed was more practice, and if they were dancing every night, he'd improve quickly. As Thyago watched, the anxiety that had crept in and made him so uncomfortable moments ago seemed to drain away. Soon, he wasn't even sure why had been afraid to begin with. And as he watched Victor nearly knock his partner to the ground as he tried to kick her feet apart, he chided himself. What could possibly be so scary about a bad dancer?

"Thrash & Clash"

Nara & Bran

*****Quarters*****

Up on coming home Branwen tried to slip into her room before her roommates could see her. She was pretty sure Saia was in school, but she was not so sure about Nara.

In this day and age there was a much easier, convenient way to dispose of most anything. One no longer HAD to collapse boxes. Why some of the boxes they used were of cardboard was likely a point of antiguity. But cardboard cost less credits even in this day and age. So, while it wasn't necessary for Naranda to beat the hell of the box, she found it therapuetic. "YAH!"

And feet landed on the box, bowing it into it's new crushed form. "Last box, you shall die in a manner..." She stopped, looking at Bran. One could say Naranda Roswell spent a little too much time with 8-Ball Hunter. Problem was, Nara couldn't blame 8-Ball's influence for she hadn't seen the insane Vulcan for several months.

Likely a better theory could be we all have a little 8-Ball in us. We all break down when over-stressed. We all feel the need to beat the hell out of obsolete cardboard boxes.

Branwen to one look at Nara, shook her head and then tried to slip past without her roommates and friend noticing.

Nara took a deep breath and walked toward Bran, "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing really." She tried to smile. "I was just on my way to work on my room."

"Why are you wearing that?" Nara nodded toward Bran's cloak.

"Fashion statement?" Branwen tried to make a joke of it.

She narrowed her brows, "Don't make me read your mind." Nara was kidding of course.

"I don't seem to you can do that. I was in the chapel all right?"

Nara furrowed her brow, "I suppose it shouldn't seem uncommon...but why the cloak?"

"Do you really have to know everything about me?" Bran looked at her.

Nara raised an eyebrow and looked at her a moment. "Forgive me for caring." Nara went back over to the box and started to push it back into her room for further destruction at a later time when she was alone again. Maybe we never grow out of preferring to play with cardboard boxes.

"All right, you know that your way of getting information out of people is really very annoying." Branwen growled. "I was at the chapel doing penance."

Nara turned and smirked, "Wasn't aware I was trying." Nara looked down a moment, thinking. "Penance? Why?"

"Because I did or was made to do something that is against my faith."

Nara furrowed her brow, "Uh...you killed someone? You're in the Marines. You didn't expect that?"

"No, not that. I had sex."

Nara gulped and tried not to laugh, "You need penance for that?"

"With a woman." Branwen added tersely.

Nara raised an eyebrow and looked at Bran a moment before replying, "Ok. Well, I admit that surprises me, but...still. I kissed 8-Ball. Wasn't turned on by it so much, but..." She shrugged. "Guess I'm just not too concerned with...that."

"I happen to have a problem with it. It's against my religion and I am not like that."

"Oh." Wasn't much arguing with that. "If you're not like that, then...did you get drunk?"

"I got hypnotised."

Nara sat down, "Ok. So how is it yours to get penance for?"

"Because... I guess...I should have known... I should have... in any case I sinned." Bran didn't notice she was still dripping some blood on the floor.

Nara opened her mouth but her eyes saw the red dripping. "What the hell kind of penance..." Without consent Nara moved to remove Bran's cloak.

"Flagelating myself. Only the chaplain stopped me, and he forgot to give me another punishment."

"No. The chaplain has more mercy than whatever diety you think you have to take pennance for." Nara moved to look at her shoulders. "I'm taking you to sickbay."

"No it is fine. I will put some disinfectant on it. It's nothing, Nara." She said.

Nara looked at her worried, "I don't like this."

"I have had much worse.. If it weren't for you and Saia I would leave it completely untreated."

Nara frowned, "What religion is this?"

"My family's. It is pretty strict. I ... I don't follow it anymore most of the time except when I feel very uncertain about stuff." Bran said softly.

"My understanding is religion is supposed to be a personal thing. Maybe you should let it go if you can think of no better answer than it requires pain for sin."

"Maybe you should not try to criticize my religion."Branwen snapped.

Nara frowned, "Fine, but if I were to choose any, I'd go for the one where someone else was crucified so I wouldn't have to punish myself."

"Very convenient, making somebody else responsible for what you do. How typical!"

Nara rolled her eyes, "It just doesn't make sense to me to hurt yourself. I'm sorry. I'll drop it now."

"No I am sorry. I guessed Miramon was right when he said that I snap at you. Sorry."

Nara shrugged, "How would he know how you treat me. Being snapped at is the least of worries, really."

"But I shouldn't do it, you are my friend. And I really appreciate you." The Marines smiled now.

Nara gave a smile back, "I can't stop you from hurting yourself. Just be sure not too bad ok?"

"I will try. Will you help me with bandages?"

She nodded and stood, "Of course." She realized that even after all this time being room mates, she had no idea Bran had such a religion.

"Fragmented" Part One

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief of Engineering

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

***Location: Crew Quarters, Deck 8, USS Galaxy***

Sleep wouldn't be coming to her tonight. She knew this, yet still she lay there. Feeling the weight burden on her chest, heavy as it was, there was no excuse for what she had done. And she knew it now, knew for sure that it was her own hands that took the life of the innocent.

That face still swirled above her, danced on the insides of her eyelids, accompanied her wherever it was she chose to go.

And still Dhanishta couldn't think of a reason why. She just knew that she had.

The mask was holding though. It took a lot of effort. But it was there.

She had made a promise to Ella, one she intended above all to keep. And no matter how much she proclaimed that her personal life, her baggage didn't affect her work, she knew it was a lie.

Her mental health did affect her work, it always would. The fact that she was laying here plagued by insomnia *again* would effect how efficient and thorough she would be tomorrow. The fact that she still hadn't put weight on since coming out of the coma would affect her stamina during a crisis. She was risking more innocent lives by denying this.

Dhanishta sat up in the dark, the bed sheets sliding off her bony shoulders into her lap. For a moment or two she debated her decision.

She would debate it all the way to his door…

Despite the fact that it was, realistically, always dark outside, Miramon somehow always felt better at night. Maybe it was because it was usually quieter aboard ship - the night shift were just going about their duties, while everybody else enjoyed dinner, got some sleep or spent their time in the company of their friends and family. And so it was about the only time he really got any peace and quiet, in comparison to during the day.

Of course, he should have known better. The fact that he didn't have any appointments scheduled at night was just one way of saying "my time is your time. Drop in whenever you feel like it".

The sound of the chime at the door surprised him, though. It was the middle of the night. What on Bajor could anybody possibly want right now? He'd just been playing with his little cat, giving her a little attention since he'd spent most of the day in the office. He gave a soft sigh and picked up the cat, holding her steady as he headed over to the doors, his footsteps soft on the carpet. One hand briefly moved from stroking the cat as he moved over to the small control panel that would unlock the door and cause it to open.

As it did so, he looked to see who it was that had decided to disturb him at the late hour. To his surprise, the woman standing before him was only clad in what looked like a silk dressing gown, hastily thrown on, from what he could tell. She had dark hair and the spots running down the side of her head which indicated that she was a Trill. He wasn't familiar with her, but he could count on one hand the number of Trill aboard ship, so he at least had some idea of who she was - not that he could bring her name to mind.

"A little late to be out and about, don't you think?" he said in a slightly amused voice. "Something I can do for you?"

She was anxious, her body language reflected that as one arm encircled her waist, supporting the other that was held up to her mouth, where she rapidly rapped her nails against her teeth. She looked up into his face and half smiled, shrugging her shoulders slightly. For a moment she didn't know what to say, she just knew that she had to talk. But now she was here, she was lost for words.

Seconds seemed like hours as she stood there wondering how to phrase what she wanted to say. Her facial expressions changed quicker than the wind as she searched her mind trying to put her thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"I'm sorry to bother you at home." she began her voice hoarse, "I just didn't want to go to the counselling offices this late, I don't want this to be on my record." she explained.

Miramon gave an amused smile and stepped back slightly, motioning with his free hand that she should step into the room.

"Not a bother at all. Come on in and we can talk about what's bothering you."

He turned around and kneeled down, letting go of the cat, watching as the small ginger feline dropped out of his arms and scurried across the floor, not so much as making a single sound of complaint, allowing him to turn back to his visitor unimpeded by the additional weight of the cat. He brushed some loose fur off his chest, smiling as he did so. Within a moment, he gave the woman a slightly chargrin expression.

"Cats. Soothing but an incredible hindrance when it comes to keeping your clothing free of lint and what have you." He motioned to the large sofa over by the windows, sitting down in a chair oriented just next to it. "So, what can I do for you?"

Dhanishta felt so awkward, she smiled again; that fake smile that she had almost perfected and walked into the room. It wasn't until he sat down that she realized she was wearing nothing except the gown; modestly kicked in and she pulled the gown tighter around her, tying it with the cord; almost to the point of cutting herself in two!

Again she smiled, trying to hide how foolish she felt, how uncomfortable this was. It was bad enough when you were forced to go and see a counselor, she didn't realize it was harder to go to them off your own back.

Refusing to sit, Dhanishta stood, her eyes dancing about the room like a firefly. After a moment she closed them, "I don't talk." she stated suddenly, "What I mean by that is," she paused trying to work out just what she meant. What had she come to say? Could he help her? Was there any point to all this? Was she just making a rod for her own back?

"I don't like to talk about myself. I find it hard to … emotions, I …" she sighed and opened her eyes slowly to look at him. What must he think of her?

"I understand completely. I'm better at listening than talking, myself. But, in my job, we learn to compromise a little, so you talk, then I talk, then you talk again, until we come to some kind of closure or a point you're comfortable with."

He noticed how ill at ease she seemed, and he wasn't entirely sure it was simply because of the reality of her current circumstances. Surely there had to be some way he could make her feel more comfortable. If not, well, they weren't going to get very far and she'd leave without any feelings of closure, while he'd just feel confused. Neither were particularly positive. He stood up again abruptly, heading over to the replicator.

"Please, do sit down. Just relax and make yourself at home if that's what you want. Can I offer you some tea? If you're having trouble sleeping, I have just the thing."

Dhanishta shook her head to both questions as she forced down a rising lump in her throat. "I don't want to relax." she replied, "I don't deserve to." she added quietly.

Her brow furrowed as she once more tried to put her words into a sentence that wouldn't having him calling out for security.

She waited for him to get his drink until she spoke again. Slowly she began to pace, in a circle, both arms wrapped tightly around her slight frame. "I don't know how to begin." she confessed, her eyes never leaving the floor.

"I know that I should have gone to Dallas, she is my assigned counselor after all. But I just didn't want to. I didn't want to see her face. She always has this tranquil look, always a friendly expression that makes me feel even worse."

"I went to find Brian, I have seen him before. He came to me once…. But he wasn't in. He's not on the ship." she shrugged, "So I came here. Part of me thinks it's stupid, you don't know me, or the things that I have been through. But then in the same breath you won't ask me if I think its better to be alive now, rather than dead. And maybe, just maybe you might just cut to the chase. Maybe I might open up to you." she looked up at him now, "It's insane, a six foot ugly ass marine can see right through me, but a counselor," she shook her head, "none of you have ever…" she trailed off, her eyes lowered from his face, leveling on his torso and for a moment she stood still.

His cup of hot tea having been duly produced by the replicator, Miramon headed back towards the centre of the room, standing near the sofa but not actually sitting down, since doing so would really be rather impolite and, as it was, she didn't sound like the type of person he wanted to offend right now. He took a sip of the hot fruit tea, enjoying the sweet flavours as they burst there on his tongue. And the temperature was perfect, too, so he was quite happy.

He had to admit to being amused by this description of Commander Dallas. If she was the type of person to be tranquil and constantly happy, Miramon was downright passive in nature. He was happy to stare just about anything in the face with his gentle little smile of amusement, which included everything from Borg to an angry Klingon. So perhaps this one wouldn't be quite so happy with him, either, but she was stuck with him for a moment.

"Alright, so I know you don't like Counsellors. If it's any consolation, when I was a pilot, you'd have to physically drag me to sickbay for a physical exam, or a counsellor would have to chase me across the entirety of the ship if they wanted a conversation. So, yes, I know how you feel. So, we shall cut to the chase directly. What is the problem?"

She was slightly taken aback at his directness, even though she had asked for it. Blinking a few times in quick succession as her jaw momentarily dropped; wordless, she closed her mouth and frowned once more.

"I killed someone." she said finally, slowly, as if trying to access the information from deep within her; which in fact she was. "A lot of someone's." she added as an after thought her head tilted to one side as she stared out across the room into the nothingness that occupied a darkened corner of his quarters. Her voice leveled, her words coming out as detached as her gaze was.

Commander Jack Dawson
Chief Engineer

Ensign Pharos
Engineering Officer

Ensign T'Jaden Tagra
Engineering Officer

Ensign Shaav
Engineering Officer/Warp Core Specialist

Lieutenant Junior Grade Jenna De'Dro
Engineering Officer/Xeno-technology Specialist

Lt. Jg. Thyago Carneiro
Assistant Chief Engineer

Cadet Ezri Daniels
Engineering Midshipman

"Who Spiked the Punch, Part 2"

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

Tyago/Shaav

"Well, Cesar, it looks like its me and you again," Thyago said, playfully punching the Vulcan in the chest.

Shaav raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." He gestured silently for Thyago to follow him out of engineering, and together they set off for the exit.

"What do you think is wrong?" he asked as they walked.

"Unknown." the Vulcan said. "The most probable explanation would be that one of the relays overloaded, and the others couldn't balance electroplasma load in time and followed suit. But if that were the case, ALL the phaser relays would have shorted."

He paused for a moment, letting a crewman pass them by, before stepping out in to the corridor and heading towards the turbolift.

"Logic would suggest," Shaav continued, "That the problem lies elsewhere, though where specifically I could not say."

"Meh. Its probably something stupid, like some defective part. It'll take thirty seconds to replace and then everything will be all better. That's usually the case with malfunctions like this," Thyago said. "One of the fusion lamps in orbit around Saturn wouldn't start up once. It was down for almost a week. You know what the problem was? A magnetic reader hadn't been calibrated, one of over eight hundred, and it was reading the field as too large, preventing adequate containment from being established. A week to find, ten seconds to fix."

Shaav frowned. "Other than life-support and antimatter containment, the tactical systems have the highest level of redundancies of any shipboard system. It would take a VERY spectacularly-placed 'stupid' error to reduce phaser capacity to such a degree."

"Well, half the redundancies in this system are simply meant to prevent a catastrophic failure. Not turning on would prevent that. They could be working exactly as designed. Besides, only six of the twelve relays are down, so clearly that redundancy plan is working. I still think its a defective part. Its always a defective part."

They stopped in front of the 'lift, and Shaav broke off. The doors slid open with a whoosh, expelling a harried-looking ensign clutching a PADD to his chest. "Coming through, excuse me sirs," he mumbled, shoving the engineers aside. Thyago pulled a face at the ensign's retreating form, but Shaav just raised an eyebrow. "Main phaser control." he said crisply, and the lift sailed smoothly upwards.

They arrived at the saucer's ventral array primary control room, well away from the ensign's last known location. Search parties would get in the way of repairs, so Thyago and Shaav started on the end of the ensigns to-do list and were going to work backwards. "So, what did they think the problem was, again?"

"A level two diagnostic was still running when we left, but the level three diagnostic that completed before it gave inconclusive data pertaining to localized power loss of some kind."

Thyago thought about Shaav's diagnostic for a moment. "Well, if there's a power problem, we should start at the source, yeah?" he said, motioning towards the Jeffries tube leading to the phaser's primary EPS feed. This was one of the larger Jeffries tubes on the ships; they only had to crouch, rather than crawl. It led to the array's primary flow regulator, a device that tapped in to a major EPS conduit and controlled the amount of high energy plasma fed to the emitters.

"They usually have these larger access tubes because they don't go very far," Thyago said after about thirty meters of winding Jeffries tube. "You've memorized the schematics, right? Where exactly did they put this, Ce?"

"Not all Vulcans have a photographic memory," Shaav remarked, "Do you expect me to know the entire ship's layout in detail?"

Thyago waited.

"This vessel has 4 million square meters of deck space."

He continued waiting, remaining silent, but for a single light cough.

"Six meters ahead." the Vulcan conceded finally. "Then turn right; there will be a service ladder leading up to a hatch; that's the flow regulator room."

The Brazilian smiled, "I love you Vulcans. You're so useful."

As they rounded the corner, Thyago jumped up onto the ladder and climbed the few rungs until he could reach the roof hatch. Shaav waited patiently beneath him. The hatch was closed, as per regulations, so Thyago reached over to type the open sequence for this section. He typed the generic code, but it didn't work. Each access hatch or door on the ship was supposed to have its own little code, meant to prevent tampering by undesignated personnel or invaders.

Service engineers were meant to carry manuals containing all the codes relevant to their tasks so they could move around the ship freely, but this was a pain, and engineers were by and large a lazy bunch and unconcerned with ships security. Most of the codes had been changed to one of a small handful of generic codes, like 12345 or ABCDE. This one had not, and Thyago didn't bring a schematic manual with him. But, he had something better.

"Hey, whats the access code for this hatch?"

"Lieutenant..."

"Cesar," Thyago nagged playfully.

Shaav sighed. "Zero alpha zero two omega."

"Thanks," he smiled, then input the code Shaav had given him. The control light turned green and the automatic door opened as casually as ever, releasing a violent burst of hot air. The minor explosion knocked the Brazilian from the ladder, ripping the rungs from his hands and sending him crashing back down onto the Vulcan below. A roar filled the air, coming from a narrow jet of bright orange plasma that forced the engineers to cover their eyes.

=/\Shaav to engineering!=/\= Shaav shouted, =/\=Engineering, respond!=/\=

=/\=Engineering here, what-=/\=

=/\=Cut power to the ventral phasers! There is an active plasma leak!=/\=

There was no verbal response, but the roar of venting plasma fell to a soft hiss, before cutting off completely.

"Po, porra, you're not nearly as soft as you look," Thyago cursed at Shaav as he sat up. Then, his hand moved to his face, his fingers running along the hair above his eye, "I think I singed the tips of my eyebrows."

The Vulcan squinted curiously at his human counterpart. "You are fine." he declared finally.

"Well, if its all the same, I'll let you brave the plasma oven," Thyago said, still smoothing out his eyebrows.

Shaav's eyes widened incredulously. "It must be over a thousand Kelvin in there! Even with emergency environmental controls set to maximum, it'll be at least a few minutes before I can enter without bursting in to flame."

"So, wait for it to cool. Be sure its a safe temperature for humans, too," Thyago said, standing, "I know you Vulcans love your heat."

Shaav nodded, pulling out his tricorder. "Monitoring..."

"So, I think we found our problem," Thyago remarked, sarcastically stating the obvious, as he joined Shaav in the flow regulator room. "What do you think? A hiccup in the magnetic containment back when we fought the Borg? Plasma could have slowly leaked through an EM gap a few nanometers wide and burrowed through the casing until it blew open this hole."

"That would be the most logical explanation."

"Shall we replace this section of pipe, or shall we simply try and seal the leak?"

"This section of conduit was replaced just before we were lost in the Delta quadrant; it'd be most wasteful to replace a brand-new length of conduit with another when the only flaw was with a maladjusted containment regulator." Shaav mused. "It'd be most economical for us to re-seal the containment field, and just gamma-weld the physical gap in the conduit shut."

He glanced at his tricorder, then pulled open a conduit access and glanced inside for confirmation. "The inner chaseum seal/lining will have to be replaced at the leak location as well."

"I saw a supply closet back in the Jeffries tube," Thyago said, "It should probably have a few EPS seals in it." He turned and began to make his way back to the access ladder, but as he set his foot down against the solid metal floor, friction disappeared and his leg went flying out from beneath him. Caught off guard, his body fell backwards and his head clanged against the deck, like a mallet to a bell.

"Caralho, filho da puta!" he cursed, sitting up slowly and gently rubbing the back of his skull.

"Are you all right?" Shaav said from above.

"No, voce burro," Thyago shouted, then he looked down. He had slipped in a small puddle of thick, clear-white fluid, and as he reached down to touch it, it stuck to his fingers, forming long strings of goo. "Aww," he moaned, disgusted, "Alguem fodiam aqui! I think I slipped in someone's cu--"

"Tetralubisol?" Shaav supplied helpfully, cutting Thyago off before he uttered anymore profanity.

"What? How do you know?" Thyago spat. Shaav only gave him a tired look and rolled his eyes before kneeling down to examine the substance himself. "So, some one spilled some lubricant?"

Shaav dipped a finger in to the fluid and sniffed it curiously. "There's something wrong...," he began, "Lubricant-grade tetralubisol is odorless. This has a faint apple-like smell to it." Shaav said. He turned to the nearby console and pulled an entry up from the database. "Tetralubisol with an added smell of apple for safety purposes is tetralubisol-2, variant delta." Shaav read aloud. "It's used exclusively in EPS thermostats, and other than the quantities in said thermostats, starships do not carry additional supplies of it."

"Hah, its a good thing I slipped. A faulty thermostat wouldn't have ever closed the iris cutoff and would have caused an overload and blown out all the phasers," Thyago said. "Well, it might have been better if you slipped. Okay, we have a plasma leak and a thermostat leak."

"Impossible." Shaav said flatly. "Thermostats for emergency EPS flow regulators are entirely self-contained and extremely durable; the only unintended circumstance in which one would be ruptured would be if there were a core breach."

"Well, yeah, 'cause the whole ship would be kablammo--- wait, what do you mean by unintended?" the Brazilian asked. "Are you suggesting somebody deliberately drained the thermostats?"

Shaav nodded. "And possibly generated the plasma leak, as well. That way, they could drain the tetralubisol without causing an immediate overload. As you suggested, had you have been more graceful, we would have never noticed the problem."

"We would have simply fixed the leak, turned the plasma flow back on and then blow out all our weapons, plus a few surrounding sections," Thyago finished. "But, that means--"

"There's a saboteur on board."

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

Jenna/Pharos

With a nod at his partner, Pharos padded over to the nearest workstation, and ran webbed fingers over the controls as he started accessing the internal sensor logs. The computer cooperated readily enough and they found the record of Tattaglia's departure from Engineering, and proceeded to track his progress as he moved through the ship. "Okay....last readings are right around...here," the Aquan indicated the area on the displayed deck plan. "Shielded of course." He looked over his shoulder at Jenna. "Shall we pick up a medical tricorder from sickbay and head on down for a look-see?"

"Hmm?" Jenna had been staring at the theorized location of the Ensign... she herself had been in that area a few times over her stay on the Miranda. Certainly made one wonder exactly what it was that the Ensign had done to deserve such treatment... and why the same punishment couldn't be visited upon one's self. "Oh, a medical tricorder. Yeah that would be a good idea... if there's an available medical officer we might want to bring them along too."

"I think the Commander wants to keep this somewhat lower profile until we know what happened. But if medical personnel are needed, I'm sure they wouldn't object too loudly if we beamed them out of sickbay." The Aquan rode the turbolift with his companion up to sickbay where they requisitioned a medical tricorder with a vague sort of excuse as to why they needed it, and then proceeded on to the area where the officer had last been seen. Unsurprisingly, it was empty when they arrived, and Pharos flipped open the tricorder and poked at the buttons for a few moments with a slight frown. "I don't suppose you would have any medical training would you? Unless we're scanning for fish, I'm not very good with this thing."

Jenna chuckled. "Just what I learned in basic." Taking the tricorder, she began a litany of basic, simple scans. "I think I found trace amounts of blood... it's leading in that direction." She jetted her chin out in front of them. Something told her that they weren't very likely to find a body anymore.

"Blood?" Pharos leaned around to look at the tricorder screen. "Well that can't be good, but maybe it's fairly innocent. Cut his finger on a fiber splice or something similar." Goodness knows, he'd done that more than once himself. He tapped in the access code for the door leading to the next section, and motioned her to follow.

The Stagnorian kept pace, staying as close to him as possible. If danger was still about, it would be less likely to befall them both if they were in close proximity. "I hope you're right, but it seems to be too much to be such a small injury."

"Let us hope you're incorrect," Pharos replied, pulling his own tricorder as they progressed, and scanning for anything that might not be covered by the medical tricorder, but coming up with nothing that didn't belong in the section. They passed through another pair of hatches and into a narrow service way before they reached a four-way junction, and the irregular blood trail finally vanished to nothing. The Aquan poked at his tricorder and scanned in each direction, but could find no indication of where to go next. "Damn."

Jenna licked her lips as the tricorder in her hand beeped in a slow, but steadily quickening and frequent rate as they approached a specific area. She tried not gasping too much at the thought of what might have happened. "There's a large amount of bio-matter in that reclamation chute... not all of it was dematerialized it seems."

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

T'Jaden

As soon as the meeting was called to an end, TJ went to work. First thing he set out to do was to utilize the Master Display Console and the table console just in front of it. He called up the section that was Tattagila's last known location and set up a search pattern originating outward from there. He also set up the sensors to locate any abnormal energy readings that wouldn't cause an alarm, but may endanger, or take, life. Secondly, he programmed other sensors to check for the proposed Sub-space, interphasic and chronotron signatures. It would take some time, but it would be worth it for a fellow crewmember. He silently hoped that one would be as persistent as he is being if he ever disappeared. When the computer beeped at its readiness to start, TJ hit a few buttons and the sensors went to work. The internal sensors began with the initial findings, and as expected, nothing. The secondary sensor scan would be more detailed and time consuming, about five to ten minutes. The repair and search parties would be in place by then. T'Jaden set up the computer to transmit vital sensor data to their tricorders, so they wouldn't walk into a 'danger zone', if one appeared. --- TJ noticed that the Chief and Cadet Daniels where entering the area and so far nothing noticeable had been found. That's when a sensor ghost appeared. "Great," he muttered to himself. This wasn't surprising, given the area that was under investigation, but the 'ghost' wasn't in a shielded area. That raised red flags, especially when he wasn't getting anything related to the specialty scans he set up. =/\= Ensign Tagra to Commander Dawson. =/\= --- =/\= Sir, I'm getting a sensor ghost two intersections ahead of your current location and twenty meters to the right. Commander, I'm not getting any reflective scans and nothing is registering on visual, infrared or ultraviolet. It's like nothing is there and the area is not shielded, so this shouldn't be happening. However, the area directly surrounding the 'ghost' has slightly elevated levels of chronotrons. I'd like to hit the area with an Anyon Sweep, but I don't trust the sensors. If you and Cadet Daniels could get within ten meters of this, then I can upload your tricorder readings. To be frank, sir, I trust the tricorders and your eyes more on this at the moment than the sensors. =/\= --- TJ never meant to yell at Shaav, but the Vulcan's sudden scream for help was a bit unexpected. He cut the power without responding, knowing they'd see it momentarily.

He noticed that Dawson and Daniels where entering the area near the 'ghost'. Suddenly their commsignals disappeared, as did their readings on the sensor board. "Not good. Not good!" he yelled.

=/\= Tagra to Dawson! =/\= Nothing. =/\= Tagra to Cadet Daniels! =/\= Same result.

"Shit!" T'Jaden said as his hands flew over the console. He started the Anyon Sweep and kept a close eye on the 'ghost'. He then activated the intercom in the area surrounding Dawson's and Daniels' last location, "Commander Dawson and Cadet Daniels, if you can hear me, I've lost your signals and biosigns. I'm sweeping the area with anyons, but so far no affect. Be ready for an anti-proton scan. I have a strong feeling there might be a type of cloaking device very near you. Sir, if you can hear me, please respond." Now all he can do is wait.

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

Dawson/Ezri

As they broke meeting, Dawson knew that as a senior staff member of this ship, he was required to do his best to hide the inner doubt that was creeping in to him. He doubted they would find the Italian Ensign alive. Turning to the young, female cadet to his right, he decided it was time to put aside doubt for the time being and focus. "Ready, Cadet?" he asked. "I think we'll start with the surrounding areas of the first place that Tattaglia went. It is a shielded area so he may have crawled into an access tube that we just can't detect him in," Jack said as he indicated they should leave engineering and head down the corridor. "So how has your training duty aboard the Miranda been going for you," he asked Ezri.

Ezzie paused for a moment and thought about her answer. "Not too bad sir. In the few weeks I've been aboard I've only been lost beyond help twice. Everything's been awesome, and my brother has apparently been too busy making war plans to stop by and say hi." She shrugged. "Such is life, though, I guess." She really didn't expect much else out of Chris, except now he wasn't millions of miles away, just around the corner.

Moving his scanner in a sweeping motion, Jack proceeded slowly through the service corridor. "Family can be that way sometimes. One of life's little ironies is that despite all the choices we have, what we want to be, what we wear each day, who we marry, how we react, we don't get to choose our family. We can only hope that when we have families of their own, our children have a better experience than we did. Wouldn't you agree?" he asked her.

The statement caught Ezzie by surprise as she was doing her own scans for the missing ensign. "Um, yes sir...I guess. Sorry, I don't really think much about the future.." ~or a family for that matter~ she didn't add.

Jack smiled. "That's ok, I didn't much myself when I was your age, not that I'm all that much older now, mind you," he said with a wink.

Her tricorder beeped. She looked down at it and then up against the wall. "Epidermal residue. Looks like he ran his hand against this bulkhead..."

Dawson was examining the same spot with his tricorder when Tagra's call interrupted the trance he had gone into. "Dawson here, go ahead, Ensign."

---

"I agree. Sensors can always be a sketchy thing. We'll be there momentarily. Good work, T'Jaden," he complimented the engineer, "Dawson out."

Looking at Ezri, he indicated towards the section T'Jaden had wanted them to go. "After you, Cadet."

Ezzie looked back at Dawson. ~Chris used to use a phrase...what was it? Oh, right...Meat Shield~ A tinge of apprehension came over her and she shook it off, walking cautiously towards the compartment.

She cocked her head to one side as she read her tricorder. "Not much of a ghost sir...just lots of erratic readings and static."

Dawson looked down at his own tricorder frustrated. "I'm getting much of the same," he said as he hit the side of his tricorder a few times.

The got within the zone. Something beeped on Ezzie's tricorder and she looked down to a corner.

"Commander!" It was a pair of boots lying on a pair of static legs.

"Round Table" - Part I

Captain Christopher Summers, USS Miranda (Pat)
Captain Darren M'Kantu, USS Galaxy (Robert)
Captain Juan Carlos Holmes, USS Icarus (Juan)
Captain Tara Reynolds, USS Concorde (Pat)
Captain Rianastarra'cessk, USS Arizona (Kate)
Captain Rebecca Weber, USS Texas (Becky)
Captain Margarethe Vogler, USS Exeter (Brian)
Captain Kent Logan, USS London (Rich)
Captain T'Riele, USS Sao Paolo (Dave)
Captain Amelse Brodey, USS Thunderbird (Matt M)
Captain J.P. Albrecht, USS Thunderchild (Dallas)
Captain Raymond Tango, USS Akira (Joe)
Captain Robert DeSoto, USS Hood (Canon NPC)
Captain Tenchi Masaki, USS Mukaikubo (NPC)
Captain Kailea Wrendo, USS Olympic (Ian)
Commander Na'sav Lorem, USS Valiant (Chris)

w/Admiral Donatra, CO, Rihannsu Homeworld Defense

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

Captain Tara Reynolds of the Federation Starcarrier Concorde ran her hand over the polished glass of the holographic meeting table.

She was, it seemed, the first to arrive for this holographic briefing. Though Starfleet had instituted used of the holodecks to hold meetings across various ships without all the tiresome shuffling about, the marriage of holotechnology and subspace communications took quite a bit of getting used to.

It was a round table - a diplomatic move on someone's part. Save for Commander Lorem, all of the captains in this task force were of equal rank, though Captains Summers and M'Kantu held joint command of the mission.

It looked like a standard Starfleet Briefing Room, however, complete with windows. She wondered where the vantage point was supposed to be from, however, as all the ships of the task force were visible outside the viewports. Strange to see her Concorde through the window, when Tara knew she stood upon her decks.

And over there, the Galaxy. Where Corran still served, where he'd served ever since their breakup - four years ago, now? It was hard not to be wistful, even though the relationship's end had been a natural thing.

She jumped in surprise when a voice spoke beside her. "Long time no see, Sureshot."

Tara turned to see that Juan Holmes stood behind her... sort of. Of course, from his vantage point on an Icarus holodeck, she was the one who wasn't really there. Either way, that damn fake eye was still maddening.

He chuckled at her obvious consternation. He hadn't gotten used to the idea of talking to real people who weren't even there, either. "You like our little setup here? It took forever to program this damn thing and still encrypt the subspace links."

Reynolds smiled faintly. "Concorde's had hers set up for awhile. We usually travel with a Carrier Group these days, so I'm used to this sort if thing. It's just... disorienting." She turned her head slightly as another Captain faded in, similar to the way the emergency medical holograms materialized when summoned.

Standing in his Ready Room on the London, Kent stared at the Holocommunicator in front of him. Communications technology had come a long way in 10 years. Holographic Comms were experimental before he ended up in the DQ. And now, here they were, 16 Captains about to meet, face to holographic face, around a table. Holographic of course.

'Bloody Holographists' Logan mused. They always wanted to take it a step further.

He took a few deep breaths, before activating the system, and stepping into it. Suddenly, there he was, with two other Starfleet Captains, around the table. Through one of the windows, he could see the London. Kent imagined that if he stared hard enough through the window, and towards where his Ready Room was, he could probably see himself still stood there. His eyesight though, wasn't what it used to be.

Kent took an out of the way seat, and waited for the sky to fall...

Seconds later, the USS Thunderchild's holographic communication system kicked in, and deposited their representative. The Thunderchild was an Akira class vessel, an actual warship in a fleet of doves save for a few and with it came the perks of a tactical holographic bridge communications system. The Akira's captain was lounged in his captain's chair, a thin, silent man in his Terran 60's that such weathered skin as to appear skeletal. He was bald save for a graying stripe that wrapped around his head from ear to ear. His build was lean but deceptive; he was well known for his ability to fight, but his most intimidating feature aside from his grim personality and desiccated face was the intensity of his eyes. Two gray slate orbs pierced anyone that tried to look at him. He appraised and dismissed himself with little effort on each arrival.

"Captain J.P. Albrecht.... reporting in," he said, his voice just as cold and stonelike as the rest of him. He saw some familiar faces. Obviously there would be combat veterans. He himself led the Thunderchild through the worse of an entire decade and a half's worth of interstellar exploration and conflict, and most were never discussed. If there was one captain he looked forward to meeting, it was the captain of the USS Galaxy. One of Albrecht's alumni from The Dominion War was serving on his ship, and he wanted to know what happened to the young man. Whatever it was, Captain Albrecht heard it was high ranking. He would find out soon enough.

Shortly afterwards, a fifth image shimmered into view on the deck, appearing alongside Captain Albrecht. Clasping her hands behind her back, Kailea Wrendo surveyed the assembled CO's around her. She'd met most of veterans in passing, seeing as she was the lead medical frigate that had spent more time on the Dominion frontlines than most of the assembled task force combined.

The older Betelgeusean female, standing at just about seven feet tall, towered over those around her in reality, but thanks to electronic wizardry, her form had been reduced to a more tenable height to facilitate her size in the soon-to-be compressed conference room.

"Greetings. Captain Kailea Wrendo, USS Olympic." She bowed her head slightly in courtesy.

The problem with a Defiant class ship, as much as Na'sav loved the class, and the Vigilant in particular, was that there were no ready holographic interfaces. In 'theory' one was installed in his Ready Room... in Practice there were more important considerations. Holographic interfaces consumed 'immense' amounts of energy when compared to other systems, meaning another sufficiently large capacity power conduit would have needed to be routed through the deck to his Ready Room. Didn't seem like much to most others, but Na'sav knew that would complicate damage control a good deal on a ship that was already notoriously difficult to control damage on.

Jalos had other ideas however, the Bolian engineer proposing that a series of holographic generators be set up in the mess hall, which already had the requisite high-capacity taps.

So now here he stood, in a holographic recreation of a briefing room, and on a locked off Mess deck on the Vigilant. Two places at once... holographic communications technology sure was interesting. The Stagnorian gave a nod to the other Captains... well, rather to the Captains. He barely suppressed a chuckle behind his grin when he wondered exactly how they were going to differentiate among each other.

"Captains."

Maggie Vogler was still muttering curses as her form flickered into existence among those assembled so far. Anyone else would likely have been at least a little self-conscious at arriving at such a meeting with their first words being the kind that most didn't use outside some remote and fetid watering hole, but as anyone who knew her could attest, that wasn't true for the "Iron Frau". She often showed up to meetings talking this way.

When her stout five-foot-four frame finally stabilized, the salty veteran of numerous missions and battles simply turned toward the others and continued her rant.

"The one thing the goddamn tight-fisted techwads did see fit to give us was some upgraded technology just for this purpose," she groused, speaking of the fleet engineers who worked on the Exeter's systems while they were in drydock. "Too bad they didn't think to train any of my people how to deal with their screwups... I don't care if you have to stand there all day and hold the goddamn relays with your teeth, Chief!" she suddenly barked to an invisible crewman somewhere behind her left shoulder. "I need to be at this meeting. End of story." She then returned her focus to the meeting. "Well, I'm here," she grudgingly declared, as if the fact weren't far beyond self-evident. Then she added in a low mutter, "By the grace of God or some other supernatural intervention."

Another chair's occupant flickered into existence across the table from Maggie, and on the other side of Albrecht from Kailea. The tall and lean form of Daren M'Kantu rested a hand on the back of his chair and nodded to everyone, announcing himself for those that didn't know him. "Captain Daren M'Kantu from the USS Galaxy." A look around the table told him that only half the expected Captains were here, and that Chris Summers hadn't logged in yet.

"We won't be officially starting things until everyone's here," he continued, "so, please, talk among yourselves; we don't get many chances to meet like this without the really big brass underfoot."

Holmes chuckled, still standing beside the table. ~I should probably sit down. Most of the newbies are probably freaked out by my appearance as it is.~ Sliding into his chair, he raised an eyebrow at M'Kantu and spoke aside softly to him. "So, I know his rep, but you tell me, Darren. Is this Summers fellow all he's cracked up to be?"

"Chris is a good man, and a good captain," Daren confirmed. "I'd fight beside him any day."

"I will second that, Captain Holmes," a voice--its audio feed not quite resolved as the shape took form--spoke from behind Holmes and M'Kantu. The sturdy frame of Amelse Brodey towered over the two seated men, her rich Kenyan inflection adding emphasis. "He was my skipper on the Anchorage," she elaborated, taking a seat beside Holmes. "Besides Jean-Luc Picard, he's one of the most-decorated commanders in today's fleet."

A smirk graced the half-breed Icarus CO's features. "As I said, his rep I know; call me soft, though, but I still can't see Miranda without Elaithin Jii in the seat - no offense to Summers, of course."

Two more Captains materialized during the last of that - Tenchi Masaki, of the Galaxy-Class USS Mukaikubo, and Captain Robert DeSoto of the Excelsior-Class USS Hood - a legend in his own right.

"Speak for yourself, Juan," the Asian Captain said first. He'd served on the Miranda's predecessors under the current Chief of Starfleet, Victor Murdock. "I've got a hard time seeing anyone but the Old Man there."

"Fair enough." Holmes chuckled back, borrowing Elaithin's trademarked phrase.

Robert DeSoto was a quiet man, but also known as one of the top Captains in Starfleet. A man who, like Jean-Luc Picard and Christopher Summers, had repeatedly refused promotion to the Admiralty. "Don't you worry about Summers, son. He's one of the good ones."

Brodey smiled slightly, her large ivory teeth reflecting in the artificial light. Sidestepping Holmes' apparent amusement for the moment, she nodded to the Galaxy's Captain. "Good to see you again, Daren. Congratulations on getting Proctor off your back."

Given the way scuttlebutt moved through the fleet, especially among people that had served together, Daren supposed that having had it take this long to get the topic out in the open among a group of his peers was a miracle. "I don't know that congratulations are really in order," he offered. "But it's good to be back where I belong."

Amelse nodded in the affirmative at Daren's remark, while trying her best to restrain a sudden feeling of remorse. Daren had been her XO on the Yamaguchi, when it had been destroyed by the Borg at Wolf 359. In fact, it was because of his quick thinking that most of the bridge crew--including one lowly weapon's officer named Brodey--had survived. After June left him...well, she still wished that she could have been there for him. And, possibly, maybe more than "friends". He was a good, loyal man, who was still clinging to the ghosts of his past.

Talk about being the black sheep... the only person not a Captain, and probably the only person who didn't actually know anyone in the room before today, Na'sav was left wondering if he should even be here. Granted, he had a command, and therefore was 'technically' a Captain... and he had command experience even during the Dominion War, but hardly at the scale of the present company. They all were either Starship Bridge officers or Commanding Officers at the time... so it seemed... and he had a little out of the way 'boat' he called it, which was practically useless for anything but skirmishes (except, as often happened, when attacking en masse) and a crew that was smaller than the departments these people were familiar with. Yeah, he could just as easily have been told what to do rather then being forced to come here.

That said, he turned to the person next to him. "So Captain... is this how it goes 'all' the time?"

Holmes' blue eye swiveled at the three-pipper. "To be honest, we've been here near a week and we haven't been shot at yet. Count your blessings, Captain...?" Holmes' voice trailed off as it became clear that he had no idea who this person was. It was odd, considering that he personally had been the one that the original Roundtable had specifically chosen to recruit more than half the people in this room, and he had most of the service dossiers memorized from cover to cover... Summers included.

"Na'sav Lorem." He offered a hand to Holmes accompanied with a small smile. "And I was referring more to the meeting. I would be all too happy to be told it was a false alarm and we could head home."

Captain Kailea Wrendo's soft blue eyes scanned the room, taking notice of the massed fleet assembled outside the room's perimeter. Holmes' comments were troubling enough, and, the levity of what was coming didn't give her any more pause. Her image shimmered, and someone called for her attention outside the scope of the holographic transmission grid.

"Continue maintaining maximum warp, 'Commander. Time is of the essence. Divert power from non-essential systems if you have to, but keep this transmission stable and get us to the rallying point, whatever the cost." Her image degraded once again, but solidified back into existence a moment later.

"My apologies, Captains." Her sepia-tinted features had returned to face forward once again. "We're still six hours out from rendezvousing with your position, and we're pushing our systems to the limit. We'd just put in to port at Jupiter Station for upgrades and resupplies when we were ordered out shortly afterwards. Our systems are not the most reliable at the moment. an only hope amongst the fleet, there are a few warp coils and a spare injector. We'll need one after we arrive, I'm told."

"I'll speak to my engineer and see what we can spare, Kailea," Daren offered. "We had a large shipment of replacement parts brought out to refit Galaxy, and there should be enough left from that, and what everyone else can spare, to get you running up to speed."

"I should have something for you as well," Reynolds replied. "After all - last thing we need is our Hospital Ship being broke."

"Indeed." Wrendo said with a wry grin.

"HE PEED ON MY SEAT!!!" Captain Raymond Tango could suddenly be heard talking to his First Officer. "Do you think Picard ever had an officer lift his leg and take a leak on his seat? If anyone finds out about this, I will be the laughing stalk of the Federation. You don't know how Captain's are. They don't let shit like this go."

His image could now be seen plopping down in his chair.

The Captains assembled chuckled quietly as Captain Tango unbuckled his uniform pants to allow himself to breath easier. He took a couple of aspirin from his top drawer and swallowed them with a half a glass of water that he poured from the pitcher to his left.

He poured the remainder of the water over his head, closed his eyes and began massaging his temples.

"I'm just too damn old for this." he muttered.

"You are only as old as you feel, my friend." Captain M'Kantu said

Tango jumped suddenly, the realizing he was in a conference call, could only look around babbling somewhat incoherently.

'It's a head ache. I've had it for days. You know." he said wiping the water from his face. "Stress or a tumor or something like that."

Taking mercy on the Captain, perhaps knowing that there wasn't a person seated at the table who hadn't been there before, the group held their collective tongue and instead focused on the newest arrival.

Tara half buried her head in her hand to keep from laughing out loud. Even Starfleet Captains had their misfits.

Static and white noise preceded the next figure to shimmer into view - a tall Vulcan woman whose straight, jet hair was marred by a single streak of white over her left eye. "Speaking of broken, Captains - forgive my tardiness. While the Sao Paulo is tactically ready to serve, some of what humans refer to as "bells and whistles" is just being brought online. I am T'Riele." While being perhaps the newest Captain in the small fleet, the Vulcan had served Starfleet amongst the longest. A commander on an exploration starship, the Navajo, for almost two decades, she had timed her move to her own command based on her particular sense of logic. The Defiant-class Sao Paulo reflected perfectly the attitude of her new Captain... all business.

This meeting however, was decidedly not the business she preferred - that work was being performed by Commander Singh and the other commanders not present. The tall Sikh was fond of comparing their current situation to the blindness of Shakespeare's Lear, but was most proficient in making the best of a bad situation. Already, the capable but emotional Mister Singh had developed a network with other commanders and had made good headway in preparing the Sao Paulo for battle in a fleet operation. The result hinged on a considerable amount of hard work, cooperation with uncertain allies, and the discovery of a significant amount of unknowns concerning an enigmatic enemy.

Lear or the Comedy of Errors? Time would certainly tell. She nodded silent greetings to the other assembled holoforms.

Rebecca Weber's form flickered into existence in an empty chair. Briefly, she wondered what might have happened if someone had already been occupying the seat that her form was now in. It probably just would have looked funny, she told herself. It wasn't like they were actually all in the same room.

She'd turned over control of the Texas to her XO with orders to be interrupted if the smallest thing looked out of place. This meeting of the minds, while important, certainly would have to take a backseat if anything started moving that wasn't supposed to.

"Captains," Rebecca said, inclining her head towards those present. "Captain Rebecca Weber, USS Texas." She smiled warmly at Holmes, tossed a head greeting to Reynolds, Mukaikubo and M'Kantu. She glanced around the room. That seemed to be it for those that she was acquainted with. Summers and Rian had yet to arrive. The rest she knew by reputation only.

"Sorry for being a little late. Last minute emergency at home," she said with a smile. Being a mother of a 6 month old and the captain of a Pathfinder class ship definitely caused some issues, but Rebecca just wasn't quite ready to leave her daughter on Earth with family. "I wouldn't worry about it, Captain Weber." came a new voice as not one, but two people "materialized" in the room. Captain Christopher Summers, of the Miranda - and Admiral Donatra, the Homeworld Defense Commander for the Rihannsu Navy. "Admiral Donatra's been updating me on the situation."

"Captains." Donatra said as she nodded in greeting to the room at large. She wasn't possessed of the typical "bowl" haircut the Romulan military so loved, having grown her hair longer. The perk of her rank, she had claimed to those who had asked. Perhaps the human's lack of uniformity was beginning to rub off on her a bit. She and Summers both took the last two seats open at the table.

"Unfortunately, I do not have the excuse that Captain Weber does," Captain Rianissastranara'Cessk said as her small form materialized, standing toward the back of the room, her image's arms folded. "Except for the fact my new staff has moments of infantilism. Occasionally." She smiled slightly. "I assume I'm just in time? My many apologies to Admiral Donatra and everyone. Hello Chris, it's been a while."

"Rian." he nodded. He'd have asked about her family and the like, of course - but there simply wasn't time for it.

Chris was surprisingly fresh-faced for this afternoon briefing - of course, no one in the room really needed to know that he'd just taken a shower not forty minutes before. Not like that sort of thing was really their business - or important in any way. "First things first. I'll explain more in a bit, but some bad news has reached Romulus. If your ships aren't getting reports yet, they should be soon - three more Romulan Fleets have been destroyed, and the public knows about it. There's rioting down on the surface. I've already ordered my Marine detachment down to the surface. I need all of you to do the same as well. Fighter squadrons should be launched also. I've consulted Colonel Mitchell and Colonel Devereaux, the CAG from the Concorde. Both agree that we need a full CAP running, and that aerial support will be needed as well. This request comes directly from the Empress and the Praetor."

Kent leaned back into the chair as he processed the information. The Romulan Navy was dropping like flies, it seemed. Logan wondered how long it would be before all that stood between the Hydran Fleet and ch'Rihan would be the ships that the Captains present Commanded. "What's the word from the Fleets themselves Captain?" Kent asked. "Any survivors?"

"One." Chris nodded.

"One ship?" someone asked for clarification.

It was Donatra who responded. "One man."

"All That Glitters..."

Elaithin Jii
K. Jordan Elaithin

Kerec

--------------
Kerec's Home
Ki Baratan, Romulus
--------------

The creature emerged from the black of space as though it was a giant insect shrugging off its star-speckled cloak. Its tentacles reached up from the black like the Kraken from the Earth's sea of old. For a moment, it was almost beautiful; inky black, star light shimmering over its outer skin, if it was skin at all. It hung there, in space, maybe for a second or two though it could have been years before it moved with such a lightning fast speed, grabbing the hulks of ships as they came close, wrapping its tentacles and pulling.

The Romulan vessels came apart like tissue paper. And then it disappeared into the dark depth of space until it would be called on again.

And the Hydrans moved forward. Through that second Galae, through the third… the fourth and seventh and closer and closer to the inside, the same pattern, the same unstoppable movements; they were a hive of killer bees consuming and destroying and killing everything in its path.

Then they could see ch'Rihan. Romulus. From the outside, it looked so small, so fragile, so easy to tear apart. As though the planet was waiting for it, almost begging for it, a dying mutt asking to be put out of its misery. And around it were little gleaming black and silver beacons of false hope, beacons taking the shape of ships in a variety of design: Romulan and Federation. Unexpected, but not too great of a concern. Its populace had no idea, no idea that this would happen, they had such a misplaced faith within their superiority, such a deep and unwavering faith in the might of their military.

This would be so easy. They lined up the sight and fired.

--

It was almost as though she was deep underwater and then she was grabbed and pulled up with such speed and force that she couldn't get her bearings. She'd had the sensation once before, and she had come to in her husband's arms with no conception of what had just occurred. But this was very different.

She could feel her body being pulled into a sitting position in the bed, her husband's arms falling away. But that all paled when compared to the energy that burst from the pendant around her neck, wrapping around her, her hand rested on her husband's chest.

WE NEED TO LEAVE BEFORE IT HAPPENS.

Jii was startled awake as his wife's voice appeared somewhere it never had before - pounding right between his ears. The shock and surprise - not to mention the rude awakening - sent him tumbling out of the bed. "Pah Wraiths!" he cursed in surprise as he - and the blankets went tumbling to the floor.

NO. Her eyes glowed with the same blue light as the pennant around her neck and the energy that had all but entwined in her hair and around her form. Not to mention nearly blasted him out of the bed.

Then she blinked, the pendant sucking the energy back as though it had never existed in the first place. She looked confused for a moment, her forehead creasing as she cocked her head to the side.

"We need to leave. Things are going to become very chaotic. Other Romulan Galaes have been destroyed. The information won't stay secret."

"We never thought it would." he said, still looking at her a bit oddly. The rational Starfleet - well, ex-Starfleet - officer knew he should question what had just happened.

The man who'd stepped into the Celestial Temple to get back his wife had no need to.

Jordan's eyes and everything else had returned to normal now. "Doesn't change the fact that we still need to get Keller."

"Yes," she said, moving, pulling on the Romulan robe she'd replicated fresh the night before. It coasted over her body, covering the dark mark of the prophets that covered the bare skin of her back. It was flickering very softly with touches of blue, but that might have been a figment of his imagination. "But we need to get started now before all hell breaks loose."

Even as she finished the sentiment, the noise from outside the house made itself known. The word was out. Jordan stared at her husband for a moment, her eyes communicating a range of things that were left unsaid as she grabbed the holoimager from the table and set it in place.

"There's more coming. Get dressed. I'm going to speak to our host."

Jii was reaching for his clothes even as he pulled the curtains back. He could see the fires of the riots outside, the Romulans rioting in the streets in a way he would never have thought possible. That could only mean one thing: there weren't enough Romulan soldiers on-planet any more to keep the peace. A display like this was something no Praetor's government would ever, ever have tolerated... unless it had no other choice. "Yeah, good plan. We need to move, and now."

She hadn't heard him, so was already out the door of the bedroom, pulling up her waist-length dark copper-brown hair as she moved barefoot through the halls. It was the opposite of good manners in a Romulan household. But it didn't matter.

Jordan grabbed his arm just as he rounded the corner, almost running into her.

"Are you prepared to leave? We need to get out of here right now and find this man so we can get some answers fast."

He nodded briefly. "Clearly I've underestimated the need for urgency. I foolishly assumed that we had at least until morning. Is your husband ready?"

"Give him half a minute and he will be," she said, glancing back down the hall toward the room. Jordan hesitated half a half of a second before she pushed the Romulan backward into the hall and against the wall. Her eyes flashed blue as she held him tight. "I understand what you once did for my husband a long time ago," she breathed, her voice one low whisper, "but if you fuck us over, 'Kerec', I'll kill you."

"I am a patriot, Mrs. Elaithin." Kerec whispered back to her, and as he pushed against her hand, his superior Romulan strength was clear. "I want what is best for my people. My government has not been that for a long time. The path Spock offers us, even if we survive this immediate crisis, is the only way we will ever survive."

"Your husband and I owe each other life-debts. I know you understand mnhei'sahe. I am sure you understand it's meaning to my people. While I live, no harm will come to Elaithin Jii." he said quietly, passionately.

The Bajoran's hand clapped down on his shoulder, his having heard most of the conversation. "And I've promised the same."

"Then we have an understanding?" the Romulan asked. The question wasn't directed to Jii.

Her eyes narrowed slightly flicking up to her husband's. "If only because we don't have time for this." She pulled away, releasing the Romulan. "Let's get going now, before we don't have a chance."

"This way." Kerec replied with a shake of his head.

----------------------
The Tunnels
----------------------

Kerec lived in the home he did for a specific reason. It was old enough - it's basements deep enough - that it had access to the old service tunnels under Ki Baratan. Like any thousands of years old city, there was virtually another world under it - a world where the government held no sway. Where people could disappear, and no one official ever came.

Quite simply, the people that were down here were people that no one had ever cared about.

"Prophets." Jii muttered under his breath as they crossed a service walkway that overlooked what was practically an underground black market.

"All that glitters is not gold." Kerec replied, quoting the aphorism Spock had used when learning of the underground world that lived under the splendor of Ki Baratan.

"Isn't that the truth?" Jordan murmured under her breath as they journeyed further below ground. Up above, she could hear the sounds of violence, and closing her eyes, she tried to put it out of her mind.

But it sure as hell wasn't easy.

"Confessions"

Commander Joral Anton
Rogue Group CO (Missing in Action)

===Present Day===

"What the hell happened?!?"

My rage echoed through the ship's CIC. As near as we could tell, the three cruisers, five frigates, and fourteen smaller ships were all that remained of the Lyran Resistance Front, and they were essentially leaderless, with Heth'ba having captured General Heth'ba and executing her superiors on the command council.

Only it wasn't supposed to happen that way. She was supposed to escape alongside us, when I had realized that the Hydrans were about to find us. She wasn't supposed to be there.

Someone spoke up, almost timidly. "We don't know, Friend Commander. It seems the the General was late in departing. Our understanding is that she wanted to make sure all of her people were safe before taking flight herself."

I seethed at her nobility. It was admirable most of the time, but at the moment, it was damned irritating. "Well, we're just going to have to get her back. We can't run this resistance without a leader."

One of the younger recruits looked down sullenly. "But there is nothing we can do. The Hydrans are the government now."

I shook my head. "No. They are occupiers, and they control through fear. That is no government." I leaned forward on my cane, lifting the young man's eyes to meet mine. "People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."

A stocky (if such a word could be applied to a large cat) Lieutenant leaned forward, and I recognized him as the one who had questioned our evacuation in the first place. "The war is over! We lost!"

I looked at him in anger. "What is your name, Lieutenant?"

He stood proudly, proclaiming his name as if there was something to be celebrated about his cowardice and lack of faith in his own people. "I am Thrall'tak."

"Mr. Thrall'tak," I said, almost managing his name on the first try, "The war isn't over; It hasn't begun yet."

My words hung in the air - to the point where I actually felt that if I reached out and grasped in front of me, I would be able to grab onto my own speech and hold on forever. It was a truly surreal experience.

It was Gnallerr who broke the silence, though he spoke so softly that I barely knew he was there. "What if we don't get her back? Someone has to lead."

It was a young Warrant Officer, a youth named Greb'tha, who made the inevitable suggestion, the one I dreaded. "I say that Friend Joral leads us. He can save us."

The resounding chorus of assent filled the CIC, with very few dissenting voices. It took me several moments to silence them, and I almost felt ashamed to say what I said next.

"I can't."

They shouted, pleaded, cajoled - every voice was raised, even those few who didn't want to follow me, though their jeers and catcalls felt more real and just to me than anything else. I again silence the room.

"I won't."

To this, they had no reply, and I continued. "Friends, I am not one of you. I fight because you need the help. I fight because it's all I know how to do. I fight because it's what needs to be done. But I can not lead you. You fight for your own people/ There's no where I can take you that you need to go. I have my place in the world, and my own destiny. It is not yours, and only you can take yourselves where you need to be."

I'm fair certain that my refusal came as a shock to all present, but I knew that I could only lead these people to an early grave. I was full of fight, and I was a good soldier, but they weren't my people. I lacked the passion to lead them to victory; the oppressed were not my people, and I could not become one just be wishing.

No one really understood this, and it was my ever-faithful Gnallerr who broke the stunned silence. "Friend Joral, we are offering you the chance to be our leader."

I looked him straight in the eye, and I was certain he shrunk back. "No, you are offering me the chance to pretend to be your leader."

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

And so it was that within hours, we were doing exactly as I said we would; retrieving the only person who actually COULD lead this movement. I crouched at the edge of the Hydran detention complex on Lyra Prime, a feat in and of itself considering the physical state of my body. Gnallerr was to my right. To my left was, of all people, young Warrant Officer Greb'tha. I wasn't sure how she got the courage to volunteer, and I was sure that at this moment, she wasn't sure either.

The craft we had used to get here was abandoned several kilometers back. Assuming we survived this at all, we shouldn't need it, anyway. For now, I was surreptitiously opening an auxiliary air intake. My companions both wisely chose not to ask where I learned such a skill.

It popped open, and we all scurried inside. I propped the vent along the inside of the duct. No one would notice it until we were gone, and speed was far more important. The tails of my two companions were already disappearing around a corner.

By the time I caught up, we were at the end of our brief journey, and they both helped me get clear of the duct. I did my best to hide my humiliation. If it weren't for the fact that I was the only one who knew how to break anyone our of prison, they probably would have insisted I stay behind - my crippled body was a hindrance to them.

Gnaller looked back at the vent through which we'd just slipped, and then forward into the corridor that, miraculously enough, contained no guards. He made a sound that somewhat resembled an incredulous snort and whispered, "That was easy."

I looked sidelong at him and clutched my weapon closer to my chest. "This is a jail. It's easy to get in; the problems will come when we want to get out."

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

The plan was simple enough. Heth'ba's cell was in a secluded corner of the complex, and Greb'tha was a good computer hand. Diverting the guards wasn't hard. However, she still couldn't get into the security subroutines, and so entering Heth'ba's cell still involved the old standby - shaped charges.

I had placed the charges. Heth'ba was, luckily enough, asleep in the rear of her cell, and in no danger. She could not hear our attempts to wake her, but certainly the blast would be enough. As the three of us took refuge around the corner of the corridor, I nodded to Gnallerr, who depressed the detonator.

The blast was rather more spectacular than we expected, and as soon as the dust cleared, we all ran around the corner. There was little time now; none of us doubted that SOMEONE had to have heard that. We looked that the hole where Heth'ba's cell door once was, and saw her rising from the dust. Smiles graced our expressions - for about three seconds.

There was a horrid creaking sound, and the whole ceiling collapsed.

I paused, looking at Gnallerr, who had a slightly mortified look on his face. He glanced at me in silent question, and I shrugged. "I'm a genius, not an engineer."

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

It took us fewer than thirty seconds to plow through the rubble, and Heth'ba was standing there, perfectly erect and dignified, as if nothing particularly abnormal was occurring. It was clear that she'd been fairly severely tortured, but was also lacking in major injuries - thus far. She showed no surprise at our appearance, gave no remonstrance for her rather rude awakening, and showed no impatience to escape. She merely looked at as with that same commanding presence she'd always had, and motioned down the corridor.

"I've been waiting. Shall we?"

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

The four of us ran down the corridor at full tilt, weapons out. By the four of us, I mean General Heth'ba, who had been tortured for two days solid and by all rights shouldn't have even been standing upright; Warrant Officer Greb'tha, who was an extrememly ungraceful young lady for a giant cat; and Commander Gnallerr... who had me slung unceremoniously over his back.

Everything about this rescue mission I had planned seemed to be designed to cause me more humiliation at every turn. The Prophets were dangling me about like a very pathetic puppet. Even in my healthy state, I couldn't have kept up with the felinoids, but I still considered having to be carried degrading as all hell.

It took five minutes to arrive at the launch bay, and we weren't a moment too soon. The base klaxons went off as soon as we arrived. Fortunately, this late at night, no one manned the bay, and getting in was easy. Gnallerr immediately headed for the nearest craft, but Heth'ba's voice stopped him... us.

"Wait, Commander"

Gnallerr careened to a halt, nearly dropping me. In agitation, I clambered (or stumbled) from his shoulders, and hobbled over to where the General and Greb'tha were standing. They were both looking at a the same vessel. I smiled and said, as Gnallerr joined us, "Very poetic, I must say."

It was the personal ship of Gareshk'Mareth Glo'th'fl - Hydra's Superintendent of Lyra Prime.

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

For the record, flying a Hydran ship is easy, especially when you're a part of a resistance movement that is constantly using stolen ones. Flying an armored yacht while being chased by three alert fighters, however? Now THAT is hard.

The hatch had barely closed when I took off from the bay, and the Hydran Combat Air Patrol was close behind. As Heth'ba and Gnallerr strapped in back, Greb'tha climbed into the seat behind me, her gaze locking onto the aft monitor scope.

"They're following us!"

I spared one eye for an irritated glance her way at the obvious statement. "Nah, really, ya think?!?"

From behind me, I heard Gnallerr sounding very satisfied. "What have we here? If it isn't Glo'th'fl's personal stash..."

It was mere seconds before he came forward, standing between myself and Greb'tha's seats, clutching a bottle of a liquid that was nearly clear, but still had a slight orangish tinge to it. "Hydran Whiskey?"

I glanced at him with a certain amount of incredulity, but only very briefly - I was rather too busy piloting the ship. "We're in the middle of a chase, Gnallerr!"

He looked down at the display, noting the three blips that represented the Hydran fighters in pursuit. "Ah, you're right." He looked at the bottle, up to me, back to the screen, and again at the bottle. "Something stronger."

He disappeared aft, and I chuckled softly, causing Greb'tha to reward me with a somewhat perplexed look; the poor girl hadn't really been in a combat situation before, and was probably scared out of her wits. I'm sure she didn't understand my nonchalance in the situation, and I'm even more certain that what happened next was something that she will likely talk about for the rest of her life - however long that may be.

It was mere moments before Gnallerr reappeared, this time with a bottle of a distinctive blue liquor. "For a chase, the Superintendent recommends the excellent '42 Romulan Ale." He looked over at Greb'tha. "You can't have any; you're too young."

I nodded approvingly and grabbed the bottle from her hands, pulling the stopper out with my teeth and taking one long swig, nodding side-long to the near-mortified young Lyran girl beside me. "Take the controls, kid."

Greb'tha tried to protest, but I was already standing up, joining the two senior Lyrans in the back of the control cabin and helping myself to some of the impromptu picnic. In the several minutes I absented myself, I kept an eye on the console. Greb'tha was doing quite well, even in her fear, and I needn't have worried about the Gareshk'Mareth's glorified yacht - it was apparently a far superior ship than I gave it credit for. We were not only escaping in comfort, but with ease.

Gnallerr spat out the final bone of whatever animal it had been that he had devoured just now; Lyran meats still all tasted the same to me - bland. As I hopped back into the pilot's seat to rescue poor Greb'tha from the predicament in which I had left her, Gnallerr made the post-meal burping noise Lyrans made and that I had learned to associate with culinary enjoyment. "The picnic was delicious, the ale was excellent; remind me to send the Superintendent a note."

The poor Warrant Officer could stand it no longer, and as I took over control of the shuttle, increasing our distance from our pursuers and taking us into orbit and escape, she turned and looked almost angrily at Gnallerr. "Is everything a joke to you, Commander?"

He appeared to consider this for a brief moment, and then looked at Heth'ba, who smiled. Taking the last sip of his ale, Gnallerr stood, making his was to the sensory console, pausing only long enough to lean over and place a reassuring paw on Greb'tha's shoulder. "Only the things that matter."

off: tiny backpost, I'd guess

"What color is your parachute?"

Bran
Sam

****

USS GALAXY (counseling offices)

"Branwen," Samantha said dramatically as she entered the counselor's office. "We really must quit meeting like this."

Branwen composed herself, not wanting the teenager to see her worries."Well you know that is completely up to you. So how have you been behaving lately and don't even try to lie to me, young lady."

"Like an angel." Sam said sweetly. "Like an angel with an IQ that would fell an elephant."

"Would that be the same answer if I ask your teachers? And don't think you are off the hook for the earlier incident, Kimberly and I still have to get together for that one."

"Bran," The girl said. "You really need a vacation, you know?"

"That's what you always say if I am not doing things your way." Branwen moved a little bit awkward. "So, tell me, are there any subjects you are enjoying in school?"

Sam shrugged. "Not really. You know that I only go so my Mummy will be happy. I really wish she'd let me skip another grade."

"You seem really to leave the ship and your family." Branwen said watching her.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "No, I'm just tired of being treated like a kid. I'm ten times better than that."

"I have said it before, when you start acting like an adult I will happily start treating you like one. But you aren't. So what makes you think you are ready to leave this all behind and make it on your own?"

The teenager sighed. "Our communication skills could use some work as well. How about you tell me what YOU think makes an adult."

"For one thing not shirking any duties. So going to school. And not pulling any stupid stunts like the one Kimberly and I are still debating your punishment for."

"Oh, and adults never make mistakes." Sam snapped.

"I didn't say that. They are different kind of mistakes .." Branwen couldn't help but blush slightly. "And adults have enough life experience to make difficult decisions, something you obviously lack."

"Because no one will let me have experiences to use in these life altering difficult decisions. Obviously."

"What kind of experience are you thinking about?" Branwen watched her.

"Anything where I don't have to sit behind a desk and answer boring questions."

Branwen came to her feet. "Then select another location to talk. I don't mind."

"I meant school but okay." Sam said. "Let's go to the Holodeck."

"Yeah I could use some time out of the office. And like I said you can pick the program." She grinned.

"Okay." Samantha said with a devious grin.

****

(holodeck)

The pirate ship was sailing in open waters.

She frowned as she watched the water go cheerfully by. Pirates didn't sail, Sam decided. They charged. Stormed. This was all just a little too ... peaceful for her romantic vision.

Item #455 to be changed, Samantha added to her mental list.

"Nice!" Branwen said looking around and actually enjoying herself. "Did you make this program yourself?" She asked.

"Its a chapter from my romance novel." Sam told her. 'I've already got twenty buyers set up."

"Really." Of course she was sceptical about that. "But tell me more about the novel."

"In this one," Samantha said excitedly. "The hero and heroine get shipwrecked on an island for nearly a year. Sure, its not too original but I figure banter and wicked smart graphics will make up for that. I'm stuck on what causes the shipwreck though or whether I should add some fantasy element to it, like barnacle sprouting henchmen from Davey Jones Locker."

Branwen grinned. "Don't make it too graphic like that before it puts people off. But I like the idea. Maybe you should put some more people on the island then only two?"

"It's a romance, Bran." Samantha said as she rolled her eyes. "They can't have hot monkey sex if there's more than two people. Well, not if I want to keep the R rating."

"At your age you shouldn't know about things like that, let alone write about it." Branwen blushed profusely, realising that this girl probably knew more about sex than she did.

"Braaaan." Samantha said, rolling her eyes again. "I'm a TEENAGER. It's like a rule or something." The girl looked at the marine's red face and took pity on her, which meant that she didn't ask Bran about her experience with hot monkey sex and instead asked her how old she was when she realized that babies didn't grow in cabbage patches.

"Uhm around 15 I guess. Your age." Bran blushed some more. "But let's talk about other things, okay. Being on the holodeck makes you relax?"

"I guess." Sam said. "Its more about being able to see something in your head and then put it into a program. I like that."

"And from what I can see you are doing a great job." Branwen said glad to be away from that dangerous subject. "Is it something you are thinking of as a career path, writing and or programming?" She inquired.

"Oh, I doubt it." The girl replied. "It's more of a hobby. When did you know what you wanted to do with your life?"

"I think when I was around 12. When my elder sister first contacted me and told me about life on the outside. That's when I started planning my escape, and dreaming about Starfleet." Branwen said honestly.

Sam knew a little bit about her counselor's life before Starfleet so she didn't crack any jokes. Instead Sam said that she'd never be a counselor or a marine. "Either way you just have to listen to people whine at you."

"Not as a marine. Baile doesn't take whining at all, I can tell you that." Bran said. "As for counseling, it isn't that bad. Most of my job is coaching people with job decisions and some life decisions. But I guess that it is not for you. Any idea what you would like to do? It is about time you thought about that. You are growing up, Sam."

"I just wish that meant I was getting taller."

Bran grinned. 'You are not small, Sam. And you have some years of growing to do. Don't worry about that."

Sam waved it away, already focusing on her next glitch, one of the pirates peg-legs. The man didn't hobble enough. "You know, I could sell you a copy of my program when its finished. 10% off even."

"We will see." Bran smiled. "Maybe you should go into sales. You seem to have a knack for that as well."

"We'll see about that," Samantha replied. "When I can get Captain M'Kantu to buy a copy."

"Hard At work"

Crewman Allsion
USS GALAXY Security Offices

BLEEP ! "Security, this is Allison...please hold......."

BLOOP ! "Security Office, this is Allison...hold please......."

BLEEP ! "Thank you for calling Security, my name is Allison...please hold......."

BEEP! "Security...this is....oh hey girlfriend...whats happening?"

The little blond girl from Iceland leaned back in her cushy swivel chair and twirled the cable from the Comm device around a skinny finger.

"Naw...Im not doing anything." Alli drawled lazily despite the considerable pile of paperwork that encompassed much of her deskspace, and no less than twelve blinking lights on her Comm unit.

"GET OUT!" she exclaimed into the Comm leanign forward excitedly, "Oh she did NOT just do that! You have got to give me all the details!!!"

The others present in the Security office raised eyebrows and frowned at James Corgan's newest secretary, as she twirled slowly on the little roller chair.

"Oh like did you SEE what she was wearing....I mean like HEL-lo, I know you are like a Marine and all..." Alli made little quotes with her fingers, ".....but do you like have to dress all gung-ho and run around in those big ugly boots.....the camoflague look went out like ages ago."

Alli was an authority on what fashion was in or out of style at any given moment.

Indeed for her present ensemble, young Allison chose to add little blue streaks to her normally blond hair. It was a statement of independence from all the greens and browns that the Galaxy's gorund forces were gearing up in.

Little sparkly Unicorn stickers covered the tips of her fingernails, and glitter lipstick decorated her smile.

"I mean....like...Marine or no.....show some originality...am I right? Stand out from the crowd."

A pause while the other voice tittered on the other end of the line.

"Oh well sure....I supose standing out from the crowd is not good in a combat situation..." Allison allowed with a bored frown, "..easy target and all that....."

Out of the corner of her eye, Alli spotted some hapless Security Ensign making his way for the bubbling coffepot directly behind her desk......he wouldnt DARE....

Sure enough, the Ensign selected a small cup, and made to grab the pot, only to have his hand stung by a pink blur of pain.

"OW!!!...What the frazzz?" he exclaimed cradling his hand. "What did you hit me with.....a FLYSWATTER?"

Alli waved the pink flyswatter meanacingly under his nose "I'll zing you again Buck-o if so much as try to touch the coffee.....thats for the Boss only!"

"C...Corgan?," the Ensign looked wistfully a the happily bubbling pot, "I dont see his name on it."

"And i dont see your name on it either Mr. Grabby-fingers, "Allison poked him in the belly with her swatter, a look of dead seriousness on her face. "And besides....Hel-lo!....Interrupting. On the Phone." Alli indicated the Comm with a look of 'well-duh.'

Glumly the officer walked off.

"Ok....now where was I," she turned back to her conversation, "Oh....like I know....some people....how rude....like 'nacho coffee buddy boy."

In the few days since James had brought the young recruit aboard as his office assistant, things had taken a turn for the strange in the Deck 39 Security offices.

Not strange like the normal strangeness that prowled the Galaxy's halls.....naked ladies.....Leo Streely........more naked ladies.....things like that.

Rather she brought a kind of high-energy gusto to the job, that if not for the fact that she accomplished very little actual work....would have seemed impressive.

Allison seemed to be the only person able to spend hours and hours color-coding charts and files......not according to subject, or importance.....but rather just for pretty colors and patterns.

More than one Security Ensign picked up a PADD to jot down notes only to notice little purple sparkle stickers in the upper corner.

To Allisons way of thinking, there was very little that could not be improved by sparkle and glitter.

Above all however, was the very obvious way the little star-struck teenager had latched onto James Corgan as the center of her cute little universe.

James Corgan's reports received more gold star stickers than any others. The Coffee machine was for James use only, (or beware the wrath of the pink flywswatter) Beautiful female crewmembers found it very difficult to get appointments with James Corgan, having first needing to run the gauntlet of displeasure that was Allison.

"Yah....I know....." Alli, continued to twirl the cord around her finger. "Some people are just born with no sense of fashion, but that doesnt mean we have to sufffer by looking at them....."

Idly she doodle on a piece of scrap-paper as she chatted.

~~~Allison Marie Corgan.........Allison Marie Corgan........Allison Marie Corgan....~~~~ she wrote over and over in her prettiest penmanship.

"Synthehol Abyss"

Lieutenant J.G. Naranda Roswell
Engineer, USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

*****Angel Moon*****

She was drinking the synthenol. Again. She'd stop letting it be an excuse to act like an idiot. She was really only fooling herself. No one else took it for anything than an insane person drinking something as potent as sugar pills and letting it fool her mind like sugar pills were meant to. Except when you KNOW it's a sugar pill, it completely loses it's potency. So she drank because the seconds the burning liquid moved down her throat, she was distracted.

Of course putting so much sythenol in her system didn't help her appitite that was pretty lacking anyway. She didn't eat for Saia's benefit anymore either. She put food before Saia and pretty much had to fight Saia to make her eat.

Apparantly Saia was lacking appitite as well. Nara didn't know what was wrong. She had a vague idea, but it annoyed her Bran and likely even Miramon understood Saia better than she did.

She knew she was on a bad path. She had been more vague with Dallas, making their sessions more or less pointless. She was functioning, but she somehow doubted she would be much help with any impending dangers.

She looked at the half-empty bottle as she sat it down. ~Better now than never.~ She stood and made her way out the door. She stood in the corridor a moment, feeling she'd be back. This was just a moment of strength.

She gulped back the tears trying to remember a time she had moments of weakness. What had happened to the Warrior Daughter? She wasn't supposed to be in a bar drinking for distraction having just moments of strength. She was supposed be a pillar of strength. She shook her head and sighed, "I'm fucking pathetic." She forced herself away from the door before the moment of strength waned.

"Princess!"

Nara stopped, wincing. She didn't look her best. She was sure he breath didn't either. She slowly turned and gave a small smile.

Saul Bental was exahusted so many hours of work he lost count. The whirpull of events following the Miranda's arrival has stretched his waking hours and filled them with constant scampering. Not to mention being awakened in the small hours of the night by Fay-fay. Still, he preferred to at least see Nara before he goes to crash in his quarters for a few hours.

A more morbid person would indicate that between cloacked Hydran vessels and star beasts, every meeting with Naranda could be the last.

"Didn't think I'll find you here.", He smiled. "How're you?"

She just sighed and didn't bother with her posture. "Loaded question."

"Hey, it's just a question.", Saul took a step forward, reaching to caress her cheek. He stopped as her breath hit him square in the nostrils. He said nothing, but even a drunk would notice his grimace.

"I'm a pathetic load of shit, Saul." A beat. "Duh."

Saul's grimace grew deeper. "You've been drinking." He said.

It was not a question.

He never understood people who got themselves addicted to substances. They became easy prey, and wasted resources without control. They were weak and exploitable.

During his term as a special obserations program operative, he had to do it twice in order to mingle into certain places and portray a belivable persona. One time he began smoking, and on another planet there was this powder you applied on your wrists. The purple marks it left on your veins were a symbol of luxury, not unlike the rare Cuban cigars smoked by rich merchants from Utrecht III. After each such sortie, the first thing he did was to clean himself up of those substance.

"What makes you think that you're a load of shit?", He asked her sternly.

"Like you said, I've been drinking. Only synthenol, but still. I'm supposed to be stronger than this. I'm supposed to be a warrior. I'm supposed to be a guardian to Saia. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I am? Why? Because I can't handle a few run-of-the-mill crisis."

Saul folded his arms. It was obvious that Nara was feeling sorry for herself, and not in a way that aroused much compassion or simpathy in him, despite the fact that he cared for her.

"Then don't do it. And what crisis are you talking about?"

"Nothing. And I plan on it." She just looked at him a moment, "Not to mention I finally found a JAG officer to take this Marks case and she decides to tell me that you and her were former lovers. Not that I'm bothered by that. You had a life before me. Great. But why she said what she said to me. I just wonder if she'll take the case seriously."

"Faylin?" Saul wondered if Nara would say the same thing had she known that Faylin just spent the night in his quarters. In his bed, if to be accurate. Although he didn't actually cheat on her, he doubted Nara would regard it the same way.

"Now don't look for excuses about your drinking, Naranda. If you want to talk about Faylin, do it when you're sober. She said what she said because she's a vixen, although..." Although she was a lost Vixen. One who lost her aim, when the most precious thing was taken from her. Saul wasn't going to mention Olivia's death to Nara, either. It was Faylin's private business.

He did, however, prefer to put as much distance between Nara and Fay-fay as possible.

"... and if you don't feel comfortable with her, go ahead and switch JAGs.",He concluded.

"What other JAG is there? And I AM sober. It was only synthenol."

"You don't HAVE to work with the ship's local JAG. No one can force you. And if you're sober, how come you're not making any sense?"

"Maybe you're just not listening." Well, ok she wasn't making sense. "I'm worried about Saia. That's all."

"And by drowning yourself in synthohol, does it solve the reasons to worry?", Saul insisted.

"No, and as you can see, I'm walking away from there right now."

"Until next time?"

"I..." The defensive glare let up only to let out a sigh as she made her way down the corridor.

"You know.", Saul began following her, "If Saia drives you to this, perhaps you should do something to solve the matter instead of letting an eleven-years-old drive you out of your mind."

"It's not even her fault, Saul. She was a happy kid...I guess, before that damned ship crashed and destroyed her life."

"I didn't say it's her fault, or yours.", He tried to keep up - she walked fast when she was moody. "But do something about it - both Saia and the synthohol. It's changing you, and not for the better."

She stopped mid-step and just stood there a moment, thinking. Not like she didn't know these things. But hearing someone else say it. She figured she had changed and that's what drove her to synthohol. More like a downward cycle.

"I'm not going to press on you about this." Saul continued. He hated when other people put pressure on him, and usually reacted quite nastily to pressure. "But deal with it. You can't run away, not TRULY."

Nara shook her head, "Poor poor Dallas."

Saul caressed her hair, his fingers toying with a loose curl. "Hey, that's why they gave her three pips. Anyway, I know you. I'm sure you'll get things together the moment you decide to fight."

Her posture wasn't one of a fighter; the warrior she was trained to be by Sakaria or even Starfleet. Why did she decide to give up and give in to laziness and mediocrity? She turned slightly and gripped Saul's arms pulling herself to him. She didn't know where she'd find strength and courage, but she needed to. She needed to decide to do that. But for now, she just wanted to lean on someone.

Saul brought her closer, kissing her forehead. He frowned slightly as he smelt, once more, the traces of synthohol in her breath.

The final thoughts he had before falling asleep the night before roared in his mind. Wasn't Nara a liability, at this state? He didn't need her for sex. He could have as many one-night-stands with Faylin as he wanted, and with a few lessons from 8-Ball (a possible bed partner himself) he was sure he could pretty much keep his hands full in that particular field. Why then, was he standing in the middle of the corridor hugging this woman, who seemed to be totally broken because she couldn't get over some trauma from half a decade ago and a whinning child.

This kiss on Nara's forehead was, despite Saul's disorganized musings, followed by another one on her cheek, and a sweet sweet whisper of confidence and affection in her ear.

Nara gave a small smile and a small tone as she thanked him before letting go and looking into his eyes. "Were you looking for me or was this a twist of fate?" The only response she earned was a thin, mysterious smile.

OOC - Thanks once again Jill for helping me out with the London Crew.

"The Briefing"
Captain Kent Logan (Rich), Commanding Officer
Commander Henry Mellor (Rich), Executive Officer
Commander Ileen Zhukovski (Rich), Chief Engineer/ Second Officer
Lt. Commander Mo'Bar (Rich), Chief of Security
Lt. Commander Miles Carlord (Jill), Chief of Tactical
Lieutenant Diana Ramirez (Rich), Chief Operations Manager
Lieutenant Jasmine Carrington (Jill), Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Carlos Henderson (Jill), Chief of Science
Lieutenant T'Lar (Jill), Chief Counsellor
Lieutenant M'Vellan Asimolo (Rich), Chief Flight Controller

-----

Kent sat in the Londons spacious briefing lounge. He'd just returned from the Galaxy, after recieving his update from their Chief Intelligence Officer. Lieutenant Bental had been extremely helpful, and Logan made sure to make a note of that.

Ileen was the first to arrive, she was also one of the Londons new crew. She'd served with Kent before, she was one of the Engineers on the Sarajevo, but she'd been lucky enough to have been reassigned not long before the Starships disappearance. She'd counted her blessings everydays since then, and she knew that when Logan had been given Command of the London, he'd sought out people he knew to join his crew. Zhukovski was just about one of the only people who'd taken him up on it. "Kent" she said, acknowledging her Captain.

"Have a seat Ileen." Kent said turning in his chair, to face his Engineer.

"I don't like this Kent, and I'm damn sure I'm not the only one."

"Its a lot to take in I know." Kent replied, "but perhaps you should wait to pass judgement until after I've shown you what I have."

Ileen crossed her arms, just sitting, to stew. Kent had always made people wait for him. Or at least, he had when she'd first known him. Maybe the intervening 10 years had changed him.

Jasmine walked in whistling softly as she found her seat. "Captain." She nodded and took her seat.

She had no issue with Kent Logan. But she knew others did.

Lieutenant M'Vellan Asimolo was the next to arrive, the Bolian Flight Controller being a recent addition to the Londons crew. The Lieutenant was aware that he was not Captain Logans first choice for the position, some Lieutenant from Miranda had been. But despite that, he was glad to have been offered the post. He only hoped that he wouldn't let his new CO down.

T'lar, the chief Counselor entered and sat beside Jasmine. The Vulcan woman disliked briefings because they took time away from her normal duties. She did not however voice her feelings to the captain. Normally she was not in briefings because the old captain knew her dislike but the new captain did not.

Jasmine sighed and said softly. "Breath T'Lar" she said softly. "Meditate if you need to I will fill you in later."

"Thank you Jas" The Vulcan replied softly. "I will be ok."

'Commander Mo'Bar, stalked into the room. He hated the idea of assisting the Romulans. But if he was honest, he hated the idea of having the Hydrans just beyond the Neutral Zone even more.

The chief of Science , Carlos Henderson took his seat opposite Jasmine and T'Lar and flashed the two a grin. He knew by the look on T'Lar's face that she was not liking being there. But Carlos was laid back and relaxed about such things. He tipped his head at the captain and leaned back in his chair. He was about to put his feet on the table but Jasmine stood and pushed his feet away from the table with a warning look.

He sighed.

Diana felt fresh after her brother had given her a good talking to. In fact, she almost felt as though she'd done the right thing by going to see him. His words had been really convincing, and she was glad that he seemed so together.

Miles ran in out of breath. "Sorry I am late" he said softly. He collapsed into his seat.

Finally, the last to arrive was Commander Mellor. The First Officer did that often, coming last to the Briefings. In some ways, it was because he wanted to make sure all the relief officers were on the Bridge before he came in, and in others, it was just because he enjoyed making the fashionably late entrance.

Jasmine leant over to Mellor. "You are late" she teased with a smile.

"You know me Jas" he replied, "its a fashion trend." Taking his seat to the Captains Right, Henry wondered what it was that the Captain would tell them.

Kent nodded, noting that all of his crew had arrived. He began, "thanks for coming. First things, I've got a Command Meeting with the other Captains in the Fleet shortly, so I'll keep this brief. I just want you all to know where we stand, and what we're walking into."

"I think we already know what we're letting ourselves in for Captain" Mo'Bar replied grimly. "It is not good."

"Thats putting it mildly" Kent said, pressing a button on the table in front of him. "This is recent footage from Romulus" he said, pointing to the screen. The screen showed a boulevard, packed with Romulans. Their shouts couldn't be heard, neither could the screams and the yelps when armored Romulans - policemen? - brutally broke up what could only be described as a riot.

After giving his crew chance to absorb what they were seeing, he continued "These are images of one of many Civilian Riots that have been taking place throughout ch'Rihan, this one taken on the outskirts of Ki Baratan itself. Romulus is falling apart. A once proud power is now forced to seek outside help. It makes them a nervous ally, one that could potentially both stablize the Alpha Quadrant, or break it into even more pieces."

He took a breather, and allowed for responses.

T'Lar gritted her teeth. But said nothing.

Jasmine however said "I assume, Medical personnel will be in great demand along with Security Sir?"

"There are lot of people in demand Ms Carrington" Kent replied, "including the service of Starfleet Medical. I'd prefer, however to keep our staff on hand. Some of the other starships of our task force have considerable more to offer when it comes to the Medical needs on Romulus. In fact, the Hospital ship USS Olympic is en route to provide that assistance." He itched his nose a bit, something he often did when he was thinking of something, "but I think it could be wise for you to put your people on stand by. Captain Summers might always call for additional Medical support to stand by."

"I shall have my people ready Sir."

"Sir? Asked Miles. "If we are going.. what does the GSN think?"

"The Rihannsu Stellar Navy are doing their best to accomodate Starfleet whilst in orbit of Romulus itself, but there have been one or two incidents where some of the RSN haven't responded well to having to work with Starfleet." Kent pushed another button, and the screen switched to show a few minor incidents. "All in all though, things are nearing an interesting beginning."

He paused once more "Comments."

"Great" T'Lar said. She stood. "Counseling will be available for those who need it. We will go down with the medical staff Captain. I trust security can aptly defend my people on the planet?"

Jasmine groaned. "T'Lar…" Did everything the Vulcan say have to sound like an insult to others?

Kent smiled briefly. This crew seemed to have an interesting dynamic. Different than what he'd been used to, but also in many ways the same. "Most starships are detaching there Marine Corp Units to key areas, to work with the Romulan people, and to provide Security for other Starfleet personnel who are dispatched to the surface."

T'Lar nodded and would have headed to the door except the chief Medical Officer grabbed her and pulled her back into her seat with a hissed "SIT Good Girl"

"So, thats pretty much all we have" Logan said eventually. "In any case, 'Commander Mo'Bar, I want you to get your Hazard Team together, I'm dispatching you to Romulus, to work with the 101st Battalion and the 188th Marine Corp Detachment. I know we don't have the same numbers as they do, but I'm sure both units would appreciate every little help they can get. Especially if those scenes that we just saw continue."

"Aye Sir" Mo'Bar said bluntly.

"Tactical Status Mister Carlord" Logan asked, waiting for a report.

Miles nodded. "We are in good enough shape. The tactical department is ready we are just working with Engineering on some more repairs as the attack left us with a lot of work to be done." He glanced at the new CHENG. "I am sure the chief can tell you more sir"

Ileen nodded, "Phasers are gonna be back up to full spec in the hour. We could have done with more dry-dock time with this damage, but I guess we're here now aren't we. Someone's gotta stop this thing."

"What about the damage to our Engines?" Kent asked, "How are our repairs coming along?"

"We're ship shape" Ileen replied, "Warp Drive has been back to full capacity for about 12 hours, the Impulse Engines have been rareing to be pushed to their limits since we entered orbit."

"And why am I learning about it now?" Kent asked.

Zhukovski merely smiled, "it's more fun this way."

"Alright" Kent replied, turning back to his crew. "Any thing else to report people?" he asked each one of them.

The CMO shook her head.

The chief of counseling merely shrugged.

Carlos who had been making a bet with Miles over how long Jasmine could keep T'Lar in her seat shook his head. "No Sir. Sciences are ready to go. Not that we see much need for us in this mission."

Miles rolled his eyes at Carlos and said "Nothing else Sir"

"Alright then" Logan replied, "Dismissed."

He watched the crew filed out, leaving him in the Briefing Room with Commander's Mellor and Zhukovski. "Is there something else?"

"Actually sir" Mellor began, "their is."

"We know that you consulted with the Galaxy's Intelligence Department, and thats fair enough, how else would we get an update. But you were over there for a while Kent." Ileen said, "is there more. Is there something your not telling us. Or not allowed to."

"This is a sensitive Mission Ileen" Logan replied, using her first name. To him, that meant that whatever he did decide to say, was off the record.

"So there is more" Henry muttered.

Kent nodded, before proceeding to tell them everything that Lieutenant Bental had told him on the Galaxy...

"Are you handy in a pinch?"

Cmdr. Arel Smith
Detective Lt. Robert West

*****

USS MIRANDA

(Security, Arel's office)

Since she wasn't known for her tact, Arel didn't have any when she bluntly asked West whether he fought like a little girl or not.

Robert, who had previously been operating on the assumption that the next time Arel saw him that he would spend the following several hours of his life unconscious, was a bit taken aback by the question.

"Um...do I.....wait, what?"

It was a bold reply, softened only slightly by the terror stricken look on Robert's face.

"Can.you.fight?" Arel asked.

Robert stared blankly for a moment before giving a response.

"I'm a detective....not a...gladiator. That's...all I did...at Starfleet HQ. Investigations has...its own department there....but when they moved me here...they had to put me somewhere...and security seemed the closest....fit."

"I'll take that as a no." Arel snapped. "Follow me."

"Um...to where...exactly?" he asked as he followed.

"We're going into battle. Given the history of this ship we're likely to be boarded." Arel said as she continued to walk. "I've never seen you in a fight and I don't trust what Starfleet passes on as the best training possible. So..."

****

(Gymnasium)

"So," Arel said. "Hit me."

"Um..*hit* you? Why would I...do that?" he asked, shocked.

She gave him a look. "You've never wanted to hit me? I find that hard to believe."

Robert thought the question of whether or not he ever *wanted* to hit her was irrelevant. As things stood at the moment, he did not want to hit her because he did not want to die.

Arel sighed. This was not going exactly as she planned. How was she supposed to see if he could fight if he didn't fight?

So she did what she did best.

She kicked him in the face.

From his vantage point on the floor, Robert looked up and winced. He was in pain for about 10 or so seconds before the transition happened. He felt it come up, as if enveloping him from his feet up to his head. His Mr. Hyde. It was the fastest he'd ever switched.

Arel looked down at him. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three, which I'm wagering is also your reading grade-level." he spat as he stood.

That was better. A touch offensive, Arel thought with a growl, but better. "You going to make some effort now?"

"You *idiot*." he continued, "Why the hell would I fight you if there's a much EASIER way to deal with you?"

"Yeah?"

Robert didn't respond, at least, not verbally. Instead, he reached out, recalling in his photographic mind the technique he'd seen hundreds of times in investigations holo-reconstructions. And as he pinched her nerves, Arel knew exactly what it was.

"Vulcans own your SOUL!" he shouted, triumphantly.

When Arel woke up, face down, she was slightly surprised that he was still in the room and close to her. And that West was such a quick pthak. Arel rolled over on her side. "Interesting choice."

"The choice of civilized beings everywhere." he retorted.

Arel smiled as she slowly stood back up. "However. I wanted to see if you can hit me, Sparky. Like this."

As her fist connected with his jaw and then his stomach, it quickly became apparent that the neck pinch was, in fact, the only play in Robert's playbook. He attempted it again, but she wasn't going to be caught off-guard twice, and another quick blow to the head put him right back on the floor.

"Your blocks could use some work." She commented lightly.

He mumbled something for a moment before suddenly feeling something wet on his face. It was trickling down he forehead into his eyes.

He was bleeding.

And just like that, he was back to normal.

"Oh...my...GOD. I'm...I'm BLEEDING! Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod..."

"That answers that, at least." Arel muttered. "Listen up, West. You have potential when you go into your pissy mode but otherwise you're not going to be of much use to me in a combat situation. So I'm listing you with the civilians on this one.

"Stay alive and try not to do that stupid Vulcan neck rub on anyone unless you don't like having your teeth."

As great an idea as Robert thought this was, he was unable to clearly think about it through all the real (and imagined) pain.

"Um....yes.." he replied, weakly.

"And get to Sickbay, you look like shit." Arel said as she left.

"On Call"

Commander Na'sav Lorem
Commanding Officer

Commander Ashley Shaw
Intelligence Officer
USS Vigilant

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

Commander Ashley Shaw walked down the narrow corridor of the USS Viligant towards the bridge. She was petite, and didn't at all look like she should have been an Intelligence Officer. She was 5'5" and not even 100 pounds in weight, with bright blond hair and even brighter blue/green eyes. She would have been any man's secret desire, if it wasn't for the fact that she worked for SFI and was always away and just a little on the creepy side when it came to her work. Her looks didn't hurt her work at all, in fact they helped, and in more then one way. Field work was by far her favorite work, and using her looks and extra skills she was always able to get the information she was going for.

She entered the small bridge and walked across to the other door and walked down the short corridor towards the Captain's ready room before hitting the chime.

Na'sav was reading over the crew readiness evaluations. They did pretty well all things considered... what the crew lacked in experience it definitely made up for in ingenuity and heart. One couldn't ask for a better, if as of yet rookie crew.

"Enter."

The petiet blonde woman walked in, "I thought I should deliver my report on the most recent fleet movment and activites," she told the Commander. "Nothing too major."

"Welcome to my closet." Na'sav smirked, thumping the bulkhead that was far too close for comfort. The Vigilant's Ready Room would have made a nice sized living room for a midgit... for the 6'1 Stagnorian it was a tad bit cramped. "Take a seat."

She quickly took the seat and sat down, finding it easy to move. SHe took the padd she held and sat it down on his desk. "The marines from the flag ships have already started moving down to the planet." She paused a second before going on. "One Marine will be dead by the end of the week. Fighter groups have taken up sweeping patrols of the system, and the rest of the capital ships are nice and cozy."

Na'sav raised an eyebrow. "The Marines are taking casualties already?"

"No sir," she said in respect. Both where of the same rank, but it was still customary to refer to him as sir. "I will kill my brother by the end of the week," she told him.

"Oh." That was to be expected, everyone hated siblings. Hell, there was this one time his own brother... "You have a brother?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Hes the Battalion XO over on the Miranda. Got his ass into trouble a few years ago too. I found it funny as hell, he wasn't as amused."

"He as much trouble as you are?" The Stagnorian smirked, reading the list of ships they'd be joining. It was an impressive fleet, though so was the 2nd Galae. "Maybe I could arrange a trade."

"What? A sexy Intelligence Officer for a hard ass marine who has punched out two COs?"

"Between Sorena, Iannella, and you the bridge of my ship looks like a beauty pagent as is. The rest of the Captains are going to be jealous. A hard ass Marine might invoke their sympathies."

Ashley laughed. "It could, but then you would be out your only Intelligence Officer and my brother dosn't make a great spy. He couldn't even steal cookies from the cookie jar without getting caught."

"Relax Commander, your job is safe... for now." Na'sav winked, finishing reading the PADD in front of him. "We'll get there with some time left to spare... intend on checking in with your brother?"

"I was thinking about showing up unannounced. I forgot to tell him I had gotten a transfer, so it will be a nice surprise... and a good laugh when I walk in as he gets out of the shower. Something about his sister seeing him half naked always turns him bright red." She thought a second. "I also hear that he has a girlfriend now, so I thought about meeting her and telling her all the little things," she said with a wink. "I am a younger sister, it's in my job desciption to be a pain in the ass."

"Especially given the way you 'don't' knock." Na'sav gave a teasing glare. Privacy was a luxury that really couldn't be afforded very well on a ship the size of the Defiant class. If he wasn't used to it, it would have been a real culture shock. "I feel sorry for the bastard already."

"Yeah, I am to," she said with a giant grin.

"All right, if there's nothing else, you're dismissed."

She smiled and stood up gracefully, twirled gently and headed for the door before stopping. She didn't look at him, "if things go badly," she told him, "I have a recorded message for him in my quarters, though I think we should be worried more about him."

Na'sav didn't say anything, all too accustomed to the tradition of final letters home. Instead he simply gave a nod, and as confident a smile as he could muster. The art of being a good CO, as he had learned, included occassionally finding confidence where there was none.

(Police Blotter)

USS GALAXY SECURITY OFFICES

Security Blotter for USS GALAXY
Stardate 50609.02

As prepared by Crewman-Recruit Allison Jimsdottir

== A cat was rescued from the Primary Hull Jeffries Tube with minimal use of force. One crewman reported minor scratches.

==Three individuals were questioned in regards to an incident of 'skinny dipping' in the Ship's swimming pool. All three denied the event, but Security is looking hard at the male suspect. A female Vulcan reportedly used vulgarity to the officers when questioned in regards to the incident.

==One crewman was cited for safety violations in regards to bringing a loaded Sniper Rifle into the 10-forward lounge.

==Officers responded to a cabin where a young child was found crushed to death under a piece of furniture. Preliminary investigation indicates it was accidental

==Officers are investigating several reports of delay in Security responce time due to victims 'being placed on hold'.

==Ensign Waldo Jones has been reported missing. In an official statement Commander Corgan said. "We dont know where's Waldo."

==17 separate incidents of disabling the Safety Protocols on the Holodeck were reported. In a statement Captain M'kantu said, "We seem to have an epidemic of holodeck violations. I dont know what it is about this crew that is so gung-ho about allowing the computer to maim them."

==Officers responded to a report of a naked lady running through the hallways on Deck 7. The individual was released with a warning after having obtained her phone number. The officer on call stated, "We have a tradition of naked ladies here on the USS Galaxy. In fact we lead the fleet in numbers of naked lady violations. Captain M'Kantu could not be reached for comment.

== A crewman was trampled outside the offices of the Galaxy's Counceling Department. Authorities attribute the accident to large crowds resulting from the large ammounts of mental illness's amongst the crew. Chief Councellor Dallas reported, "We have a lot of angst aboard ship...its very 'in' this time of year. We're tryign to reach everybody, but folks will have to be patient."

== Officers responded to a report of a crewmember reportedly whipping herself in the ship's chapel. Reportedly this was due to some of the aforementioned angst and doubts regarding a recent lesbian affair. The Ships Chaplain was confused, "I was under the impression that all females aboard ship were required to be bisexual....plus now I got all these blood stains in the carpet."

==An individual was reportedly seen wearing what could only be described as a fashion disaster. Mismatched colors, too-tight pants, and a belly ring. Ugh. Witnesses are urged to come forward with information.

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

"Uh...Allison? About that last item on the Blotter?"

"Oh my Gawd, I know! I was so shocked when I saw it. Hel-lo! If you're gonna have a belly ring, at least dont have some saggy pot belly to put it in."

Ensign Riley raised an eyebrow. That wasnt exactly what he meant. "Um...I mean. Its not exactly a Security violation and all....."

Alli frowned and rescanned the report that she had just handed in for approval. Everything seemed okay, and most of the words were spelled correctly this time. What was the issue?

"Is it about the Lesbian thing?" she asked, "I was kinda surprised at that too. When I came on board they tried to make me sign a paper agreeing to be 'gay for the stay' and also agreeing to appear nude in the hallways at least once a month....said it was a requirement for all female crewmembers....."

"Uh.....no." Riley replied.

"No duh! Thats what I told them," Alli bobbed her head, "Mom raised me right, this chick dont fly that way. I'm also not gonna be part of some hallway peep-show."

Riley had to pause to erase the tempting image of a naked Allison dancing down the passageway from his mind. "Uh....no....thats not whatI meant." he sighed and surrendered. "Y'know what....forget I said anything. Go ahead and post the blotter to the ship's Bulletin."

Allison beamed. "Zarky! My first official report...I'll get right on it"

"Counselor on Loan" -- pt. 3

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor USS Galaxy

Lt. Brendan Mullen (NPC)
Chief of Operations USS Exeter

As the two men walked through the Exeter's corridors, their nature of their conversation shifted tone in sync with the shift of location. Generic, conversational questions like "Where are you from?" and "Do you have family?" in the lounge gave way to more focused discussion of the situation at hand, slowly moving toward the more specific and personal as Elessidil and Mullen got closer to the ship's small and currently vacant counseling office.

"The Captain's a decent woman," Lt. Mullen said, responding to Brian's interest in how this leader among the crew felt about their CO. "Strong, uses the weight of her presence to remind everyone who's in charge; I have no problem with that."

So far, Mullen's responses had made it clear that self-revelation was not something he had much interest in. The counselor could tell there was a lot stirring underneath the calm exterior, but none of it was allowed to come to the surface, the wall of emotion held back by a dam of simple, objective statements that said very little about the man who made them. The psychological posture wasn't much different than what most officers exhibited in their first meeting with a counselor, but there did seem to be an unusual amount of effort put into maintaining it.

If Captain Vogler hadn't more or less made it an order, Brian was certain the conversation would have ended with his initial handshake.

"Some of your fellow crewmen consider her 'spooky' at times. Do you think that's a fair assessment?"

"Sometimes . . . yeah," Mullen nonchalantly admitted. "Doesn't make her any less of an effective CO."

Brian was silent for a second or two. He pretended to be thinking about the other man's words, but he knew exactly what he was going to say. "It does if it pushes her crew away from her. If they see her only as someone to be feared, it seems to me that they'd inevitably put a lot of their trust in another leader."

The counselor didn't miss the small smirk that crossed the Lieutenant's face.

"You must mean Commander Reardon," Mullen said with an opaque tone that nonetheless hinted toward faux innocence.

"Do I?"

"With all due respect, Counselor, I get the feeling you're trying to create a 'situation' where none exists," Mullen answered. His tone was every bit as casual as it had been for the past twenty minutes, but it was obvious that the probing was wearing on his patience. "I admire Captain Vogler a great deal. She's put a lot of trust in me where others might have done otherwise."

Brian decided that mentioning the fact that the Exeter's Captain admitted she had little choice at present wouldn't be constructive.

"It's true that a lot of the younger crew look up to me," Mullen continued. "Maybe they're just more comfortable with someone closer in rank, or age, or whatever. But I've never said or even suggested anything to anyone that would in any way contradict the Captain or Commander Reardon."

"Please don't misunderstand, Lieutenant. I'm not suggesting that you're fomenting rebellion or anything like that. In fact, the crew's reaction to you would make plenty of sense for any of the reasons you've suggested and more. What I'm more interested in is how it affects you. Charisma can be quite a burden in its own right."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," the young redhead countered with a cocky grin. "I'm just who I am doing the job I've been given to do."

"And what would you say that job is?"

There was barely a pause before Mullen replied, "I make sure everything on this ship runs smoothly."

Despite the choice of phrase, "this" sounded a lot like "my" to the counselor's trained ear.

"A job which Captain Vogler thinks you do very well," Brian threw in.

A patronizing smile crossed the Ops chief's lips as he stopped walking. "Then see? I must be good for the crew and the ship, despite the 'burden' of my charisma.

"The question is how much good the crew and the ship are for you." Brian cocked his head slightly after his response, as if to suggest that Mullen consider it carefully.

"Hm. Well, thanks for the chat, Counselor," he segued without further comment, "but before things start getting busy around here I want to see if I can spend some time with a young lady from Engineering I've been getting to know. You understand."

"A girlfriend already, Mister Mullen?" Elessidil lightly observed.

With another annoyingly cocky smirk, the lieutenant turned to face him one more time before continuing down another corridor. "Yeah . . . must be that 'charisma' of mine."

Brian watched for another couple seconds, commenting to himself after Mullen disappeared around another corner.

"Must be."

"Check-Up"

LtCmdr Anjoli D'Bari
Cmdr Jaal Jaxom

==Sickbay==

Jaal poked his head in Anjoli's office. "Got a minute doc?"

Anjoli sat back from her computer terminal with a smile. It's been a while since he had darkened her door. They'd even missed their weekly lunches the last two weeks thanks to the hectic mission. "Come in, Jaal....what brings you to my sanctum sanctorum?"

"I'm just taking a short walk around the ship checking on some things." He walked into the green woman's office with a pecularly innocent look on his face.

"Oh....really?" The emerald woman stood up and came around her desk to lean against it. "That sounds positively.....nebulous."

"The truth is," his mouth twisted wistfully a second, "I really don't think we're getting out of this without a fight. I'm checking on the crew's battle readiness and morale. I know it's not really necessary but it makes me feel better."

Anjoli nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked up to her friend.

"Of course. That's part of what makes you so good at your job. One day, you're going to make a fine Captain. And if you ask nicely...I might even come with you."

Jaal smiled humbly, "I don't know why you'd want to serve on a garbage scow."

"You could turn a garbage scow into a fine ship of the line. Besides, Starfleet may be imperfect, but they don't waste exquisite command material like yourself with lousy ships."

Jaal replied with a quiet, humble, "Thanks." He looked up at the CMO again, this time more business-like. "At any rate, If the Hydrans get here I'm suspecting we'll take on more than a few Romulan refugees. Most likely the higher ranking ones in their society." Jaal's eyes closed a second, "and you 'know' how they'll be." He opened his eyes again, "I won't give them preferential treatment however. At any rate, I'm sure you and your department will be prepared. I'm sure there'll be some injuries."

The woman switched to official doctor mode and nodded in deference to the ship's first officer. "Readiness is at 92 percent. We'll be at acceptable levels when you need us."

"Good," Jaal answered, "Aside from us being about to be under attack, how are things down here?"

Anjoli rubbed her chin as she considered the question. "Morale is good. I will not lie--there's a bit of tension. After all, we're as deep in Romulan territory as you can be. But there's hope too...hope that perhaps this might lead to positive changes once all is said and done."

"Now we just have to survive to get to the future."

Jaal nodded, "The tension is everywhere but it's been my experience it's not the bad kind of tension. People are aware of what's going on and they're ready for action. I just hope we come out of this in better shape than Havras."

Anjoli folded her arms over her chest, intrigued by the mention of that battle. "I wasn't here for Havras. Shocking, I know. Some think I've been here for a decade rather than a year....."

"We were cornered by the Breen, Hydrans, and T'Kith'Kin in the Havras system. If it weren't for the 12th Fleet coming to save our asses I don't think we would have made it. That was when I took over as first officer. Brex, the guy before me, suffered some bad injuries along with Taalis." Jaal was surprised he could mention his wife so casually now. He'd said her name with no emotional pangs of guilt, dread, fear, woe or anything else for that matter. "You came aboard some weeks later."

"I remember the look in the eyes of some crew when I came aboard. I'd seen in after terrible battles during the war. Battles like Chin'Toka and Cardassia Prime." Anjoli's eyes met Jaal's, and for the first time he thought he saw a hint of fear. "Is there going to be another war?" she asked softly, her hands wringing in unspoken worry.

Jaal inhaled deeply before answering. "That's what we're here to try and stop."

"Prepping the Ship" (Part Two)

Lieutenant Ella Grey Chief of Engineering
Lieutenant (Jg) Naranda Roswell
Ensign Cedric Blair
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe Assistant Chief of Engineering

***Location: Main Engineering USS Galaxy***

Dhanishta waited a moment before saying anything, "I would like to take another pass at our defensive systems." she said, "I don't want another repeat of Harvaras."

"Ensign Blair, how long until you are finished with the checks on the plasma conduits?" Dhani asked turning to face him. She hadn't worked with the latest recruit yet, and it was her duty to assess him.

It took Cedric a brief moment to realize the Lieutenant was talking to him. He was accustomed to being called Cadet so the title of Ensign was still going to take some getting use to. He managed to play it off however by looking at the information on his PADD.

"It will depend on how many need repairs or replacements. I estimate less than a day provided the number of conduits that need attention remains low. If we encounter a high number of conduits that need addressing, then a day- two days max."

He lifted his head slightly as an additional thought crossed his mind, "If you want to free up my team as quickly as possible, then we could check conduits in critical areas only. The other conduits would not be needed in a time of crisis and would not affect vital systems if they had to be shut down. But that's your call ma'am."

Dhanishta shook her head, "I would rather that you are thorough. However I have another project for you. Do you think that you can take two on at once?" she asked.

He chuckled to himself internally when Dhani asked him the question; he double majored in the engineering and medical fields while attending the Academy, so to him doing two projects at once was almost as easy as breathing. "Yes ma'am, it should not be a problem." he was always modest.

"Brilliant." Dhanishta smiled, "I'll go through it with you after the meeting is over. Sir," Dhanishta called to Ella, swiveling on her stool to face her Chief, "Do we have any information on the Hydren attacks yet?" she asked an idea already forming in her mind.

Ella shook her head. "Only what we got from the recording which wasn't much. Why?"

Dhanishta smiled slightly, "I was thinking that it's pay back time." she replied.

"How?" Ella asked.

Nara raised and eyebrow and an evil smile crossed her lips, once again liking the woman's ideas. Dhanishta was very intelligent. Nara had hoped to get to work on the EEH again, but the two had a very rough restart when Dhani returned thanks to the Dithparu and things have only become civil between them since.

"Firstly I was thinking that we need to study the replay of the battles with them, both from this latest encounter with the Romulans," she was never going to get used to the PC terms and knew that one day she would get shot down, lucky for her that she wasn't a diplomat, "and the last encounter at Harvaras. We need to find a way of increasing not only our defensive posture but also our offence. The only way to do that is to increase our weapons power. Now we do have the phaser cannons, but I want to make them bigger and better." she paused and looked around the table, "Anyone got any ideas as to how?" she questioned.

Nara thought a moment, looking absently at the floor and her head soon shot up, "Perhaps strengthen, sharpen the beam with..." and the technobabble ensued.

“Fragmented” Part Two

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief of Engineering

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

***Location: Crew Quarters, USS Galaxy***

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

"In combat? As self-defense? By accident?" Miramon asked. He had to admit, it was a slightly unusual admission from her, but since security hadn't yet hauled her away, presumably they either knew about it and didn't consider her actions a crime, or they didn't know about it and, thus, she was relying utterly on counsellor-client confidentiality. Which, of course, she would have.

"If it's any help, I've killed people myself over the years. I've killed my fair share of Cardassians in concert with my crewmates, during the Occupation. And I killed a Hydran while on a mission. Sometimes that's a necessary, albeit regrettable thing. And a lot of people on this ship have been responsible for the deaths of others. You're not alone in that." Not very reassuring, admittedly, but perhaps she might not feel guilty understanding that others had and perhaps were in the same predicament.

"Now, tell me about what happened."

Dhanishta shook her head again. “No, it wasn’t combat. It wasn’t self defense either.” she said slowly, still staring into the darkened corner.

“It was a child.” she stated flatly. Pivoting, she faced him staring straight into his eyes. Her face remained neutral; her dark green eyes steady as she watched his reaction.

"Carry on. You're not going to shock me, you know. I'm Bajoran. Of all the people you'll meet, we're the ones that have some of the most experience with depravity. I watched what Cardassians did to my people. And very little can shock me now. And, I suspect, there's more to your story than you've told me, and I can't pass judgment until I've heard it all. Even then, I don't think I will."

“Depravity.” Dhanishta repeated the word slowly and half smiled. “I suppose I am.” she admitted. Her shoulders relaxed some as she exhaled. “I don’t know why.” she explained.

“In fact I don’t know when or where. I just know that I did.” Her whole body seemed to relax, her face softened. She felt like she had been holding this in for centuries, and finally she let if out, afraid of persecution, ridicule and shame; but he was forthcoming with none of those things. And for a while she actually felt detached from all the emotions that had raged inside her. It felt okay, as she spoke the memory became less of a nightmare and more like a running commentary of something she had seen someone else do.

“I can see her face.” Dhani continued, squinting at the memory, “I can feel her. I know what she is thinking. I even know her name now, I think.”

“She was about six, at a guess. She had long blond hair in ringlets. And I killed her.” Her face darkened as she recalled the memory, “I broke every bone in her body. Snapped her neck.” A chill swept through the room, instinctively Dhani pulled the gown tighter.

“I can see the blood as it ran from her nose and ears. It was splattered up the wall. But it wasn’t hers, it was his…”

Dhanishta sank where she stood ‘till she was balancing on the balls of her bare feet, her butt hovering inches off the floor, “He was older than her by a few years…” reacting from the surge of bile in her stomach her hand covered her mouth.

Rocking back and forth on her haunches like a demented mental patient she waited a beat till the nausea passed. “I know it was me.” she said in a small voice, “I see it every night, in my dreams. I feel what they felt, every night. It repeats over and over.” Tears flowed freely down her face, “When I close my eyes I see it, I see them. There’s more of them I know it but she’s the only one that’s crossed over. I know it was me.” the tears came in waves now, jerking her bony body, “I see their blood on my hands, I feel it dripping from my fingers. But I don’t know why!” she screamed, covering her face she wept.

Miramon put his cup down on the glass table that was located a short distance away from the sofa, then walked up to her and, placing his hands on her shoulders, raised her up onto her feet and guided her to the sofa, gently pushing her down onto it. He didn't do so forcefully, just with the intention of giving her the opportunity to say what she needed to and let go of whatever was gnawing at her equanimity. He sat down beside her, turning so that he was facing her, his expression slightly troubled by what she had said, but not so much in that he was disturbed by the imagery, but more by the fact that what she had said hadn't been suggestive of any proof of such an action.

He had to admit, he'd never heard of anything like that, but it almost sounded like she was seeing someone else's death through the eyes of their killer. It was, he reflected, more than possible that she would think she was responsible, especially if this had been eating at her for as long as she seemed to believe.

"Are you telepathic?" he asked. He knew it was a relatively insensitive question at the moment, given that she was crying her eyes out, and probably didn't want his objectivity right now, but something about the way she'd conveyed the experience suggested something very wrong, a thing with only several possible reasons that came to mind. He had to at least try and eliminate some of those if he was to help her.

Through her weeping she nodded, but the jerking of her body didn’t help to indicate that she was answering his question. Slowly she raised a shaking hand, the cup he had just set down on the table shook for a few seconds, and then gracefully it rose off the table and hovered in the air. Dhanishta didn’t look up, just continued to whimper and tremble.

"By the Prophets!" Miramon exclaimed softly, extremely surprised. There wasn't a great deal in the Galaxy that he felt unprepared for, most days, but certainly he hadn't expected to see anyone come into his quarters and start lifting objects without touching them. He reached over, wrapped his fingers around the cup, plucking it from the air. He put it back down on the table, then looked back at her with an expression bordering between incredulity and amazement.

At least that solves one line of questioning, he thought to himself. Not only telepathic, but likely a very strong telepath, certainly so if she could use telekinesis like that. It was something he'd never heard of before, but he knew some species possessed mental capabilities in excess of the typical Bajoran, so he supposed this wasn't really a stretch.

"Listen, this might not sound believable to you, but I'm not sure what you're seeing is you committing the act of killing. How can you be sure you're not simply seeing images of someone else killing the girl? If you were seeing it through someone else's eyes, you would think you were the one doing it, wouldn't you?"

It was a while before Dhanishta looked up through her main of tangled hair. She frowned at him as the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. “But I know it’s me.” she replied, wanting to add more to justify how she knew, but she was too afraid.

This information was safe – there was no proof, just her memories. That much she was well aware of. But what she did to Burton… what she did to the man in the cell was only possible if she had killed the others. Wasn’t it?

She knew how to kill him through the memories of killing them. And when she erased Burtons memory of the events, it was like a switch was flicked in her mind = the memory of how to do that. And she couldn’t have done that if she hadn’t before, right?

Her gown gapped some as she stood. The running commentary flooded her brain; the evidence was all there, inside her mind. And here was a man telling her that she might be innocent and all she was doing was piling up the case for the prosecution. What was that line about keeping your enemies close?

"How do you know that? I've no doubt that you're convinced, but the only evidence you have are the images, right? How can you be certain those are your own memories, and not somebody else's that you have picked up telepathically?"

He really wasn't sure where to go from here. He wasn't a telepath and really had no experience with telepaths. His only real fallback was to try and find out if she could separate the image of a memory from one she had received telepathically. He didn't honestly know the difference, but perhaps she did, being telepathic. His job, as far as he could determine, was simply to reassure her that she wasn't responsible - though if it had been her fault, that was an impossible sell.

He did notice the fact that her dressing gown's bindings were slipping a little, but she didn't notice and he was doing his best to avert his eyes so he didn't, either. Professionalism was the key here. And he did not need a distraction, even though he was technically off-duty.

Dhanishta stared at him, “I would kno…” her voice trailed off, loosing any of its conviction as she remembered Suder and the empathic echo. She shook her head, her eyes flashing with anger.

“When will it stop?” she contained her rage through clenched teeth. “I see this all the time like it’s always been with me, I feel this,” she emphasized by placing her hand on her chest, “I feel *everything* to the point that I think it’s me dying. And that it’s me killing them. But then you say that, and even though I want to believe this is another ‘Suder’ all over again or another ‘empathic echo’… I just…” the tears welled in her eyes once more, “I just don’t know someone that would do such a thing…” she again trailed off loosing herself in her emotions.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that she realized that she had basically said that no one else on the ship was capable of killing a child except her. That really wasn’t the take she was trying to make, but that too got lost in the amount of arguments that bombarded her mind. She really could be her own judge, jury and executioner.

That was better, he thought. Now they were making progress. Admittedly, it wasn't to say that was good, given the nature of their conversation, but it wasn't all bad. At least he had gotten her to question whether or not the images she was perceiving were of her. Better than nothing, for sure.

"You don't know anyone that would, you mean. But that's not to say you don't know anyone that hasn't done in the past - whether you know it or not. You also don't know whether what you're seeing is an actual event or a conjectural one - something that somebody desires to do, or thought of doing, or perhaps dreamed and left an image in your subconscious."

He stood up facing her, folding his hands behind his back and keeping his eyes on her face - looking down would not be an appropriate thing at this juncture - and offered a half-smile that was, or so he hoped, at least a little bit reassuring.

"If it's any help, I think I know why you feel the pain you describe. Are you familiar with psychosomatic reactions? When someone has a powerfully vivid mental experience, that can provoke physical reactions that would occur if that experience were actually happening. That could be what is happening here."

Dhanishta squinted at him, “But how do I know that’s what’s happening here?” she asked frowning.

"Well, if these 'memories' are not yours, they are clearly coming from an external source, or have been imprinted onto your mind so that you think they are your own. You can tell they are psychosomatic because the images are provoking a physical reaction after the event - whether it is an event that actually happened to you, or not. What we need to do is work out if they are your memories or not. Does that make sense to you?"

Dhanishta nodded warily, “How?”

"Restless Crowd"

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas
CO - Second Platoon
Furies 188th Battalion, USS Galaxy

Mandukar
Rihanna Male (Written by Michal)

Sgt Maj Niklaas "Kick" Furji
XO - Second Platoon (NPC)
(Furji and all other NPC's are written by Stuart)

With:

Sgt Julius Van der Groot
CO - Second Squad (NPC)

Corporal Richard "Dick" Simmons
CO - Fire Team Alpha, 1st Squad (NPC)

Pvt FC Shania "Twain" Talker
Signalman (NPC)

Pvt FC Boomer Sweet
Infantry - Second Platoon (NPC)

Pvt Lia "Newbie" Men'a'NoS
Infantry - Second Platoon (NPC)

****
Main Road
Ra'tleihfi
ch'Rihan
****

The guys were dug in along the main road, taking turns on watch. They all knew they would get enough warning to get into position, but after Cheron, the men were not going to let their guard down.

Baile had taken First and set up positions nearer the evacuation point, though whether that had been a conscious decision to avoid Colonel Arvelion or not, Steven couldn't tell. Steven didn't mind one bit. It meant Second were closer to the center of the city, and more likely to see combat.

This was the main evacuation route and no one was going to stop the VIP's from escaping to safety. That was the main reason they had been deployed. And if any Hydrans came into view, the boys were gonna get funky on their three-legged arses.

Steven dozed in the shade, trying to shelter himself from the blistering summer heat. He'd almost made it an order, that anyone not on watch kept in the shade, but decided against it. Pretty much everyone was doing that already.

Water rations were running a little low due to the excessive heat, and Steven had sent a request back to the Firebase for more supplies. No one was willing to trust the Romulans, especially with the hostility, luckily not open hostility so far, that they seemed to hold for us.

"Sir!"

It woke him from his revere. He'd been thinking about her again, much to his chagrin. This wasn't the time to be thinking about the woman. He had been here before, and had thought it love. But he had realized that it hadn't been. And he was sure this would be the same. It was an infatuation, nothing more. Or was it. She was captivating, of that there was no doubt. She was beautiful, everyone could see that, yet something else drew at him, and he couldn't put a finger on it. "Coming." He replied, pushing his thoughts of her to the back of his mind. Rising to his feet, he picked up his rifle and walked towards Sergeant Major Niklaas Furji.

"What's up Kick?"

Niklaas ran his hand through his slick hair, brushing the sweat off as he did so. "We got trouble boss." He raised his other hand towards one of the side streets.

Steven looked in the direction he pointed. Masses of Romulans were heading their way, and some looked decidedly unhappy. Several were quite heatedly shouting at the unit, though few of the Marines knew what they were saying.

"Get the rest of the squad up and on the line." If they attacked, Steven feared that green blood would be shed this day, despite his desire not to kill any civilians.

The mob stopped at the makeshift barricades the platoon had deployed. Their abusive threats kept rising in both volume and quantity until Steven thought there wasn't a single one of them that wasn't shouting at the Federation marines. The marines replied by raising their weapons to their shoulders, prepared to defend themselves.

"Twain, front and center." Steven called out to the unit's signalman.

"Sir?" Private Shania Talker replied in that southern drawl that everyone in the unit loved.

"Get on the horn and let Baile know what's happening here." You never knew when something could go wrong. So he was all for letting command know what was up. It was SOP anyway, and Steven didn't want to give the Colonel any more ammunition against the Furies.

Shania smiled sweetly. She had had a thing for the el-tee ever since he had joined the team and despite knowing that he wasn't interested in her that way, she still pined for him. "Yes sir."

Steven ignored the constant barrage of words, a large proportion of which he didn't understand, and focused his attention on the platoon. They knew their roles and if the crowd advanced, they'd do what they could to scare them away and if that failed, it was fairly likely that blood would indeed be spilled.

"NEWBIE, just what in the blue blazes do you think you are doing?" Steven asked the bald-headed Deltan.

She turned in his direction. "Sir?" Several other marines also turned their attention towards Lia, including the huge Basik Tokka, whom had been mentoring her in the ways of being a Marine.

"Eyes front Razor. That goes for you guys also." He called out to the observers. Tokka nodded and turned back towards the mob.

A few quick strides and he was over next to the young marine. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We have a potentially deadly mob of Romulans, who for the most part likely hate your guts. They could attack at any point and you're sitting here eating some rations. Don't you think it would be wise to put the food away and get on guard?"

She nodded, eyes downcast.

He gently placed a hand on her chin and lifted her head up so they could make eye contact. "Private," He corrected what he was going to say, "Lia, We both know being a marine is a struggle for you. But you need to understand. These guys," He gestured at the guys around them, weapons shouldered watching what the crowd were going to do. "are your family; your brothers and sisters. They are here for you. Listen to them, follow their lead and you'll do fine."

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Yes sir."

Steven's smile left his face. "Now shoulder your weapon and join your family, Private." With that he turned back towards Twain. He needed to check if Baile had any instructions for them.

Simmons' face rocked back as a spray of red flew off in all directions, remnants of a tomato-like fruit slipping from his ugly mug.

Several more similar objects began raining down on the Marines.

"Can we waste these motherfrakers, Kick?" Corporal Simmons called out, wiping the putrid material from his face.

"Hell no, Dick. We ain't here to waste the Rommies. Just keep them at bay."

Simmons nodded, despondant.

There was no communication from Baile in return, not that Steven expected any. The boss seemed to have a problem with him, though Steven had no idea what he had done to earn it.

"Sir!" Kick called out again. "You need to see this."

Steven rushed over to see Furji staring out into the mob. Someone was making their way, albeit slowly, through the crowd. The interesting part wasn't that someone was walking through the crowd, but rather as they did, the mob around him or her quieted considerably.

The robes wrapped around him loosely, flowing freely beside and in back of him. To most races standards, the man was ancient. His hair white, which was kept short in the back and front. The only facial hair he styled was a goatee that was also kept short. Deep wrinkles accented his life experience, and the people surrounding him realized respect of elders, and let him pass as he approached the Starfleet Marines. Arriving, his eyes met Jonas's. He nodded, raising his hand to the crowd to silence them. They instantly grew deathly quiet. "Jolan Tru. I am Mandukar."

"Jolan Tru, Mandukar." He nodded in greeting. "I am Lieutenant Steven Jonas. I lead this group of marines. You seem to have some influence over your brethren. You must be highly honored among your people."

"I am. Is there something that I can help you with?" He turned to the crowd, still silent, yet anger apparent on their faces.

If he could help disperse the crowd, that would ease the situation for the most part. Steven nodded. "We are here at the behest of your Praetor to help defend your city should the Hydran war fleet get here. As well as facilitating the extraction of several VIP's to safety. This crowd isn't helping us do that. You seem to have some sway with them. Any chance of getting them to return to their homes?"

"So be it." Turning to face the crowd, he spoke. "Disperse with your anger. These people are here to help us in our time of strife."

"We do not wish to spill the blood of the Rihannsu while we are here, so on behalf of my unit, I thank you for your help."

"You are most welcome."

"Would you care for something to drink? Alas we only have water, but it is very refreshing."

"Just a little. It is warm."

Steven nodded and gestured towards a shaded area under the overhand of a sidewalk. "Kick," he called out, "Stand down the alert, return the men to the rotation and join us over here if you would."

He followed the young marine, walking stick in hand. Carefully lowering himself to the ground, he recalled when he could stand and sit with little effort. Although the years had been kind so far, his body was well aware that it's journey in this life would soon be ending.

Steven poured a glass of water from the container that was now at a dangerously low level. There was nothing that could be done until the supplies arrived from the firebase. Walking back to where the old man had sat down, he handed him the glass before taking a seat next to him. Pulling his canteen from his belt, Steven took a swig. Damn it was hot.

The marines, those that weren't on watch, were dispersing to whatever shade they could find. Turning to the old man, he could see his many years had left their mark on him. Steven sensed that he had seen a great deal in his lifetime and if any of that knowledge might aid them in their mission, then they would be better off for it. "Mandukar, I must thank you again for your assistance with the crowd. Only the gods know what might have happened had you not arrived when you did."

"The elements were aligned."

"As I'm sure you are aware, the Rihannsu Second Galae was destroyed by the Hydran war fleet. That is a harsh loss, to your people, and from what I've heard it was a one sided battle for the most part." He paused briefly to gauge the Rihanna's reaction.

He sighed, brining his hand up to rub his goatee. "War is never easy to comprehend. All I can wish for is that, with Starfleet's assistance, the tides will change in our favor."

"I fear that this mighty fleet will forge their way here. And if that happens, the Senate have selected key people that they wish us to evacuate for them. Since most of these are within the central districts of your beautiful capital city, any information on alternate routes we could have our VIP rescue teams take would be much appreciated."

"There are several routes." He took a sip of water. "Let me tell you of them." The next moments were spent with the older man speaking of the various paths of freedom that the teams could take. "Each way will have their challenges, however you will not face Hydran opposition."

Steven nodded.

Niklass arrived to hear the old man talk of alternate routes they could take. He hated the idea of having only one main route out of any battlefield and despite this being the capital city of the Rihannsu empire, it was no different here. "I'd like to send a couple of teams to check them out Sir."

Steven nodded at his XO. "That's what I was thinking." He turned to Mandukar. "Can you point out any obstacles you know about, such as markets, or incorrect roads or buildings on our map? It's a little inaccurate to say the least." He handed the PADD with the map on it to the Rihanna.

Mandukar took the PADD, shaking his head gently with a furrowed brow. "This is not correct at all." Changing the data on the padd, he handed to back to Jonas. "As you can see, I've designated the paths that would be of most benefit. Markets, I've placed an 'm' next to. Buildings that you should worry about are marked with a 'BW', others that are no worry are just marked with a 'B'. The shortest path, has the most buildings, which could cause a strategic problem. The longest path is the least obstructed, however, if time is of a factor, that would not be the best way to go."

"Van der Groot, front and center." Furji called over to the El-Aurian.

The Sergeant approached, his weapon strapped to his back, canteen in hand.

"Get second Squad up and ready to move out. We have work to do." Furji said to the man.

Steven nodded at the old man. "Thank you."

"Kick," He called out to the unit's Executive officer, "Get Men'a'NoS and... Riley ready to move out as well."

Steven took another drink from his canteen while he scrutinized the Rihanna. From what he knew of Vulcan culture, and the fact that the two species were so similar, Steven knew the man to be well over a hundred years of age. He must have seen a heck of a lot in his time. Probably been in a few battles as well. "So..." Steven began, "Have you ever seen a Hydran before?"

"Yes, have you?"

"Sadly, I've only seen a three dimentional representation of one based from the briefing we had prior to deploying down here. I hope that us marines, and your people, don't have to see them up close."

"Let's just say that they are not the loveliest of creatures. How they can stand themselves enough to procreate is beyond my realm of mental comprehension."

Steven chuckled. "That's something I'd rather not try and picture. I must say, you seem awfully calm when the Hydrans could be on your doorstep in a couple of days."

"I've seen enough through my years that little bothers me." He paused. "Someday, you will be like that as well."

Steven nodded. "I hope so. Though with the ease, from what I've heard, at which your second fleet was destroyed, I fear that it is going to take a miracle to survive whatever they throw towards ch'Rihan."

"We shall see, young man."

Niklass approached the el-tee again. "They're ready, Sir."

Steven nodded and rose to talk to the assembled men, but suddenly remembering his manners, turned to the old man. "Jolan Tru" He bowed slightly.

He returned the bow out of respect. Turning to leave, something forced him to turn back and study the group of rag tag Marines sent to try and help his people from experiencing total destruction. Most, if not all were young and inexperienced in the way of true battle. Steeling his gaze on them as they prepared, he prayed in his own way for their protection. Many of them would not return due to the harshness of the opposition. Raising his hand slowly, he blessed them for what lie ahead before turned and continued on his way.

"I have here a list of possible alternate routes that our Rihanna friend over there provided." Steven ignored the glances that some of the men gave Mandukar. "I'm uploading it to each of you now. I'd like you to lead one of the teams Julius, with Rigoletta taking the second fire team. I'll take the third with Newbie, Riley and one of the Second squad members."

"Sir, " Boomer Sweet called out, with a sidelong glance at Norma Jean. "I'd like to volunteer."

Julius nodded his approval. "Fine son, you join the el-tee." He turned to the commanding officer. "We're good to go sir."

Steven nodded, before turning to Furji. "You're in charge til I get back. Watch out for our Rihanna friend over there. Some of the men look a little antsy around him. We shouldn't be more than half an hour."

Niklass nodded. "I think I can handle it, sir." He smiled reassuredly. "Good luck."

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