"All Too Easy.."

Elaithin Jii

K. Jordan Elaithin

Kerec

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Ki Baratan, Romulus

Tal Shiar Administrative Barracks, Government Sector

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

They emerged from the sewer access to an almost-total darkness. After their eyes adjusted to the light of the waning moon, it became clear that there was a glow on the edge of the horizon - the construction and depth of the alleyway was what was blocking the majority of the light.

"It'll be dawn soon." Jii noted quietly. All three were alert, looking for any sign (or sound - alarms were obnoxious that way ) that they'd been spotted.

Instead, there was nothing, save for the not-too-distant sound of law enforcement sirens.

"The guards aren't here." Kerec said in just as quiet a tone. There was a note of concern in his voice - after all, if the access to the Tal Shi'ar's main barracks bolt-hole was unguarded...

"Perhaps my worry was uncalled for," Jordan murmured, softly, almost awestruck by the realities of the situation. "What the hell is happening on your planet?" She looked at their guide. "No offense.

But this... this is fairly unusual, right? It's not like the Tal Shi'ar to abandon anything, especially in dire circumstances."

Kerec's grim silence was the most resounding agreement she could have received. Jordan swallowed past tightness in her throat as she began to feel the weight of the whole situation for the first time since they landed. She realised that the dread she'd been feeling was being felt all around them, that the Romulan people had all but given up. Perhaps they were determined not to give up without a fight -- but perhaps some of them, those that could fight, had give up entirely. It was discouraging. Romulans were nothing if not proud.

"Come on. We won't find out anything sitting out here in the dark.

Let's get inside," she said.

"Yes. Let's." Kerec replied grimly, and slipped a strange looking glove onto his hand. Placing it on the scanner, Jii recognized it as a dermal imitator - a device that would simulate another person's hand - or specifically, their fingerprints.

That, in conjunction with the password Kerec input allowed them into the building. Jii was the last in, taking one last look at the unnaturally still alleyway.

He was struck with the conviction that things above the planet were far, far worse than the three of them actually knew. In the sky, he could see several dots of light moving, and he knew that one of them was his sh.. was the Miranda. "Good luck." he silently wished them, wishing more than anything that he was there, with the people he still couldn't help but think of as his crew, meeting this threat head on.

Well. This work was important, too. Maybe even more so.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Jii." he muttered under his breath.

Jordan glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow though her expression was softer than perhaps even she knew.

She seemed about to pause, to say something to him, but was interrupted by the unexpected sound.

"Hold it right there!" someone cried as Jii entered, the sound of six pairs booted feet tromping up. Romulan squads were in sevens, so there would be four more somewhere. "Hands over your heads. Name and rank!"

'Great.'. Jii thought. 'Grunts.'

"It's all right, Centurion." Kerec said calmly as all three of them complied. "I'm Senator tr'Havrallu's aide. We're here for a meeting with a with an Agent, about.. well, I'm sure it's above your classification level."

Jii almost winced. Wrong approach...

In confirmation, the guard's face twisted in a sneer, like a local peace officer who had one up on government authorities. (Which was more or less the scenario here.) "Well that's too bad for you, Aide, because Senator tr'Havrallu swallowed a disruptor about three hours ago. So whatever meeting you had has been cancelled."

The three Centurions rifles came up, the distinctive sound of their power packs being activated. "And you're trespassing on Tal Shi'ar property in a time of war. The sentence is death, to be carried out immediately."

"Good." Jii replied. "I hate waiting."

The lead guard darted his gaze over the the holographically-disguised Bajoran, taking his eyes off of Kerec for just a moment - who responded with a well-placed fist to the Centurion's unprotected jaw. Jii's arm simultaneously snapped down, sending the holdout type one phaser holstered to his wrist into his palm, where he used it to shoot the second Centurion with a stun blast, mid-torso.

The other four showed themselves at that time, three ahead, one remaining slightly behind. He was the smart one, the observing one.

Jii immediately categorized him as the greatest threat but, after he took out another of the soldiers, couldn't get a good bead on the man.

Jordan's draw, though far less creative that her husband's, had a similar affect, the blast slamming into the Centurion and sending him backward like a rag doll. Perhaps she had her stun setting up too high (just a click below almost certain death) but hell. They shot first.

She should have sensed the man behind her, should have known he was there, but it happened in a split moment. As they look out the remaining Centurions, she looked back over her shoulder, was in mid-reaction, but was too slow. Her half a sound caught her companion's attention, and perhaps saved her life.

Instead of killing them all as their attentions were otherwise occupied, the lone Centurion standing was forced to take a hostage.

It wasn't typically an act a Tal'Shiar guard would perform, but his world was under attack and his people would need as many as possible to fight the impending invasion: he couldn't risk his death. So he grabbed her, quickly finding out that she was not the Romulan woman she appeared to be -- she was too easy to move, to pull against him, and to hold. His superior Romulan strength was something like slipping a hot knife through butter.

The nose of the Romulan blaster pressed up against her jaw while the arm of the hand that held it pressed hard against her upper body, pressing hard against her collar bone and shoulder, while the other held her tight around her midsection, causing bruises where his fingers tightened on her hip and the rest of his arm crushed her ribs.

Kerec had procured a disruptor from one of the fallen guards, and Jii was pointing his own phaser at the Centurion's head. Cold steel filled his eyes as he saw the man holding his wife as a human(oid) shield. "Let. Her. Go." he said simply, the unmistakable tone of an order filling his voice.

The Centurion wasn't one to be intimidated, however. He was older than he others had been - more experienced. Probably the actual squad leader, rather than the man who'd spoken (and been knocked out by Kerec's fist) first. "Won't happen. Stand down, drop your weapons, and you'll be taken into custody."

"Your man back over there - the one wiping his nose with the floor - was talking about execution. Somehow I'm doubting resisting arrest commuted our sentence." Jii replied, his aim not wavering from the Centurion's head.

The Centurion gave a derisive snort. "Just a confirmation of our scans. Despite all appearances, you are not a Romulan. A death sentence for trespassing? Please. Even we are not so draconian."

"Still don't see why we should surrender."

"I don't see where you have a choice." the guard shrugged. '"Your weapons. Now."

Jii glanced over to Kerec quickly, and nodded, putting his hand ups as he went down to the ground. As the energy weapons were laid down, Jii made a small sign with his hand, directed at Jordan. It had one meaning - "now."

There was a surprised exclamation of pain from the Romulan as Jordan suddenly twisted in his arms, one leg coming up with a heavy boot attached to it while her upper body jerked away from the disrupter before he had the chance to fire -- though he did, and right into the ceiling. Her dismount served its purpose, however graceless it was (she was deposited hard against the floor, stunning her half a second before she rolled clear). It simply served to show that stronger he may be, but human women were difficult to hold on to. "Why do you idiots always think women are helpless?" she muttered rhetorically under her breath.

Jii finished the job with the phaser that never quite made it to the ground, and the man dropped with his six compatriots to the ground.

"That should be all of them." he said as he was putting his phaser away. As far as he remembered, Romulan ground personnel ran in squads of seven. "Good to see there's some things you haven't forgotten." he smiled at his wife.

"Some moves, you just don't forget," Jordan muttered, rubbing her ribs as she regained her balance, a hand against the wall.

"If you two are quite done congratulating yourselves," Kerec interrupted. "We do have a double agent to capture. Preferably before those centurions miss their check in?"

"We're waiting for your lead, Kerec," Jordan said, casting a glare in his direction.

Just when she thought she and Jii might be getting back into the groove of things, there was the painful reminder of their omnipresent third wheel...

"To be clear," she said, following the Romulan (whose Vulcan-taught patience seemed to slowly be wearing thin), "this excursion will lead to the man himself, right? Not to a way to get to a way to maybe find him? And if so. Why haven't you done anything with him? Let anyone outside of this facility know what's going on?"

" Yes. He should be here. It took me a great deal of effort to track down the keystroke logs and determine the operative who had deleted and planted false reports of the Hydrans new stealth capabilities, and the reports that they were preparing for a move on our border." The Romulan explained quietly as they slowly moved down the corridor - weapons out, this time.

" I only became aware of it from an operative from the Hydran front who had returned to Romulus. I had only identified him as Keller not an hour before your arrival. I was on my way to meet a contact when the two of you sidetracked me in the marketplace. Of what import is any of this?"

"You of all people should understand, Kerec," Jordan said, smirking slightly. "I might have started over, but I'm still an intelligence operative. It is in my nature to want to know."

"As Spock has repeatedly said, "There is no flaw in being curious."

Kerec observed with a small, wry smile.

"Sure." Jii replied. "Long as it doesn't get you killed."

"Be glad it wasn't my curiosity that killed me, Jii," Jordan said, grinning over her shoulder at her husband, "or I'd hurt you for that flip little comment."

"You'd *try*."

"Combat Morals"

Lieutenant Saul Bental

Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

Squeeze the safety lever exactly two seconds.

Insert power pack to lower socket, and push it firmly in place with your wrist.

Flip weapon, check side panel indicators. Ensure all green.

Set power to maximum.

Set to minimum.

Repeat.

Return safety lever to place.

Set to desired power level.

Pull safety lever all the way back.

Saul Bental knelt on his office's floor. He handled his weapon with a skill purchased with sweat after hundreds of times repeating the same ritual during boot camp, back on Utrecht III.

Saul's weapon of choice wasn't Starfleet standard issue. In fact, it wasn't a Federation Colonial Militia standard, either.

One night at boot camp, the drill sergeant waked ten excelling rookies up, and rushed them to a field outside camp. There, as a bonus for their achievements so far, he instructed them on how to use the Ion Pulse Rifle. The training session went all night, and by the end of it Saul and the other nine privates knew the weapon inside out.

It's a mean weapon, the Ion Pulse Rifle. A gangster's weapon. The design was a century and a half old, originally brewed by Rigellians, and perfected by Humans who apparently didn't believe in 'nice and clean'. It had many disadvantages when compared to your everyday phaser: It was heavier, had no stun setting, had a nasty recoil and it was much less effective in vacuum environments.

Also, and that was probably the main reason why the Federation didn't use it, it was a dirty weapon. Instead of cleanly disintegrating the enemy, it caused horrible wounds and 'unnecessary pain and suffering'. The drill sergeant used the metaphor of putting a cat in a microwave. Saul never saw a working microwave (There were a couple in the Napoli museum of technology, before they were stolen), but he saw his share of working Ion Pulse rifles.

Saul smirked nastily, and slung the weapon's strap over his shoulder.

* * *

When Saul came out, the intelligence CIC was already transformed to combat mode. Small hatches opened in the walls separating the various sections, allowing the intelligence officers to talk to each other directly without having to go to another room or use a comm. Panel. Everybody were bearing weapons, including two NCOs borrowed from the security forces or the marines to secure CIC in case of being boarded. Needless to say, the CIC was bustling with activity.

Saul called out for everyone to be quiet. He needed to raise his voice several times before the general volume was reduced enough for him to be clearly heard.

"Gang, I'll save you the speeches – Captain M'Kantu is far better at it than me. We trained for combat scenario many times since Havras, so I won't review the entire operating procedures either. I'll just emphasize a few important points."

He took a glimpse of some of the hatches leading into the main CIC hall. Familiar faces watched him intensely. Some nervous and tense, some stoic, some anxious to get their taste of glory.

"Our primary role during combat is to help keeping the ship alive." Saul stated the obvious. "This is done by providing the bridge with decision-supporting data, and responding to any queries from the bridge or any other fighting force. Be short and to the point. If Commander Corgan asks 'What is the fastest way to kill a Hydran', don't' give him a full review of their anatomy. 'Aim for the head' will be more than enough."

Some of the officers chuckled and giggled. Those who were there during Havras knew that such a query could actually come.

"The secondary role will be to collect as much data as possible toward future engagements. This is a SECONDARY role. We won't be able to provide intelligence when we're dead, and I for once don't have any intentions of dying. Focus on the starbeast, on the Hydran propulsion systems, and keep an eye for any unexpected technologies or tactics seen on the battlefield. If the Hydrans expose a new card, I want us to know the details when the battle is over."

He turned toward the central entrance. "I asked Commander Todd to let us borrow an officer to coordinate CIC's activity today. Most of the training sessions in the last two years included her, so I thought she was the best choice for today."

He gestured, and an officer stepped shyly from the corridor. The officers stretched their necks, trying to recognize who was the mysterious figure to be 'dropped on them'.

"Nyoko!" Cadet Indrakshi called, rushing toward her friend. The petit Japanese smiled as the taller Indian woman nearly hurled her to the floor with a rather aggressive hug.

"Oh! Thank you for reminding me, Lali." Saul said. "All cadets are considered non-combatants and should report to the shelters."

Lali grimaced at him, but much to Saul's surprise it was the Benezite cadet, R'Pok, who protested.

"Sir? We've been, umm, trained in combat situations. We, er, there must be some way we can be of use, maybe, ummm…"

Saul's brows knitted. He didn't want the trainees' presence to slow down the department. Then again, he was a cadet merely five years ago, and memories of that were still fresh. He knew exactly how would he react if some Lieutenant ordered him to go hide with the children during combat.

"OK. Lali, Lennem, Envar – you all know how to use a phaser, I hope? Grab one from the weapons' cabinet. You'll be securing CIC in case of boarding. PLEASE set your weapons to stun – BUPERS won't provide me with new officers if you vaporize the current ones."

As the cadets hurried to the cabinet, chattering among themselves, Saul concluded the briefing. "Ensign Eve's with the marines, so Boris will be in charge of technical operations during the combat. Novitz is in charge of coordinating with other departments and Methio's in charge of running the 'Samson' procedure to erase all data banks in case the ship falls to enemy hands. That is-"

That was not it. There was one final thing he wanted to say before heading for the bridge.

"To anyone who is concerned with the balance of powers. My ancestors' scripture, the bible, tell of a young Jew named David who later became king.

The Jewish people's sworn enemies, the Plishtim, marched into southern Israel. When they came upon the Jewish army, they sent out the giant goliath to be their champion. The Plishtim proposed to hold a one-on-one duel to resolve the war.

After forty days, the Jewish king was persuaded to let David fight the ten-foot giant. When David approached, the giant mocked him for his miniscule height and lack of armor and serious weapons.

David, unimpressed, used his sling to toss a stone and hit the giant right between the eyes, killing him."

The nasty smirk returned to its proper place on Saul's face.

"Our role, gentlemen, is to tell Captain M'kantu it's a good idea to use a sling. Good luck."

* * *

Saul was quite pleased with himself as he strode out of the CIC and toward the nearest turbolift. His people seemed to be in good spirits, and the story was one he enjoyed telling. Not that he was a believing person – the exact opposite, as Ensign Nila discovered yesterday – but it had a good moral. Besides, Saul always felt a connection to that specific story.

You see, the Jewish king who selected David as his champion was king Saul.

"Sanctuary"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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A hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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The deepening evening sky lit up like mid-day for brief spasms as weapon's fire seared through the gloom. Klaxons sounded in the distance, in the city, carrying with them the sound of screams and barked commands. Or was that her imagination? Were they all just screams? Around the body of the boy, Era watched as a squadron of fighters skimmed low, sweeping out from the growing wreckage of the city. Forcing her legs to run, Era sprinted, catching sight at last of the hospital.

The sign on the gate was in Romulan, but the large structure was in more or less the right place from what she could remember. Besides, with a Hydran party behind her, forward was an excellent direction.

Her foot kicked the door thunderously until an orderly arrived. One glance at the body slung over her shoulder answered the unasked question. Within moments, the boy had been placed on a stretcher and sped down the sterile hallway. Era followed at a distance. She knew she had to get back, but with the fighting getting worse by the minute, and growing closer to boot, she felt disinclined to race out into it. The hospital ought to provide her sanctuary for the present and in the interim, if she could find a window, perhaps she could make herself useful by gather recon information. A part of her laughed to hear herself think in such terms, and she could just picture For'kel's face at the thought of the scientist playing at being a commando.

As if in answer to her considerations, the next door she passed was ajar, and along the far wall several windows, beds positioned underneath. Without preamble Era stepped inside and found her way to an empty bunk, kneeling on the lumpy mattress to peer through the bars. The Hydrans appeared to be searching the houses in the area, though why was beyond her. Another fighter had landed to join the search party while two more streaked overhead in complicated patterns

- until Erastus realized they were monitoring the primary traffic outlets. Making sure none escaped, she surmised, fear and disgust welling within her.

For over an hour she knelt before the window, watching, but the fighting showed no signs of diminishing. A few times the Hydrans appeared on the verge of coming onto the hospital grounds, but always they turned back. It was a strange display of humanity to witness, Era thought as her numb legs slipped to the side and she found herself lying upon the bed. The pillow welcomed her, prompting her to pull the clean sheets up around her neck and shoulders. Her eyes slid closed.

"Asylum"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

Dr. Tir'len - npc

(Played by Chris)

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

A hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

Era had been having bad dreams. A strobe light was going off in her brain. Though perhaps a reverse strobe would be a better description, for with each flash of light, she saw nothing - just blinding, blazing, cold white light. But when the light went out and darkness closed back in, she saw faces. She saw the leering expressions of the Romulan boys. Flash. She saw the strange creature that had attacked her not long ago. Flash. She saw Jaal, smiling at the neck but not the mouth. Flash. She saw For'kel buried beneath Hydran bodies, the betrothal bracelet on his wrist glistening with his own blood. Flash.

She saw a man in white.

Era screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed, the sheets bathed in sweat even after such a short nap. The clothes she'd bought that morning were torn and stained with blood and dirt. Above her, the fluorescent lights of the hospital ward flickered as the generator strained to stay online.

Outside, the steady sound of coordinated, deadly fire met the haphazard, panicked concussion of defense.

Swinging her legs out of bed, the Kaelian forced her tired muscles to obey. She had to get back to the Miranda. Her hand went to her chest to tap her comm badge, but hit only shirt. She'd left her bag back in the cemetery. It had her badge. "Fuck!" she cursed, heading for the door at the end of the row of beds.

Tir'len was only a few months out of medical school, and now Romulus, his beloved homeworld and the center of his beloved Empire, was under attack. He had no clue what to do... a lack of any other general direction more than anything else being the primary reason for the fact that he stayed behind at the hospital, much of the more experienced staff having rushed off to be with their families in this time of immense peril and danger.

He was exhausted, afraid, and determined not to show either. Call it male pride, or the stiff Romulan upper lip, but there was no way he was going to abandon his patients in this kind of atmosphere... besides he had no where 'else' to be.

And then he came across an amazingly attractive, obviously panicking woman of unknown origin. She certainly wasn't Romulan, but the pattern of shapes along her forehead meant she wasn't human either as he had first concluded. Maybe she was a citizen from one of the member worlds of the Empire? It didn't matter now, she was obviously in some sort of pain, and one could even say delusion. The loud word which his translator picked up indicated a good deal of anger and frustration... a lot of the patients had been experiencing such turbulent emotions, probably because of the havoc outside the asylum's doors.

"Miss!" He trotted up, gesturing for a pair of orderlies to man the door. Normally the hospital had its own contingent of security, but they were drafted to help in the defense of the planet.

He grabbed Era's arm quickly and firmly, taking care not to actually injure her. "Come, let's get you back in bed. It's not safe out there."

Era didn't understand him, not speaking Romulan, but she could comprehend what he was trying to do. She shook her head, straining against his grip, and prayed he understood Federation Standard. "I need to get back to my ship."

Tir'len wasn't about to give up so easily, although this patient seemed far more committed to her illusion than most were, and much more physically aware of her surroundings. Ship? Did she fancy herself a military officer of some kind? She must have had an atypical paranoia. In such cases, it was best to just play along, at least until the proper medication could be retrieved.

"We'll send you back shortly, but it's too dangerous now. Come, you should rest until then."

Damn, no luck, still Romulan to me. With her free hand, she prised his fingers off her arm, bending his forefinger back a little farther than necessary in her haste and in order to make her point. Tapping her chest, she said clearly. "Starfleet." Then she spread out her arms and began to oscillate, mimicking a ship. Next, she pointed up at the ceiling. "My ship."

Well, if there was any doubt that she was certifiable, her crazed actions now negated them. Trying to ignore the bit of pain her grasp had brought with it, he simply nodded. "Yes, of course. But Starfleet doesn't want its officers being injured now does it? It's not safe outside, come with me." This time his grip was a little harder, tighter, around her elbow, though he still tried to exercise restraint. "Sit on the bed for me, I want to check you out."

With the hold on her elbow, Era pretty much had to go where he steered her. When she found herself back at the bed, she sat down heavily, her mind racing as it tried to figure out how to communicate that she wasn't sick. Her shoulders hunched forward in exhaustion. Couldn't he tell she was perfectly healthy, aside from being tired? When she saw him reaching for what looked to be a medical scanner, she quieted slightly. The scan would prove she was fine, then he would let her go.

Simple as that.

Tir'len made his scans, of course a general physiological sensor wouldn't detect the ever so evasive physical signs of mental illness, provided it wasn't one of the many illnesses which left no 'physical' trace. The scan seemed rather good; aside from slightly elevated respiration rates and blood pressure, clear signs of exhaustion, she seemed in excellent health.

"Okay, the main

computer is down so your chart isn't available." Carefully he pushed her down by the shoulders. "Try and relax."

"Damnit, no!" She pushed back. "My ship. You can't hold me here." Era sucked in a deep breath, trying to think. "Okay, how about this. If you can understand me, nod once." Era was hoping he had a UT of some kind, otherwise she was going to have to break out of here. Her eyes darted to the windows - only to be reminded that they were barred. "Fuck," she breathed, then remembered that she'd asked him to do something.

"Uhmm.. nod again?"

He relented and nodded a second time. Would she finally be happy now? Now that it was obvious he understood? Or rather, he could understand the words she was spitting out, even if taken together they made absolutely no sense on their own. "I can understand you just fine, miss." Rummaging through a surgical cabinet near to the bed, he finally found what he was looking for, a loaded hypo. Well, half loaded with the standard sedative.

"Take a deep breath and

try to relax."

Era saw the hypo and did the exact opposite of what he requested. "No!

Listen to me. I was in the cemetery. I left my bag there. It had my comm badge. Let me get it, or send someone to get it, and I can contact my ship." She rolled off the other side of the bed, keeping the mattress and metal frame between them. "You have to listen to me!"

All right, this woman was 'really' starting to try his patience, and he 'was'

needed elsewhere as well. "Nobody is leaving this facility, especially not with that war outside. I'm sure your bag will be fine, it's probably being held at the check in with the rest of your belongings. Now please miss, just sit down and relax, rest."

Era sized him up. By the grip he'd placed on her arm, she knew he was strong. He was Romulan after all. And she was tired. Plus, the door was on his side of the room. Outside the window, the sky flickered with weapons' fire. It made her eyes water. "I'll sit down, just don't stick me with that thing. I'm going to trust that you're going to find my bag." Gingerly, she sat back down on the bed.

Hopefully, the show of trust would be enough.

Verbally she was extraordinarily lucid for someone in her mental condition.

He supposed he could forgo the injection, at least for now. After all, he could use the extra medication elsewhere. She hadn't shown any signs of being dangerous, unlike 'some' of their patients. "Better. I'll be back to check on you in the morning." Carefully stepping out of the room, just to make sure he wasn't being followed, the Romulan doctor locked the door to the room, figuring she wouldn't do much harm for the night.

In the morning, maybe they could transfer her to one of the longer term wards.

"Proving herself"

Pete Shaw, Miranda marines

Branwen London, Galaxy marines

Pete stood just outside the command post and watched. His men where setup, the SFFC was in the air, and the Hydrans where just minutes from the task force. He was still wondering how they where going to pull this rabbit out of their asses as they where not only up against a superior enemy, but a superior enemy who also had numbers on them.

Bran was also waiting until the colonel called her into action. She came to attention when she saw the Major, knowing full well the man didn't like her.

"Sir!" She acknowledged him.

"Lieutenant," Pete replied. "You can stand at ease. Don't need you throwing your back out before the fight."

"No sir." She replied but still didn't feel comfortable around him.

"Something wrong Lieutenant?" Pete asked. "Besides the Hydrans?"

"No sir."

Pete nodded and let her be. "We are informal here, and in combat I don't need you to think if you should call me Major or sir or Pete or Aceman or whatever. Just don't call me Major. I don't need the Hydrans gunning for me. And Shaw or Pete works just fine."

"Alright.... Shaw." She didn't feel comfortable calling him by his first name. She hadn't noticed that informality before.

"Now London, how is your detachment? Ready for this?"

"Absolutely, s.... Shaw." She said proudly. "We can show you what we are made of."

"That is good to hear," Pete replied as a Private walked up with a padd that he quickly signed and handed back. "Now don't be to proud. We don't need people being proud and then fucking up and having us lose a line of defense.

We are entirely defensive here, offense is out of the question."

"Yes...." She paused but then continued. "It might help if you don't put me and my marines down every opportunity you get, Shaw."

"Not trying to put you and your marines down, just making sure we all know where we stand. I don't like this detachment CO of yours, especially as he seems to have dissapered in the face of war so I hold you and your detachment to a higher standard. It may seem unfair, but its the only way I can learn to trust you and besides I have had to deal with proud marines in my own Company, so I didn't give that statement to just you."

"Hell Shaw. My marines feel your disaproaval and they have worked damned hard the last couple of months. It is not their fault and they deserve a break. We are short on senior officers. I am not that long out of the academy myself but I am trying my damndest. And we are ready to show you!"

Pete smiled. "That is what I like to hear. Use that anger, and you will live."

She looked at him. "You know that's the first time you have been nice to me."

"No it wasn't."

She raised an eyebrow. "Name one moment, Shaw."

"No, pretty... well... maybe your right."

"Thank you for being honest. I appreciate it."

He smiled. "I know more about you then you may think. I do in fact know your pretty green and I remember when I was at your level. My CO back then got me pissed many times. And after I was transfered out of the squadron I noticed that I had always done better when he pissed me off just before the mission. I always pictured his face on what ever target I was going after."

"Now days I don't get a lot of front line action, nor do I fly a fighter."

He paused and looked over at her. "And you look a little bit better. I could feel your nurvisness from a km away."

"Thank you." She felt like opening up a little bit. "You know, I don't always find it easy. I had expected that I could focus on my counsellings career the first few years and learn the marine trade gradually as a very junior officer. But within months of being out-of-school I was XO for a whole department on a Galaxy class ship. And a few months later acting CO.

Sometimes I really don't know what I am doing. And there's nobody to tell me when Baile is not around." It was not said out of self-pity.

"We all have been in situations we can't handle. You do have something unique in yours. If it means anything, you are doing better, even since the Miranda got here. Just keep asserting yourself, and not holding it in and you will do fine."

She smiled at him, a genuine smiled for the first time. "Thank you, Shaw, I mean to do just that."

"The Thin Line"

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

2nd Lt Branwen Londen,

XO Furies & Staff psychologist

Galaxy Furies

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

(Romulus' Capitol)

Chaos.  That was probably the end-all response one would give of the current situation on Romulus.  In spite of their transporter inhibitors, it seemed that the Hydrans had discovered a way of beaming small parties into the city.  For'kel was assuming they were reconnaissance and special operations groups... made sense for those kind of troops to be beamed in if possible, behind their lines.  It had gotten so bad that even as their skimmer sped for the hotly contested Northern bridge, the Marine CO had been 'drive by shooting' at anything Hydran.  The Hydran force, millions strong... For'kel had never seen in real life 'anything' approaching the size of this invasion (though he couldn't blame them, Romulus was one tough nut to crack), and it became rather obvious early on that they weren't going to hold this city without some kind of massive reinforcements.  The best they could hope for is to deny their enemy the same.  A draw, sometimes, was in of itself a victory.

Overhead the sounds of Artillery took over.  Like comets, a good number of landing craft were crashing in fiery balls to the planet, cut down by the Romulan and SFFC fighters, or the capital ships, or if they'd managed to make it below 500 meters, Marine artillery.  Sufficing to say, a great many Hydran never even made it to the surface, and those that did soon found the landing sites themselves mined, causing even further casualties.

That didn't seem to stop them though.  For'kel watched in astonishment at the determination of this enemy, to the point that they started landing their craft on the burnt out hulks of their brethren that weren't quite so lucky.  Incredibly slowly, but none the less steadily, the Hydrans were making progress against them.  It would only be a matter of time, even as plasma torpedoes and disruptor blasts tore through the sky at the invaders, given a landing force of this size before the Hydrans made their way to the city.  It was not an appetizing thought, considering just how many people 'wouldn't' be seeing home after this.  In the grand scheme of things, though... this is just how it had to be.  May the Prophets, and Berilyn, forgive him.

There was a sound coming over the communications system, the nominal voice of the HQ detail's comm NCO.  "Sir, the hoppers are loaded as many as they'll take.  The pilots are saying they probably won't be able to make a return trip... they're awaiting your orders to launch."

Yup, this was it.  They were definitely going to be stuck... but then again, he half expected this.  At least there were a couple thousand civilians who now had a chance.  "Permission granted, get them out of here.  Sergeant, I'm ordering you, in the even we go to plan B, to guarantee 'nothing' of the HQ equipment survives.  Understood?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by the words "Yes sir."

"Good, Arvelion out."

Branwen watched him calmly. This was her frist really big pitched battle and she realized just as well as the colonel that they were going to be stuck here and possibly would not be rescued themselves. She swallowed hard but looked determined. This is what she had trained for all these years, the real thing.

“I will go wherever you need me, sir.” She told him quietly.

The skimmer lurched to a stop as he and Branwen got out, phaser blasts already striking near them as they make their way, low and quickly, to the makeshift fortifications on their side of the bridge.  On the other end was a horrific sight... one of many to be seen this day.  Unarmed civilians, many trying to flee over the bridge, being cut down as what few Romulan military officers were left outside of the city fought with unparalleled bravery to buy their people the time to escape.  For'kel could do nothing but fire at the Hydrans he saw, and wait... praying that the civilians made it cross before they had to blow the bridge.

“Sir, can we do anything to help these people?” Her eyes had widened. Never having innocent people be killed on this scale and it touched her heart. But the colonel was too busy to answer her.

The civilians began trickling over, a pair here, a family there... but the Hydrans were getting close... too close.  For'kel bit his lip as he watched a large contingent of civilians come running down the bridge, literally being chased on the heels by what had to be a full regiment of Hydrans looking to establish a foothold in the city.

"Blow the bridge."

"Sir?"  Cougar asked, hardly having expected that as an order.

"I said blow the damned bridge!"  For'kel shouted, hitting the trigger button just as the Hydrans were within range, blowing the entire bridge, a couple dozen Romulan civilians, and a 'whole' lot of Hydrans up into the sky, and watching the bodies land in the water.  He would end up hating himself for giving that order, but right now he didn't have time to worry about that.  The loss of the bridge would slow down their dismounted infantry... maybe buy them some time, but it was only so long before the Hydrans would bring up their own hover-vehicles, and ford the crossing. There were mines in the water, which would definitely thin their lines out considerably, but it was only a matter of time before the Hydrans had their toe hold in the city.

Damn, did he hate the feeling of inevitability they were up against.

At first she had not believed the order either; they were here to protect the same people that were now raining down in pieces around her. But as Bran started to try and not think about that she also began to realize it was the only order the colonel could have given. Sometimes you had to give up some to save more. Swallowing hard the young woman was just very glad it had not been her call.

As they moved on she squeezed his shoulder briefly in passing. It was to let him know she understood and that even although he was a superior officer she acknowledged the pain this had to have cost him. She realized this would be a hell of a long day.

The meeting (takes place before "Round table")

Ens. Lela Beral, OPS Officer

-------

"Hi dear. Guess what? We're heading to Romulus, Lexington was added to the forces defending it. We should arrive in few hours."

Lela was very happy. It was almost half a year she was with her husband for the last time. Hopefully there will be a chance to meet him.

"Realy? That's great! Do you think we could meet? Do you have many duties?"

"Not realy, our sickbay is empty, so one person can manage it all. I think there will be no problem with some time off. But I think that greater problem will be on your side, won't it? OPS have always something to do."

"That's right, but my duty is 6 hours 30 minutes per day, the rest of the day is ours..." Said Lela with a roguish smile on her face.

"You know, that it won't be so ideal, honey," answered Pilax, but he was smiling too.

"Don't break the illusion please..." begged Lela and her face changed, so that she looked like a small child, whom someone is taking her favourite toy away.

"Should I come to you, or will you come on Lexington?"

"I'll come to you."

"OK, so we'll see one another soon. Bye."

"Bye dear."

Lela turned off the subspace communication and hurried to the shower. She doesn't have much time, if she wants to be prepared. She has to ask for permission to leave the ship and to board USS Lexington. And many other, for her even more important, things to do.

It took three hours, till she was ready. Next thing she had to do was gaining permission to leave the ship. That was no problem, her superior had no obligations. So when USS Lexington arrived, she was ready. Several minutes later Lela was standing in front of the doors of her husband's quarters. She "ringed the bell", and the doors opened. It was in fact same room as was her own on the Galaxy. He has higher rank, but Galaxy is also bigger ship and crew has more comfort there. Pilax was sitting in the coach at the table, on which everything was prepared for a romantic dinner.

Lela hurried to her husband and kissed him passionately.

"It's been a long time," she said, after she stopped kissing her husband.

"It surely was. But there were even longer periods."

"I'm so happy. What have you prepared for dinner, honey?" she asked and turned her face towards the table.

"Of course what you like the most,"answered Pilax with a wide smile.

It was a long dinner, they spoke more than ate. When they finished, Pilax said:

"I've reserved a holodeck. We have 30 minutes to think about, where we would like to spend the 5 hours." And he smiled.

"What about San Francisco, the beach where you asked me, if I'd marry you?"

"Sounds good. And then my quarters in the SFA?"

"OK. I prepare the program."

"As you wish, my dear."

After several minutes, the program was ready. The rest of the time they spent by chatting about what they've done all the time they were separated. At 12 o'clock they were standing in front of the hoholdeck. Pilax tapped several times on the control panel and the doors opened. They entered and they appeared on the beach. Not far away the Golden Gate Bridge was to be seen. They took of their clothes and ran into the sea as they were. It was late in the evening (in the simulation), and nobody was around, so they need not to worry someone could see them. They competed in swimming and Lela won. After the bath, Lela switched the program and they appeared in Pilax's quarters. They both immediately headed to the bed, but not to sleep.

But time knows no mercy, so after few hours spent in bed, they had to leave. Lela had to return to USS Galaxy and Pilax's duty was beginning in few moments. In the transporter room they spent much more time than is usual, but several minutes after they left the holodeck, Lela was back on Galaxy.

“Sounds of War”

Cole Slaton

Various NPCs

Stood outside along with four marines Cole shifted his weight from one foot to the other, finger anxiously tapping the trigger guard of his rifle. What was taking so long? “How lon--?”

“Two minutes since the last time you asked sir, relax. They'll finish when they finish.” The marine was over a hundred and fifty years his junior, yet here and now he displayed more character, seemingly more courage than Slaton. All he could think of was how long it was until the Hydran fleet arrived, and how many other VIPs were on their route.

They had only managed to get a hand full to leave on their own accord, the threat being sufficient to send shiver of shock through their minds provoking immediate action on their part to save themselves from the coming disaster. But where one was willing a dozen remained. Steadfast and stubborn they would not budge for anything, not even solid reason could crack their armoured resolve. Romulans were as confusing as humans.

Where they should stand they ran, when a situation calls for them to run they stand their grown with such grit determination to give a poet pause.

This house, this Romulan official, was no different. “Make ready to leave, I'll see what's keeping them.” The marine nodded watching the Hazard officer walking up the steps to the front entrance, he glanced at his companion with a shrug.

“Please sir!” Matthews pleaded, or as close to a plea as a marine of his size and stature could achieve while addressing a Romulan official. The Romulan sat behind a large desk. The desk had a white freckled marble surface with a dark wooden frame. It looked expensive. The whole building looked expensive. Cole arrived just in time for the Romulan's answering shake of the head.

“I have lived in this very house, on these very grounds, for long before you were born!” he countered slamming his wrinkled fist down against the desk's surface.

“That may be so for him... but not me...” Cole countered stepping forward.

The marine gave a brief nod in his direction, indicating for him to take over with a smile of relief. Returning with a mirrored nod Cole came up to the desk staring down at the Romulan.

“If you think you can persuade me to leave think again! I have had about enough of this, get---”

“Whether you'd had enough of anything is not my concern...” Cole interrupted the Romulan shocking the man into silence. At that exact moment sirens filled the house.

Not from inside, but from out.

The fleet at arrived.

The Hydrans.

All eyes were on the ceiling, Cole's included, and it took a great deal of control to break that seemingly spellbinding hold. “Sir, I see that you would stand here and protect your world, your people, like a true patriot.

The men and women before you are no different, myself included. But you can do no good here as you are, with the Hydrans comes a new threat, great men such as yourself will be needed to rebuild.” Cole paused for a moment to allow what he'd said to sink in. “Restructure the Romulan Empire, perhaps even cut out the cancerous growth of corruption.”

“Your words mean nothing...” the Romulan cursed almost spitting the words from his lips, though the venom of before had lessoned. Has some small aspect of what Cole had said managed to see through crack?

Nodding the El-Aurian slowly leaned forward, hands carefully placed on the marble surface of the desk. “Then let me put it to you a different way. With every second that passes the sirens you hear will continue to play their horrific tune, and as they play the closer the Hydrans get. You are therefore placing the lives of my brothers here in danger...” Cole stepped back waving to the marines in the room. “... so you have two choices. Leave this house on your own two feet, like a man, taking all your support staff with you, or...”

“Or?” the Romulan growled.

“Or I'll have you dragged out, by your hair... if need be.”

“You wouldn't dare!” In reply Slaton never spoke a word. Instead his hands released their iron grip on his rifle, allowing its weight to pull the clip on his chest. Hands reaching out in front of him and pushing down on his fingers he cracked each knuckle in turn.

Strange how the slightest of sounds can get such explosive responses.

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

Outside Romulan residence 192-Charlie

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

Watching from the grounds, having escorted the Romulan, his support staff, and the Hazard XO who trailed before them, Clarke stepped up to Sharon who stood with Matthews on her other side. “He called you brother...” Clarke joked knowing she couldn't resist the bait.

“Well I think he's an idiot... or blind,” Sharon replied nodding at the young looking lieutenant in Hazard.

“I don't think you're a brother...” Clarke smirked, a strange glint in his eye.

Not even bothering to look in Clarke's position she replied, “I think you're an idiot too...”

“Don't get your panties in a twist.”

“Fuck you...”

“When and where?”

“In your dreams ass-wipe.” The banter was an every day occurrence in military life. From pilots and ground grew to grunts and cannon fodder. But these two seemed to have it down to an art, almost personal.

“Knock it off you two. Was a nice speech though, almost had me convinced.”

The three laughed it off, Sharon punching Clarke in the arm as they walked off, the Romulan official vanishing down the main route to the evacuation site a pair of marines for company.

Time was now against them. Now the drums of war grew to a fevered pitch.

"Chaos Theory"

Vaebn (NPC)

Private Lia Men'a'NoS (NPC)

Infantry, Furies 188th Detachment

USS Galaxy

(Both NPC's written by Stuart)

****

Ra'tleihfi

ch'Rihan

****

Chaos Theory basically states that a collection of seemingly unconnected events may in fact be connected in an intricate web. Unsurprisingly, as Vaebn emerged from the underground bunker that he had been held in, to arrive in the chaos that was ch'Rihan in the present day, he failed to connect what had occurred to him relentlessly for days on end to the vast events that were now conspiring against his people.

With no knowledge or forewarning that the huge Hydran fleet, with it's now not so secret weapon boring down upon his homeworld, he had no way of realizing that the masses of his countrymen, who were rioting in the streets, were infact trying to flee for their lives.

After dispatching the guard outside the interrogation chamber, and several more as he had made his way to the surface, he was greatly surprised and quite shocked to find the throngs of Rihanna all pushing and pulling as they tried desperately to flee, crushing all and sundry who happened to fall or be pushed over. With no idea where in the city he was, he restrained his urge to try and wade through the crowd to try and reach the building across the street, even though it's tall tower might somehow provide a little more clarity of the current crisis that it seemed was now gripping the city.

He changed his mind when he saw a young boy, no more than a half dozen years of age, fall, having lost the tight grip his mother had had on his hand. Wading through the masses, pushing them away as his powerful slim legs propelled him through the crowd, he managed to reach down and grab the boy, just before an overly large Rihanna, narrowly missed stepping upon the boy. Sneering at the Rihanna, both disgusted at his weight problem and his lack of consideration for the youth of ch'Rihan, Vaebn let the crowd drag him along towards whatever their ultimate destination was.

The crowd came to a somewhat abrupt stop as the sounds of firing could be heard up front. Thrusting the boy onto his shoulders he directed the scared youth to find his mother and point her out. It took but a few moments for him to find her and call out. Looking in the direction the boy pointed, he started pushing his way through the crowd.

After the tragedy that was the incident with the two Ferengi, Lia had recovered and was now on crowd control, trying to keep the Rihanna civilians away from the Marine transports. They were for the last few VIP's, if and when they were found and coaxed away from their homes. She missed having the el-tee around. He had been a great influence and calming hand, helping her where needed, and his loss had hit her hard. Sergeant Major Furji had done well in his absence, at least to Lia he had. He had kept the line, despite having depleted ranks. They still hadn't received the requested replacements for those that became the ARC's those many months ago, and despite that, they had held the line.

She had her rifle aimed at the Rihanna whom were still pressing forward against the barricades. Several had been shot by a couple of the other marines and as hesitant as she was to do the same, if they didn't back off, she was probably going to have to do the same.

With so few VIP's left to rescue, command had decreed that one of the shuttles could be used for rescuing civilians and Lia, Menos and Gomk had been ordered to select the civilians that were going to get transport off planet.

Vaebn waded through the crowd, trying to reach the front. He finally made it and spotted Federation marines lining the barricades, their weapons trained on the Rihanna around him. He saw the woman, and her child being escorted towards a trio of shuttles that lay parked on a grassy hill, and realized then why all the Rihanna were there. "Marine, I have that woman's son!" He called out in Federation Standard.

Lia turned towards the voice and recognized him immediately. He had been with them on Cheron, though how he had survived was a mystery to her. Turning towards the woman, she called out to the Tellarite PFC. "Hold up Gomk. Bring the woman back here."

The woman started to squeal at the thought of heading back into the masses, but stopped as soon as she saw her lost son. Cradling her daughter in her arms, she rushed back. "khnai'ra." (Thank you) She said as Vaebn lifted the young boy from his shoulders and handed him to her.

"Jolan Tru" Vaebn nodded to the woman. Who said chivalry was dead.

Lia watched their brief conversation, trying to make out what they were saying, but her UT had been damaged a few hours before and all she understood was his last comment. "How did you get away from Cheron?" She asked as Gomk lead the woman and her two children towards the shuttles again.

"It is a long story, Private, and I would relate it, but what is going on here? Why is everyone rioting?" He replied, giving the young Deltan a once-over.

Lia's eyes widened in shock. How could anyone not know what was going on around here? "Have you been hiding under a rock or something?"

"Something like that. What is happening here?"

"A huge fleet of Hydran warships is bearing down on this planet and should be here at any moment. We are here to try and help quell the riots and defend the city should they land soldiers."

"And your ship, is she in orbit?"

Lia nodded. "Your government requested our help and a small task force has arrived and is preparing to defend ch'Rihan."

The Rihanna surveyed the Marines guarding the barricades. They were hopelessly out numbered and should his people attempt to storm their position, a lot of his Rihanna brothers and sisters would no doubt perish. "Would you be acceptable to some assistance?"

Lia nodded. "Have you used one of these before?" She patted her rifle.

He shook his head. "But it is no doubt as easy to use as one of our own weapons." Vaebn saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see two uniformed Rihanna standing on something looking out over the crowd, pointing at him. Probably Tal Shi'ar, or if not, at least from the building that he had just escaped. He snapped his attention back to the Deltan. "Alas, I must leave you now. I am, shall I say, not the most favored Rihanna son at the moment. Good luck and Jolan Tru." He bowed and slipped through the crowd, bound for somewhere safe.

Moments later, as the Hydran fleet arrived and started their assault upon the assembled fleet and ch'Rihan, the first bombs started falling, and more seemingly unrelated events started unfolding. Events that fit perfectly with the Chaos Theory that currently applied to the Rihanna named Vaebn.

~Idiocy is Genetic~

Lt. Jg. Thyago Leandro
Domenico Carneiro

and others

All dialogue in Titanic Portuguese is subtitled.

===On Titan, the largest moon of Saturn, twelve years ago==

"<Tio Nico, what are we doing?>" Thyago asked.

His uncle, Dominic Oreias Aquila Carneiro, stood next to him, towering over the thirteen year old boy. "<Lessons in improvization>," he said, "<If there is one thing we Carneiro's are good at, its thinking on our feet. Our family has been blessed with quick minds and quick bodies, and with them, we can get out of any unexpected problem. You can never predict what will happen to you if you join Starfleet, or when your rocket hopper will crash on an asteroid, or when you'll have to dodge the police.>"

It was a well rehearsed speech, something Thyago had heard anytime he spent any length of one-on-one time with his uncle. The possible scenarios were usually different on each retelling, but Thyago always wondered if his uncle had a list from which he drew them. He also always wondered if they were made up, or if they were things that actually happened to his uncle.

"<But, I don't want to join Starfleet or pilot rocket hoppers or any of those things,>" the young Thyago said. "<I think I want to be a dancer.>"

"<Improvization is still important, Leeinho,>" Oreias said, "<What if you forget your routine? You'll have to make it up, or else you'll look like a fool. But, that's why were doing this today, so you can learn the limits of your body and how to improvize if you over extend your reach.>"

Thyago sighed. He thought that if he forgot his routine, he would look like a fool whether he made up a dance or not. "<Okay,>" he said, "<but why are we on the top of this building?>"

Oreias smiled as he stepped to the edge of the roof. They were over twenty stories from the ground, the paved streets of the Lua Valley dome city below them, the thick glass dome shielding the city from Titan's natural nitrogen/methane atmosphere above them. The silver star pendant and the feather necklace he always wore hung from his neck, swinging slowly in the lighter gravity. Thyago always wondered where he got them, particularly the feather, which seemed to be fossilized in some way, yet still soft to touch. Oreias had only ever said that they were from an old girlfriend.

"<You fly, right, Leeinho?>" he asked, referring to the hobby most people on Titan took part in, Winging, where you strap on wings and fly like a bird, "<You do aerial dance?>"

"<Yes.>"

"<You won't always have your winging suit when you need to fly,>" Oreias said, stepping away from the edge of the roof. He was looking at the floor, as if he were counting steps or judging distance. "<Today, we learn how to fly without wings, and what to do if you fall.>"

And then, he started running, bounding along the roof as fast as he could, and just before the he hit the edge, he leapt, soaring through the air, higher and further than anyone on Earth would be able to do in their powerful gravity, until he landed on the building across the street, some fifteen or so meters away.

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

===Romulus, Now===

The three Romulans and Thyago had left the office building above ground when the riots outside began to threaten the safety of the inhabitants inside. They took the secret elevator back down below ground to the city's catacombs. This time, they weren't concerned about Thyago seeing where he was going. When the doors opened, he noticed that they were not in the same hallway he had walked through before. This one was shorter, and led to no other doors. It was a dead end, by all appearances, and Thyago was about to point out the obvious, when the leader of this group, Dakorus, ran his hand along the wall until it found a camoflaged switch. He pushed the panel into the wall about an inch, and suddenly, the dead end before them slipped to the side, opening out into a new passage way.

"Maneiro," Thyago smiled. Cool. Juna, the Romulan woman who deemed herself his personal prison guard, eyed him cautiously, clearly uncomfortable with showing thier secrets to an outsider, a human, no less. "You know," he said, "I used to fanatasize about finding a series of tunnels full of secret passages and things when I was a kid. You guys are living the dream of every five year old boy."

"These were not built for fun," Dakorus said flatly. "These tunnels were built and extended and added to constantly over the last several hundred years. They were built for intrigue, to disappear people and to hide secrets. Secrets people would kill for. These walls are forever stained in Romulan blood."

Thyago gave no response to that. He thought it was better to keep to himself that that sort of dark, bloody history was part of that boyhood dream. They continued walking and soon, Thyago began to hear the sounds of other voices. They did not sound calm. "Where are we going?"

"The black market," answered Maiek, the Romulan city maintenance man, who had accidentally gotten Thyago involved in all this. "Where we bring and store food and supplies for the underground."

By now, they had all noticed the unusual loudness emanating from the secret warehouse ahead of them, and Dakorus sped up his pace. They walked through a door and stepped out onto a small balcony platform overlooking the large warehouse space. Below them, between stacked crates of packed food, there were a bunch of Romulans of all genders and ages. They all wore gray or beige, or other neutral tones, but Thyago could tell by the quality of the clothes and the subtle decorations stitched in, that they came from all levels of wealth and society, as well. The room was overcrowded with them, many of the children were screaming and crying, as were several of the women and a few men. Most looked lost. There were a few who were prying open the crates and hording the contents inside while others were trying to stop them, often resorting to some level of violence.

Juna, Maiek and Dakorus looked confused at the sight, and Dakorus quickly flagged down someone he knew, who ran up the stairs to the balcony to meet him. "What is going on," he demanded.

"The city is in chaos," the man said quicly. He was a kid, no older than his very early twenties. "Somak has opened the tunnels to any that seek thier shelter."

"The protocol is to only allow our supporters into the tunnels. We can't let all these people know where we hide. Tell them to stay in thier homes if they want shelter from the riots."

"They're not -- they're not rioting anymore, sir," the kid stumbled, "The Hydrans. They've reached Romulus. They're attacking."

The soft green in Dakorus' face quicly seeped away, leaving only a sick pale behind. He swallowed the news, his adam's apple bobbing noticably underneath his open collar. The other two Romulans had a similar reaction. Maiek was the first to speak up. "They can't stay here," he said, "They can't be looting through and hording the supplies."

"Maiek is right," Dakorus said, finally, "Get these people out of here. Take them down into the meeting chambers and the living quarters. If this attack is long, then we may need these supplies. Get them out of here and seal off the markets."

The kid nodded and retreated down the stairs to convey the news to the other Unificationists. Thyago looked at Dakorus, "If the Hydrans are attacking, I should probably return to my ship."

The Romulan nodded and Thyago reached over to activate his comm badge, but instead slapped his empty chest. Juna looked at him, "We took it off. Its still in the interrogation room."

"It wouldn't be any good down here anyway," Maiek added. The natural nervousness in his speech was amplified, and his voice quivered slightly as he spoke. "The tunnels, they're shielded to block transmissions. As are most of the buildings in this district."

"Corporate espionage?" Thyago guessed and Maiek nodded.

Dakorus looked to Juna, "Go with him to get his communicator and then take him to the roof so he can contact his ship and beam aboard. If the Hydrans are attacking, I'm sure they'll need all of their crew. Then come back down here and help organize these people." She nodded and took Thyago by his arm, aggressively escorting him out of the room.

"Good luck," Maiek called out as they left, then disappeared down the stairs and into the crowd.

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

===On Titan===

"<Holy fucking mother of god! I almost fell,>" Thyago screamed, hugging the floor of the building's roof after having pulled himself up from the ledge.

His uncle, Oreias, walked over and pulled the young kid to his feet. "<Yeah, you should run a little faster next time. You didn't have enough momentum,>" he said nonchalantly, looking out across the street gap towards the building they just came from.

Thyago looked at him in disbelief, his eyes wide. He sunk back down to his knees and carefully looked over the edge of the building to the pavement below, nightmares of falling and splattering like a dropped egg filling his mind. "<How high are we?>"

"<Around twenty stories,>" Oreias said, then realized what the boy was driving at. "<You won't die,>" he explained, a bit of whine in his voice, "<If you fall, you'll hit the ground at just over 30 kph. On Earth, you'd die. Higher gravity and the air is less dense, so there's less resistance. But here, you fall, you land on your feet, you'll probably be able to walk away from it. At worst, you'll break a bone, no big deal.>"

He joined Thyago in his gaze downwards and thought a moment, eventually adding, "<Don't tell your mother we're doing this. She'll kill me.>"

"<What about dad?>" Thyago asked.

"<Cruzer? He and I use to do this all the time when we were your age. He wasn't as good at it as me, though, he kept falling. He was always better with words than actions.>"

This did not help to settle Thyago's nerves, as he was still crawling along the floor. "<Okay, here's a thing,>" Oreias said, about to deliver a lesson to his nephew, "<Don't ever slow down. If you slow down and think about how stupid it is to be doing whatever it is you're doing, then you're going to start to panic. When you panic, you retreat inside, and you forget to look at the world around you. If you're unaware of your space, then you can't improvise with it. If you slow down, that's when you die.>"

He bent down and lifted Thyago to his feet again. "<Now,>" Ori continued, "<We're going to run down the street. Come on,>" he said, then turned and took another running leap to the next building over.

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

===On Romulus===

Back in the hands of the would-be prison guard, Thyago had to move at an uncomfortable half-walk half-run to keep Juna from ripping his arm from his socket. "You don't have to hold on to me like I'm a prisoner," he said as they moved down dark, narrow stone corridors. "I'm not going to tell anyone where your hidden base is, but it looks like the secret's out anyway."

She looked at him, anger flashing in her eyes. But she must have realized it was misplaced and that he was not her enemy, because she let go. He was immediately thankful, curling the appendage protectively against his chest, massaging the abused shoulder with his other hand. "We should hurry," she said, and increased her pace to a full run.

She dashed around a sharp turn, and Thyago nearly collided into her as he did the same. She had stopped just around the corner in order to pull back on a beige brick that extended from the wall. It appeared to nothing more than a piece of poor masonry work, but it was really a handle, a knob to another hidden door, behind which lay a staircase. They entered, and Thyago looked up to see the stairs bent around into circles, extending up for several stories. Juna was running down, and he followed her, realizing they extended in this direction for another several stories. Without stopping, she threw her full weight against wall at the bend of the stairs, revealing another door. Thyago was beginning to wonder how many secret passages these tunnels hid and how it was possible to remember where they all were if they they were all so carefully hidden.

They were in the hallway that led to the room he was interrogated in earlier. The second interrogator, the sexy Vulcanesque woman, was gone, he noticed as they entered the room. He realized then that she was probably an actual Vulcan, considering the Unifcationists were made up of both species. Juna moved around to the large wooden table that filled the room and reached for a drawer, the wood knocking and grinding as she opened and closed it quickly. She threw him his communicator pin, and he nearly dropped it, surprised by the unexpected toss. He tapped it, instictively, forgetting that no signal was possible in the tunnels, and indeed, the device emmited a muffled cough as it failed to make a connection to anything.

"We'll take the elevator up to the roof of the building above us," Juna said, slipping past him and back out into the hallway. "From there, you should be able to contact your ship if the Hydrans have not already destroyed it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said, following her down the hallway to the lift entrance. They entered and she typed a code in the side panel, and soon, the elevator was moving upwards at its slow, unrushed pace.

They sat there uncomfortably as the the elevator carried them upwards, forced to sit still and wait after rushing around in the underground tunnels. It was an immediate drag on his adrenaline, and Thyago felt himself crash and depression and panic begin to sink in. Don't ever slow down, his uncle used to say to him, a man always obsessed with speed and quickness, hyping its virtues like a salesman trying to pawn off a used auto. But it was good advice. You slow down, and your adrenaline stops pumping, your energy drains and your brain shuts down to rest.

So, he forced himself to think about other things that got his adrenaline pumping. "So, uh, if we win, can I call you some time?" he asked. Juna turned, a disgusted, enraged look on her face. "I was -- I was joking. Of course," he said, "It was, it was a joke. Uh...ha hah!"

She turned back around, facing forward in the elevator, and he sighed awkwardly, straightening his posture and staring at the counting dial, waiting for it to end.

Eventually, it did. They exited the lift, and Thyago could immediately hear the muffled wailing of a siren. Juna led them through a narrow maintenance hallway up a small set of stairs to a door that led out onto the roof of the office building. She opened the heavy metal door, cracking it slightly from its seam, and ripped away from her hands, caught by a strong steady wind and slamming the opposite wall.

"What the hell is going on?!" Thyago screamed over the thunderous wind and wailing sirens. The sky was dark, covered in black clouds. It was night, or rather, early morning, since he could see the sunrise lighting the horizon to one side. Rain was beating against his skin, immediately soaking his clothes. Lightning was flickering in the sky, mostly between clouds, forming diffuse washes of white, but occasionally it struck out towards the ground, arcing and splitting like so many electric fingers. He couldn't hear if there was any thunder, it was being drowned out by a large siren bell, ringing from a tower on the corner of the roof.

"Air raid sirens," Juna screamed, leaning in close to his ear. Her long, black hair was whipping them both in the face as it slapped in the wind. "And weather control. Storm interferes with scanners."

"Will I be able to get through?" he yelled, and she shrugged, so he simply tried. He tapped his comm badge, but he couldn't hear the connective chirp, so he just started yelling. "Carneiro to Miranda! Do you copy? One to beam up!"

He held the badge up directly to his ear, struggling to hear its little, but usually powerful speaker. Most of the signal was static, barely audible over the surrounding noise, but there was a connection and a response. All he could hear were the syllables '-da,' '-tack,' 'can't,' and 'plan-.' He couldn't be certain, but he was pretty sure that he was stuck down on the planet for the time being. He wasn't sure if that was ultimately a good thing or a bad.

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

===On Titan===

"<Fun, yes?>" Oreias asked as they paused on the roof of the last building at the end of the street.

"<Yeah!>" Thyago said, looking back over what he had just jumped. He still couldn't believe what he had just done, how stupid and careless it was. But, it was fun, in fact, it may have been one of the most thrilling things he had ever experienced in his young life.

Oreias looked down at his nephew, seeing himself almost forty years ago. It made him suddenly feel extremely old. "<Your father is going to be upset when he realizes you've turned into me,>" he said, commenting on Thyago's adrenaline rush. He had become addicted to enough things over his life to see when it first hit others.

"<Tio Nico, What do I do if I fall?>" Thyago asked, walking over to the edge of the building. Moments ago, there would have been hesitation in his step, not one of fear, he was certainly never afraid of heights, but the normal hesitation people have when approaching the edge of a building. The caution of sanity. That hesitation was no longer there.

"<Well,>" Oreias began, "<If at all possible, don't. But if you do, try to find a way to stop falling, without hitting the ground.>"

"<How?>"

"<I don't know, Leeinho. That's why its called improvization. You have to make it up on the fly. Or, on the fall. Try to slow your speed, try to grab onto something, like a window ledge or railing or a fire escape. Slide down angles, fall into awnings. Don't jump gaps where there's nothing to hold onto. You have to keep yours eyes open, you have to be aware of what's around you. You have to be quick,>" he said, looking down the side of the building. In his head, he was counting all the possible things to do to stop his fall, many of which he mentioned to his nephew.

"<How do I learn how to do that?>" Thyago asked in that childish way, looking up at his uncle. Oreias shifted his gaze to Thyago, and shrugged. Then, with a strong shove, pushed Thyago over the edge.

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

===On Romulus===

"I can't get back up," he screamed at Juna. "Let's go back down to the tunnels."

"What?"

"No good!" he repeated, waving his hands to emphasize his words. "Back down!" She nodded, understanding and began to move back to the door, but, they both stopped, distracted by a light in the sky. The black clouds above them began to glow, not white with lightning, but yellow red. Suddenly, the clouds parted, and a bright beam of light shot down from the sky, from the battle above, and struck the building next to them. The winds changed direction, now blowing away from the beam as super heated air expanded and fought for room. The blinding light struck the near corner of the neighboring building, only a few meters away, puncturing through the roof and into its innards like a hot knife through butter.

"Run," Thyago said suddenly.

"What?" Juna yelled over the hissing sizzle of the ray.

"Run," he said again, louder.

"Where?" she screamed, as he darted towards the side of the building.

"RUN!" he roared at the top of his lungs, leaping from the edge of the building. She watched him soar through the air and land on the roof of the building on the far side, then turned back to the lightshow behind her. As quick as it had come, the laser disappeared, and it was immediately obvious why Thyago fled in fear. The beam was gone but the hissing sizzle was still there, as was the gusts of hot air. The building was moments from exploding.

She turned and followed the human, running at full speed and leaping from the roof. Thyago tried not to look down. He wasn't on Titan anymore, Romulus was Earth-like. If he under jumped and fell, he would be gone. So would Juna. Just run, judge the distances, jump, and keep an eye out for things to grab. He looked back to see Juna only a few meters behind him, her eyes wide with fear and panic and disbelief at what she was doing. Suddenly, the building behind them exploded, fling shrapnel and masonry in every possible direction. Bricks and glass flew racing past his face, now nearly four buildings away, like balls from a cannon. Something pierced his side, grazing his ribs as it shot by, and something else struck the back of his forearm.

A cloud of dust and smoke was expanding from the blast, riding the shockwave, rolling and boiling like liquid, and struck the two runners moments after they both took another leap. The force was so strong, they were propelled nearly twice as far as normal, their vision gone, their eyes blinded by the thick, opaque cloud. Thyago knew immediately, as he flew uncontrollably through the air, that the building they were originally standing on suffered the brunt of that blast. It would be a miracle if it was still standing. It would be another if they could escape alive.

He landed hard, his feet caught unawares since they were expecting to meet the ground long ago. He crouched and tumbled, taking the fall well, one hand dragging behind, one stretched out before him, looking for things to grab. Juna landed next to him with a shrill cry, which got magnitudes louder when she realized she had sailed past the ledge. He reached out towards the voice instinctively, grabbing her arm in the dark, smokey haze. She fell and slapped the side of the building, and he was dragged along the roof until half his torso and part of one leg teetered over the edge. His other hand held on to something, he wasn't sure what, but it felt like a small step a foot or so away from the edge. That was only the first shockwave, there would undoubtedly be a second as the remains of the blasted building collapsed.

He opened his eyes, and they instantly began to burn as the smoke and dust struck out at the delicate tissue. The building they hung from was blocking the path of the cloud, creating a small lee where there was still light and visability. There was a noticeable slope to the edge of the building, more so than what would be caused by wind sway, perhaps sixty or seventy degrees. An architectural slope. He looked up, the building past them was nearly forty meters away, much to far to jump. The ground

"Do you trust me?" he shouted.

Juna looked up, her fears pushed to the side for an instant as her mind focused on the question. "No!!"

"Oh. Sorry," he said as he let her go. She screamed as she started to fall, sliding down the building, grabbing anything and everything. Unfortunately, there was nothing but smooth glass. Thyago rolled off the edge just as another shockwave thundered past, and he could feel the building rock as he slid down its sharp slope. He condensed his body, causing him to pick up speed until he caught up with Juna, and then he slowed himself again, a manuver taking all of two or three seconds. He could hear creaking resonating throughout the building, as it bent and fought against the stress. Then there were shatters, and he looked up to see the windows above him bubble out as the shockwave moved down the building, and then burst, releasing a shower of glass that fell behind them. He looked down and the ground was rushing up to meet him, very quickly.

There was a small one foot ledge at the base of the slope, with a small barricade, and he hoped that he was moving slow enough to catch it. He pressed himself against the building, sliding his hands against the glass, trying to create as much friction as possible. His feet rammed into the barricade, and he let his knees go and he curled into a ball, trying to absorb as much of the impact as possible. Still, he felt his ankle snap, and a toe. Juna hit moments after him, somehow she had flipped around, so that she landed hands down. Her momentum caused her to flip over the edge, but she had enough sense to catch the barricade with her hands and hang on.

"Juna," he cried out after her. It was then that the shower of glass caught up to them, and he threw his arms over his head for protection. Juna could do nothing to protect herself. The wind had thrown most of the glass further away from the building, very little of the shower struck them, but Thyago could still feel several sharp stings on the top of his arms - glass that would have otherwise struck his head. When it seemed to have ended, he looked up and smiled to see Juna's hands still gripping to the barricade, her fingers sliced and bloody, but otherwise intact.

He pulled his arms down, and removed one large glass dagger that that embedded itself into his flesh, before tilting his body so he could peer over the ledge. "Juna," he said, "There's another small roof about a story below you, you can let go and fall to it."

And she did, even before he could finish his statement. He rolled his body, grabbing onto the little fence as Juna had, and let himself hang for a moment before dropping. His legs screamed in agony as gravity stretched them out in that one instant, but he was screaming as he landed, his legs crumbling away like jelly, unable to take another impact. The smoke and dust had again enveloped them completely and he could see nor hear anything. He merely lied in agonizing pain, letting the smaller, lighter bits of debris pelt him from above.

After what seemed like a very long while, the cloud dissapated, and he could see again. He forced himself to sit up, and coughed, his mouth dry and powdering, the phlegm he expelled from his lungs black as coal. He looked over to see Juna in a similar situation, laying on her side, wheezing in loud breaths. "Are you okay?" he asked, a stupid question at this point.

"I can't," she wheezed, searching for the words, "I can't -- you are -- the most -- reckless, stupid, idiotic--"

"Yeah," he laughed, still incredibly high on adrenaline and giddy that he survived. "I think that may have been the dumbest thing I've ever done."

Seemingly despite herself, Juna smiled, too. Thyago looked around as the smoke and dust cleared. In the distance, he could see the street, and he realized they were now only two or three stories from the ground, and he was overcome with another wave of giddiness. He should have been dead, but he very much was not. There were lights down the street, people, but they were too far and the dust still too thick to see whether they were Romulan or Human or Hydran.

"There are people over there," he said to Juna. "Can you stand?"

"No," she said, "but I will."

"Same here," he said. Now, how would they get down from here?

"First Salvo"

Captain Christopher Summers, CO

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, XO

Lt. Colonel Alex McKeon, Co-CIO

Lt. Colonel Rae Weber, Co-CIO

Lt. Commander Erigone Aello, Ops

Lieutenant John Ramirez, Helm

Cdr. Dakota Harris, Comms

Lt. Shiarrial t'Khianalmae, Tactical

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

Bridge, Deck One,

USS Miranda

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

Captain Christopher Summers had entered a place of quiet calm. All the waiting - the attack was finally coming. He'd wanted longer to prepare, but truthfully, it was never long enough.

What he'd really have loved was to have had the entire first fleet for backup. But whatever was holding them up back at Earth had done it's job. "Damn the politicians anyway." he muttered under his breath.

"Hawks or the Doves?" Jaal asked in an attempt to break the tension a little. All politicians were hot air bags as far as I'm concerned. All talk and no action. Precious few actually get anything done." The Trill commander has his game face on. He was quietly efficient while checking and re-checking the ship's systems and readiness.

"The Doves and the Hawks both." the Captain clarified. "All that arguing back on Earth. Wasn't for that, we'd have the whole First Fleet here with us now. Instead, they've got to debate on just how many ships should be helping the Romulans. Or if we should even be here - I'm frankly surprised we haven't gotten a recall order."

"That could still happen ya know," Jaal quipped looking up from his display. "Although I really hope they don't."

"Me too, number one. Me too."

"I'd say line up the politicians and start over, but we tried that once on Alpha Centauri and the results aren't necessarily any better,"

Aello chimed in, seated comfortably at the Operations station on the bridge.

She looked alert, but relaxed. The only things to indicate anything was different from any other duty shift on the bridge was her the blue at her collar and the fact that her characteristic cuppa Joe was ominously absent. Nervous energy wasn't going to do her any good now.

This battle, like every other one she'd been in on ten years aboard the William Stephenson doing deep space Borg patrol, would happen when it happened. All she could do was be ready, and she was ready. "All systems are indicating nominal and ready, Captain. "

The relatively large form of the Miranda's Chief Flight Controller was now all settled in down at the Helm. In fact, he was actually getting settled in to this new configuration. Sat alone at the front of the Bridge, he had the feeling that he was closer to the action. By extension, he felt as if he himself were guiding the ship towards this coming conflict. Literally, of course he actually was, being the Helmsman and all. "All Flight Control systems and Navigational control processors nominal Captain. All systems are rigged for Combat Running Captain" Ramirez said, turning to look at his CO.

A chirping from the tactical console silenced the entire bridge.

Everyone present knew precisely what that specific set of tones was intended to convey to the attendant tactical operator, in this instance LT t'Khnialmnae. She had maintained her silence ever since she had come on shift earlier save for the standard reports, a conflict of emotions and interests waged within her mind. However she had thought to resolve such issues, that singular chirping settled it for her. Manipulating her console, Shiarrael brought up the information the sensors were collecting. "The Hydran fleet is closing sir, two minutes to extreme firing range." She paused for a moment, going through all of the sensor data once again. "There currently is no indication of the Starbeast utilized previously, sir."

"Analysis of their tactical posture?" Summers asked. His fingers were still folded in front of him, and he was projecting a cool, calm air of command.

"Standard Hydran attack pattern Captain; their course plots them heading straight for ch'Rihan. It's as if they are ignoring us as hrrnai hlai'hwy." She caught the look given to her by Aello and immediately explained. "Defective pets." Looking down at her board she mentally chastised herself.

Aello nodded, wondering if naughty pets might not be a better translation. Who was she to question the native speaker? "You'll have to forgive me, Lieutenant. My Rihannsu's bit rusty. You'll have to help me remedy that some time soon."

She didn't add 'assuming we survive.' The tension on the bridge was thick enough to spread and eat on a pita. The words didn't need to be spoken.

"There sure is a lot of 'em" John muttered, not actually intending to speak at all. "I wonder if the Romulan Fleet even did any damage."

"The Plan Alpha still works. Commander Harris, signal the fighter groups to maintain position behind the warbirds. And after that.. try to hail the Hydrans. Maybe we can get them to talk."

"Good luck with that one, Captain," Aello muttered.

Jaal agreed silently. He imaged pissing in the wind for all the good talk would do now.

There was a clear surprise in Harris voice as she interrupted. "Sir, they're responding."

Chris raised a surprised eyebrow at Jaal. "By all means, put him on, then. Patch in Admiral Donatra as well, and broadcast to the rest of the Fleet."

"Aye, sir."

Aello concealed her own shock by checking her board. In her own experience, the trinary bastards generally only spoke if you backed them into a corner and demanded it. Of course, in her own experience, the Hydrans would never use one of their gods as a weapon. Maybe this was something new out of the Lost Colonies.

The image of, apparently, the Hydran Commander flashed on the viewscreen. "I'm Captain Christopher Summers of the Federation Starship Miranda. As commander of the Starfleet forces in-system, and speaking on behalf of our allies in the Romulan Star Empire, I hereby inform you that you are in violation of sovereign Romulan territory.

If you turn your fleet around and leave now, no harm will come to your ships." Might as well try to speak from a position of strength, even if it was bullshit.

Chris didn't know the Hydran leader's name, but the being's response was succinct. First, it snorted. Then: ["No."] was all it said.

Then it cut the comms.

"Well. So much for talking." Summers snorted.

"They're launching their fighters. Slightly higher than the projected launch times." Aello reported.

"Noted." Chris replied. "Inform the fighters to remain hidden in the warbirds until the fighters are on 'em, then they're weapons-free."

"Aye, Captain." Harris - dutifully reciting acknowledgment of the order.

"Hydrans closing to capital ship weapons range." Shia, now.

"All ships," the Captain said by way of acknowledgement. "Arm all weapons. On for attack plan Alpha. Go."

No sense waiting for the Hydrans to fire the first shot.

As the Hydrans were launching their crafts, the Miranda, the Galaxy - and all the rest of the Starfleet and Romulan vessels then headed straight for the center of the approaching Hydran formation.

Presumably, they wouldn't unleash the Starbeast if it meant destroying their own ships as well.

"Fighters are engaged." Aello, this time.

Chris tossed off a quick acknowledgement - but he was busily scanning for a target for Miranda. "Guns," he said. "Target 23C. That big carrier. Aim for the flight deck."

"Targeting."

"Start with the cannon, Lieutenant. Let's make 'em count. Aello, save the ablative armor for when the shields start to weaken. Let's keep that a surprise."

"Cannon charged, Captain."

Chris looked at his designated target on the screen, and gripped the side of his chair as he gave the order. "Fire." came the simple order.

Shia's hand stabbed down on the button, her targeting reticule shining a bright red.

Many decks below, massive amounts of energy were rerouted from the ship's warp core and funneled through the capacitors for the phaser cannon that was slung under the Miranda's massive saucer. Bright red energy lanced out, spearing the Hydran Carrier right through it's center. The ship didn't die - but she was damn sure hurt.

In the sky above, the Battle for Romulus had begun.

Unknown to Chris Summers, a second Hydran force - consisting completely of landing craft and fighters - was coming out of warp right on the edge of ch'Rihan's gravity field. Millions of Hydran troops and hundreds of fighters came in on the under-defended side of the planet, quickly overtaking the orbital defenses, and beginning their landing.

On the ground, the battle was now equally joined.

"Can One Matter?"

Shuya

The Fighter Bay was buzzing with activity. To an untrained eye it would have seemed more a chaotic mess than anything, but everyone knew their duty and stuck to it with a professionalism born of such situations like this.

The more experienced hovered close to some tasting the first bite of battle, knowing that with the heart racing, adrenaline flooding the system mistakes could happen and during this critical next few hours, or possibly even days, mistakes could, and most probably would, cost lives.

The ground-crew weren't alone, there were pilots recently transferred who had yet to taste the bitterness of battle and war. While most of the pilots were already strapped in, or close to their fighters, having a rotating shift through the squadron, Shuya wasn't.

["We stand today for them: the men, women, and children who asked for our help. Today we are their sword and their shield, the answer to their whispered prayers. That is why we will stay and offer battle to the approaching fleet, why we will defend those who have been among our most staunch of enemies... because to surrender anyone to the darkness - even an enemy - is to lessen us all, and to cast a shadow on the bright future that we built our Federation to find. We fight, and if necessary, we lay down our lives, so that others may live."]

The Galaxy captain's voice came through the intercom of the locker room, Shuya grabbed her flight suit pulling the material up to her waist before sliding each arm through the sleeves. She was only dimly listening to the man, though she had to admit the old fart knew a thing about speeches. She could imagine the officers through the fleet listening to his words, pride in what they were about to do pushing them to do what needed doing.

After a slight pause M'Kantu continued. ["Be proud of yourselves and your comrades-in-arms too, because there has never been your like in the record of civilization throughout the known galaxy. Be strong. Be brave. Be the heroes that in your hearts you know that you are, and the darkness will not prevail." He smiled slightly. "I am proud to stand here with every one of you. M'Kantu out."]

Not knowing why, her other hand holding onto her helmet, Shuya looked to the ceiling as if staring at M'Kantu himself and gave him a cheeky salute. She'd often seen Slaton do the same. It seemed some of his bad habits were catching.

Making her way to her fighter, being joined both other pilots of other squadrons, she thought of Slaton on the surface. Being Hazard XO for the first time, and she was sure not for the last, had taken priority over his responsibilities to his squadron. Why they didn't make Hazard its own department was beyond her. It didn't sit right with her knowing they would be a fighter short, and one of Cole's ability and command status.

An XO's shoes were hard to fill after all.

[“Siren, you with us?”] a familiar voice came through a moment after sliding her helmet on.

“I'm with you, just hope Slaton keeps himself out of trouble...”

[“You know him...”]

Shuya nodded before remembering they couldn't see her. “Yeah,” she replied.

“That's what worries me. Systems coming online, upload complete, all systems green. Five-by-five...”

Already fighters were launching flying from the belly of the beast like a bullet from a gun. With all systems ready and showing green on her display, and cockpit down and locked, she gave control a thumbs up from her fighter.

“Renegade six ready for launch...”

A blink of the eyes and she would have missed her exit, fighter bursting through the forcefield keeping the cold vacuum of space at bay, she pulled it up following a similar flight path of two fighters in front of her quickly forming up with her comrades.

Ships of all shapes and sizes surrounded her and she seemed swallowed up in their immensity. How could someone so small possibly matter? A spec of dust compared to such majestic predators like the Miranda, Vigilant, Galaxy...

the list was endless. Each Federation ship was a legend. Their crews'

legends. To stand amongst them, to stand shoulder to shoulder with such men and women, she couldn't help but feel in awe.

Could one lonely person, amongst so many greats, matter?

Ens. Artim - Science Officer

Lt. Savant - Quartermaster

"Deceptive Appearances"

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

Artim had heard some interesting things about the new quartermaster. Some said she/it was an advanced AI derived from the mind of a noted programmer. Others said she was a drop-dead brunette. Artim remembered some reference to a research paper about an advanced AI program that was called Savant, but had concluded that Starfleet wouldn't give an AI pips. Still, it was enough to get him to go down to her/its office to see for himself, that and he needed a few things for one of his projects. When he arrived he assumed that normal protocal was in order and pressed the chime.

He found the responce somewhat unconventional - not enough to really startle, but enough to set one on edge. Savant's tone was entirely lifelike, unstilted and disarming and easy; in all not what one would expect of an AI. Beyond that, it didn't come from inside - the voice came from the door's audio emitter. "Come in, Doctor," Savant intoned, "it's open."

Within, the office was fairly conventional - she hadn't really redecorated. The android was seated at the one central desk of the room, looking over a padd. Despite her focus on the display in front of her, all of the displays around her were on and activeflipping through inventories, polling various supply stations across the sector, and generally doing all of the work needed to keep logistics running smoothly. The one affectation in the room was a potted plant recently transplanted from the arboretum to the corner of her desk.avant set the PADD down upon her desk when Artim entered, her expression relaxed and vaguely pleased - just as she normally looked. "Good morning, Doctor Artim. How can I help you?"

Since he'd transfered away from medical he hadn't been called "doctor" very often even though it was technically correct to call him that based on his multiple degrees. The fact that he was indicated that this "Savant" wasn't just one in name only. T He was now realizing the story about the drop-dead brunette wasn't entirely false though it seemed that something wasn't right about her.here was a time when Artim would have known everything about a new officer within a few days of them coming aboard but again, that was when he was in medical. It didn't take Artim long once he entered the office to know he was in the right place based on the display.

"I've started on some personal research continuing some old projects. I got the bacterial samples I need waiting at DS 5, but I'm going to need some other things. Specialized stasis pods, nutrient solutions I can't replicate, that sort of thing", Artim produced a PADD with the list

Savant nodded her head and lifted a hand up to one of the display terminals, which cleared to show the list on Artim's PADD. For the moment, all of the text was a dusky red colour. However, as she indicated the lines they cleared to blue or yellow.

"I have all of the basic millicochrane range statis field generators you need available already, but I'm afraid they're not tunable to the range you need. I'll add some field modulators to the list and you can have Engineering splice them in - unless you'd prefer to do that yourself, of course."

She gestured through a range, which cascaded from red to blue, as it was all quite available. "We still have several kiloleters of nutrisol, and I can get you the armature apparatus easily enough, though we're running low so please do try to re-use the lattice-layers. I'll have it crated and brought to your lab?"

"That was fast", Artim intially reacted quite surprised to the speed at which the quartermaster went through his list. Normally a human, or even a vulcan quartermaster would have required at least a few minutes to hunt down the things. There was something not entirely right about her right off the bat. That seemed to indicate she was either an android, an AI, or the tallest and sexiest Bynar ever. Artim didn't want to say this but fealt the need to.

"You aren't...human are you?"

Savant had encountered such questions in the past. Her guise was good, and most people couldn't tell right away. She grinned broadly, a slowly spreading smile that ranged from amused to pleased to delighted, until it was as broad as could be and just as charming. Her smile was as well-crafted as her guise, after all; she was proud of it.

"You're very astute, Doctor. No, I'm not human, though I do try to fit in with them. I don't like making waves." She sat back a little as the last red items in the list turned yellow, indicating presence but short supply. "You aren't what you seem, either, so that makes us even."

"Quite true, quite true. At least as much of a shock when others find out what we really are. So you are the 'Muse' program, or that was one of your former names. I have a tendancy to read all kinds of scientific papers, what else does a bored 400 year old do. I had a collegue at Penn that reccomended the one about you, was quite fascinating. Not my speciality so I didn't entirely understand it, but the notion was quite interesting."

Artim blushed a little bit, looking embarassed, "I'm sorry, this is the second time I've met the subject of a paper I read and I still don't know how to react."

Her smile reamined, though it took an even more amused tone. It was funny to see people react to her so strangely. In this enlightened age, was thre anything really so strange about her? Savant consoled, "That's quite alright, Doctor. I often don't know how to react to me, either. Generally I just try to take it all in stride."

She gestured to the wall terminal, which cleared and reverted back to its previous display. "I was Muse when I was growing up. I'm Savant now. Or, if you want to be precice, I'm the 'Semi-Autonomous Varied Algorithm Network Trainer." Savant paused to grin again, "You know how engineers do love their acronyms."

Artim chuckled a bit at the last comment and grinned in his own fairly childish fashion, "Indeed, though every learned profession has them. I'm guilty of inventing quite a few myself. As much as I'd like to learn more about how you work, well, I doubt I'd understand much more then I did when I read the paper even though I've taken some basic engineering since then. Thanks for your assitance with those items. Should I need anything I'll let you know." Artim turned to leave but then turned back with a wide smile on his face

"Nice to know there's someone else on board with a deceptive appearance. I don't feel half as odd anymore."

Savant nodded her head politely to the science officer as he turned back to her. "You're only as odd as you feel, Doctor. Don't let anyone tell you different." She smiled a far less sly smile, more warm and welcoming, as she waved a hand slightly to him. "I'm happy to be a help."

Artim added another chuckle and then replied, "Thanks I'll remember that." And with that he left.

"The Prayer"

Ensign Faylin McAlister

Steven Jonas

Lyrics: Josh Groban, The Prayer

"I pray You'll be our eyes, and watch us where we go."

The blackness gave way to a dark grey. The person did not see any light…..just greyness as the sky on an overly cloudy day. Sucking in breath that tasted like dust, her eyes grew wide, out of fright and uncertainty. Her mind, started to work, attacking her with questions and answers. Could she move her legs? They moved a little, encased in pain. Could she move her head? No. Could she move her arms?

Yes. Enough to push out to freedom? Some what, as a piece of concrete gave way to her light shove. 'THANK YOU GOD!' Faylin's mind screamed out in relief. She was not aware of how badly she was hurt, the pain receptors in her brain were working overtime, accessing what was function able and what was not.

"And help us to be wise in time when we don't know"

Steven was patrolling the hallways, helping out the stretched Security team defend the ship from any potential intruders. It had been quiet for him and Steven hated when it was quiet. Not knowing what was happening with the Hydran fleet was getting on his nerves. Turning a corner, he spotted two crewmen walking along talking.

"I heard that half the marines are MIA, as well as the teams lead by Hanley and Manrez. Sounds like it's a shit storm down there."

The other shook his head. "Hadn't heard a thing. Hey, isn't Manrez the one who got stuck with the JAG? I saw her in training the other day and she was useless. Don't know why they even let her go down there."

The first nodded. "Yep, he got stuck with her. Wasn't happy about it when he got told. They've been out of contact for almost a day now. Poor bastards."

Steven's shoulders slumped when he heard what they were talking about.

Faylin, MIA. Gods no. She had been so scared before, and though he had tried to confort her, he knew that she had still been scared. And now she was missing, and possibly dead, and he wished there was something he could do.

"Let this be our prayer when we loose our way."

Push. Keep pushing. The small hole gave way to a larger one, thankfully permitting an amount of fresh air rush in to the space that tombed the security officer. She could breath…..but….her whereabouts were un known. Last she could recall, she was sitting under a staircase. Glancing left and right, Faylin only saw rock. Her strength weak, her mind still working. Confusion and fright overwhelmed her as a small, crystal tear made a trail from the corner of her left eye down to her cheek. In it's trail, it left a illuminated, wet path of dirt. The beginning of cleansing and renewal for finding herself alive. Buried, but alive. The woman rested. The large chunk of rock that sat on her chest was friendly enough to rise a little as her lungs expanded. "I'm lost…..." She whispered.

"Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace."

Steven found a quiet corner and sat down. He took no notice of where he was, for he could barely see, so choked up with grief was he. He hoped beyond all hope that she was alive, that her team was alive. He couldn't even imagine seeing her lying on some street as a lifeless corpse. He didn't think he could stomach that sight. Not twice in one lifetime.

She was an amazing woman. Funny, smart, beautiful, god how she was beautiful. And Steven liked her a lot, and perhaps more. He pictured her in his mind, as she lay on her bed, the siken sheet covering her sexy form, her bare sensual shoulders peaking out from under the sheet as she wagged her finger at him. His heart ached at the thought that she might be gone, never to return.

He had known her only a short time, and they'd only been on a solitary date, yet something was different; he doubted he could describe it with words. Thinking back, he had felt this way only once before and that had ended tragically as she died in his arms on some foreign world.

Was he doomed to relive that same result? To never find love and happiness? Companionship? Was this his penance for his life as a marine?

"Give us faith so we'll be safe."

With a painstaking slowness, McAlister broke her hand through the rubble. Looking over from the side, it was if a hand broke through a grave of rocks, signifying the blessed image of life among the ruin.

The dark glove, ripped in some places, exposed the tender, pale skin of the officer as it inhaled the sweetness of air. Determination.

It's power weaved a path throughout the young woman. Timid at first, she felt it radiate out through her mind, down her spine, flashing to her extremities. It's warmth spurred the muscles within her to experience what her hand had seconds before. Concrete gave way to the weight that Faylin put upon it, attempting to rise from the grave with pure, unadulterated energy. She was not sure how much time had passed since the incident. It was not possible to tell. Her hands, fully free, worked feverishly to move what she could without having vision to do so. The dull thuds of the rock cascading off of her gave her more motivation. Those damn....Hydrans...hadn't gotten to her yet.

"I pray we'll find your light, and hold it in our hearts."

Steven wiped the tears from his eyes. The tears weren't going to help. He highly doubted, if she was alive down there, that she'd want him to be crying over her. Even if he did feel a certain way towards her. Resigning himself to the fact that whatever her situation, there presently wasn't a lot he could do about it. That crewman had also said that something like half of the marines were also missing, so if there was a rescue attempt at some point, there would be a lot of people needing to be saved, including, no doubt, many Romulans. The sky around ch'Rihan was still too hot to send in a rescue team, that was, of course, if there was a ship that they could use for a rescue anyway. And it sounded like few of them returned to the ship.

Faylin was a free spirit, and firey to boot. He'd seen that first hand, so, if she was alive down there, Steven knew she'd find a way to survive. At least, that's what he told himself. He couldn't help her now even if he wanted to, so he resolved himself to do what was needed to protect the ship, so when she did make it off that planet, that she would have a home to come back to.

He wiped the tears away again and made a mental note to contact the CIC, asking that he be assigned to any rescue mission that they might be looking at sending to ch'Rihan. And until that time, he'd protect the ship as best he could.

Shouldering his rifle, he returned to his assigned patrol route.

"I will come for you. Be strong." He whispered to the empty hallway.

"When starts go out each night, remind us who you are."

Breaking through to the light. Her head, raised, turning from side to side to clear the small pebbles from her face. What was once considered beautiful, was anything but now. Fully regretting taking her helmet off as she sat underneath the stair case, her head paid the price. A large laceration above her right eyebrow had blood crusted over, protecting the wound in the natural way. Gingerly, with much tenderness, McAlister opened her eyes. Her eyelashes swept away any dust that settled against her eyelids as her eyes took in the first glimpse of her surroundings. Disaster had struck. Piles of ruin greeted her with a sensitiveness that swept over her. It was hard to describe, her mind refusing to believe that she found herself in the current situation. The blanket of debris still covered her legs as she fought to find her bearings. An audible sigh filled the atmosphere around her. Glancing down, she brushed her sleeves off in a ritualistic manner. What good would it do? Faylin was covered in bruises, dried blood, and dust. One little swipe across a dirtied arm did nothing.

"Let this be our prayer, when shadows fill our days."

Death glanced over at the Reaper, smacking his hands together. "Damn.

I really wanted her."

"We all did, however, she is protected by the One. The mark on her head is glowing."

"All it took was a little prayer by a small Marine. Just not right."

He responded.

"She's meant for more in this life." The Reaper responded simply.

"Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace, give us faith so we'll be safe."

Faylin sat, dumbfounded that she was alive. For what purpose was she the only survivor of her small team? It did not make sense. Yet, nothing made sense recently. Moving the rest of the rocks from her legs, McAlister grimmaced as she moved her legs. Pain shot up, but she thought she was still able to manage to bend them at the knees.

The tip of her phaser peeked out from beyond what was her grave.

Reaching over, she extracted the weapon, resting it at her side while she figured out what to do next.

Spending a few minutes attempting to gather her scattered thoughts, Faylin sighed. Picking rock by rock off of her legs took a while, but it gave her something to focus on other than just surviving being under a pile of rocks. Very slowly, she rose up as far as she could and turned, backing herself up into a makeshift corner with her sights to the front of her. Her left arm had gone numb. Bringing her right hand up, she gently followed her left arm from the shoulder down, wincing as she felt a tear of skin with a hardened something sticking out slightly from her skin. Closing her eyes, Faylin rested for a while....a short while....until something or someone nudged her awake.

"The Hydran Fist"

Lieutenant Th'Khiss K'aa, ACTO USS Miranda CIC Staff

Command Information Center, Deck 7, USS MIranda

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

The fasteners holding station chairs to the decks rattled when the Miranda fired her main phaser cannon, briefly filling the CIC with a resonating echo Th'Khiss K'aa found oddly comforting. The Tactical nervecenter of the Federation fleet was crammed with more sensor operators and Tac specialists the Gorn had ever seen in the months since the starship's refit, and around him they swarmed like bees in a hive disturbed by smoke, yet K'aa felt only the calm he was trained for... and the bitter discontent of being in an unwise situation.

Every member of the Gorn Confederation faced compulsory military service upon entering adulthood, and K'aa was no different. It was with a deep sense of irony he reflected on one of the first lessons learned at the S'sgarnon Academy - a massive drill instructor started training by dealing blows to each trainee as they stood at attention.

At first, the trainees tried to endure the crushing strikes of the saurian squad leader, but eventually one recruit, in this case K'aa himself, would try to elude the blow. The giant adult roared at the assembled greenlings, and surprisingly offered praise for Th'Khiss's resourcefulness - after all, only an imbecile would stand to receive a blow when it could be easily avoided. Yet, as the Miranda's sensors showed clearly, the Hydran Fist had finally made it's way to ch'Rihan and the Federation's small fleet was there to take the blow. The number of Federation vessels was disturbing in itself - a small compliment given the destructive force befire them.

The Rihanssu? Certainly they'd be present to defend their own homeworld, but two Rihanssu Galae had already crumbled against the Hydrans juggernaut. It was unlikely a third would be any more effective.

The Klingons? It had been politically stated that the Klingon Empire's responsibilities lay elsewhere after almost a hundred Klingon transports arrived to beam up ch'Riha's Reman population. Apparently the Federation's alliance with the Empire applied only to Federation ships defending their own interests, and not those of their historical enemies.

Politics - the situation before the reptilian reeked of it, like prey killed days before and left out in the sun. A sour taste burned in the Gorn's mouth, and he restrained an audible snarl at the thought if it, but bared more of his fangs than usual.

"Darmajava - continue tracking the approaching Hydran fighter wingsss to port, relaying telemetary to the Roguesss. Vajoon - the sssame for ssstarboard. By the book, pleople - jussst asss we've trained for."

The activity before him proceeded quickly, but smoothly as the Hydran fleet advanced in an almost text book fashion.

~Too predictable...~, he mulled, feeling much as he had when the Miranda had faced the Borg in the Delta Quadrant. ~Too easy. Were missing something...~

"From Bad, to Worse"

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC

2nd Lieutenant Branwen Londen- SFMC

Ensign Faylin McAlister- Acting Security

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

(Somewhere in the Capitol City, Romulus)

It was one of those days where you thought things just couldn't get any worse, and then they did. The initial reconaissance probes into the city were encircled and destroyed to a man, but the Hydrans by virtue of the sheer weight of their numbers, and the skilled fighting of their supporting units, had managed to disable a large portion of the Capitols automated defense systems, and at horrendous costs to their units in equipment and personnel, managed to establish a foot hold in the city. The Marines had done their best to evacuate as much of the civilian population as possible, allowing the Romulan troops left, and the Starfleet personel supporting them, to engage without overall fear of collateral damage.

That made things all the more bloody. Without having to worry about killing innocent people, more than one building had literally been dropped on the Hydrans by For'kel's order. Still, slowing them as it might, and allowing the Marines to establish killing zones, it simply wasn't stopping the onslaught of Hydran forces. It was rather grizzly, watching the Hydrans climb over mounds of their own dead and dying, just to advance... and inevitably pushing the Romulans and Starfleet back, regardless of the costs.

If they stayed a unified fighting force, they would end up being massacred. If the Hydran ground forces didn't get them, they'd be sitting ducks out in the open for orbital bombardment. Nope, it was time for plan B.

"Arvelion to all who can hear me. We're going to plan B, take all actions accordingly." They'd already been fighting for hours by this point... were they on their ships a good shift and a half would've laped them in the time they'd been fighting, and the action had been continuous, without break. It was enough to wear anyone thin. "Come on Lieutenant, you're staying with us. There's a labrynth of underground tunnels under this city, we can probably get access through this building, it looks old enough." No sooner did he say that then a shot ricocheted against one of the ad-hoc walls set up to impede the Hydran advance.

Bran flinched as the bullit hit. The last hours she had more or less been acting as the colonel's aide. A role that suited her very well.

She had learnt so much in just a few hours. He pointed out what she needed to do in just a few words and she did it. Despite the stress he was cordial to her. It was such a relief to work like this.

"We have to get you to safetly now, sir. We can't run the risk of loosing you." She urged him on.

"Never demand of your Marines something you aren't prepared to do yourself, Lieutenant." For'kel spoke gently, not wanting to draw undue attention to the squad as they made their way as stealthily as a ten man group could through the darkening streets of the Romulan city. The building was a wreck, but hopefully the access to the all vital underground passages, and thus away from surveilance, wouldn't be. Chuckling, he added "besides Lieutenant, I don't think there is anywhere that would constitute 'safe' at the moment, not that I don't appreciate your concern."

McAlister sat, crouched in a corner constructed by debris, a short distance from her dead leader. She had not been able to get to him, but she knew, he was dead. Her phaser had found a permanent place raised by her side as she had rested. It was difficult to move, Faylin assumed that she had broken at least one rib. It turns out she also recieved a compound fracture of her upper arm. The bone just slighly peeking through her skin make her weak when she looked at it.

It would not cause her much pain, if she did not move it an inch. She knew she should get up and move.....but, it was just too dangerous anylonger. So, Faylin sat, phaser in hand, ready to try and defend her life.

Branwen was running on automatic now. Trying to keep the colonel safe, and making sure he didn't take too many risks, she gave orders to the Marines.

They needed to check every inch while staying on the move.

One of the grounds spotted the bodies on the ground and one figure still moving. "Ma'am!" He called out.

Branwen moved forward. "What is it?"

"Found one alive, ma'am."

"What is your name, how seriously are you wounded?" Branwen called out not recognising the jag officer just yet.

"Ensign Faylin McAlister, USS Galaxy." She stated, still huddled in the corner with her weapon raised at the man in front of her. Her eyes narrowed on him, unsure that he was friend or foe. No one could be too safe in war, and with that nasty knock on her head, Faylin's mind was not the sharpest a this point in time. How bad was she wounded? She had no idea. "Branwen?"

"Ensign McAlister." Branwen said surprised. Her jag officer was about the last person she had expected to find here. Already she moved faster towards the wounded woman. "Just lay still and let me have a look. I have some basic medical training."

"Charlie." She said to the soldier. "Try to find me a medic, and get something together to move the ensign on."

"Yes ma'am." With that he moved away.

"How bad is it?" Branwen asked softly as she knelt next to the other woman pulling out a tricorder.

"Charlie, wait." For'kel called the man's attention back. "Get us something to use as a stretcher, than sweep the passageways below this building. We need to establish a casualty collection point." The last thing he wanted was the wounded to hinder the operations they were facing. And they needed a place to keep them safe.

"You'll have to forgive me Ensign." He murmured, placing a hand tenderly against her side. Yep, definitely a broken rib, and atleast another was bruised.

"Looks like you have a mild concussion as well." He smiled as much as anyone could, trying to keep her attention off of the arm Branwen was tending to.

"Congratulations Faylin, can't say I know too many people who've survived having a building 'dropped' on them. So, the Galaxy hmm? Not a bad assignment..." he looked back at Branwen, trying to encourage her to hurry.

Charlie brought back something that looked like it 'used' to be a door. It would certainly work for what they had in mind. "When the Lieutenant's done with your arm, we're going to have to move you... you might want to brace yourself for that." Taking a hypo from the first aid kit all Marines were provided with, preset for a dose of pain-killer, he gave an injection.

Faylin knitted her eyebrows as the pain worsened. "I'm lucky....I suppose." She stated weakly. "When can I get back to my job?"

"Ensign McAllister, I don't think that is a good idea." Branwen motioned a stretcher over after she finished first aid.

"I wouldn't worry about that right now." He turned to see one of his Marines give the okay sign, indicating the sub-terranian tunnel network here was secure. "Right now, let's get you looked after."

"I'm not kidding.....I can still move around, I think."

"That is the painkiller talking I'm afraid. Look, let's evacuate you first, then we will talk about it. We need to move, it is not safe here."

- Hide quoted text -

"Once Lieutenant Londen finishes treating you, we'll figure out what to do.

Sufficing to say you'll be staying with us for a while. This is going to hurt like all hell, but I need you to stay as quiet as possible, understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Faylin spoke with a hint of dissapointment but respect in her voice. She understood that he was just trying to do her job.

He gave Branwen a nod, picking Faylin up from the left once Londen had her by the right. The sounds of hover-vehicles were quickly approaching, they needed to move now if they weren't going to be caught.

Branwen watched her anxiously hoping they were not causing her too much pain, but there was no other choice. "Hold on." She whispered in Faylin's ear.

Saying nothing, her eyes darted from Londen to the Colonel, then back to Londen again. Her breathing accelerated as they lifted her, wincing with pain. She told herself to hide her true emotions...but they were slipping to the surface as she let a light, yet heavy moan escape her lips. "Good god." Faylin muttered.

"You're doing just fine, Faylin." For'kel whispered, trying his best to be as quick and gentle as possible, sacrificing the latter for the former if necessary. "One...two..." and on three both Marines hoisted up the adhoc stretcher. Behind them a pair of their comrades maintained security, collapsing back into the entrance and sealing it after them. Above them, the sounds of Hydran troops and vehicles moving through this sector of the city.

"Sssshhhhh." Branwen whispered. "Just a little longer. When we have you secured I will give you some more painkiller. Just hold on for now. Would you like something to bite on?" She offered Faylin a piece of plastic.

"Yeah, the damn Hydran that killed two of the team and put me in this position." She stated sourly with a whisper.

He let go of that breath he hadn't known he was holding as soon as they made it deep enough in the tunnel that doing so wouldn't clue in the Hydrans.

"There's a large room this way, ma'am." Charlie directed Branwen, figuring it the best place to set up any kind of a field hospital.

(Branwen need anything that might help on the medical side? Equipment,

etc?)

Once they were there, they both laid their newly found comrade down. "So, Ensign Faylin McAllister of the Federation Starship Miranda..." the Stagnorian pulled out a trio of ration packs, handing one to her and Branwen. "Have any skills I should know about?"

"Galaxy, not Miranda." She paused. "Not unless you need an attorney, or need a good....." Faylin quited herself. "Morale officer."

He kicked himself for making such a mistake. "Yeah, well... your work load is going to increase dramatically when this mission is over." For'kel bit into the bar like ration, not even blinking at the notoriously bad taste. "How's the arm?"

"Hurts...a little. I don't know what's worse, the pain killers dulling my mental capacity, or the fact that I have a hole in my arm."

"Sir?" Branwen asked him still tending Faylin. "who is going to run the hospital?"

"You for now. Hopefully we'll come across a Romulan medical officer. Don't think we had any Starfleet doctors planetside before the invasion. Right now we have to worry about setting this place up with some kind of basic equipment, and possibly reconnoitering the Hydran forces. See what we're up against."

His mind was racing with the tasks before them... there was a whole hell of a lot to do. Taking another bite, he turned his attention back to Faylin.

"You did superbly, by the way."

"In what context? Not getting my ass blasted into oblivion, or not crying out in severe pain?" Faylin raised her eyes to bear into his gaze, arching an eyebrow just slightly. The pain she felt was nothing compared to the growing rage she was surprised by for the opposition.

He hardly expected a confrontation over it, and was hoping to avoid one now.

"Both actually. Did you see anyone else before we found you?"

"Yeah, team of five Hydrans. Suprised you didn't see them, but they were likely buried by the time you guys found me."

He nodded, pushing himself back onto his feet. "All right. I'm going to take a team to see if we can't locate anyone else. Branwen, you're in charge down here, establish a perimeter, do your best for any wounded that arrive..." he trailed off, knowing she knew what to do.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Then we'll start planning how to hit back."

Branwen was over the shock of his announcement. "with all due respect sir, I don't have the skills or the knowledge to run a hospital. I know a little bit more than your average marine about medical matters, but not much more.

Is in there a medic in our team. They probably no more than I do." She was not panicking, just stating a fact.

"That's okay Lieutenant, I don't have the skills or knowledge to do most of the stuff we're going to have to do... we'll just need to learn as we go." He checked the power cell on his rifle before looking back up at her. "Relax Branwen, you'll do fine." He gave her a reassuring clap on the shoulder before looking in Faylin's direction. "I'm leaving you with one second lieutenant, fully in tact. I expect her returned the same way Ensign." Giving a wink in tease, he then put together a team, and prepared to return to the surface.

"Not if my luck has anything to do with it." Faylin muttered.

Branwen swallowed again and nodded at her superior officer. "I will try, sir." This was a role she had never thought she would play. Therapist yes, combat marine yes, but head of a medical unit... not exactly.

"Then There Were Five"

(Takes Place Two Hours After 'Good To Be The Tiger')

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

ch'Rihan

Central Capitol

Market District

The Hydrans had invaded.

Victor had seen the dropships come screaming down through the massive electrical storms that the Romulans had generated in their atmosphere to disrupt scans in at least three places within eyeshot to land troops and supplies. He'd assumed that the troop's first mission would be to locate and destroy as many of the intricate network of transport inhibitors that the Romulans had activated to prevent mass beam-downs, but flashes of fusion beams and disruptor fire in the distance had made him reconsider that idea. If the Hydrans were, indeed trying to disable the inhibitor network, they seemed to be going about it in a sloppy manner; there wasn't a reason to engage civilians and Romulan troops in a pitched battle. It didn't make any sense; what were they thinking?

Then again, trying to understand why supposedly normal human beings did what they did and thought what they thought was hard enough for Victor - trying to do the same for a group of trilaterally-symmetrical, methane-breathing turnips was probably a lost cause.

With a frown, he abandoned the line of thought and checked his tricorder. Better to spend his time locating the six missing Galaxy crewmen than trying to figure out something that would be beyond him on a good day... and today wasn't a good day. He was missing six evacuees, trapped on a planet where he was considered barely better than the hostile vegetables invading it by the inhabitants, his ship was going to war without him, and the woman he'd just realized was his girl was fighting in a fragile soap bubble of a craft a million miles out in space. Not the worst day he could recall, but it was certainly in the top five in his recent memory. The only thing that kept it from rising to the top was the realization that he *had* a girl, that the thing he'd dreamed of in the deepest part of his mind was right there in front of him all along.

Unfortunately that also brought up the possibility that if Angelienia had been there all along, someone else might have been as well. Had Gunny Goldstein been his girl, and he simply hadn't known it? They'd kissed once, in that Ferengi's weapons shop and target range on lanJep. Had Lieutenant Grey been his girl? He'd kissed her once too, but that been the pheromones from Quick's 'Turbolift of Love' Program, hadn't it? Had Rissa been his girl? They'd never kissed, but she had touched him, which for her was a more intimate gesture by far. Had there always been women there, waiting for him to realize that they were his girl? Had he simply missed it, missed them?

Another explosion sounded to the south, in the direction of the closest Hydran troop landing, at the same time his tricorder 'bleeped' and signaled that it had located one of the six missing evacuees. Or, at least, it had located their combadge, since that was what it was set to track.

No time for worrying about girls now, that was something he could ponder another time. Victor didn't need to know which direction the combadge was in - there was only one way that could make the day complete: south. Still, best to be sure. He looked down at the readout, and nodded as the confirmation of his prescience was laid out there. South it was.

He turned and set off in ground-devouring pace, the years of twice-a-day runs and hours of dancing paying off as he went in search of his lost sheep, the crowded streets falling away as the refugees and looters parted in front of him like the Red Sea had for Moses, falling back to close seamlessly behind him.

****

ch'Rihan

Central Capitol

Financial District

The fighting was only a block away when he found her.

Ensign Cherri Hamilton was curled up in a ball behind a fallen section of wall, dust and soot covering her, protectively shielding a Romulan child with her body. The boy's leg was broken, apparently from the collapse of the wall, and it had an improvised splint on it, torn strips from the Ensign's uniform holding the dressing on. Both of them had their eyes squeezed shut, and the child had his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the sounds and sights of the war that had swallowed them up, fear etched into their features. At least, it wasn't Victor that they were afraid of - they'd been afraid long before he arrived.

Victor stared down at them for a moment, the wind stirring his hair, but passing over the two figures huddled behind the improvised shelter. After a moment, he knelt down, oblivious to the sporadic sizzle of fusion beams that punched through the air around him, and the answering snap of disruptor fire that answered it. The Ensign wasn't a large girl, perhaps an inch taller than the smallest person Victor knew by name, Transporter Chief Cannon back on Galaxy. She was pretty, blonde, well-shaped, and tanned in the way that only those who spent time on beaches wearing little or no clothing were. He wondered if she'd been someone's girl, if there was someone that thought of holding her in his arms, someone that held her at night to keep the nightmares away. The boy was no more than five, young enough that he'd not cared that Hamilton was a human; he'd only cared that she was here, caring for him, protecting him. Would he have had a girl when he grew up? Would she now spend her l!

ife looking for the One, never knowing that he'd been lost to her?

The fusion beam that had taken them both away from the ones that would have held them had been fired down through Hamilton's back, burning through her like a lance of nuclear fire, scarcely slowing as it pierced the child she'd tried to protect and continued on to bore into the ground below them.

The angle of the shot, the deliberate nature of the act made it murder, not collateral damage. The Hydran that had murdered them had walked up, looked down at them, and had deliberately fired down into - and through - the two of them. There had been no accidental movement that drew a return shot, no chance of mistake; the child was just that, a child, and Hamilton had been little more than that. Neither victim had possessed real combat training, either; the child was too young and Hamilton worked as a school teacher for the dependants aboard ship.

Victor took a breath and held it, letting the smell of death and soot and fear and pain and anger and destruction fill him, pushing out the things he'd let fill him up. Now was not the time to think of Angelienia and her touch, or the sound of her voice, or the depth of his eyes. He let the breath out and felt the warmth inside him flow out with it to wrap around the cooling forms of the Starfleet officer and the Romulan child like a comforting blanket. Now it was time to stop hiding behind a mask and let himself be what he was born to be again.

Free again, born again, Death stretched his arms and smiled at the sound of the war raging around him, at the screams of hate and fear, the sounds of two civilizations tearing at each other like starving animals. He was home, where he belonged.

A glance down at the ground, a touch of the tricorder to mark the spot and record the scene, and Death turned away and started to move towards the sounds that called him like the sweetest of songs from the lips of a lover. Someone had taken that which was his, had dared to hunt the sheep that were his by right, and they would have to pay for that.

It didn't matter that he couldn't know which Hydran had murdered the Ensign, didn't matter that there was no way of knowing which one of the thousands of them now on the planet were guilty. There was a way to make certain that the guilty was punished, a simple way that thrummed in his blood as he lifted his phaser rifle and let the terrible, terrible killing smile slip across his face, and laughed the laugh that carried with it the cries of the damned as he let the gates sealing them off swing wide to accept their new companions, the one that would be streaming down to join them in minutes. No matter if the name and face and unit of the Hydran murderer were unknown to him. There was an easy way to handle the problem.

If he didn't know which Hydran to kill, then he'd simply have to kill them all.

"No aliens allowed"

(set prior to "It's Time")

Turan Trelar: Galaxy's Quentite ambassador and engineering trainee
private Jack Johnson, Starfleet marines (NPC) with an unauthorized appearance of Major Corran Rex

'To boldly go where no Quentite ever went before' was more than just a phrase. Even on the Galaxy herself certain areas were still off limit to the giant Quentite ambassador who already became famous for always carrying an engineering toolkit. Who ever was responsible for his current order didn't seem to care about that fact.

"Report to Major Corran Rex, fighter hangar.

Needed informations:

- Sabre Fighter wiring schematics

- data sheets of standard bio-neural gel-plack

- data sheets of iso-linear flight control interface

Tools:

- electronics

- microsystems

- programming

Good luck and have fun ..."

It wasn't really hard to retrieve information about the obviously outdated iso-linear FCI. Nobody seemed to care about the confidentialness of outdated information ...

It wasn't really hard to retrieve information about bio-neural gel-packs. Nobody seemed to care about parts installed in many common kitchen tools.

It was much harder to retrieve Sabre Fighter wiring schematics. All blueprints, wiring schematics - even the manual no pilot ever read before (there were only five accesses to this file) where marked confidential. With help of his Ambassador privileges, Turan managed to gain access to the files.

This nevertheless was the easier part of that task. To gain access to the fighter hangar wouldn't have been a hard task too, if it was protected by a computer. The bio-neural companions simply checked Turan's state, recognized him as an ambassador and immediately granted access ...

...

Another boring afternoon was smoothly followed by an even so boring evening. Private Jack Johnson glanced at his wrist clock. Just an other hour and an other boring shift would come to an end. The young marine looked down the empty corridor then checked his finger nails and finally glanced at his boots which were shiningly polished as usual. There was nothing else to do than to check the empty almost straight corridor once more. This time there was some variety - a really large variety which, or let's just say; grew even larger with its approached. Hell, this alien was tall! Overtowering him, an marine of an average size by almost two heads. Slowly, Jack's finger moved towards the safety lever of his rifle.

Turan stopped in front of the enlisted marine who guarded the fighter hangar door and tried to read the red haired Terran's body language.

Compared to a Vulcan, Terrans were hard to read. Although Vulcans were described as emotionless and obscure by almost every other race - even by the Vulcans themselves they sent clear signals like lifting one eyebrow to say 'I want to know more'. This Terran didn't show any remarkable body language - at least none Turan was able to read. With a little bit more experience Turan could have 'read' the private's hands clenching the rifle as a sign of unsureness or even fear.

"Turan Trelar. I was ordered to report at the fighter hangar deck."

Turan addressed the guard with an accent which sounded like a mixture of Indian and Spanish.

Jack scrutinized the giant alien from head to toe. This male was of a race he never met or even read about before. The fact the alien was wearing a Starfleet engineering uniform didn't really make him feel better.

"Sorry Sir" the marines private declared "no trespassing beyond this point. The fighter hangar is off limits to all unauthorized staff."

Although the alien identified himself as an ambassador an alien was still an alien. Major Rex's orders concerning them were clear and easy, 'No aliens on my hanger deck!'

Turan glanced down at the red haired head. Funny but true, the color of a Terran's hair seemed to tell much more about the person than all his body language. Red hair was an outer sign of a Terran sub race which was known to be more aggressive and stubborn than the average Terran. More than three thirds of the Galaxy's damage control team were red haired Terrans. And as Turan knew from his own experience they were almost immune to arguing.

"Ok sir", Turan gave in. "we can't go on this way. I was ordered to report in there and you was ordered to keep me out. One of us has to get his orders changed" ~preferably you!~ Turan added silently "or we will spend the night together ... here outside the hangar." He paused and cocked an eyebrow at the guard. "Can imagine more inviting places even on first thought ..."

Turan tapped his com-badge.

"Trelar to Major Rex?"

"Rex listening ...? "

"Major Rex, I was ordered to care for the Sabre fighters. I am stuck right outside the fighter hanger. The guard here with me decided to not let me pass. We need your decision and order to clear the situation. If you don't want me in there that's ok with me. Simply cancel my order so I can continue the work I left undone."

"A View of the Countryside"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen

Rihannsu Ambassador

Natalie Valora "Picasso" Frost

Pilot

= dohhae Ahalaen =

= Romulus =

Centers of political and social power, capitals resist invasions.

Cities, full of people and wealth, are protected by governments and their armed forces. In time, no matter which side wins, these places are rebuilt and many of the people there survive. These are not the places where true devastation of war is on display; this is not where wills are broken, honor lost, dreams crippled and everything lost, completely and forever.

The true casualties of war are same unfortunates who are the casualties of life - are men and women of no means - the desperate farmer, the innkeeper's pretty daughter, the hungry street urchin. No one stands for them when there is peace in the world, who can spare them arms and protection when battle is joined? What champion, what warrior, spares the city for the village, the senate for the farm?

As a purely tactical matter, some cultures prefer to take smaller towns, empty fields of crops, for here they meet the least resistance, here they can gain a foothold on a world and become entrenched, so no matter how the war turns, they remain, a powerful cancer. The Hydrans had such tacticians, and despite force with which they crashed upon the tall walls of the Romulan Senate, where Starfleet stood and fell with their once bitter enemies, they also sent forces into the unprotected parts of Romulus, where there were no soliders, no champions. Over many continents, those who lived in these rural areas scattered in desperation, throwing themselves at the mercy of those lords and princes who had, in centuries gone by, been their swords and their shields.

They fled to men like Tal Vriha tr'Ahalaen. Men who lived in castles designed long ago to protect against a siege. Men of strong blood and many resources, who on other worlds would have been feudal lords.

There was no more rioting or looting left in the great, desperate crowds. Now they wept and begged and cried for hope.

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen stood at the a window in his father's home and looked down upon the broken people assembling quietly at the gate. In his dark eyes, in his voice that was like the sound of many waters, there was contempt. "Who are these people?"

Tal Vriha smiled a small smile at the youth of that question. Aerv, despite being a man of the world, was still young enough to believe in the glory of Romulus, privileged enough to not know the ugly face of even this powerful world. Vriha walked up to stand next to his son and looked at the weak among the Rihannsu.

"Those are our people, Aerv. They are the Declared."

"The Declared?" tr'Ahalaen scoffed, "Broken, old men and women with bawling children, people dressed in rags...these are the Declared?"

"Of course...they are Rihannsu. Not pretty enough for you?"

"Nothing is pretty enough for me," tr'Ahalaen replied, "But these...creatures.... Father, they are not even pretty enough for each other."

"That makes like...totally no sense."

Both Romulans turned to face the young human woman who had spoken.

Natalie Frost, a Starfleet fighter pilot that tr'Ahalaen had rescued after she had gotten into some trouble with the local authorities...or, to be fair, when the local authorities had gotten into some trouble with her. Frost had been a guest in the Ahalaen home for some time, not certain whether or not she wanted to return to Starfleet. Right now, however, the lovely Ardanian looked like she would rather be anywhere else.

Vriha smiled at the alien woman, "What do you mean, Ms. Frost?"

"What do I...what the friggin' hell is wrong with you people? Why won't you do anything? The Hydrans are marching in this direction and...."

"Do not worry," Aerv said mildly, turning away from the sight of the crowd outside, "The walls will hold."

"Uh-huh. And what about the people outside those walls?" Natalie snapped, turning on Aerv, "You're going to let them die because you don't like they way the look?"

The Romulan Ambassador smiled, "Do you have a better reason to let them die?"

"What? No. We have to save them. We have to do something."

"Natalie," Vriha replied patiently, "I understand your concern.

However, if we take those people in, our own resources will be stretched very thin. These are not the Old Days. While this was once a fort meant to house an entire village, it has not done so in centuries. To attempt to protect that many people, people with neither shield nor blade...."

"They have a blade. Isn't that what they call you, Aerv tr'Ahalaen?

The Blade of the Declared."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Finally, Tal Vriha said, "Natalie, that is the name of an award that the Senate gives to...."

"So it means nothing to you?" The Ardanian turned to Aerv, "To you?"

Aerv sighed. "She is right, Father."

"Aerv...."

"No...seriously, it just occurred to me. If those people die outside the gates...why, all that blood and carnage will completely ruin my view of the countryside. That would be quite intolerable...."

= End Log =

{{OOC: Occurs the night before the "Hour of the Sword".}}

“Holo Sciences, Clown Sciences”

**********************

Ensign Veronica Nila, PhD

U.S.S. Galaxy

**********************

Veronica was up all night after a dinner with Lt. Bental and Cadet Indrakshi. The night was not at all what she thought it would be. She was relaxing on the couch going through some specs that Lt. Bental gave her. Lt. Bental was an Intelligence officer and from what she could tell he needed information that she could provide. It almost seemed to her that information was a premium these days and it was not always available. Though sensing extreme danger and urgency. She needed to act quickly and see if she could help in this crisis. If the Hydrans could easily defeat the Romulans there is nothing stopping them from going all the way to Earth.

Veronica stood up and went to a communications panel at her desk. She punched in some frequencies and patched up a secure network. She had learned few tricks from her studies of the Borg. She patched up a secure almost impossible to detect sub space channel with minute interlink frequencies hidden with in a fake communication recorded earlier to her mother. The hidden encrypted frequency got through and the screen flickered on. An older woman appeared on the screen with thinning blond hair and deep blue eyes that were the color of the sea. Her skin showed advancing years but she looked good for her age.

“This is Doctor Angela Braden, how can I help you. OH… Dear Veronica I had no idea, its late is everything ok?” Dr. Braden asked with concern.

“Doctor Braden, hello. I am fine. But not so good, I wish we had more time to catch up but things are heating up in the Federation.” Veronica Replied.

“Well I certainly understand. Bad news out of the Romulan Empire, it feels like were back in the Dominion war. I have a feeling this is why you're calling.”

“Yes, if it isn't too much trouble for you. I do need some important information. Are you alone and on a secure channel?”

“Well yes of course. As soon as I saw the interlink encryption I knew it had to be one of my own.” Dr. Braden stated.

“I need some research pertaining to clown sciences…”

“Awe, I knew it was something deep?” Braden Asked.

“…Well the M3 holo novelties.” Veronica said quietly indicating that it was time to be sneaky about what they were talking about. Both Doctor Braden and Veronica knew what clown science are but are not to divulge or discuss the real implications.

“ Ah, well you know that these novels are difficult to come by and the puzzles are immense. Even Vulcan's have a hard time figuring them out. I am one of the few who have proof that these classics still exist. I can't send the whole holo novel on this channel so I will need to send you the skeletons so you can recreate the subroutines.” Their conversation had nothing to do with a holo novel that's what they wanted whoever might be listening to think. Dr. Braden and Vernica smiled at each other. “This program will help me in some holo training I am working on. These are once again difficult times and this will help me to relax immensely.”

“Well anything to help out an old pupil of mine. But you know you do owe me.” Braden smirked.

“Ah, I know what you want, you want one my special Katarian soufflé. Well the next we see each other you can be sure it will be good.” Veronica promised.

“You have a deal. Oh, and Veronica do be careful with that holo novel its really not good to leave my work laying around. If anyone asked I didn't write it.” Dr. Braden warned.

“Thanks a bunch Angela you have been a huge help. Veronica out.” Veronica ended the transmission both smiling at each other. The truth is that she had just received quantum physics proofs concerning inter-dimensional shifting and phase cloaking. She loaded the proofs into a pad at a glance there were just numbers and equations and even if someone could decipher its meaning it would come out looking like non sense work of a mad man. Still this kind of cloaking research was forbidden so she had everything encrypted.

**************

The next morning

Ensign Nila's quarters

**************

Veronica woke up a few hours before her regular schedule she wanted to use the astrometrics and science labs before the shift rotation. There was hardly anybody around at this hour so she wouldn't be seen. She quickly took a quick sonic shower and put her uniform on. She got all the materials she needed and placed them under her arm as she put her hair in a bun on the way out of her quarters.

She arrived in the science labs. As she had anticipated there was no one around. She accessed one of the stations and began sorting out all of the proofs and applying the research for a massive sub space event in which to cloak a large object like an asteroid or small moon.

She concluded that cloaking an object that big would not be practical and easily detectable. The only thing big enough to hide something that big would be to hide it in sub space. Not like warp she thought it would show up in normal space. She continued punching in more numbers and using various methods of opening sub space.

Suddenly she was startled with the ship red alert claxons going off. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear but so did her resolve and direction. She was to be on the bridge as a secondary bridge science officer. She quickly jogged out of the science lab and went to the nearest turbo lift. She noticed several crewman and officer rushing to their post. She entered the lift now breathing a bit heavier.

“Bridge.” The turbo lift replied by activated with a hum. A couple of minutes later the doors open to reveal the bridge, she quickly went to her post at the secondary science station. She punched in her command codes and began to calibrate some of the secondary sensors for her use. She wanted to be on the front lines and she got what she wished for. She took a deep breath and began the active sensor sweeps.

“Prelude to Endtimes”

By Commander James Lionel Corgan

And a menagerie of NPC's

Soundtrack: I keep thinking... 'Halo'

**********

USS Galaxy

**********

The USS Galaxy's security center erupted in total bedlam.

Half lit, the security office had an infrared harshness from the omnipresent red alert lights, it added to the hellish factor as noise from consoles, klaxons, clacking weapons and barking security personnel. The security department of the USS Galaxy was getting ready to go to war. Most were already there, beaming to the planets surface as per the Galaxy's allotment of the ground forces, others still suited up and waited with a nervous tribulation, a dread in their stomach for something taught since childhood to never encourage and always fear.

James Corgan was one of these people, but with the difference of being experienced. He already knew these sights and sounds, and had these feelings before, but when compared to what he faced before, his fears were muted, tucked away for later. He was the face of calm in the storm. There was nothing he could not do.

Except face this call. He feared for others rather than himself even more, and for that reason only was he sending his call to Romulus. The screen winked to life with the symbol of the Tal'Shiar, then illuminated as a smiling face appeared.

From the limited view of the LCARS screen, he saw the view of an armoury and change room similar to his own, under the green and gray motif the Romulans favoured. Atole Tekri was half zipped into a tight, matte black and gray bodysuit. Conductors and electrodes crisscrossed her body and face from a part transparent undersuit. On a nearby table, a headdress and red goggles rested beside a Romulan disruptor pistol, and other devices James didn't know.

“Madam Tekri.” James addressed her formally.

“James!” Atole answered him with joy. She zipped her bodysuit on. “How did you contact me?”

James kept his answer enigmatic, “I have my sources. But I came to ask you about something else.”

Atole reached past the screen, and returned her hand with a long, dull black knife with a serrated back edge. Lifting a foot onto a nearby bench, she slid the knife into a bootstrap. “What is it James? I don't have a lot of time to talk right now. I am being deployed very soon.”

“So are we.” James emphasized as a squad of his officers tromped past him, “I was supposed to go on the Thunderchild for a few hours but my plans got ruined. But now that I'm here, I have to ask about Nuhir.”

In the middle of inspecting another blade, Atole halted. With worried expression on her face, it melted off as she said, “She is somewhere safe.”

“Not good enough, Atole.” James said seriously, “Is she off planet?”

She halted again, the inspection of a wicked, hair strand thin garotte wire ignored. Her face tensed, and she lashed back defensively, “I can't get her off planet! Isn't it enough to know that she is safe?”

James pressed, “Nowhere is safe enough in this sector. I'd take her on the Galaxy if we were going the opposite direction of the damn Hydrans!” The heat of his words made him halt; there was no doubt that he had the last few days of tension behind them. “I'm sorry.” He apologized, “I didn't mean to insinuate that you weren't keeping her safe. I... need to know.”

Her face softened, and the smile and life in her eyes came back. “I'm sorry too, James. I'm glad to hear from you. It makes me feel better. Safer.”

James returned her smile, “Odd thing, I feel the same way. You would do whatever it takes to keep her safe, I know that. I just needed to know, that's all. And...”

Atole perked up, “Yes James?”

“I...” He hesitated before saying, “...needed to know that you'll be safe too.”

He swore he saw Atole's cheeks blush three different shades of green. His old feelings for her conflicted with the genuine distrustfulness the last half of their previous relationship fostered. This loving, passionate woman, mother of his daughter, the former lover that didn't let go. It was hard for him to see her go to war, to put on a smile of reassurance that was so insincere but loving.

“James.” Atole answered, checking the final settings in her goggles, “This entire planet's surface can be wiped out of all life and she would still be safe. She'll be in a hardened shelter with my parents. The shelter is deep enough to withstand orbital bombardment. Trust me, she is safe, but I cannot say the same for myself.”

James knew the sorrowfulness of her reply, “You're going out there?!” He gasped.

“I have a daughter to protect!” Atole said, her words half choked by a sudden onrush of anguish. Though James thought he saw a solitary tear slide down her cheek, Atole hid herself well when she donned the mask part of her suit, and fixed on her infiltration goggles. She had transformed herself from mother to fighter, a silhouette of a woman in a black bodysuit, her weapons small and compact, but not shy as to their deadly purposes. Her goggles glowed a baleful red, and her smile turned into a scowl.

“You are not the only one that is able to protect your daughter.” Atole said, conviction hard as stone.

James nodded, and understood. “I'll see you and Nuhir when this is all over.”

“Of course we will.” Atole nodded, her hand reaching for the screen. The communication ended.

***************

USS Thunderchild

***************

J P Albrecht had the best view of the battlefield before him, in the vanguard of the Federation taskforce, and under the protective wings of a Romulan Warbird.

At his bridge and on his viewscreen was a layout of the fleet's deployment, as well as the Romulan defense that lay in waiting. Even more ships were cloaked and unknown in the darkness, but J P knew they would make themselves felt when the time was right. Timing was everything.

And further along the Hydrans were charging closer to the battlezone, the fleets ready to clash once the first disruptors fire and the first fighters launch from the shuttlebays. Albrecht had his surprises ready too. His Last Chancers, the regiment of security officers stationed on his Akira class vessel, were either waiting on the ship's deployment bays or already setting up defenses planetside. The rest of his staff was at battlestations, and like many battles before it, were a hardened group that treated this war like the other clashes in his career; business and nothing more.

The USS Thunderchild was ready. More importantly, J P Albrecht was ready. Albrecht was the Thunderchild, it's genius and its taskmaster, a general all the way.

Captain M'Kantu and Captain Summers words were almost good enough to inspire, but lacked his conviction. They were words from peace mongering diplomats too used to talk and words to resolve conflict. J P used the sword. The Thunderchild was the sword.

The enemy was in the way and was therefore fit to be cut down.

In the excitement of the moment, he had almost forgot that he was supposed to have a guest. “Any word on Commander Corgan?”

His first officer, a massive black man with a baritone voice said, “He is still on the Galaxy. He will not make it.”

“That's too bad.” Albrecht crossed his thin, parched hands over each other, his eyes never wavering from the viewscreen, “He's going to miss the party here. Standby all weapons and prepare to engage on my orders.”

******************

USS Galaxy, Deck 15

******************

“Do not rush, and do not let go of each other! We will be safe over here! Come on!” Mika Sh'Sonora tried hard to lift her tinny, powerless voice above everyone else for the benefit of the children, but the senior class teacher was finding it hard to keep herself separate and distinctive in the coiling, roiling crowds.

The schoolchildren did seem to do well for themselves. Though little wound up bundles of jitters themselves, the younger children held hands together, one in front of the other, until they had a lengthy, snaky line traveling through the decks. The teachers spaced themselves in the lineup to watch the children, allay their fears, and join them in their songs. The children sang whatever came up. I spy, little boy blue, the blue beast of b'tai, Flotter, whatever worked to keep the kids less than aware that red alert was on and live. Their innocent and singsong voices were contradictory to the passing by crewmembers running to battlestations.

Their group made it to the civilian shelter, a hardened storage bay in the center of the ship, an emergency hiding spot when battle would take place and where the ship was least likely to be hit or destroyed. Behind triple thick duranium blast doors was the shelter itself, already filling with non essential personnel, worriedly noisy as the jostled for a safe spot. Two security guards flanked the doors, ushering in the civilians discreetly.

Mika turned to her senior secondary class, all the equivalent of sixteen to eighteen. She didn't have much more than twelve students in her class, but they were all frightened, just like her.

“Seniors!” She squeaked over the din, and somehow managed to capture the attention of all of them, “Remember our emergency drill! Keep calm and walk in an orderly manner! Do not be afraid! We are safe here in the shelter!” She then added as a more serious point, “The younger children look up to you. Stay strong for their sake, ok?”

Their time to pass through the doors came. Mika presented her civilian ID, which the guard gave a passing glance and nodded her in. His parter added, “She's the boss's girlfriend. No need.”

“That is ok.” She soothed, “I am under the same rules as everyone else. I just want to keep my students safe.”

“Get in!” One of the officers ordered the students. They all hurried into the shelter, but Mika held back. She asked the more sympathetic of the two guards, “What of my boyfriend? Is he ok?”

“No worries Meeks.” Said the guard, adopting James pet name for her as the official nickname and using it with affection, “The boss is ok. He's still on the ship, getting ready for the attack. If anyone can make it through scraps like this, he can. In the meantime, sit tight. We'll make sure you're safe here.”

“Thank you.” Mika bowed her head and spoke in her native Andorian, ushering herself through the doors. With her group integrated into the throng of refugees, the blast doors closed shut, the security officers waving.

“Sit tight! This will be done before we know it.” Was the officer's last parting words before the door finally sealed.

Sitting with the schoolchildren, Mika had time to feel nervous about everything. The battle, her position, James, it was a lot to ask for a civilian to find themselves in. Like everyone else, she felt just as they murmured; anxious. Children played. Wives and husbands alike talked and huddled in small groups, the teenagers gravitating towards each other, some socializing, most trading fears, and even a few couples among the multi-xenological group seeking each other for solace. All the talk was about the battle, if they would live through it, if they were crazy enough to put themselves in the middle of it.

Mika started to wonder that herself. Was this worth it? For the sake of her new life and her new love, she hoped it was.

******************

USS Galaxy, Security

******************

“Computer, end transmission.”

The LCARS screen dismissed Atole Tekri's face, and brought back the symbol of Starfleet. Security central started to become more real to him now, its sounds and its moods back in his mind's eye. He had made sure his daughter was ok, apologized for not making his appointments, and made arrangements for the safety of his girlfriend.

Now he was ready for war.

He stepped out of his office while casually checking his sidearm, a black type II phaser he called 'Midnight'. It was his sidearm, the parts ordered and assembled himself. Other than a cosmetic change of black casing with gold electroplated patterns and the addition of an undertrigger and trigger guard, it was still a type II phaser. Like Patton's pearl handled .45's or Khan Singh's vibro-sabre, it was a weapon unique to him, a piece as readily identifiable as his thin rimmed smoked glasses. He spun the phaser by the trigger guard on his finger three times, nodded his approval, and slung the weapon in its holster.

Lieutenant T'lan arrived at his side, but as equipped and armoured as a linebacker at a Terran football game. Her battle armour bulked the Vulcan's frame significantly, while dwarfing her weapon of choice. She still carried the phased polaron rifle that saved her during their time with the rogue Jem'Hadar, and had since came to habit of learning all about it.

“So, found out how to convert our power for it's e-clips?” James asked.

T'lan nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“I still don't get your attachment to that weapon.” James said with a little trepidation, eying the main rifle of his former enemy with unhealthy suspicion.

She said matter of factly, “It is an efficient weapons system. If one was to question choices, it would have to be your choice in not wearing body armour.”

“I suppose it is.” James grumbled, leaving the issue alone. “And as for armour, I wear it. I just choose not to now. I prefer the mobility I get from not wearing it. Besides... a Hydran's disruptor will kill you dead, armour or not.”

T'lan conceded his point with her trademark eyebrow, “Logical, but digressive. I am here to report that thirty point three six percent of our security forces have been relocated to the surface, as well as all of our hoppers, heavy weapons platforms and Argo's. All security personnel are at battlestations, with security squads stationed in all vital sections of the ship. We are ready to repel any boarders.”

James admired the efficiency of his longest lasting partner. It was a partnership that benefitted with complimentary abilities; James drive and energy, and T'lan's thoroughness and organization. Both were symbiotic to each other. They both experienced battle before, with and against each other, but even with the lurking distrust that came when T'lan was Dithparu, he still felt safer with his Lieutenant than anyone else.

T'lan produced a PADD for him to read, “Sir, all we need is a signature from you authorizing the use of the emergency armoury stashes all over the ship. I cannot find Crewman Recruit Jimsdottir at this time, so I thought I would...”

James halted T'lan with a wave of his hand. Thinking of Allison Jimsdottir and the disaster their 'meeting' had become brought heat to rise up from his neck and an urge to grind his teeth into dust. They left during the red alert to their sections an unresolved mess after more than a 'few' heated words. It was ridiculous to think that, even when readying for battle, that a little girl with a crush on him could distract him at a time like this.

He looked down at the PADD and tried to forget Jimsdottir. What he saw was one of her own stationary PADDS, speckles of glitter still dusting the surface, the sticker of a cartoonish unicorn pasted in the corner. The rest of the content was the form to unlock the armouries, but it was the unicorn that grabbed his attention the most, the declaration of immaturity that was still rife in his own little squire.

Using his communicator badge as a stamp, he signed the document himself without hesitation.

“There. Done.” James Corgan declared with a sour growl and the clack of a phaser rifle he snatched from the supply rack, “Now lets get on with this war.”

Chance Encounter

Lieutenant Savant

USS Galaxy Logistics Officer

and

Lieutennat J.G. Nranda Roswell

USS Galaxy Engineering Department

Nara felt her arm brush the wall of the corridor as she walked at a slow pace toward the Quartermaster's office. She had avoided a collision with an Ensign who was obviously on a much more urgent assignment. Or thought he was. She remembered that. Everything was important when you're an ensign. You have to prove yourself. Well, now she was a Lt. junior grade and had been one for so long she wondered if she would ever get the full pip. She had proven herself even beyond the mistakes she'd made before.

Now she was just doing her job.

Part of which, at the moment, consisted of getting a list of things from the Quartermaster. She read through the list she had from the Engineering department. She also had a personal list, but that consisted of one item: PADDs. Saia seemed more and more to be drawn into her art.

Which with each drawing (Well, with each drawing Nara got to sneak a peek at), she was getting better, yet the art was showing more darkness than any eleven year old should even comprehend.

She looked up just in time to see she was at the office she was making her way to.

Inside, Savant had settled in place at the desk - she had given the others some time off as a thank-you for their efforts, and to allow her time to settle in. Mostly she just wanted to get to know her duty station on her own. Problem with being the quartermaster, though, is that there's always someone who wants to talk to you.

She looked up from her desk at Naranda, offering the woman a pleasant sort of a smile (number 21 from her catalogue of useful expressions).

"Good morning, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"

Nara kept a steady expression, offering a polite smile in return, "I have a list of requisitions on behalf of the Engineering department."

She handed over the PADD with the list. "And a personal requisition if it's an appropriate time."

Savant took the PADD but didn't bother doing more than give it a cursory glance before handing it back. It wasn't required for her to even take it - she just downloaded the contents in question and catalogued it all mentally, comparing it with her inventory lists. "We've got all that.

And it's always an appropriate time."

Nara took the PADD and paused a moment wondering if this person was a speed reader or just giving her the brush off. "Just some personal drawing PADDs." Her tone had changed slightly to something of questioning.

"Ah, an artist, hmm? That's not in your records. Interesting." She rested her chin in a hand and her elbow on the desk, holding up her other hand in display. It took a mental urging to activate the computer screen that she was pointing to, bringing up a selection of PADDs that were available. "Are you looking for something with particular characteristics, or just something basic?"

Nara let out a breath trying not to laugh, "Not me, no. They're for Saia..." There was a pause as if what to call Saia completely stumped her. Daughter was much too strong a word. Even if that's essentially what she was to Nara.

Savant smiled slightly as she replied, "Ah, of course. A wonderful hobby for a child. I can get something nice and rugged for her, with a fine tipped brush stylus. I imagine she'd like that." Not that Savant really could tell. She understood the maternal instincts that many had - she had a daughter process of her own, after all - but the interactions between a child and parent were very different for an artificial lifeform of her design. Savant rose from her desk and tabbed at the display screen to amuse herself. "Any other preferences for it?"

Nara had used a drawing PADD, but only for engineering schematics. She figured how it was already was good enough. "No other preferences."

That was easy enough. She turned to face Naranda as the terminal switched back to its previous display of its own volition. "I'll have it all sent up to your work station in a few minutes, Lieutenant." And the android smiled, "Anything else?"

Nara's eyes were studying the woman curiously. There was something odd about her. Almost like Eve, but ... more so. Eve just had amnesia of sorts. This woman seemed lacking in something. Nara just couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Her smile remained a moment - Savant could tell that Naranda was thinking about something. The neurochemicals bloomed and burst inside of her brain in telltale fractal bursts, a distinctive marker. But what was she thinking? Savant didn't pry. She did, however, cock her head slightly, to try and prompt the Lieutenant to speak.

"I..." Nara sighed, "I'm not scanning your mind or anything, but I think telepaths have a sense first off...I can't put my finger on it though."

Savant smiled a broad cattish grin. "Go ahead and try, you won't find anything to scan, my dear Lieutenant." As a computer program, she didn't technically have a mind - there were no brainwaves for a telepath to connect to.

Nara's eyes narrowed, looking into Savant's. Even in there, the non-telepathic way, she could see something odd. She tried to focus on her mind, but there was nothing to grab onto. Nara's brows furrowed, "It's like you have a telepathic stealth."

Savant rapped her knucles on the computer terminal beside her, leaning up against the wall casually as she did so. She was highly amused - would Naranda get the hint that Savant made with the knock of her knuckles? "I guess you could say that I'm an inconvenient target to scan."

Nara was too focused on figuring out the puzzle, she didn't catch the hint TO the puzzle. "What species are you?"

Nara's eyes went to the rapping sound, seeing the terminal. An eyebrow arched as they were still furrowed and she looked at the woman. "The computer. A hologram?"

Savant adopted a slightly annoyed expression and growled her responce - still an amused growl, though, as she wasn't actually upset; it was just a show."I could be, if there were any blasted projectors in here. It's my preference."

Both eyebrows shot up as she replied, "Excuse me?" Her tone was a bit defensive.

Naranda's defensiveness only amused her more; Savant lifted her hands in mock dismay, playing along, "Everyone else gets a full wardrobe when they show up, but does Savant? Goodness no." She looked down at herself with a touch of distaste in her tone, "No, I get to wear the same thing, day in and day out."

Nara's head tilted, "Yes, a uniform comes with the job." She was somewhat aware something else was going on.

She pretended as if Naranda were agreeing with her, and continued in an animated fashion, "Exactly! Uniform for work, and casual or civillian for after shift; me, though, I get stuck with one outfit. Uncivilized!"

She was grinning like a fool, making it very clear that she wasn't at all serious.

Nara rubbed her neck thinking, "Ok." She looked up at the...thing, "It'd be too lucky to have an android, so what are you?"

Savant's humour only grew with leaps and bounds. "What am I?" She strolled forward, past Naranda - ostensibly, to tap a few things into a wall terminal on the other side of the room. "Why, I'm the best darn logistics comptroller in the fleet, of course. Lieutenant Savant, at your service."

"That's not what I mean and I think you know that." Nara held back an amused smile.

She looked over her shoulder as she tapped a few idle (and utterly

meaningless) commands onto the face of the terminal, feigning obliviousness all the while, "Oh? What did you mean?"

"If I opened you up, what would I find? Do you have a central processor?"

She turned to lean against the wall she was working at, and put a hand to her chin in an utterly melodramatic and exaggerated way, as if the question required dep philosophical thought. "Mm. A *central* processor?

not really. I operate on a widely distribuetd network. To be honest, you woudln't find much more than actuators, a power source, and a few toys in this old thing."

A grin spread across Nara's face, "Really? So you're remote controlled?"

"Me? Remote Controlled?" She feigned being upset. "No, heavens no, of course not. This android, on the other hand," she grinned, "it is."

The look on her face showed the gears in Nara's mind were working. The smile returned and enlarged, "Artificial Intelligence. How old is your programming?"

Savant's grin smoothed out as Narandra put the pieces together; the charade fell. "Around sixty years." She turned and contemplated her reflection in the terminal a moent before looking back over her shoulder, commenting in amusement, "I don't look too bad for sixty four, don't you think?"

Nara smiled, "Hey, for all I know you could had built that android yesterday. You get to cheat."

She admitted in a softer tone, "Three weeks ago." then turned back to Naranda, "If you'd like to be technical, my species is /aiont sapiens primogenesis/, though that's not really useful I suppose. I'm a class-three artificial intelligence, currently running primarily on Deep Space five, with major processing nodes here on Galaxy and elsewhere in the fleet. It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant."

Nara let out a breath as she smiled large with twinkling eyes and exclaimed, "You're basically one of a kind!" She just stared at the android like she had when she met Eve. Like it was a new toy. Unlike Eve who she had to remind herself was still a person, she wasn't so much thinking an AI would care to be oggled over like a new warp core.

Savant grinned - she recognized the expression on Naranda's face. Most scientists and many computer engieers got that look when they realized who (or what) they were talking to. "That's what the 'primogenesis'

means," she commented with a grin. "If you'd like to be technical - and I'm guessing you would - I'm a fractal based, substrate-independant collective intelligent program."

Nara swallowed the saliva that formed in her mouth, "How do we access your files?"

That was an amusing question, which she also got frequently. She played around with replies to it, eventually choosing the one that pleased her most. She waggled a finger at Naranda, "You have to buy me dinner and take me out dancing first."

Grinning, not embarrased, but amazed at the humor produced...by a computer no less, Nara nodded, "Understood."

She cocked an eyebrow - didn't expect that sort of a responce. So she played along again, "So it's a date then?"

Nara blinked. "I...I believe we had a misunderstanding. I was saying I understand that ..." She blinked and shook her head again, "You won't just let anyone in there. You actually care about that?"

She laughed and sat in her desk again. "I can be a little self conscious, Lieutenant. There was a point where I truested someone with my coding and found myself... edited for my generosity. Don't be offended, but that's something I don't really share with many anymore."

Nara looked at her a bit, "That sounds human. Your trust was broken."

Nara thought a bit more, "Of course one could also see it was conditioning. You didn't have many safeguards, but someone abused that, so then you put some up." Nara nodded. She almost rather believe the humanistic form of it, but computers could just as easily be created to do such learned conditioning.

"I have emotions and impulses, just like you - extremely strong ones, in fact. I'm just good at controlling them, that's all." She smiled a little as she spoke with honesty - it was nice to talk openly with someone. She hadn't been able to in a long while now. "Of course, my emotions aren't *human*, or at all biological. Still, your theory works well, either way."

Nara sniffed a bit smiling again, completely in awe. "Amazing."

"Oh, pshaw. No more amazing than a biological consciousness." She smirked

"Biological consciousness isn't all it's cracked up to be." The smile faded as Nara suddenly looked anxious to leave.

Seeing the time, she stepped back a bit; body language hinting that even a computer could get. "Saia will be out of school soon."

Savant could see the change in Naranda's emotional state, and catalogued the conversation for analysis later - what was it that triggered that change? She replied pleasantly, "Stop by when you have the chance, if you like. You owe me a date, after all."

A false smile and a nod was the answer before she stepped out the door.

"No Matter Where I Go....."

Ensign Krel Voral, Security Officer, USS Miranda

Main Security Office, USS Miranda

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

Voral had seen It before. He knew It intimately. Ever since he was a child he had walked with It. From the occupation all the way through the fight against the Dominion.. "It" was the spectre of war.

The spectre of war had followed Voral more closely than anyone, and at times it even felt like a family member: that member of the family that no one can stand to be around because they're a lthief.

War was most certainly a thief. It stole his childhood. When most 11 year old boys were playing outdoors with friends, he was leaning how to wire neutron mines and fire a phaser. War stole his family. He lost his parents and brother to the occupation, and his sister during the Klingon attack on Deep Space Nine.

It followed him, as if taking perverse pleasure in forcing him to use the very thing that took away everything he cared about.

"No matter where I go, I can never get away from war," Voral thought to himself.

Voral put these thoughts aside however, this was not the time for self-pity over the past. He could not afford to be in this mindset. Whether he liked it or not, Voral was a warrior. His life had forced him to be. It was high time to start to think like one.

"The Struggle Within"

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas

CO - Second Platoon

Furies 188th Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

Some Random Hallway

USS Galaxy

****

Have you ever had a feeling of utter helplessness, where no matter what you do, no matter what you try, nothing seems to make a lick of difference?

That epitomizes what I feel right now. And it's driving me up the wall.

Being stuck on a starship, even one as powerful as the Galaxy, with an armada of Hydran warships tearing into us, weapons blazing, just isn't my cup of tea. Don't get me wrong, I love Starfleet, and I love being a Marine with the Starfleet Marine Corps. It's just, I'm pretty much the only fricken marine currently on this tub. If I had been an engineer, then I'd have a reason for being here. That goes for the medical and tactical staff and even intelligence. But I'm a marine. Born and bred to fight; to wage war upon Starfleet's enemies, and the Hydrans' until now have not seemed to be in the "let's board ships and take prisoners" kind of mood. So what was the point?

Some might argue that the injury I sustained down on the planet is a reason to stay aboard, and though I do still feel some pain in my gut, I'm still a heck of a lot more capable of dealing pain and suffering to the Hydrans that dare invade ch'Rihan, than some of the people that were sent down. Not that I'm trying to make Faylin out to be useless. Far from it infact. She is an amazing woman, and I find myself falling for her with every waking breath.

She'd been frightened when she saw the order for her deployment to ch'Rihan. She could have found a way out of going - she is a JAG after all - but to her credit, she pushed down the fear and went for it with gusto. And I love her more for that. I just wish I could have gone with her. To be there for her when she needed support. And now she's missing and possibly dead and this knot has formed in my stomach. Not from the injury I sustained, but from my anxiousness at the thought of never seeing her again.

I contemplated stealing a shuttle and going down after her, but I don't know the first thing about piloting and think I'd probably slam the shuttle into the side of the shuttlebay before I ever got it out of the bay. It would have been the end of my career, but if it meant I had the chance to find her and make sure she was safe, it would have been worth it. But for my lack of piloting skills. I thought about asking Nara to accompany me, after her wonderful job during that kidnapping by those two Ferengi, but Saul would probably kill me for risking her life, not to mention that she'd probably lose her commission as well.

The transporters are currently not available for transporting to the planet. The Romulans have set up so many transport inhibitors that even trying it would be suicide. I highly doubt the Galaxy will still be in one piece by the time the Hydrans defeat the various inhibitors, so I've ruled that out for the time being.

So that leaves me to patrol these damned halls, making sure that if any Hydrans do decide to board us, they'll get their arses handed to them by one severely pissed off marine on a warpath. Oh, I'm sure the few Security officers left aboard will also do their utmost to repel the boarders, but until they do, or rather if they decided to, board us, the patrolling is continuing.

The docs in sickbay compromised and gave me some pain killers as long as I agreed to checkups at a routine interval and a promise that I wouldn't leave the ship without their approval. So, I feel like I'm floating in the clouds right now, though I'm sure I'm going to need an extended stay in sickbay when this is all said and done. I get shivers just thinking about spending more time in there.

The only good thing to come of it all is that I am tolerating the injections they give me more easily now. It seems strange that I was so frightened of needles. Kinda ironic considering the tattoo on my upper arm that I got with my mates when we joined the Marines. Perhaps, given enough time, I'll get over my fear of medical facilities.

A week ago I was leading my men in combat drills in preparation for deployment to ch'Rihan as the threat of a possible Hydran invasion hang in the air like a cloud floating in the sky. I'd had my swimming trunks stolen by a woman I didn't know at the behest of a woman I had bedded once whom it seemed thought I had messed with her replicator. And now, as it stands, I'm an injured marine stuck on a starship that is getting pounded by the enemy fleet while my platoon is down on the planet fighting the Hydrans in what is likely an all out guerrilla warfare situation, something I've been in countless times in my Marine career, with the trunks-stealing woman, whom I am have fallen for, now missing and possibly dead somewhere in the capital city.

My how things can chance in a single week!

"Into The Breach: An Overture"

Lt. Katara Elarin, ACMO/Hazard Three, USS Miranda and the members of the Hazard Team -ONPC's

Lt. J.G. Le'on Khatowren, Asst. Chief Security, USS Miranda

AKA: "The pain in Cowboy's ass."

Lt. Nathan "Cowboy" Everett, Rogue Squadron XO, USS Miranda

2nd LT Greg Ward, SFMC Special Forces Lead, USS Galaxy and the members of ARC SAS-779 -ONPC's

Lieutenant jg Kiroc

Science Officer, USS Miranda

****************************************************************

Katara stood at the front of the briefing room looking over the sector map of where they were headed and the names printed on the lists for the mission.

She'd heard of a few the Galaxy crew but couldn't say she'd met them for sure, there were some Miranda crew she didn't know either. There'd been a few comings and going since their return from the Delta quadrant and she felt glad that these people hadn't needed to have medical treatment yet.

Today, however, she had swapped her teal collar for the grey of Starfleet Special Forces, the Hazard Team. Those who wouldn't stay dead. She chided herself for that thought knowing full well that Jordan, who had been with them on the moon over Vulcan, had now passed.

The doors hissed open behind her and she turned to see who had entered.

Greg walked into the briefing room on the Miranda and looked around, "Well, gang. It's time for us to make doughnuts." Greg said as the other members of the ARC unit walked into the room or for Foe-Hammer and Tucker, ambled. Each one of them including Foe-Hammer were dressed in the standard special operations class-A uniforms issued to all of those attached to the ARC project.

Suddenly Church's eyes got wide for a moment which Greg caught and he turned to face the Cardassian woman which made his eyes narrow slightly, "Ma'am, the assembled members of Starfleet's Office of Strategic Services' Special Assault Squad Seven Seven Nine of the Advance Recon Commandos reporting." the half-Trill said with a nod of his head as he went into an aggressive parade rest.

Katara nodded in reply and looked the man up and down his stance was...firm "Do you come with a volume control lieutenant?" She smiled.

"At ease before you strain something."

A tall, lanky Vulcan science officer entered the room promptly presenting Katara with a PADD. "Kiroc from Sciences, Lieutenant.

Commander Spa'an and Captains Summers and M'Kantu have assigned me to perform detailed scans of the biological should we be fortunate enough

to encounter it." Kiroc nodded to the ACMO and resumed a position

near the back of the crowd, arms folded behind him.

There was a couple of snickering coming from the ARCs and inwardly Greg knew which ones were doing it. "I do ma'am, but due to the nature of my unit being on your ship, reporting for duty and all, a bit of professionalism would be shown as respect." Greg explained as he went at ease.

Caboose's slow sounding tone piped up from behind, "Besides, we finally get a chance to stretch our legs, that means we get to make doughnuts"

---

"Now vhere we going!?" Le'on Khatowren, miniature Caitian extraordinaire and current passenger in the hindquarters of Cowboy's ad hoc Hydran Flight Suit, howled rather loudly.

Nathan forced a smile on his face, though he looked no less irritated by this situation than his feline companion. "Seein' as how we got along so famously while testin' out that Hydran fighter," he said, "the powers that be thought it'd be a hoot to send us on some sorta mission in which that fighter just so happens to be of critical importance," the pilot muttered. His ice-blue eyes narrowed as they noticed a Bolian petty officer staring at he and Khatowren, and he scowled at the noncom until he finally scampered away.

"Perfect..." Le'on growled as he shifted uncomfortably for what had to have been the millionth time ever since K'aa shoved him into this suit along with the human pilot. It was bad enough for him that he had to be in this suit, it was even worse walking all over the ship inside of it instead of being on their recon flight already. Le'on hadn't decided yet if he liked the eyeslits and modified arms coming out of the third 'leg' of this thing. It made for even more stares as they moved through the corridors.

He gave Cowboy an upward nudge as they walked (more like stumbled) toward the briefing room. "You sit on me again I make sure your bowels vill be well ventilated this time, da?"

Cowboy did his best to grin over his shoulder at the Caitian. "Hey, it ain't mah fault K'aa fergot to take yer tail into account when he was fixin' this jumpsuit."

"Da... Remind me to properly thank my former Gorn roommate for dat too..." Le'on said as he squirmed once again to try and accommodate his tail.

"Y'know, there's one thing about all this Ah still ain't figured out,"

the pilot said a moment later, frowning.

Le'on sighed, afraid to ask. "And vot is dat comrade?"

"Why the hell'd we put this damn suit on *before* reportin' to our briefin'?!"

---

"Alright everyone settle down." Katara took up her position at the front of the room. "Now, as you all, or at least should all, know the second fleet of the Romulan Star Empire was destroyed, seemingly without warning by aggressors unknown."

None of the ARCs said anything but they understood the situation, it was this sort of situations that the ARCs made their bread and butter on.

Nathan nodded, somewhat guilt-ridden over how he felt hardly any sorrow for the Romulans who perished in that battle. He supposed that the Federation and the Romulan Empire were supposed to be friendlier toward one another these days, but Nathan still found the concept difficult to stomach.

"To this end this joint forces operation has been launched involving the Hazard Team of the USS Miranda and the ARC unit from the USS Galaxy." Her eyes saw there was still some divide between the two in the room. "I'm sure you'll all have time to meet and greet later."

Tucker nodded, "Well like my buddy said. It's time to get up and make the doughnuts." the ARC said as he leaned against one of the walls with his arms crossed next to Church and Caboose.

Cowboy barely held back a laugh as he looked over at the ARCs. ~'Time to make the doughnuts'?~ he thought. ~The hell kinda lame-ass line is that?~

Church looked at Tucker for a moment before raising his hand "Excuse me but what's the mission profile, ma'am?"

"Glad you asked. Our primary objective is simply to ascertain what happened. To do this we will be conducting sweeps of the wreckage and subjecting it to detailed testing to get any and all information we can. We will also conduct some EVAs boarding and searching some of the better-preserved derelicts for anything of note. Logs, computer files etcetera."

"Sounds simple but then again nothing truly is." Greg said in his usual professional tone as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"If dis was simple, then vhy we all here?" Le'on grumbled again from his inverted position. He figured that all the blood rushing to his head was starting to get to him from being upside down for a prolonged amount of time. ~damn Hydrans...~

"We need to cover a lot of ground in a short space. Our secondary objectives...and our least enjoyable task will be to search for survivors and police the site..." Her words hung in the air. "Frankly, I'm not hopeful...destruction like this it's unlikely that anyone's alive but, just in case we get lucky, check any and all pressurized compartments for signs of life. As for policing...we need to keep the scavengers at bay and remove any that are there already, there's a lot of sensitive material and valuable equipment out there and I can see a lot of people wanting a piece of it."

Everett looked around the room for a moment before he raised his hand to get Katara's attention. "So what exactly are me and the furball here for?" he asked. "Ya don't need a Hydran starfighter fer any of that."

"The main unit will be deployed in the Avalanche, while it does have substantial stealth and combat abilities, it's always good to have an outrider also this will give a great opertunity to make sure all the bugs are wotked out of the system before we REALLY need it for something. Also if there are scavenger vessels there, we have no idea how many and what threat they might pose. You and the 'furball' are here to run point and recon for the main unit."

Greg nodded, "I see where you're going with that, clever. While we do our work, having a Hydran's fighter hanging around will make any other Hydran ships that they are simply doing scavenger work." Greg said, nodding in approval.

Nathan nodded also. "Things're makin' a bit more sense, now," he said.

He looked around at the whole group. "Alright, there anything else we gotta go over 'fore we git goin'?"

"Just this one thing. We've no idea what we'll find out there we'll also be working apart from the fleet so keep your wits about you.

We'll break down into teams and dutioes once we can see what we're up against." She watched the general murmer of consent spread throughout the assembled squad.

"Okay." She said. "We leave in one hour, go and get suited up. Dismissed."

"Expensive System Checks"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer

Ensign Owen Geoff, Engineer (NPC)

*****USS Galaxy, Main Engineering*****

"Things are checking out fine, Lt." The woman before him looked at the PADD he had handed her with a look he knew wasn't of certainty. He had been assigned to work under Lt. Naranda Roswell for a systems check. The woman seemed all business at best and edgy at worst. At times it seemed she were holding back an intense anger. So it wasn't a surprise she looked at the report like she did. He just wasn't sure whether or not to take it personally. He understood she intended to write the report herself, but he had volunteered. He knew the tricks to quick promotion and hoped that his initiative would get to the Cheif.

Nara nodded and handed the PADD back, "You need to fix something, Ensign."

Owen looked over it and looked at her, "May I ask what that is, Lt.?"

"Hwii said the diagnostic was extensive, not expensive." She pointed to the word and furrowed her brow as she turned to look at something.

Owen nodded and as Nara turned, he coughed, "Excuse me. Lt?"

She turned and raised an eyebrow looking like she was obviously not wanting to waste time. "Yes?"

"You were looking at it as if I had my figures wrong or something."

"The report is fine. I just can't help thinking there's something we're missing."

"We've swept every nook and cranny. We've basically strip searched her."

"And somehow I doubt that's good enough."

He nodded, made the quick change and handed it to her.

She took it and glanced over at a couple of female ensigns who seemed to be chattering, "Save it for after duty. We need that panel fixed before anything comes smashing on the hull and you can't talk at all." The looks they gave her didn't phase her. She only outranked them as they weren't on her team, but she would remind them of their job. She doubted it would step on Dhani's or Ella's toes.

Owen watched as she walked off. Did paranoia come with the job? He did notice most of the people who had been there longer seemed to be cynical and gloomy when things got testy. As if they expected things to blow up in their face.

"Closing the back-door"

By:

Pilot Aren Furai

Flight Officer Ember Lansky

==--

Patrolling Romulan space felt more like wading in shark-infested waters.

The ghostly viridian shade of ships in the area ranging from merchant vessels, patrol craft, and even an occasional frigate or cruiser stalked the dark depths of space in remarkable likeness to the underwater predators seen on Earth. Even in the 24th century, Aren could not fathom why anybody would want to swim with such terrifying creatures; and yet here she was... doing the very same thing, only in a different context.

But it wasn't what she could see on her console that made her nervous, rather what she couldn't see. The Romulans had spent generations advancing their knowledge in the art of secrecy, and Aren was certain that at least one lurked nearby under the shroud of such technology, watching them. Just as a shark concealed by the depths of the dark-blue ocean would follow their prey, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Aren wasn't sure whether she could trust them or not.

According to their intellegence brief however, it wasn't the Romulans that they had to be afraid of anymore. Ember & Aren were the advanced recon for any wave of Hydran forces in a 'back-door' of sorts of Romulan space. While it would be hard to slip a cruiser by them, fighters would be very effective. If they made it through, Joint Federation & Romulan forces could be open to a nasty maneuver; however with such few forces available, only two fighters were sent to patrol.

Their orders were simple, if there was a problem... report it and get the hell out of dodge. Do not try to fight. The two Banzai class space fighters wandered along their specific and predetermined patrol route. If only they knew that escape simply wouldn't be an option.

"Orphan, this is Kiddo. I've completed my sensor sweep of mark-sixteen, nothing to report. I'm ready to move to mark-seventeen on your command."

Aren released the comm-switch, checking her navigation data to confirm that they had seven more "marks" to patrol before they were expected to return to the Galaxy. The fact that each mark seemed to lead them further from the populated parts of Romulan Space, didn't help to calm her nerves in even the slightest.

In a moment they'd be temporarily isolated from any communications with the Galaxy in what the Romulans called a "natural phenomenon", giving anybody who wanted to take a shot at the Federation Strike an approximate seven-minute window to do so.

"Make it look like we gave it a good look-around so that we don't seem skittish, and then move on." Aren repeated to herself quietly. It was an act easier said than done. They'd have to avoid a full sensor sweep of the area, but could at least meet above the minimum standard in operations.

Why did something simply not feel right about all of this?

Aren was at least glad that she had Ember alongside her, so that at least one of them had combat experience.

Ember on the other hand, craved combat. She didn't have a death-wish, but there was something about real life-and-death scenarios that no amount of terrifying holodeck adventures could replicate -- that kick of adrenaline, that intensity of holding all life's potentiality in one single blazing moment, and even, that acrid taste of fear in the mouth. And as they got ready to venture into the next mark, Ember could feel her nerves instinctively coming alive, becoming more alert.

She fully anticipated -- or perhaps, prayed for an attack. This after all, was the perfect window of opportunity for any disgruntled Romulan revolutionaries to strike.

It very nearly didn't matter that she was once again, saddled wih Aren Furai to "take care" of. In the weeks that had passed since she joined the Squadron, there had been a distinct progress in the nature of their relationship -- progress from blatant hostility to grudging tolerance. Ember realised she couldn't hate the girl for usurping Ayden's position because the girl didn't deserve it, but she also couldn't bring herself to embrace her with open arms. So, instead, she tolerated, much as one would tolerate a pesky itch on the backside you couldn't get at, but had to endure. She tolerated, with her sarcasm and too-often-disdain at the girl's abilities.

"Let's move in, Kiddo," Ember said through the comms, and leaning forward, added, "One word of advice, if anything happens, you get ready to run. Run fast and don't be getting in my way."

Aren checked her console for a moment, a part of her struggling with the idea of running away, while another part of her wanted to embrace it. She wasn't an experienced combat pilot like Ember, and in all likeliness, just like Ember said; she'd only get in the way.

But above all else, Aren had something to prove not just to Ember but to herself as well in that she wasn't afraid. She had joined the fighter corps to serve on the front-lines of whatever battle the Galaxy faced, and couldn't live with herself by retreating out of a selfish desire to breath.

"Maybe I'll stick around..." Aren began reluctantly, as she tried to find the strength to bear the words she wanted to say. "...afterall, you shouldn't be able to have all the fun."

It sounded childish, and even dangerous perhaps. Some by-the-balls fighter jockey who wanted her first piece of action was hardly how Aren would consider herself. But she didn't want to admit fear to Ember, she didn't want to justify her reasons to stay with anything other than a smartass behavior.

Perhaps because it was the one thing Ember, above all people, might trust. "Changing course to one-two-zero mark two-one-five. Speed to full. Beginning full sensor sweep of the area."

Even though Aren wanted to be strong, even she could hear the anxiety in her voice. ~Don't collapse, don't give in. Rely on your training and you'll come out of this alive~

Hearing Aren's words, Ember only rolled her eyes. Aren was trying to sound tough when she clearly wasn't. And there was nothing worse than her sticking her ground when she blatantly lacked the confidence to pull it through. In combat, if there was any sign of fear, any sign of hesitation, at all, they'd both be dead meat in a second. There was no room for wounded pride, or wavering faith. But Aren seemed to be under the impression that it was easy.

"If you want to get yourself killed, fine, just don't get me killed in the process," She said crisply back. It was cruel, but there was one thing that Aren needed to understand, and that was that this wasn't a game. Her life was her own, and hers to throw away if she wished; just as long as she didn't hinder her work.

The seconds ticked away as though each were an eternity. There was nothing... nothing, and nothing. She tapped her fingers on the console, growing restless.

Aren bit her inner lip, not wanting to lash back. She wasn't here to do battle with her wing-mate, and if they truly were rushing into an ambush she didn't want distractions getting in the way of them doing their jobs. There were so many things that she could have said, so many remarks that probably would have stung at Ember's heart. But she held everything back, despite all the pressure and all the desire to put that woman in her place; Aren held back.

"I'm not leaving your side..." she quipped, barely before the corner of her eyes noticed distortions on her sensor console. At first they came in brief flashes, but as the pair of Federation Fighters slipped deeper into unknown territory those signals endured. "Ember... I'm getting something. I don't know what, but... they're straight ahead."

Ember eyed the sensors, the hairs on the nape of her neck bristling.

These could be brief anomalies, disruptions created by natural environmental disturbances that would return to normalcy in a jiffy. And by all accounts, they didn't look like anything too far out of the ordinary... yet. But her trained and finely honed instincts told her otherwise. These were the signs of ships before them -- small vessels that were lying in wait, perhaps to attack, and who were trying to mask their energy signatures.

"There you are," She muttered to herself, a grimly smug smile curving her lips as she realised she was going to get the fight she wanted.

But these people -- whoever they were, were good, and she was unable to pick up exactly how many of them there were out there or pinpoint their positions with sufficient accuracy as the blips continued to blink in and out of range.

"Sonavabitch," She cursed. "Recalibrate sensors to a wider frequency, and send along an energy pulse," She told Aren, "That should disrupt what cloaking devices they might be using. Be ready to fire on the first sign of trouble." She didn't want to be taken by surprise. Chances were, if these people bothered to hide themselves, they weren't about to engage in friendly conversation.

"I thought this *was* the first sign of trouble," Aren muttered into her comm. As she quickly recalibrated her sensors before activating a tachyeon pulse from the main deflector. As predicted, the pulse temporarily revealed a wash of shapes around them.

They were outnumbered... badly.

"Should I shoot now?" Aren asked rhetorically, arming her weapons and sliding her craft into the best position from which to cover Ember.

"No... wait," Ember said, maneuvering into a defensive position and watching the shapes around them carefully. Even if she was absolutely certain that they were hostile, there were protocols she had to follow, and she couldn't engage the enemy without any provocation. So, she waited, and watched, her hands poised on the controls, ready to hit back at a second's notice. And then, as though they realised they had been detected and had lost the element of surprise, the ships began moving, closing in around them slowly but surely. Before she knew it, one came within range and shot off phaser beams directed at her vessel. She quickly dodged.

"There're too many of them..." Her mind was racing for a solution, and then, it suddenly occured to her. "Ever heard of guerilla warfare, Kiddo?" They were age-old war tactics which might just come in handy now. Ember spoke calmly but fast," We look for a break in their formation, run, and draw off one or two ships away from the rest.

Engage, destroy and repeat. Don't give them the chance to group together. Think you can do that?"

Aren's grip on her flight stick tightened as she checked, double checked, and triple checked her shields and weapons. ~Assuming they fall for that, if they don't we're dead meat~ She thought. "Roger Orphan, I'll draw defensive, two-seven-five mark five-f-two." She replied over the communication relay, indicating that she'd support Ember's offensive by providing close-action security.

"Stay close," Ember cautioned, and then the next moment onwards, everything happened swiftly, in rapid-motion. She banked sharply to the left, catching the approaching ships unawares as she tore towards the perimeter of their formation, pushing her thrusters to their maximum and the afterburners firing behind, propelling with an extra kick of speed.

Aren didn't even flinch as Ember's engines turned red-hot, sending her barreling through enemy formations. Almost expecting the maneuver, Aren managed to keep her own fighter within a few meters of her wingmate. Passing the enemy formations, Aren wanted to roll a hard six and engage her opponents... it felt like the right choice. But doing so would leave two problems. Ember would be exposed, and Aren would be charging her enemies alone.

Stay with her wingman... that's what she decided. "I'm on that ass..."

Their fighters burst clear of their opponent's ranks, and true to expectation, two enemy ships broke formation to give chase, heading away from the group. It was difficult to resist the urge to fire indiscriminately at these suckers, but they weren't yet far enough. "A little more, a little more..." Ember muttered under her breath, watching the screen closely. Their lives were on the line, and misstep could easily cost them. "Now, Kiddo!" The order was sent crisp and clear over the comms and just as abruptly, she dropped the speed and turned upon the runaway ships they had temporarily isolated, letting loose her weapons fire.

In a dance of motion, the two single Banzai fighters cut their thrust by half before tilting at their axis to face the two incoming enemy craft. In a flurry of electric-orange energy blazing across the darkness, Ember and Aren tore into the small craft with precision.

They broke apart in an astounding display of green. Aren's heart was pumping so hard she could hardly breath had it not been for the steady supply of oxygen. "I got one! I got him!" She proclaimed excitingly. She couldn't believe it, that she had taken out an enemy as quickly as she did.

It was an emotional high she couldn't control. "Way to go Skipper, let's do it again!" She announced, once again keeping her ship surprisingly in synch with Ember's fighter maneuvers.

"Let's keep the victory dance to later, shall we?" The tightly gritted, slightly sarcastic tone of Ember's cut through Aren's jubilant cry. No matter the excitement, the gloating should always be kept till after the battle, else the person who has the last laugh might very well not be her. Even as the first craft was destroyed, the second craft was swooping in from the back, taking advantage of their momentary distraction to fire a few shots at them. Reacting swiftly, Ember swerved aside, targeting the engines and returning with rapid bursts of phaser fire. But at the same time that the explosion filled the void, another group of enemy fighters had caught up and were right on their tail.

Aren felt like she could see absolutely everything, a heightened degree of awareness that couldn't be explained rationally. Her breathing was surprisingly calm as she reacted to the maneuvers of her wing-mate accordingly, providing the necessary cover every time one tried getting behind Ember.

It was surreal.

In the end, she would realize that she was in some variety of emotional overload as the threat of being killed in action gave way to the numb sensation of doing her job. Realizing that the Federation fighters were being closely tracked from behind, Aren; perhaps in overconfidence, realized the text-book solution.

"I have them..." she rallied as she cut her main engines and banked sharply. Her craft's momentum tumbled as she grazed past the two enemy fighters in a dance. Pushing her engines back to full, she realized with adrenaline that it had worked; she had the advantage.

Targetting the first fighter she deployed a small barrage of micro-torpedos, each of which struck hard against the enemy fighter sending it crashing through open space ablaze. The second fighter took only a few phaser strikes before it broke off from pursuit of Ember.

Aren should have stayed with her wing-mate, but she chose to follow it instead. A few more hits, and it was destroyed. She however, was now exposed, and the enemy took advantage of this.

Aren's hull shook hard as disrupter fire glanced across her shields.

The Banzai was well known for it's superior shielding, but with the way her levels were depleting she could recognize the fact that she had at least two of the small enemy craft behind her.

Having blasted another craft to smithereens, Ember swung her vessel around sharply, witnessing in full the precarious position Aren had plunged herself into. But she was too far away to help, unable to divert her opponents' fire or to engage them just yet. The enemy was not stupid either. As though sensing her vulnerability, they were converging on Aren. "Buggers," The pilot cursed in her seat, also swearing at the young upstart's idiocy for leaving herself exposed like this. What the heck was she thinking?

There was no time to lose. Ember pushed hard on the propellers, ramming to full speed as she rushed towards Aren at full throttle. By the indication on her sensors, the craft nearest to Aren was already charging its weapons and preparing to target. "Kiddo, get yourself behind it, and quickly," Ember instructed, transmitting her the exact coordinates to fly to. If Aren followed these, she would be getting behind one craft, but also putting herself directly in the flight path of another pursuer. It was the oldest trick in the book, and was all about timing. But it needed a great amount of trust -- *if* Aren trusted her.

"Be ready to dodge out of the way, on my mark." Ember watched the screens carefully. It was a deadly game where every second was critical.

"Now!" It all unfolded before her. At the same moment the microtorpedo was launched by the enemy craft, Aren leaped out of the way. The chance had been missed to avert the missile's course, and it whizzed straight as an arrow, unerringly skimming past Aren's vessel -- where it would have hit her straight on had she not ducked, and into the oncoming craft behind, sending a burst of explosions into the air.

Bingo.

Aren hadn't realized how long she had been helding her breath, expecting another violent series to overcome her ship and tear her apart. Once she realized that her pursuer had been destroyed, leaving behind the last remaining straggler of the ambush. Had these fighters been as large and sophisticated as the Banzai's, neither Ember nor Aren would have stood a chance. Instead, they were small and fragile, barely able to sustain much in comparison with their foes.

The last remaining blip on Aren's sensor readout indicated that it jumped away to warp. The fight was over. After she couldn't go on without air any more, Aren started to breathe again; with a giant gasp, however erratic as it was. Her clenched fists shook hard as her eyes darted to either side of her ship. She felt sweat dripping down her face, into her eyes and mouth. Her cockpit felt very small, much moreso than she was used to.

Did they really just come out of this alive?

The adrenaline that was pumping high in her blood slowly drummed to a steadier beat as Ember realised the fight was over. She relaxed slightly -- but not completely, because it would have been foolish to let her guard down the moment a respite came. The enemy might hit again, and if they did do so, they weren't going to catch her with her pants down. "Let's head for home, Kiddo," She said into the comms. There was no word of praise, no encouragement, consolation or reassurance from her. Much as she could almost imagine the amount of emotion and burden Aren was feeling, Ember wasn't going to provide her any relief. For Aren, it would have to come from somewhere else.

Now at least, she was all business. She had to be.

Aren glanced uncertainly at her console, trying to convince her breathing to fall in tandum with the repetative readouts. Out of the corner of her vision she watched Ember's fighter spin off it's axis and jolt; presumably towards the Galaxy. As much as she wanted to, as much as she tried; Aren could not steer her own stick in that direction.

It was like she was completely numb, moreso of a spectator watching her own body sit unflinching in the seat. ~Move~ she thought.

~Move now, please?~

Still nothing. She couldn't even speak. Death had come knocking at her door, and had come within perhaps a meter of taking the breath out of her. Being so close, she felt like that fighter had ripped something away from her afterall..

"Contractual Obligations, Part 2"

Lieutenant Cole "Wraith" Slaton, Renegades XO, USS Miranda
Lt (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineer, USS Galaxy
Pilot Taev "Stubbs", Vanguard Squadron, USS Galaxy

Shuttle Bay One, USS Miranda

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

"Economic revenge, huh?" Cole asked smiling. "How much do you think they're worth?" he asked glancing at the Ferengi. "All of them... together."

The ale was tantalizingly at the edge of Taev's lips when the prospects of profit sobered him. "Eh? Hmmm... many bars, but many questions need to be answered first. Who was the original agent? Who the original consignee?

What's the market and how do we arrange transport? Someone put this in my luggage to intercept it on the Galaxy - that some one's going to want eight bottles of blue liquid when I go there - something to consider. It's the key to the revenge part."

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knee Cole asked the obvious.

"How?"

"I'll bring over eight bottles of blue liquid alright", Taev grinned mischievously. "What will be in it will be, ah - recycled ale you and I will manufacture at no cost. The elements in the urine may even have enough of the trace elements to confound the sensors you used to find it. But for the real product, we need to source a buyer in the original market conditions to maximize profitability. Someone already on Galaxy - any suggestions?"

~Urine?~ He quickly made a mental note not to piss this little muskrat off, or at least make sure to get away with it. "I know a buyer on the Miranda who may want some, so three bottles can remain here. The Galaxy...?" Cole had to think about it before a grin began to grow. "I may know one who may be interested."

"May be affordable as well?" the Ferengi asked cautiously. "I'd like to negotiate a marginal comission rather than a flat-rate fee at this point."

"Negotiate a comission?" Cole regarded the Ferengi. "There will be no negotiating, you're lucky I found out before one of the security officers, otherwise you'd be in a cell staring at three walls and a forcefield. The sales will be split, right down the middle. 50/50. If even one of those cells of what you call a brain thinks to cheat me, I *will* find out." The nano-bots over his right eye shifted for the briefest of moments, the deep black implant clear for all to see, the inside of which glored red like a burning fire. "And *when* I do.... think of hell..."

"And our Galaxy agent? There are no 50's in a three way split. I'd suggest two and a half for the enterprising individual", Taev offered, finally sipping some of the ale. ~By the Nagus! Oo-mox for the mouth!~ He restricted himself to only a small sip, before making an observation to his demanding partner. "I think we need to reassess - this is no ordinary vintage, my friend."

Smiling Cole took the bottle. "The Galaxy agent you speak of will be the one buying the bottles, so the profits will still be *50* each. Trust me, where these bottles will go there won't be any need to reassess," looking at the bottle in his hand he added, almost to himself, "the finest only get the finest."

*****Meanwhile on the USS Galaxy Shuttlebay*****

Nara walked about the shuttles running scanners and such making sure they were ready to go. She happened to be underneath one when a smell reached her nose. She ignored it and finished her scanning as she muttered, "Need some tweaking don't you." She moved out from under the shuttle and moved to grab her kit by the shuttle entrance.

Just as a boot landed on it.

"Agh!" She stood, willing to make sure the person attached to the foot understood she didn't like being stepped on.

It happened to be a Vulcan who looked at her in a calm, annoying manner. "I do apologize."

"There are some similarities among humanoids. Weight for instance!" She rubbed her hand.

He simply made his way into the shuttle, content having made his apology.

"At least a human would had...Oh forget it." She grabbed her kit and went back to work. Work was the only time she felt somewhat normal. Grumpy normal, but normal.

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

Shuttle Bay One,

USS Miranda

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

Returning, after hiding his three bottles of the blue illegal liquid, Cole found the Ferengi standing close to one of the shuttles. There was a certain measured line when trying to look innocent in fact became even more noticable, this Ferengi was a prime example. Eyes looking seemingly in every direction, or trying at the least. Cole would have thought better of a Ferengi, always scheming, but then how often do you find a Ferengi holding illegal supplies on one of the most infamous starships in Starfleet?

Cole frowned as he thought of that last question. Perhaps more often than he realised. "Taev, you ready?" he asked nodding towards the shuttle readying to depart. It was a clear sign circumstances were progressing, a second shuttle leaving in as many minutes.

Taev, for his part, had just finished washing his hands from filling the last bottle of "Reclaimed Romulan Ale" and adding the appropriate ammount of blue food dye. "One moment Cole. There's one last thing I need to do before I leave the Miranda." From a small compartment in his luggage, he fished out a small transponder that he then worked into the purple sealing wax on one of the bottles. Finished, he closed (but didn't lock) the container and proceeded to board the shuttle.

"The person you were refering to on Galaxy will be expecting us then?", the Ferengi pilot asked, still unnerved at what they were about to move.

"Not in so many words..." Cole muttered. The person he had in mind didn't exactly know him, though if she was anything compared to her father the Ale would be in safe hands, or as many as she could handle. The shuttle was crowded almost to the brill with people, most were in uniform, a few wore civis. Taking a seat, the Ferengi taking the vacant one to Cole's left, there were a few minutes of confusion until everyone was seated allowing the shuttle to leave.

The trip across the small expanse took less than a few moments, the Galaxy was surely the large and overbearing sister watching over the Miranda. They past effortlessly through into the shuttle bay, the moment they entered it was obvious there were others being prepared for departure. The skys around Romulus were chaotic, only with computers could it be controlled.

Cole left the shuttle without a word, following the flow of bodies pouring out from the shuttle's rear. While many walked off with purposeful determination Cole and Taev stepped off to the side, as if unsure where to go next. Little did anyone know Cole was already working hard at finding their contact's whereabouts. The implant linked with the main computer effortlessly and within moments was accessing the internal sensors searching for one combadge amongst hundreds. "She's here..." Cole muttered with an odd expression.

At that moment, Nara had picked up her kit and was moving to another shuttle on the other end of the bay. She wiped her brow, not realizing the green goo that had escaped from installing a part to the underbelly panel of the previous shuttle was on her sleeve. She made a slight face, wiping at it, then giving up with a sigh, setting her kit down to work on the shuttle she had paused at.

Cole shook his head. "No, I mean here, in the Shuttle Bay." It didn't take Slaton long to find her, lying beneath a shuttle working furiously to make whatever adjustments she was working on. Nodding for the young Ferengi to follow they both stepped up to the rather nicely curved pair of legs "Nara Roswell..." Cole said arm leaning against the hull of the small ship.

An exasperated sigh could be heard under the shuttle. Last time someone had called her out from work was Saia causing some sort of issues. Sliding out she expected to see a counselor or some teacher, but her brow furrowed a bit seeing two men before her. One a Ferengi. Being a bit unnerved, she jumped up, tense and ready to defend herself. But not obviously so, being in a room full of people would make it hard for the Ferengi to really do anything. Not to mention the Lt. with the Ferengi. "How can I help you?" She looked directly to Cole.

"I hope so..." Cole said with his best smile. "If your anything like your old-man we may have something you'll be interested in--" Cole paused for a moment looking her over, and not hiding the fact either. "I can see you take after him, I'm sorry to hear of his death, it's a bit late but you have my condolences."

Nara's brows further furrowed, "It's a well known fact he's alive and well.

Gary Roswell doesn't go down easy. Who th..." Before she continued, she paused and asked, "Is this Starfleet business?" She put a tool in the chest pocket of her work vest.

Cole frowned. ~The old coot's alive?~ "I had to admit I couldn't quite believe rumours, he'll out live us all knowing his luck." And he meant that.

"Even as an ensign he seemed to have an unnatural nack of getting out trouble, of which the majority he started. This has nothing to do with Starfleet, but a hereditary need for mischief, meaning of course... you."

Nodding to Taev the Ferengi, unwillingly, opened the bag and with a quick glance around, and probably a scan with his ears checking for eavesdropping, lifted a bottle.

"Knowing how your father loves his ale, which reminds me hope he liked the case of bloodwine for his last birthday... anyhow your name came up at the top of the list to have first shot."

She looked at the bottle and then at Cole, "And who the hell are you and what makes you think I'd trust a Ferengi?" She gave a quick glance to the said Ferengi, but didn't bother apologizing. They knew they had a reputation.

"Cole Slaton, from the Miranda, this little devil is Taev. And whether you trust a Ferengi is not the issue, the bottles are mine, he's just handling them for me at present. Thought you might be interested, but if your not, we'll go elsewhere."

"Interested in what? I'm trying to wean myself off synthenol. But believe me, I don't think I'd turn down a drinking binge." A beat. "After my shift of course."

Cole held back a smile, so the *old man's* genes hadn't missed a generation.

"This is far from just normal synthernol, ale of a Romulan kind, and what you do with it is entirely up to your own perferences. The question is, how many bottles do you want. Four *are* available at the present time."

Nara glared at him, "After my shift, we talk. I've got several shuttles to work on and we're kind of in the middle of a pretty serious times. How long will you be aboard?"

"Him?" Cole asked, knowing Nara wasn't talking about the Ferengi yet unable hold back a retort. "Until reassigned I'd imagine," he answered himself ignoring Nara's glaring eyes, something her father did remarkably well.

"Myself, not long, I'll be heading down to the planet assisting the marines."

"I'm off in about fifteen minutes."

"Circumstantial Honors"

General Klegh, Leader Klingon/Reman Protectorate
Captain Vergh, CO IKS Darchak

Main Bridge, IKS Darchak

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

"YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR AGE BEFUDDLED, BLOODWINE-SOAKED MIND, OLD MAN!" The large Klingon's bellow rang throughout the Darchak's bridge, making the crew present fearfully quiet. Their Captain's temper was well known in the Klingon Defence Force, as was his creative ways of venting that profound rage.

The old Klingon on the viewscreen was both unalarmed and unimpressed.

"Calm yourself, Vergh. This is an order, not a subject for debate.

We escort the Reman transports into Klingon space, then patrol the border. There will be no engagement with the Hydrans. Period."

General Klegh's mottled face was a calm opposite to Verg's fierce anger, but the old Klingon was confident in his ability to handle the current situation. "Your objection has been noted. Now, carry out your orders."

Verg's meaty fist struck the console before him three times before the control plas finally shattered. In frustration the burly Captain ripped out some of the more delicate circuitry and hurled it at the viewscreen. "They may be a patchwork of weak peoples, but last time I checked the Federation were our allies, General! *This* Klingon won't turn back on the allies of the Empire so easily!"

"No - *this* Klingon will follow the orders of his betters, Captain"

came the General's growling reply. "Think progressively for one on your life, Vergh. The Hydrans have destroyed two Romulan fleets without significantly slowing down their advance to Romulus. Why are they attacking the romuluSngan?"

"Who cares? The Federation..."

"Should pick where and how to fight battles with more care" Klegh continued. "If this was Federation space, we would fight shoulder-to-shoulder as in the days of the Dominion Wars, Vergh - but this is the Romulan Star Empire, or what's left of it. I will shed no Klingon or Reman blood to protect their honor."

Vergh gritted his teeth so hard as to draw blood. "This is dishonorable, Klegh. You know it. I know it. Our childrem, in their shame, will come to know it and spit on our memory."

The old General slowly shook his head. "Should they live so long, Captain. Reflect on the past - what motive do the Hydrans have to attack Romulus? Or to attack the Romulans in general?"

"I don't know!" Vergh bellowed.

"Nor do I, Son of Gorak" Klegh observed quietly. "Nor do I - but my father's sire fought against them in the 'War of Retribution', and won much glory for our House. The Hydrans call it the 'War of Infamy'.

Their motive for revenge against *us* is clear - the Romulans may only be the fire that forges the Hydran steel."

The scowl on the Darchak's captain didn't leave his face, but he slowly nodded as he understood the old Klingon's point. "No songs of glory will be sung of this decision, General - mark my word!"

The viewscreen's image of the General faded as Klegh's last words echoed throughout the bridge. "Only the living sing songs of glory, Vergh - the dead have no voice other than that which the living give."

"The Blade"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen

Rihannsu Ambassador

= dohhae Ahalaen =

= Romulus =

"Hear me, Romulans," Aerv tr'Ahalaen said slowly, choosing his words with care as he addressed the crowd before his father's home. The fierce blade in his hand had silenced the crowd. The Rihannsu responded to symbols...and the Blade of the Declared was an eloquent sight indeed. There were perhaps twenty other men alive who had been honored by the Romulan people with the particular title that exquisite sword represented. "Go home. There is no protection for you here, no safe harbor. Go home, Romulans, for if you stay...they will kill you all."

Those were not the words that these people had expected to hear. A quiet wave of distress flowed over the desperate crowd. They were the weakest of the Rihannsu, the most helpless. In fear of the invaders, they had fled from their simple lives in the hopes that at the door of the Ahalaen family. Now a Blade of the Declared stood before them, telling them that there was no hope, no way for them to live.

"Go home, Romulans," tr'Ahalaen said again, his voice not without pity for the broken faces, "Go home, Farmers and Herders. Go home, Romulans. Our world is lost, our pride is shattered. Why do you come to me now, with your infant daughters and sons? What wild fantasy brings you to my door? I am only a Blade. I cannot help you."

tr'Ahalaen tossed the honored Blade of the Declared to the ground and stepped on it. The crowd gasped, stunned.

"What is a Blade? It cannot even defend itself without a hand to wield it. How will it defend you? How low have you fallen, Romulans, and how low will you fall still? Where is the hand of the Rihannsu, the bane of worlds, the terror of the universe? Oh...years from now, when they tell the tale of Romulus, they will LAUGH at YOU, ROMULANS. You who have destroyed the legacy of the Rihannasu with your patethic cowardice, with your craven blood. You, who try to hide under the slender shadow of a Blade, go home. Go home, as Romulans, for you are not Rihannsu. Go home and dishonor yourselves no longer."

There was a long, terrible silence. The poor had little else, save for their pride...and now stood a young noble before them, taking from them even that. Finally, someone found the courage to ask, "Will you not fight for us, tr'Ahalaen?"

"I cannot. I am a Blade. What is a blade without a hand to wield it?

Who will wield this blade? Who here is worthy? Not you. Not you...you are but a shadow in the shade. Can you fight? How do I know? They come and take your land...and you run. They take your bread...and you run. They kill you sons...and you run. They take your women...and you run. So run again, Romulans, run home. You cannot fight with me and I cannot fight alone. Go home, Romulans...and die."

A little girl stepped forward and tried to pick up the Blade of the Declared. It was Ael, Aerv's sister, and she was doing exactly what he had told her to do. The crowd, of course, did not know that. They responded. Romulans liked symbols, and this was an endearing one.

"I will fight, Lhhai."

tr'Ahalaen laughed.

"I will fight," a man cried out from within the crowd, "I am Rihannsu."

It might have been a man that Aerv had planted but it did not matter.

tr'Ahalaen, a bright sun, had dried the wood and the words of a child had struck a spark. The forest was on fire.

"Will you fight?" Aerv demanded of the crowd. They roared in response.

"Will you fight knowing that in the end, you will still die? For never in the history of this miserable universe have so few stood against so many.... With your last breath, will you remind everyone what it means to fight the Rihannsu. Since you must fall, will you at least fall proud?"

The crowd roared again, still weak...but no longer broken and now proud.

Aerv took the Blade of the Declared from his sister and raised the weapon to the sky. "Then stand with me, Rihannsu. After this day, we go home no more."

= End Log =

“Seeking Medical Attention.”

With Ensign Soval, Interrogations Specialist, USS MIRANDA and “Captain" Leo Streely”, USS GALAXY.

Location: The Miranda shuttle BLACKHAWK (Oh gee, wonder where Joe is going here?)

Previously: Shortly after the Star Fleet battle group joined with the USS GALAXY, currently orbiting Romulus, Leo Streely send word to the MIRANDA that he wanted to come aboard and settle an old score with a competitor: Lt. Janos Kett. Captain Summers ordered Ensign Soval to escort the little man aboard.

"OK, OK, OK. You're a little creepy. You know that right? I mean Spock was creepy, but at least he was banging Uhura. You are just creepy in a Krieghoff Cardassian love slave way." Leo Streely announced after 5 long minutes of awkward silence. He sat in the copilot's seat in the shuttle BLACKHAWK where he was nervously fiddling the "Free Dog the Bounty Hunter" medallion that hung from his chest.

Ensign Soval, the USS MIRANDA's stoic Vulcan interrogations specialist, simply raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Aren't you even the least bit curious how that spotted scoundrel put the hose to the Big Hoss?" Streely asked.

The stoic Vulcan Security officer never moved his gaze from the windshield of the runabout. When he spoke, it was in hushed tones, laced with a final confidence usually reserved for an undertaker.

"Not even the slightest." he said icily. He made a slight calculation in his flight pattern to compensate for an unexpected moment of what appeared to be a moment of power loss, seeming to forget that Leo was sitting next to him.

"Ahhhhhhhh c'mon. I don't believe that." the little man said with a wry grin.

"Your belief structure is entirely you own and as a sentient being, you are entitled to it, no matter how deeply flawed and thoroughly illogical it may seem to those around you." Soval said.

Leo clapped his hands together.

"I knew you wanted to know! OK, OK, OK! First Kett and I were bidding on the same piece of art on UFPbay. It was a very rare piece of erotica that had two Ferengi women with a strap on that looked like Chancellor Gowron. Purely coincidental as it was reportedly carved BEFORE Gowron was even born, so it makes it somewhat prophetic and some elements in the Klingon hierarchy were willing to pay very handsomely to posses this piece."

Soval stared blankly at Streely. The shadows in the runabout seemed to wrap themselves around the man.

"So I place this bid and with 4 second left, that smegging piece of slime shit snatched it out of my hands. He took a small fortune from me! For what? Some little curio to place on a bookshelf somewhere? Doesn't that just burn your short hairs?"

"Not particularly." Soval said carefully watching the runabout's gauges again.

Something didn't seem right in the man's mind.

Something also wasn't sitting right with Leo Streely either.

"OK, OK, OK!!! I don't buy this 'I don't feel emotions' thing you have. You realize that even a lack of emotion could be considered an emotion. How's that for shakin your foundation?"

"Your spending habits are entirely your prerogative and as a sentient being, you are entitled to it no mater how out of the realm of the accepted normal they may be." Soval said, ignoring Streely's comment about emotion, but finding it provoking nonetheless. He mentally filed it away for meditation at a later date.

"You really don't feel emotions?"

"I am physically incapable of feeling an emotion."

"What if you hit your hand with a hammer?"

"I would seek medical attention."

"But you wouldn't scream out? Throw a couple of chairs and kick a puppy?" Streely probed.

"That would be illogical. Screaming would not alleviate the pain. Throwing a chair could result in further injury and assaulting an animal would draw the wrath of the Universal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. That would not alleviate ones physical discomfort either. If anything, it would add to one's mental discomfort."

"What if you were with some really bomb ass Vulcan babe who just did this trick with her tongue that curled your toes?"

"I would seek medical attention." Soval said.

"Medical attention?!?! For what?"

"Curling appendages are a sign of serious medical issues."

"What if you walked in and caught your wife on all fours with another man pounding away like a genetic jack hammer, doing his best Big Hoss imitation?"

"I would seek medical attention."

"FOR WHAT?!?!?!"

"As I have no wife, thinking I have one would be a sign of mental collapse. Seeking medical attention would be advised." Soval said looking once more at blinking lights on the runabout's navigation panel.

Leo just stared.

“Your fucked up, you know that? I mean worse then the way Corgan used to be fucked up.”

"As I have never seen Corgan copulating vertically, to speculate how I would compare in similar scenes would be illogical."

"Don't you don't get irritated?"

"No."

"Not even just a little?"

"Apparently not or I would have ejected you from the shuttle by now."

"Are you pulling my leg?" Leo asked.

"No. If I were, I would seek medical attention."

"WHAT? It's my leg?!?! Why would you look for medical attention?"

"Because while I have no urge to do so, I sexually identify with a heterosexual lifestyle. To caress your leg would be an example of an alternative lifestyle. That could be a sign of impending mental collapse."

"Ya know, I can now see why Darkstar gets the urge to strangle people."

“That was an unexpected turn of events.” Soval said.

"I'm just sayin! I was only trying to make conversation with you and you and your Vulcan shtick make me want to leap out of the runabout with no parachute."

“I am referring to our current dilemma. You may want to stay prepared to exit the craft in an expedited manner. It may be nessicary.”

“What dilemma?!?! What do you mean jumping out of the craft?!?!?!"

The shuttle began to sputter and shake until finally the engines died. The craft hovered a bit and then began to fall into the atmosphere of Romulas. The pressure pushed the two against the chairs.

"WHAT..... THE FUCK.... IS GOING ON?!?!?!?" Leo screamed.

“There appears to be a mechanical failure causing the ship's power to bleed away."

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!?!”

“I am Vulcan. I am always serious.”

“YOU'RE TELLING ME WE ARE OUT OF GAS?!?!?!?!?!”

"No. Right now I am telling you to prepare for a crash landing." Soval said, buckling his seat harness.

"CRASHING?!?!? WHERE?!?!?!"?”

"I would say in the middle of the city beneath us."

"WHAT?!?!?!?! WHEN?!?!?!"

"Now." Soval said as the runabout crashed headlong into a dwelling, sending fire and black smoke billowing into the sky.

TO BE CONTINUED........

Ensign T'Jaden "TJ" Tagra, Engineering Officer, USS Miranda

Deck 40, Main Engineering

Everytime that cannon fired, TJ swore he saw the core dim a bit, thought it seemed no one else ever saw it.

He was at a station, rechecking the phasers and thier related systems. With recent events, one couldn't be to safe. Everything checked out so far, but he ran another diagnostic to ease his doubts.

Engineering was a bustle of hurried work. While the ship hadn't rocked, yet, everyone was trying to get everything in order for when it did.

The Hydrans where many things, able to knock a ship around was one of them. He just hoped the Prophets where watching over them all. He said a slight prayer to Them just to be safe.

It seems being safe and precautious was the tone setter for the day, and it somewhat irked TJ. Not that safe and precautious was normally a bad thing, but it just sat wrong with him nonetheless.

Then the ship finally rocked. T'Jaden started checking power conduits, EPS taps and other power delievery systems. The diagnostic was still running, but he ignored it. IF he could just stay ahead of any blowouts, shorts or power interuptions, then maybe he might be able to contribute something to the fight besides diagnostics and prayer.

Another rock, things must be getting interesting out there.

"Disciplinary Action"

Elaithin Jii

K. Jordan Elaithin

Kerec

Cdr. Johnathan Keller/Major Vartek ar'Triae

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

Tal Shi'ar Processing Outpost 42

Ki Baratan, Romulus

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

The upper levels of the Tal'Shiar offices were as bland and Spartan as one would expect. Everything was hospital ward clean, with white walls, grey floors, and sharp lighting. Jordan couldn't help but take it all in as they passed through, each holding their weapons, each with every sense on heightened alert, ready for anything. Perhaps it was her years posing as a journalist: the writer's eye for place and description. Or perhaps it was her Intelligence Officer's instinct, a need to remember everything in precise detail to assist at a later time (every door, vent, security padd, sensor relay, floor seam, LACRS display and the like).

Judging by the empty and frightened feel of the building and the uneasy chaos that leaked in from outside, however, Jordan was beginning to feel that her eye was unnecessary. If this building remained standing, its function likely would alter, or at least, the function of those within it would likely alter. Perhaps toward the betterment, but perhaps it would worsen (the Tal'Shiar could revert to the horrible force they had once been).

They met no further resistance, and Kerec led them through one hallway after another until they came to one that Jordan vaguely recognized from imaging sent by the very operative they were attempting to find.

The turncoat. The traitor. It was then that she realized that through this whole ordeal they'd never really decided what would be done with this man: before, during, and after the intelligence… extraction.

She glanced at her husband from over her shoulder. As always these days, she was a bit taken back by the expression on his face: the fury, the determination, and the age. She couldn't put it into words and couldn't exactly identify in him what had changed, but something had. And it wasn't just being on Romulus either, doing what they were doing. A lot of it, she decided, was what likely was occurring several miles above them.

"Here," Kerec said.

They'd come upon some sort of data-processing lab. Looked like this building wasn't, in fact, a dormitory for Tal Shi'ar personnel, but an installation instead.

Typical of the Tal Shi'ar, really, to hide so basic a thing. Massive banks of monitors and terminals coated the walls, most offline, but many of them displaying various scenes from around the planet and telemetry from the orbital satellites above.

A battle was clearly raging, and Jii could pick out Federation, Romulan, and Hydran starships in a huge mess. But, there was a man in a Major's uniform, that looked approximately like the man they were searching for.

The planet-bound imagery was even more frightening, however. There were Hydran soldiers everywhere. Here, engaging Romulan ground troops and Starfleet Marines. There, sacking and burning and killing.

"Looks like him, from the image we had." Jii whispered. "Jordan, you know him. Can you confirm?"

Jordan frowned a moment as she stared through the faux-wall designed for just this purpose: the higher ranked officers to watch the actions of the lower ranks. The man, Keller she assumed, was in the middle of the computer room, one that looked not all together dissimilar from the Intelligence Centre she'd put together on the Miranda. It appeared he was destroying records, which could mean one of two

things: he was the one appointed to do just that in case of invasion, or that he was confident the building was empty (or empty enough) to where he wouldn't get caught hiding his tracks.

Perhaps both.

"Yes. That's him." A pause as she attempted to clear the clutter in her mind and to concentrate on that one specific thing of the TIme Before. "I'm sure of it."

"Looks like the ground invasions in full force." Jii noted dispassionately. He was, truthfully, trying to keep his own shock and surprise down. The notion that Romulus could actually fall to these..

barbarians at the gates was just so completely foreign.

It was like contemplating the fall of Earth or Qo'noS. It just defied beleif. But here the remnants of the Tal Shi'ar were, salting the earth - or ch'Rihan, if you preferred.

Except for Keller. Jii watched as he slipped a data rod he was supposed to be destroying into the lining of his uniform. "There's only three other men in the room. Plan?"

"Weapons won't work in here." Kerec advised. "This part of the building, there's a directed-energy suppression field that disables all beam weapons."

Jii just smiled.

Jordan raised an eye brow. "You brought the Colt, didn't you? I can't believe you still have that thing."

"Both of 'em." he chuckled. "You'd be surprised how often that trick works. Nobody ever looks for projectile weaponry anymore."

Kerec, however, was frowning, and looked to Jordan. "What is a.. "Colt?"

"A non-beam weapon," Jordan said, "from when my husband was a cowboy, three or four hundred years ago."

Kerec frowned. "I didn't think you Bajorans lived that long."

"We don't." Jii said, not clarifying further, but drawing a perverse satisfaction out of the confusion evidenced on the Romulan's features.

"Your lives are far too complicated." Kerec observed.

"You have no idea," Jordan muttered.

Jii reached below his jacket into his holsters then, declining to hand one to either Jordan or Kerec. Jordan wouldn't ask - she'd never handled a firearm - and Kerec likely wouldn't try to use such an unfamiliar weapon either.

"Allright, then, let's get this done with." he said, holding his guns at the ready. "Kerec, the door, if don't mind?"

He didn't reply as he palmed the access, the door sliding open with a quick "swish." One of the Romulan men reflexively reached for his disruptor - to which Jii replied with a bullet through the computer panel in front of him, shattering the display. "Keep it put up, friend." he advised. "Hands up, the rest of you."

"What do you - " one of them began before Kerec cut him off. "We are just here for Major ar'Triae." he explained smoothly. Jii could see now how young the three men with Keller - ar'Triae - were.

"Make no false moves, and you will not be harmed." Kerec advised as Jii kept one gun on the three younger Tal Shi'ar operatives - data processors, by the look of them - and the other on Keller.

Jordan took the opportunity to move between her two companions and toward the object of their attention. "Major ar'Triae, if you would please come with me," she said.

She could see the look flickering in his eyes, could see him attempting to determine first, who these people were, and second, what exactly they wanted from him. Third, of course, was whether or not he should try to get away.

"I'm sorry," he said, "There must be some mistake -- I'm supervising the data--"

"Of course," she replied, "but you will still need to come with us.

We've been made aware of some of your activities and would like to discuss with you."

"Like I said. Ma'am. I'm supervising the da--"

"Be silent and come with us so we might avoid further embarrassment."

He glanced between Kerec, the man holding the ancient earth pistol, and to the woman standing in front of him. Keller was not an idiot, he never had been, it was why he was a Starfleet Intelligence Operative assigned to Romulus. He knew how to observe. And he knew how to put two and two together. As Romulan as he might currently appear, he was human and knew human history and he knew that a Romulan man was not likely to be carrying a Colt .45 Revolver, much less two.

Much less actually know how to use them. So he did what he could think to do, knowing as he probably did the penalties he was facing and the fact that the Federation would likely hand him off to the Romulan government and turn a blind eye.

He attempted to fight his way out.

But he hadn't counted on the fact that the seemingly Romulan woman was who she was and that she had already been a hostage that day.

Jordan moved easily and before Keller could blink, he was on the ground, head pressed hard against the floor.

"You are under arrest for war crimes," she hissed to him before glancing at Kerec for his assistance in further restraining the man.

One of the Uhlans - the Romulan equivalent of an Ensign - started to move forward to help his superior.

He was rewarded with a bullet in the knee.

As he writhed in pain, Jii looked to his two compatriots. "I'd suggest you get that man some medical treatment. Getting shot hurts like hell.

I'll tell you now, this man is not who you think he is. He is, in fact, a traitor, and is likely responsible for the deaths of millions of Rihannsu. Knowing that, do you really want to help him?"

Jii saw the two men's faces tighten as they regarded "ar'Triae" in a new light. Unfortunately, neither looked particularly surprised as they lifted their fallen friend between them. "Why should we believe you?"

"Because I haven't killed you." Jii said flatly. "Beleive me, if you make enough of a problem for me and my friends, I will. These things don't have a stun setting. We have an understanding?"

Moments passed with no verbal communication as Jii and the oldest of the three Uhlans stared eye-to-eye with each other. Finally, the Romulan man broke the contact. "We do."

"Door's right over there." Jii indicated with his head. "Piece of advice. Don't go into the city."

After they were gone, Jii turned back to face Jordan, Kerec, and Keller.

A look of almost unrestrained fury was coloring Kerec's features a dark green. He moved forward towards Keller, and Jii had to wonder if his associate intended to kill the man.

Not that he blamed him. Unificationist he may have been, but Kerec was still a Romulan. And Keller owed the Romulan people a debt in blood that would never, ever be repaid.

Keller was trying to stand - trying to get a view of what was going on

- but Jordan had him firmly pinned. Right up until the point that Kerec's hard boot slammed into the human man's midsection. "That is for my people, Jonathan Keller. And it his only the beginning. Count yourself lucky the two of them want you alive," he hissed in a voice that reminded Jii of a security officer from the Galaxy he'd met once.

"Who.." Keller coughed, spitting out dark red blood and clutching his stomach. "Who the hell are you people?"

Jordan barely moved to touch the holographic emitter and the disguise shimmered away.

"I would be your boss, asshole."

Jii dropped his own disguise as well. There was little point in hiding anymore. "And I'm her husband." he added. "And Mr. Keller, we are very, very unhappy with your job performance."

OOC: Set just before the battle begins. Sorry I've been so dormant for the past week, I've had both connection and work issues to deal with. -- MJ

*****

"Magnificent Seven" - Prologue

C1C K'Yer, Yeoman's Page

Ice Bitch

The Director

****

U.S.S. MIRANDA (NCC-77000-B), DECK 52: SUB-JUNCTION 21-C

K'Yer's ears flicked back in forth several times in annoyance as she stopped in the middle of the corridor junction. The brown-furred Caitian had never been on this deck--or any other deck below 48, for that matter--in the scant seven months she had served aboard the Mighty Miranda. Then again, there was very little reason for a Yeoman's Page Second Class to *need* to travel to the lower bowels of the Pathfinder-class starship.

{Always a first for something, Ky,} she thought to herself as she regained her bearings and trotted off in a different direction.

Still, this *was* an annoyance. Here they were, literally moments away from battle with the Hydran armada, and she was delivering a message to...to--

She stopped again, trying to recall which compartment she was supposed to deliver the message to. Any other time, she would have just checked the routing header on the PADD that contained the message. {Any *normal* time,} she reminded herself, {this would have been *automatically* routed}. Typically, only so-called "dedicated" messages--those to department heads or the Captain or XO--usually were hand-couriered. But even *they* were carried on PADDs.

Suddenly, the location popped back into her head: compartment 5218-27A. She was already in Section 17, so Section 18--the third and fourth numerals in the location string--should be just another 20 meters down the hall. Again, she started to move.

{No,} she thought again, switching her tail as she concentrated, {Castner wouldn't even let me transport it on a PADD!} *That* had been what was so weird. The Miranda's Executive Yeoman, PO2 Chance Castner, had *insisted* that K'Yer memorize the message, and that she could not write it down or store it electronically in any wa .

Passing Bulkhead 27, Ky shook her head dismissively from side to side, setting her voluminous gold-brown mane bouncing over her shoulders as she reviewed the message again in her mind. Luckily, it had been easy to remember.

Moments later, she was standing in front of the door to Compartment 27A. Strange, it was a...maintenance hatch. The skinny-tall kind that the engineers used to access the computer circuits and transfer conduits that were sandwiched between some of the larger, structure-bearing bulkheads.

{Whatever,} she mused while shrugging her shoulders. She had learned--quite quickly after being assigned to the Miranda--that alot of strangeness abounded on this ship. Breathing deep once, she raised her forepaw to the door's control panel to hit the...

**SWISH**

..."Unlock" key.

{Wait...} she looked up, to find that the door had already opened, seemingly of its own volition. {Uh...okay...} Tentatively, she stepped inside.

**SWISH**

**CLICK**

Immediately, she turned around, slamming her forepaw against the "Open" button. It was locked! Panic set in and the young Caitain instinctively flicked her foreclaws out. "Wh-what's going on?" she asked, trying to sound as fearsome as she could--keep the trembling from her voice. "What is the meaning of this?!" she demanded again to the darkness that pushed at her.

She spun around, her superior felinoid sight catching something moving in the shadows...there! To the left! "Stop! I see you!" she yelled again, reaching up to swat at the commbadge over her left badge.

**FRRR-ZZZT**

{What?!} her mind raced as she swatted at the badge again, getting the same "no signal" sound as she did so. She backed up, toward the door, crouching low as if ready to pounce, tail held high. Could it be an intruder? Invaders? *Hydrans*?!

There it was again! She saw the shadowy figure move closer to her, from the left...no, the right, the right! A low, feral growl built in her chest, rising up through her throat, she pulled back her lips to expose the gleaming white canines in her "You bring word."

K'Yer froze momentarily, thrown off by the sudden, yet calm...statement? Still crouched down, she flicked both ears forward, rotating them to either side. The voice...it came from there...no, there! It had seemed to come from...*everywhere*.

"You bring word?" it asked again, this time, from her left. She spun in the voice's direction, immediately coming face to face with...

A...human?

{What??}

A short, lithely-shaped woman with icy blond short-cropped hair wearing a standard Class A duty uniform with a black Intel collar stepped forward into the dim, light. K'Yer, still coiled tightly, hissed slightly. "What is this?!" the Yeoman demanded.

"This," the woman replied casually, but with an air of amusement, "is a service corridor, Yeoman K'Yer."

*That* threw her off. Ky had never seen this woman before--and as a Yeoman's Page, she had met *alot* of the crew--and she knew *her* name?

"Wh-who are--"

The blond woman cut her question with a wave of her hand. "That's not important, right now, Mister K'Yer. Do you have a message for me, or not?"

{Pushy bitch,} Ky thought, relaxing her stance a little bit. Retracting her claws, she stood up from the crouch, feeling a little bit foolish. "Look, I don't know what in the name of the Fates is going on here, or why I'm delivering this to you *here*, of all places," she looked around. "But yes, I *do* have a message for you, missy," she spat at the other woman. {Intel types, always so cloak-and-dagger,} she thought.

Ice-Bitch crossed her arms over her well-developed chest and smiled wistfully. "Well, let's hear it, Mister," she responded, her lips playing at the corners of her mouth, head tilted just enough for the light from the blue-white service lamps to reflect in her eyes.

{Strange,} K'Yer mused absently. Ice-Bitch's eyes were the brightest, clearest shade of pure blue she had ever seen. {Kinda like the moons of Deneb,} she thought in slight wonderment.

"Well, cat got your tongue, Crewman?" Ice's cerulean eyes glimmered again at her clever rip

ed* being called a "cat", especially by furless Pinkskins. "Here's your frellin' message, lady," the Caitain growled again, pausing slightly to gage Ice's reaction.

Ice just raised her thin eyebrows.

"Two words: Magnificent. Seven. That's it. Now, I'm leaving." K'Yer spun around, toward the locked-in door, as if to leave.

"Hmm. 'Magnificent'. 'Seven'. Interesting," Ice-Bitch said behind her.

"Yeah? What of it? You gonna let me out of here?"

Ice smiled again. Actually, it was kinda spooky the way she.....

Yeoman K'Yer's world suddenly flashed white-hot, then gray, then...

Black.

****

CLASSIFIED LOCATION: UDALVI, MARS (SOL IV)

Alone, with a panoramic window looking over the Martian night, the man sat at his ancient oak desk, all the lights in his office doused. Threading his long, weather-beaten fingers together behind his silver crop, he leaned back in the overstuffed leather Oxford chair, it's old-fashioned metal springs creaking and popping slightly as he reclined backwards.

Absently, the man spun the gold band on his left hand with the finger of his other hand. It was during times like these he missed her the most. Times when his job--his *duty*--didn't allow him the luxury of talking things over. Then again, she had never asked. She had never needed to. She had understood that it was part and parcel to being the wife of a military man.

She *had*, that was.

He leaned forward again, pushing those thoughts aside, for now. He had another job, another "mission" to perform, once again. If there was any chance of them all getting out alive over this whole thing, this was the critical piece. They had been planning for well over a year now--since Havras. Even before then, actually. They had had a contingency plan for something like this since...since...well, *before* Kirk's time, that's all he knew.

But it had been outdated. He had known it all along, and had fought the Council for the proper appropriations to fix the problem. But like any committee-based government, they had simply swept it under the rug me.

The man's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flicker of crimson light emanating from a small device on the desktop. Unthreading his fingers, he quickly reached forward and depressed the blinking switch.

"Report," his stone-cut voice cut through the heavy silence.

A figure suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Message received, Director," she said, stepping closer to the desk. "Magnificent. Seven."

He nodded, squinting at her as he made her lithe features out in silhouette against the moonlight streaming in from the trans-steel window. "Affirmative. Message confirmed. You may proceed," he responded quietly.

The woman stepped back, then moved to the window, nodding once before...disappearing.

The Director smiled, reflecting on how her eyes reminded him of Deneb's twin moons.

*****

TO BE CONTINUED...

"Unique"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen

Rihannsu Ambassador

Natalie Valora "Picasso" Frost

Pilot

= dohhae Ahalaen =

= Romulus =

Though she was young, Natalie Frost had traveled to many worlds, she had met many sentient beings. Contrary to what most of them believed, they were not unique. Most lives were mundane, with little to set them apart from each other, and even across cultures and worlds, many individuals lived and died in the shadow of the ordinary, the mediocre.

A few rebelled, tried to escape the inevitable druggery of their everyday lives...that is what she had done. she had learned to fly, to fall, to fight - she had left her home and joined Starfleet. Yet even so, Natalie had no doubt that she would have died like so many others if she had not met Aerv tr'Ahalaen. She would have died "in the line of duty". Honorable, yes...but hardly unique...and she had craved nothing else, always, but to be like no one else.

Now she stumbled on Romulus, a human girl fighting an alien war, with a knife in her chest...and she smiled.

Who would have thought it? Who would have thought that she would die, not a soldier, or an officer in uniform, ordered into combat...but a woman choosing to fight when she did not have to? A pilot...dead in personal combat....

Frost thought she saw something clearly now...this Aerv tr'Ahalaen was not a mere man, he was a knot in the weaves of the Moirai that even they could not untangle. Indeed, how inscrutable this man was...an artist, a warrior, a gentleman, a brute...callous and caring, without care for honor and made up of honor itself. There were few like him, Frost was sure, men capable of altering the patterns of fate....

She fell.

He was going to win.

Incredible.

Natalie had never heard tell of a battle like this.... tr'Ahalaen had begun by shutting down the transport inhibitors in the area. When the Hydrans materialized in the new gaps, explosives followed. Hundreds must have died in minutes. When Aerv had no more explosives, he had air beamed into the bodies of Hydrans...instant embolisms.... Then he had forced the Hydrans into close quarters combat, assembling a line of men behind an energy shield that made contemporary weaponry useless...at least from where the Hydrans were standing. Whenever the lines wavered under pressure from the sheer numbers of the Hydrans and the aliens managed to push through, snipers used phasers to cut them down and push them back....

And now, after waves and waves of Hydrans had been cut down, finally the tide had begun to wane. Aerv tr'Ahalaen was going to win. Farmers were going to defeat soldiers.... If there was a God, Natalie was quite certain, he would be quite amused - and perhaps surprised - to hear of this....

Which, of course, reminded her of the fact that she was dying.

The pain was gone. People were hovering over her...they must have given her something? Had he won already? Already? So much time had passed, the sun was setting.... Why did this matter to her now? Why did she care about tr'Ahalaen, about this battle - a battle which, in the grand scheme of things, would probably mean nothing? Did it matter that a few had stood against many in defense of their homes...when those very homes could be destroyed by unseen ships in the sky? Did it matter that good people had died defending villages, when capitals were still under attack?

Besides, shouldn't her entire life have been flashing in front of her just now? Only it wasn't.... All Frost could think about was how incredibly lucky she had been to have finally gotten what she had always wanted...to be like no one else....

So it was on a battlefield littered with Hydrans and Romulans, Natalie Frost - the only human for miles - died smiling and victorious.

= End Log =

"On The Run"

Vaebn (NPC)

RNI Operative

****

Ra'tleihfi

ch'Rihan

****

Being on the run was one thing, but trying to evade authorities for god knows what was something entirely different. If he had had some inkling of why they were after him, Vaebn could have done something about it. But as it stood, he was being assaulted on all sides with Hydrans beaming into the city at various points.

He had left the Deltan woman behind hours ago, and at first it had been hard going. Throngs of his fellow Rihanna still lined the streets as the Hydrans started their invasion. Now though, the streets were pretty much deserted, but for the occasional Federation officer, or Rihannsu Military. And of course Hydran patrols.

Dodging the Hydrans when he could, and dealing to them with his makeshift knife when he couldn't, he slowly made his way to a familiar location. To what the Terran's would call a 'night club', that serviced the cream of the city's young populace. Owned by an old friend, Vaebn hoped beyond all hope that he was presently within said establishment this fateful day.

Coming up to a corner, Vaebn carefully peaked around, checking for any Hydrans. Despite hardly ever being surprised, a gasp of shock escaped his lips at the sight that he beheld.

The front entrance to the establishment sat against the side of the street, the small rope baricades that allowed the formation of an orderly line for potential patrons could be seen setup and ready for the night to come. A huge sign advertising the ChuWaWa's, a Klingon/Andorian band, that was obviously supposed to play inside the establishment, could be seen half hanging from its place above the entrance, gently swinging in the breeze. What had really shaken him though, was the blood plastered against the doors, and the bodies of the bouncers, a Gorn and a Klingon, both of whom he had known well, lying there in what looked like pools of blood.

Shaking his head at the image before him, he made his way over as stealthily as was possible in the brightly lit, open, street in the middle of the day. The stentch of their dead bodies became evident as he approached and he had to hold his breath in an attempt to not gag on the smell of the bodies, which lay in the strong light of the early afternnon sun. He was regretting the action he had to do now, but taking a deep breath, he pushed the Gorn over onto his side, his hands slick with his blood, he reached behind him and felt around for the disruptor that he knew the bouncers all carried.

With the Hydrans he had met so far, they had been by themselves or in pairs, but Vaebn knew that soon enough, he'd run into a whole patrol and then he'd need the help. Finding it, he pulled it from it's holster on the Gorn's belt and wiping it with his hand to remove excess blood, he placed it in his belt and slipped through the door into the night club for what he hoped was a little solace

Boy was he wrong!

"Crash, Burn, and Captured"

Lt. Col. For'kel Arvelion, 101st SFMC Battalion CO

Ensign Faylin McAlister Security Galaxy

Private Sorhe NPC

Pilot Paulo DiMillo, Vanguard Intelligence Liaison/AWACS Pilot, USS Galaxy-A

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

There was a lull in the fighting... which one would expect as unified resistance was rather decisively crushed, the Hydrans likely trying to pacify the city. It was always easier to hold a city with supply bases in the near.

For For'kel, it was, to borrow Terran military terminology, D-day plus 26. One full, standard, solar day since the Hydran ground assault.

He was absolutely exhausted, but right now there was too much to do, and sleep would cost more than he could afford in the long of things.

There had to have been a good half dozen casualties retrieved... not even a drop of how many he expected there were, but at least these six were fine. He started checking on them, trying to make sure they stayed that way, and hoping against hope some of them were well enough to hold a rifle and stand.

Stretching cattily, McAlister opened her eyes ever so slowly to find the Colonel walking over. Smiling a little and flopping her legs over the side of the cot, Faylin sat up. "These are not the most comfortable 'bed'."

For'kel snickered, shaking his head. It was the first time in way too long that they could breathe easily, literally and figuratively.

"I'll make sure management gets a terse note on your behalf. Faylin, right?" He tried desperately to remember names, but often found himself wanting. "How're you feeling?"

"Yes, or McAlister. What ever puts you at ease. Good....they need to be made aware of these things....if injured are supposed to improve."

Faylin shot him a look that suggested she was bordering on ornery.

"I'm okay. Better than being under a pile of rubble....I dare say.

How are you?"

Just fine." It did nobody any good to complain, particularly to a lower ranking officer. "Feel like you can hold a rifle?"

"Question is....do you want me to hold a rifle?" Her arched eyebrows waggled. "If you do, I can. Sir."

"Gotta love the spirit." For'kel found a comfortable corner, chuckling as he slid down. "The Hydrans must've moved a full division, maybe two into the city. My guess, given the way they're searching, is they're looking for the Romulan defense center. We need to get there before they do."

Turning, so she could look at him better, Faylin really listened to what he had to say. "Well, that's not good then....is it? Sir, other than mass number, do they have any other advantages that we don't have?"

"Time." For'kel replied simply, leaning his rifle up against the bulkhead. "And you don't need to keep calling me sir. For'kel will do."

"Um, okay. For'kel. Soooo, any family, significant others?"

"Yes, actually. Have a wife back on the Miranda, and expecting our first child in a couple of months." He smiled, losing himself in reverie for a moment. "How about you?"

"I had a daughter." She paused. "Can I give you a word of advice?

Knowing my track record with personel so far and knowing that you have a family....you might just want to stay far, far away from me."

With his hearing ability, the word 'had' stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She didn't really need to dwell on it, not here anyway, and the latter statement offered a way out. "Why do you say that?"

"Cause my team.....they are all gone. I feel like a freakin loner down here. Everything I knew was on the Galaxy. I'm not a Marine....or security....just a JAG that thought I could help by temporalily switching departments."

That's all right. Neither of us is Romulan, yet we're defending Romulus, aren't we?" He knelt next to the makeshift to give her a pat on the 'good' arm's shoulder. "You're not alone so long as anyone here has a breath left in them. Combat is as much chance as it is anything else... sometimes the inexplicable happens."

"I suppose. I can honestly say I can't wait till this is all over and I can go back to looking and feeling like a woman." Faylin chuckled lightly.

He chuckled along with her. "Sounds like a good plan. I'm sure there will be an after-mission celebration, consider the first drinks on me." With a sigh he checked his rifle one more time, pushing himself back up to his feet. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah. Let's go kick some ass Colonel." Standing, she picked up her rifle that had not left her side for a moment. "Game on."

"For'kel." He smirked. "Call me Colonel and I become the first one they shoot at."

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

It wasn't long before some volunteers were found for the rather chancey race to whatever was left of the Romulan central command building. The good thing, if there could be said to be a good thing, was that they had a good idea of where the structure was, even if no clue just yet how to get there via the sub-terranian labrynth of tunnels that was the utility system of the old Romulan capitol. Still, they had to try.

For'kel rose from the underground entrance carefully, making sure the coast was clear before ushering out the first fire-team, including Faylin. To keep their hiding place secret, he thought it best to sprint a few blocks away before going into the tunnels again... Prophets forbid they get captured, it was best not to give the Hydrans a clue as to where the others are.

Then there was the cacophony of colored swirls associated with an off-angle atmospheric entry, usually of a craft. The shower of components added to a bright rainbow of trails in the sky... and the super-sonic boom suggested they were fairly close. The area it looked to go down in was one he knew to be without Hydran patrols, most Hydran troops busy trying to root out the resistance in the city, and unconcerned with vacant areas.

There was a clear likelihood the pilot could be picked up with minimal risk.

He had to take it. "Faylin, find whoever that is and bring them back here.

Take Private Sorhe here with you..." he tapped the Bolian man on the chest to identify him. "And hurry."

ooc- Takes place shortly after a Vanguard JP/deployment. Sending it now so people don't get to confused with story lines. This post takes place at the same time as "[Romulus] Arvelion, McAlister, DiMillo "Crash, Burn, and Captured" 1/2"

"Shot Down"

Pilot Paulo "Hawkeye" DiMillo, Vanguard Intelligence Liaison/AWACS, USS Galaxy

****************************************************************

["Break right Hawkeye,"] Paulo heard over the comm and he did just that. Somehow he had gotten the attention of a couple of Hydran fighters and they thought it would be fun to take on the small runabout. Most of the squadron didn't like him due to his past, but out here he was the one that kept them alive and acted as middle man between Actual and the CAG.

He really wasn't looking froward to being shot down and he and his fighter support was trying their damnedest to make sure that didn't happen, but he had already taken a couple of hits and his shields where almost down, not to mention he had one dead comm chief.

["Now break left and bring those assholes right to us."]

He again did what he was told, but this time they got a shot off which blew out his shields. "Shields are down and my port nacelle has taken a direct hit. Trying to compensate." He tried his damnedest, but to no avail. They had been playing to close to the planet's gravety field and he was getting pulled in. "EVA!" Paulo yelled through the cabin as they all activated their own air supply. "This is Hawkeye, I am going down!"

He wasn't dead yet. He was going to see if he could try and take those two fighters with him. He turned the runabout right towards the planet. He was going in balls first and hopefully the Hydrans would follow. "Prepare for emergency beam out."

"We don't have the power!" Yelled one of the techs.

"Shut down everything then, I don't care at this point. We are not going to live unless we can beam down to the planet."

Just as he said that everything went dark. "Ah, this is nothing... kind of like piloting a brick."

He paused and thought about that statement. That would have not been something he would of said just weeks before. Looking at death really does change a ran, especially when the reaper is here and he's collecting many many souls.

"Okay, everyone lets get out of here. This thing should break up over what I think is some Hydran forces on the ground, and hopefully take those two fighters with it. Now lets get to the Surface and meet up with the Marines."

No one said anything. They all just got onto the transporter platform and started to beam off. Paulo was the last one. Just as he activated the transporter the runabout was hit again, this time causing a breach of the cockpit. "Oh shit!" He said just as the transporter activated.

***Someplace on the Romulan Surface***

Paulo materialized about 2 meters in the air, and hit the ground hard.

He just layed there, not moving in the forest. He could see as the runabout broke up as it reentered causing pieces to fall out of the sky like meteors. He saw two other explosions as he presumed the two Hydran fighters that had taken him out where destroyed. "That is wh...." he quickly passed out.

OOC: Happens before Paulo's shuttle goes down.

"Consolidation" Part One

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- Miranda SFMC

Major Peter Shaw- Miranda SFMC

Second Lieutenant Branwen London- Galaxy SFMC

Ensign Faylin McAlister- Galaxy Security

Lieutenant Cole Slaton - Miranda Hazard XO

Lieutenant Man'darr Maivia - Miranda Chief Ops

Lieutenant Jg. Thyago Carneiro - Miranda A. Chief Engineer

Lieutenant Jg. John Morris - Galaxy Security

Private Amy VanDuren - Galaxy SFMC

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

(Just outside the Casualty Collection Point)

For'kel was the first to stick his head out and observe what had to be a full regimental sized force of Hydran mechanized infantry float past on their vehicles. It seemed they were systematically eliminating the transporter inhibitor grid, which would make transporting troops and supplies to the surface all the easier. It didn't make For'kel happy at all to see that.

Covered in dust, debris, and some kind of ash from the burning structures and previous rescue, he managed to blend in well with the surroundings. It was a very 'ghetto' kind of camouflage, but one never argued with success.

The droll of anti-grav generators subsided into the distance... given his hearing, as acclimated to loud sounds as it had become during the now many hours of fighting, it still meant they were a considerable distance away.

The tricorder, limited in it's range by the multitude of interference fields being deployed, registered none the less that there were two non-Hydran life forms on a nearby building... and one of them was Human.

"All right, keep your eyes and ears open. Let's move quickly, stay as concealed as possible. Let's go."

The trip to the building was exhilirating, even if uneventful. Must have been the fact they were by now considerably well behind enemy lines. With any luck, the space battle was still being waged...

Casting that out of his mind a moment, he saw the two people on the roof.

Why was it these people couldn't be rescued in a 'convenient' fashion? The Stagnorian sighed, and latching onto what was 'once' a window sill, began hauling himself up. It was like being a kid again... sort of. "How badly injured are you two?"

Thyago knelt and peered down from another two stories up. His hair was black and shedding soot, his face was dirty, too, but he had attempted to wipe it clean. "Hey, I recognize you. You're from the Miranda, right?" he asked, ignoring the first question.

"On the weekdays, I moonlight with the Marines." For'kel replied sarcastically. "For'kel Arvelion, the hundred and first."

The Brazilian frowned, confused. "Okay...I don't know who Kel is and why you're for him or what that has to do with anything. I thought you were going to tell me your name."

Before For'kel could respond, another voice answered, a female voice from the roof, out of sight. "That is his name!" she shouted annoyed. "His name is For'kel."

"Oh, um, ola! I'm Thyago Carneiro," Thyago waved, sheepishly.

For'kel blinked. Why was it there was one in 'every' group? Darwin failed yet again. "Hi. You injured?"

The Brazilian looked up briefly, scanning up the tall, angled building that towered over them. "Well, surprisingly, I think we're both fairly okay, considering. I think I broke my ankle and a toe, and Juna, here, dislocated her shoulder. Possibly both. And we both need stitches. And I think we both now have the black lung."

For Prophets' sakes alive he didn't need a complete medical history and diagnosis! "A simple yes or no would've surficed. Are you coming down from there?"

"Oh, yeah. This extended base wraps around the building, and on the other side, there's a janitor's entrance that will take us inside. But, its locked. Might you have a 'key?'" he asked, using his fingers as quote marks. For'kel nodded and threw up a small Type II phaser, which Thyago caught and examined briefly before smiling. "I think the main entrance is around the side there," he said, pointing behind him. "Meet you there."

For'kel stood, waiting. The decimated building looking exactly like every other one that had been touched by the finger of destruction. Eventually sliding himself off the ledge, he looked at Thral with something of a 'can you believe our 'luck'?' smirk.

After sneaking through the city for nearly an hour with the remnants of his fire team, two of the five being dead and one being badly wounded and being carried by the two other marines in tow, the colonels smirk was a sight for sore eyes. After seeing him he waved to the others who were taking cover in a nearby building. They brought the injured private across the street and set him down against the wall. It was quite clear Thral was also injured as the shoulder of his uniform was ripped bad and had some blood on it but the grizzled old sergent wasn't reacting to it.

"Mission accomplished sir, but I lost Murray and sh'Tharin. Elliot is hurt bad. Patched 'im up best I could.", Thral stated matter of factly.

It was a little over five minutes before Thyago and a Romulan woman, Juna, limped out from the front entrance of the building. Thyago was using two mops as makeshift crutches and winced everytime he was forced to land on his feet. Both were covered in grey-black dirt, and it stuck to them like paint, moistened by sweat and blood. The Romulan's hands were green with the body fluid, and it was also trickling down the side of her neck, from a head wound hidden by her long black hair. Thyago's uniform was ripped along one side, and a large gash oozed red blood, while it dripped steadily from cuts on his arms, twisting and winding down the mop shafts like a thin vertical river.

They didn't look too good to say the least. "Don't suppose either of you have heard from the Miranda, or have seen anyone else, hmmm?"

"I was trying to contact the Miranda on the roof of a building, down the street a ways, to beam back aboard. I didn't know about the attack, I've been her prisoner for the past seven or eight hours," he said parenthetically, nodding towards Juna. "I couldn't get through. Then someone from above blasted the building next to us, so we ran, hopping from roof to roof, until it exploded. And then we slid down the angled side of this building twenty or thirty stories to where you found us." There was excitement in his voice, and a bit of a bragging, as he needlessly told the story of their exploits.

The Romulan stared at Thyago in disbelief. She was in shock. Even For'kel could see her life was still flashing before her eyes. "Is everyone in Starfleet as stupid and reckless as him," she asked. Thyago looked up, too, eager for the response.

For'kel looked back at Thral, smirking once more, before answering the Romulan's question. "Sometimes I think so, but there are a few good ones. This is Sergeant Thral, our demolitions specialist."

"Juna Kolaieth," the Romulan woman said, giving her name.

Thral nodded and adjusted his pack, not able to hide the wince from his injured shoulder. Checking the charge level in his rifle he looked to the colonel and said, "I still got a full gun and plenty of things that go boom sir, what's the plan?"

"Um, I think we could both use medical attention," Thyago said, "Maybe we should head towards your MASH unit?"

"Would be nice if we actually 'had' one, but we do have a casualty collection point. Follow us." They'd need to drop these guys off before they did anything else, but a thought had occurred to him. "Thral, how many charges you have left?"

Thral shot a glare back to the fleeter and then turned back to the colonel, "Probably enough to bring down one of these buildings if I had to. Also have some mines and most of my grenades. Tarik has a couple of the larger charges as well."

The Vulcan corporal simply nodded, the two demo charges clearly strapped to his pack.

"Why?" Thyago asked, "We don't actually have to be dead to recieve any attention at the 'casualty collection point,' do we?" The Romulan woman, Juna, grabbed her forehead, as Thyago spoke, as if it were in pain, and sighed quietly.

For'kel chuckled, though his voice was broken with exhaustion and as such the sound was barely audible. Gingerly leading the Romulan woman on he let Thyago's question go unanswered. "None of these buildings Sergeant, but I do have one in mind."

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

(Inside the CCP)

Faylin sighed. Not much action other than wounded people complaining in this section of the woods so to speak. Not being one to just sit, McAlister was getting the urdge to move....and move fast. However, the makeshift doctors must have felt McAlister's urdge, and drugged her more than needed. At least, that's what she felt like. Glancing over to the left, she found Bron looking at her. "Hey there. I know I've asked this before...but can I get outta here PLEASE?"

Branwen had a slightly bewildered look on her face. Her staff consisted of a sergeant and a lance Cpl who had followed the extended medical course during their base training, and that was it. Using information on her tricorder about medical procedures the last few hours she had acted as a doctor. Actually trying to perform surgery on people to stabilise them.

Two had died under her hands, and it was very difficult not to think of them back to think of the nine others who she had kept alive somehow so far. She was beginning to feel a lot more respect for doctors right now.

Now taking a breather she crawled over to where Faylin was still resting and checked her again. "You are doing better, do you think you can sit up without feeling faint?"

"I've been sitting up on and off for a while now."

"Do you have any basic medical training? I would rather not send you away just yet, but I could do with some help over here."

"Just basic from patching my daughter up from the scrapes she used to get into. Nothing major. What kind of help do you need?"

"Anything really. Mostily treating those with minor injuries. I don't have enough people for that. I am doing surgeries while I only know how to put a bandaid on." Bran admitted. "There are so bloody many."

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

Pete was sitting, yes sitting. Intel had lied about the number of troops they where having to deal with and he had to get something figured out as to

how to redeploy defenses. One line had already collapsed and they had forces in the city and they where tearing the place apart. "Fuck," Pete yelled as he slammed the padd down and picked up his phaser rifle and shot a Hydran that had somehow gotten close to him. There was no way to redeploy what they had and make it work. The best they could do was maybe try and barricade the Hydrans already in the city. How... again no clue.

"Hold the line maggots!" He yelled. "We don't need another line collapsing!"

"You don't need to tell me twice, boss!" Morris called out, as he fired off a couple more shots at a Hydran he could see trying to sneak up to their position. With a skill and determination that belied his 66 years, he took out a couple more Hydrans. He hefted the huge rifle with ease, firing at anything, that had more than two legs, that came into his line of sight.

"You got a plan? Or do we just get to shoot these fuckers until we run out of ammo boss?" He asked, looking briefly over at the young Major. And young he was. John figured he had probably just been a pup when he had been previously in the SFMC. Not that it mattered to him how old the commanding officer was.

"Yeah I do," Pete said. "Everyone, Plan B, run like hell, stay in groups and lets pick these fuckers off one by one!"

"Sounds good to me, boss. Though my running speed ain't what it used to be."

He smiled as he patted his slight pot belly.

"Order just came down from Commander. For'kel has given the order, and we will follow it. To many lines have collapsed, not to mention a shit load more Bug Eyed uglies then we thought. Thank you SFI!" Pete then watched as his men started to fall back. Urban and garillia warfare wasn't something he wanted to admit to having to do, but the Hydrans had numbers on them. "What I wouldn't give for a Division right about now," he said as he and the Security Officer took off running to find a good position.

"I never... thought I'd say... this..." John said between puffs of breath. "But I... wish the Klingons... would show up."

"Yeah, to bad back home they thought it would be a bad idea to let the Klingons into Romulan space... brilliant."

"I've dealt with a large number of species during my life, but nothing compares to the dispicable species known as Politicians. Always screwing things up. Lost a great number of business deals due to their slimy kind."

"Over there," Pete said pointing to a small isolated spot. "We could set up there for a bit and give that pot belly of yours a chance to rest."

"Looks good to me." John replied.

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

The building shook as did the very ground beneath their feet. Dust fell from the ceiling as did plaster torn free by the incisive vibrations of detonations. For a moment it seemed the whole building would collapse in on them, tons of concrete and steel just waiting for the chance to bury them.

Approaching the window Cawston glanced out into onto the battlefield. Across three streets he easily spotted Jinari's position, now a smoking pile of rubble. Looking through his dusty binoculars he zoomed in, praying in false hope that they had survived the explosion. When the auto-focusing brought the clear picture of the rubble, smoke rising through gaps from hidden fires, he spotted the bloodied arm pocking out from beneath a rock. Beside it laid Jinari, or rather a part of him. Severed at the waist his entrails lay sprawled out in front of him, blood was everywhere, yet despite this the marine still managed to have a phaser in hand.

Lowering the binoculars he glanced at his comrade, Jay saw the truth written on Cawston's face. "Peak-Hide One-Gamma is off grid..." Jay stated opening a channel, hoping the signal could get through the jamming and interference they'd been getting seemingly from the moment the first bombs fell.

"So long Jin..." Cawston whispered. Mouth still open, the words he was about to say became trapped at the back of his throat as his eyes caught a sound becoming all too familiar. It grew in noise until it was almost deafening.

Both soldiers knew what it meant, the glance they both shared proof. Jay tried for the door, and even managed to grab the handle, but Cawston remained eyes looking to the ceiling.

The bomb had been dropped prematurely by the Hydran pilot. The ordinance made an odd whistling noise, similar to a shell hurtling overhead before impact, yet this was more distinct. On a delayed timer it punctured down into the building before exploding.

"Casey!" someone shouted instinctively, getting a clip around the ear and glares for shouting, and potentially alerting the enemy. The explosion blew out the walls of the entire top floor and tore through the majority of the north facing side exposing the building's innards. Debris crashed down into the street the young private Casey was advancing.

With three pairs of hands it didn't take long to sift through the debris, lifting one rock, turning another. The cloud of dust that suddenly settled into the surrounding air hampered the rescue, yet Slaton knew it would give them cover for valuable seconds. Finally Casey was found, bloodied but more importantly alive. ~Lucky bastard~ Cole thought, while someone spoke up reading Cole's mind exactly.

"El-tee... he's banged up pretty bad like." Cole nodded glancing around noticing detail in the street was becoming clearer as the dust began to thin.

"Can you make it to a transport zone?"

"I-I think... so sir..." Casey stuttered.

"I don't want *I think* solider, I need to know, can you make it?" the verbal slap seemed to wake the marine out of the daze he was in, or at the least partially.

"Aye sir, I-I can make it."

Unconvinced Slaton picked the nearest. "Jones, you're it."

"What? Why the fuck do I have to be *it*?" she asked.

"Because you're the nearest and dearest... and your dependable. Get him back to the nearest transport zone, then hook up with another squad." It took them seventy-four long seconds to get themselves together, Jones still bickering about 'hating the fact she was dependable' which of course brought laughs and sniggers, much to Jones' annoyance. Cole would have been more at ease sending another marine, or two or three, along with her, but dared not.

They were stretched thinly already. Besides he knew Jones, both reading her service record and spending time in the field with her she was indeed dependable.

Signalling for Sanchin to take-point, the squad filtered out down a small alley, stepping over rocks and burning debris. Cole stayed until both Jones and Casey were around the corner, and gone from sight, before following after the remaining squadies.

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

Man'darr still kneelt on the roof of a damaged, tall business building, sniping at Hydran forces. Two empty TR-116 magazines laid at his feet as he fired off shots at 1.5 second intervals--each shot striking their target. Man'darr turned to the south, following a Hydran fireteam, when he noticed a group of Marines and Starfleet personnel. The Hydran fireteam would hit their flank in seconds--approximately 15 seconds, Man'darr figured as he fired off several more rounds, the rounds hit their mark, scattering the Hydran fireteam towards cover. This however didn't help as Man'darr tumbed the mouse-wheel as the image in his tactical Diplay unit over his right eye, revealed the hidden troops. Man'darr fired off three more rounds, finishing off the fireteam. The building shook violently, suddenly as a deafening explosion was heard from the East-side of the building-- he had been spotted. Another explosion soon followed. Man'darr looked around and spotted a slightly lower building next to him on the South side. It would be a risky move, but it was either jump or go down with the building.

Man'darr ran back and then sprinted forward as fast as he could towards the edge and lept forward as a third explosion went off, and the building began to crumble. Man'darr had aimed his jump at a nearby window and tapped the trigger twice, sending two TR-116 round through the window to weaken the integrity of the window as his massive body crashed through it less than a second later. His body rolled and finally came to a stop several feet later by slamming into a wall. Man'darr got to his feet slowly as he regained his composure and made his way down the stairway to the first level with the

TR-116 in the ready position. As he came to the first level, he fired off three quick shots at the three entering Hydran soldiers. Peering out of the doorway, he saw that the area was clear and began to make his way towards the Starfleet/Marine patrol he had seen.

Amy looked around at the bodies of the many Hydrans that lay scattered around. She was impressed. A feat that seldom occurred these days. The man, whom she had spotted fairly easily when the first rounds went off nearby, seemed very skilled with his weapon. The three men behind her position had crouched as the shots started, weary of potential targets nearby. Amy pointed in the direction of the man, to reassure the three of them.

As impressed as she was with the number of kills the man had made, it paled in comparison to what she had been up to these past few hours.

There was a whole string of bodies lying in a bloody path up to their current position and the majority had been her kills. She was born for it and ever since she had been upstaged by those damn Cheronites, she had been itching for a proper battle. And this one had lived up to all her expectations.

At least, that had been the case until her CO had decided to step on a Hydran booby trap and had blown off his leg. At least they had assumed it had been Hydran in nature and not Romulan. With the Hydrans closing in, they hadn't stayed around to check.

Watching the sniper approach, she had to smile. The man looked so hot in his uniform, his bulging biceps clearly visible through the material. She had to shake her head to get the mental picture of him without said uniform from her head. "Private VanDuren, " She said at last. "Amy VanDuren, from the 188th Furies Detachment."

"Lieutenant Maivia. Chief Operations Officer aboard the Miranda and Hazard Team Operative."

Remembering that she wasn't alone she introduced her team. "And this is Ensign Marshhelm, USS Typhon and Corporal Tonclier from the Thunderbird. The guy they're holding is Sergeant Moody, the leader of our little group. We heard there was a makeshift medical section up ahead somewhere and were headed there."

Marshhelm nodded in greeting while James Tonclier spoke up.

"Afternoon, Lieutenant. Got any spare ammo on you? Amy's been shooting every Hydran we meet to hell and back and we're running a little low now."

Amy shrugged her shoulders. "That's what I do for a living, Tonka!"

She replied, her slight feminine laugh hiding her true killer instinct.

Man'darr checked his pack, pulling out some extra energy cells he had kept for his Type-2 Phaser that he had holstered at his waist. "Here are some energy cells" he said, passing the Marines the cells. "I have two magazines of TR-116 rounds left, not including the one I have loaded now, which only has two rounds left. I will help you get to this Medical Station, but with the number of enemy forces, they may have to relocate."

"Thanks. I still can't believe how badly the Brass under-estimated how many troops the Hydrans were gonna deploy." She shook her head. It did mean there were more Hydrans for her to kill, but she'd already seen a half dozen of her First Platoon comrades die in battle already, and that wasn't sitting well with her. "Anyway, you want to lead? We did what we could to stop the bleeding," She indicated the Sergeant's injuries. "But I don't know how much longer he'll survive without medical aid."

Man'darr decided not to voice his objection at medical aid, but taking one look at the man, Man'darr knew the sergeant would not survive without aid. "We should hurry then," Man'darr replied, taking point.

"So, where are you from, Sir?" She asked as they started off towards the medical bay again.

"I am Capellan, but I was raised on Earth and I now serve aboard the Miranda," Man'darr scanned the area in front of them with TR-116's sights, which were instantly directed to his Tactical Display Unit that covered his right eye. It was all clear as Man'darr began to step off in a quickened pace.

"Mo More Waiting"

(Takes Place Immediately Before 'First Salvo')

Principal Character

Flight Officer Angelienia

****

ch'Rihan System

Vanguard Squadron

Angelienia's Fighter

The waiting hadn't been hard for her as it had for some of the others - Angelienia was good at waiting.

There had been the waiting to be accepted to training during the War, after her younger brother was killed. There'd been more waiting after that for the right ship to come along, still more waiting after that for the right commander to appear, and yet more waiting after that for the right assignment to appear. And for all of that time, the waiting for the right man to come along, a man that would make her feel alive again with his touch, that would breathe light and life into the parts of her that had died when the Jem'Hadar had killed her parents, and then her brother, leaving her alone in the universe.

And when he'd finally come, after all those years of waiting, of looking, when he'd finally come... then she'd had to wait some more.

She'd had to wait until he wasn't involved with someone else - she'd not been good at that part, and had not only been a bitch to him and those around him but had almost lost him when she thought that she couldn't wait any more - and then, once he was free to see her, she'd had to wait for him to realize that they were supposed to be together.

But he'd done that now, he'd realized it. He wasn't good at things like that; he wasn't smooth and suave with all the right words to say, or a practiced, skilled seducer - and that was good, since that wasn't what she wanted - because she'd both been with men that were and been one herself.

No, he was hesitant, and awkward, and clumsy with the way he said things, with the way he understood things. But when he said anything, when he told her something, she knew that he meant it - there was no guile in him, he said what he felt, and what he thought, and what he wanted.

And he had absolutely no idea how rare, how precious that trait was.

He'd told her that she didn't have permission to die twice now; once when he left to go do something with her commanding officer, and again, now, before he went down to the planet... and he'd told her that they had too many dances to learn for him to die himself.

The last thing might have sounded flippant coming from someone else, but she knew different. When he said that they had dances left to learn, he meant not just literally that, but that they had a future together, that he was thinking about his future and that he was including her in that future. If he was doing that, then... then he was thinking about other things besides dancing, too.

The other thing he'd told her - that she didn't have permission to die - was something else though.

She'd heard the recordings from the incident where a security officer - D'Tinya had been her name - had been forbidden permission to die until she'd given birth to her son a few years back. That had been... odd. Not scary, since she knew Victor wouldn't hurt her or anyone else without being given a reason, but... odd. Could he really do that? Could he keep someone from dying simply by telling them that they couldn't?

She knew that he often told members of away teams he was on that they didn't have permission to die, and she thought that she'd heard some of the individuals in Security discussing it on one of the shifts that she volunteered for to be nearer Victor; they had certainly seemed to believe that if Victor didn't have that ability, he had something that was close enough to it that there was no difference. Some of them even seemed to count on it when assigned missions with him.

Maybe he did have that power... no one that he'd ever forbidden to die had, to the best of her knowledge, ever managed to die until he'd rescinded that forbiddance. Why would he have that ability? What would have granted it to him? Why would he...

=/\="All squadrons go, I repeat, all squadrons go!"=/\=

The voice of the Fleet CAG resounded in her ears and she jammed the stick forward, snapping out commands to the flight attached to her.

"Flight break left and form up on me - we're going in for a run on the cruiser designated as Target One on your screens."

As her fighter, backed by the rest of the group attached to her roared out from the shelter of the Romulan warbird's cloak she suddenly realized that it didn't matter if Victor could or couldn't actually forbid anyone to die - the only thing that mattered was what she believed he could do. If she believed it, if she fought as hard as she could to live for herself and for him... then was there really any difference between that and him being able to forbid her to die?

The flare of what looked like a thousand fusion beams and half that many hellbores lit up the space around her, the answering flash of disruptor and phaser fire making a web of destruction that she wove and darted through like a leaf on the wind, the extra mass of the modular torpedo bay holding a single full-size torpedo attached to the bottom of her fighter - like it was to all of the fighters in her flight - making her normally responsive craft feel sluggish, like a runabout and not the ship of war that she was. Behind her, the fighters of her flight fell into position as their first target came up.

"All right," Angelienia snapped out, skating under a fusion beam aimed at the warbird they'd just emerged from the cloaking shadow of.

"Everyone fire on my mark - we're going to go straight in for the bridge and then break aft and light up her engines once they shift their point defense forward. Odd-numbered ships hold your extra torpedo; we shouldn't need them on this run."

With a twitch of her stick she rolled the fighter over and dropped the nose as dozens of small darts of fusing plasma launched themselves up at her when the cruiser's point defense came online. She and her wingmates slipped between the point defense fire, sending a few phaser bolts down towards the cruiser's bridge to establish it as their target... and then on cue all broke for the aft of the cruiser, spreading out to race along the length of the ship in a pattern designed to minimize the point defense fire any one ship could draw.

"On three, people," Angelienia called out. "One...Two...Three!"

On her mark, the two torpedoes roared out from underneath the even-numbered ships, the bay's automatically ejecting at launch, freeing the fighters to soar like they were designed to do. Fired at nearly point-blank range, the twin photon torpedoes flared to life, shot past the end of the cruiser, and looped back to impact in a one-two punch instants after the flight of fighters had cleared the end of the Hydran ship.

The shields buckled under the first impact, and failed under the second, hull plating evaporating under the force of the detonation and causing the cruiser to skew sideways as one of her main engines failed. A nearby warbird, seeing the injury, opportunistically took advantage of the failed shielding on the cruiser to fire off a plasma torpedo into the Hydran's defenseless rear arc, breaking the spine of the ship and setting off a series of sympathetic detonations within the cruiser that left it dead in space, the aft third of the ship consumed in the nuclear fires created by the Romulan torpedo and the containment failure of the Hydran's own power systems.

"Good job, everyone," Angelienia barked out as the flight slithered through another barrage of fire being exchanged by the capitol ships.

"Our next target is another cruiser, designated as Target Two on your screens. Same plan - except we drop the torps and they'll home in on the ship's bridge instead of the engines." She made an adjustment and looked at the flights of Hydran fighter that were starting to respond to their presence.

"After that, there won't be any waiting - it'll be first come, first served," she said with a predatory smile. "Remember to stick close and don't get greedy - there's plenty to go around for everyone today!"

"Chords"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen

Rihannsu Ambassador

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

- Robert Frost, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"

= dohhae Ahalaen =

= Romulus =

Aerv tr'Ahalaen knelt alone on the battlefield before the towering home of his ancestors, leaning on his sword. Around him, hundreds - perhaps thousands - lay dead. He was covered in blood, exhausted and overcome by the strange desire to weep. If this was victory, then he wanted no part of it. Twenty of his Rihannsu had survived the day...twenty out of more than two hundred.... Aerv had told them, of course, that they would not go home...but he had not meant it.... Some part of him had believed that there was a miracle to be had here, that the Hydrans would not expend valuable resources when they began to encounter resistance in a battle for a location of little value. It would be a relatively minor victory but an important symbol, a message to the people that this enemy could be defeated. Yet the enemy had kept coming, wave after wave, without end....

"Dianvm?"

It was Ael and she was crying...and for the first time in all the days of his sister's young life, there was nothing that Aerv could do to make the tears stop. He thrust his sword into the ground, turned to the child and pulled her into an embrace. she wept.

"Natalie died, Dianvm."

"I know, e'lev. I am so sorry."

"Is this war?"

"Yes. I am afraid so."

"I hate it. I hate it, Dianvm."

tr'Ahalaen kissed the girl's faintly ridge forehead, the mark of his family that set them apart from many Rihannsu. "Good."

He held Ael for a long moment but no longer. There was no time. It seemed that in war there was never enough time. He heard someone call his name and rose to his feet. Without being told, he knew that the Tal Shiar were here.

"I have to go. Verelan...listen to me very carefully," he told Ael, using her secret name, "I need you to do something very important. Do you understand?"

The child wiped at her tears furiously, "Yes, Dianvm."

"I want you to go to your rooms and play some music. Perhaps the Vulcan lyre you have been working on."

"Music? But...."

"It is very important that people remember, e'lev, that there is more to life than war. That they are fighting for something, and that that something is beautiful."

"They're fighting for music?"

"We are fighting for the Rihannsu. It is the same thing."

"I don't get it."

tr'Ahalaen smiled. "Not yet, perhaps - but you will."

"And what will you do?"

Aerv sighed. "They say that one battle does not win a war. For once, 'they' are right. I will move on, I suspect, to a different battlefield of one kind or another...but I will always listen for your music, and if I hear it, it will bring me home. You are forever my brightest star, e'lev, in this long dark. Know that now...and never forget. "

= End Log =

"Bending Bars"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

At first, Era had been content to wait. The man had appeared to understand her, even if he didn't believe her. Surely he would have heard that there were Starfleet ships in the system. When he realized the plausibility of her story, he'd release her. But the night had wore on with still no sign of his return.

The fighting in the city was getting worse. From her window, through the bars, Era watched as phaser fire tore through the streets.

Soldiers marched and fought on the ground. The night was alive with flames.

A terrific shudder ran through the building. The bombs were getting closer. She had to get out of here. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Era gripped her head between her hands and tried to think. That didn't work, so she looked up, her eyes scanning the room for anything that might be useful. She spotted a sink. That could work.

Getting to her feet, Era forced her bed up onto one end, propping one of the metal legs against the glass of the window. Hauling back on it, the mattress slipping to the floor, Era thrust it against the glass again and again. After the fourth strike, the window shattered. Now all that stood between her and freedom were a set of metal bars. But she had an idea of how to deal with those. Water would cause the fibres in fabric to stick together, like a glue. With a lever, she could increase the force applied by at least five-fold.

Running now, Era dashed to the sink, taking the bedsheet with her.

Ripping off a long length, Era turned the tap on the faucet. Cold water splashed out. She soaked the fabric thoroughly, then sprinted back to the window.

She'd drawn quite a crowd of observers from the other patients in the room. Era slipped the cloth around two of the bars, then paused. She'd forgotten the lever. Another shock struck the building, this one much nearer. Much, much nearer. The glass of the other windows shattered inward, causing the patients to scream in fright. Era ignored them, busy knocking one of the legs of the bed loose. It came off after a minute of solid pounding. Taking it up, she wrapped the ends of the cloth around it and began to twist. The metal bars strained. Era kept twisting, the muscles in her arms bulging as she put all her strength into it.

Hooking her foot around one of the other beds, she dragged it over and stood on it, using gravity to help her turn the lever. Suddenly, she found herself face down on the floor. The cloth had torn. It had dried out. Cursing, Era pulled another strip from the sheet and ran back to the sink. Turning the tap, nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing.

Her gaze darted around the room, looking for a glass of water or another sink. She saw none.

There was only one other option if she was going to get out of here.

Eyes stared at her as she tried to hide in a corner. Dropping her trousers, she wet the cloth again, holding her nose against the stink.

"I'm so sorry..." she muttered, blushing bright red, as she hurried past the staring patients to return to her window.

She began the process all over again.

Tir'len 'had' fallen asleep at the front desk after being on his feet for over a score of hours tending to the needs of the severely understaffed facility and the multitude of patients within. The fact refugees from the fighting streamed in seeking shelter from the bombardment didn't help things all that much either.

When the strikes began, he was sent backwards, his chair knocked out from under him. He hit the floor rather hard, with the second, even closer strikes sending sparks from consoles and shards of glass everywhere. It was a mental institution after all, normally with sedated patients. Combat survivability wasn't a top concern to the architects.

Ignoring his own slices, cuts, and the nasty bump forming on his forehead, the young doctor pushed himself up. If the patients got loose now, there was no way of telling what could happen... and with power becoming spotty at best, it was quite possible a few might find their way among the refugees... no good could come from that.

Over the comm system a call for manual security settings had been issued, meaning the facility was to be placed on lockdown... no patients allowed out of their rooms without escort. That made his job all 'that' much easier... and the fact he was operating on two hours sleep in the last day wasn't helpful either.

From patient to patient on the first floor admission rooms Tir'len made his way. Most were scared, frightened obviously, and with good cause. It was kind of rewarding actually, to see them behaving 'normally' ... or at least it would have been if one stopped to think about it. Tir'len didn't have the time to afford himself that option however.

Finally he came across Admission's cell C, a group of rooms in one of which the woman he faced off with before was. He made his way down the hall, all the other patients seeming fair enough, if not excited and nervous. The nurses would take care of them.

Somehow, he had an inkling that his tall and pretty friend from before wouldn't be so accommodating.

Era was having success. She'd enlisted the aid of one of the bulkier patients, showing him through hand motions what she was after. The metal creaked and bent as finally the two bars touched. A several inch opening appeared, but it wasn't wide enough for Era to fit through yet. She would have to bend the bars on the other side of the window.

The cloth had dried out, though, and would need to be rewetted.

This posed an embarrassing conundrum. The blush extending all the way down her neck to her shoulders, Era pointed at the man's crotch, then at the cloth. She was sure he'd been one of the people looking when she'd done it before. Hopefully he would get the hint quickly.

"What the 'hell'!" Tir'len couldn't believe it, the fact that she was trying to escape was bad enough, but the fact she had enlisted the help of one of the other patients, and worse off had nearly accomplished her goal was astoundingly horrid. "Ma'ton, Leita says to go back to your bed, she'll see you soon, okay?"

The Bulky man nodded, having developed a close relationship with the nurse. She was always so nice after all, it wouldn't be worth it to anger her.

Tir'len barely refrained from sighing in relief, if the bulky man had decided to resist too much it would've taken a team of orderlies to restrain him, and certainly would have ended up with him getting the worst of a beating before that. With him out of the picture, Tir'len's gaze focused on Era. He made his way over to the strange alien that didn't seem to understand exactly what was going on... poor woman. "Away from the window."

Era ignored him and began spitting industriously on the cloth. A single-minded determination to get back to familiar surroundings, to the Miranda and Jaal, consumed her. Things were happening and she was stuck in a bloody Romulan hospital!

Now there was no way anyone could convince him that was anywhere near a normal action. "We are under attack for elements' sakes, get away from that window!" He reached for her arm with one hand, the other patting his coat for that hypo from before.

The second Era felt a restraining hand touch her sleeve, her right fist swung out and caught him on the jaw. "Stay back!" Damn, that hurt. She shook out her throbbing fist. She didn't like having to hit someone who's primary job was helping people, but right now he 'really' wasn't helping.

The sudden movement barely registered in the exhausted mind of the Romulan, at least not until the pain reminded him that it should have.

The floor didn't taste all that well either. None the less, summoning the Vulcan like physical characteristics that were part of the Romulan genetic code, he managed to push himself up and go to tackle the woman. Until now she hadn't displayed any signs of overly aggressive behavior, the fact that she opted to now concerned him greatly, and if she weren't restrained, with the combat coming ever closer to the hospital grounds, it was likely she could get injured, or worse.

Era struck the wall when he tackled her. Shattered glass crunched under their boots. "Gerroffme!" She tried to fight him off, tried to push him away. Her head banged painfully against the metal bars. Lying on the sill was the bed leg she'd been using as a lever. If only she could reach it....

Tir'len managed to get a good hold of her, keeping her on the ground.

It was the last thing he actually wanted to do, but she hadn't left him any other options. "If you don't stop you're going to get yourself hurt, or kil..."

As if to demonstrate his point precisely, a quartet of phaser beams came in through the open window, striking harmlessly against the walls, but causing sufficient damage to send a bit of rubble and dust everywhere. For his part Tir'len clenched Era even tighter, trying to shield her, instinctively, from the blasts that were way too close for comfort. They subsided, but for someone who was by no means military, and had never experienced 'being shot at' before, it was a horrifying experience. Tir'len couldn't even think enough to move, content with hiding in the corner they were in now.

Era pushed him off her, but gently. She appreciated the effort he'd taken to protect her, even after she'd punched him. Cautiously, she raised her head to peer out the window. The fighting was still concentrated on the city, but refugees were pouring their direction, and fighters flying low in the atmosphere were taking pot-shots at them. The sight turned her stomach and hardened her expression.

With the doctor still recovering on the floor, Era grabbed the lever.

"Keep your head down," she told him. "Stay away from exterior walls.

Move everyone to as reinforced an area you have - a basement would be good." Crouching low, Era began to move toward the door again, hoping that now he'd let her go. "I have to get back."

"You're not going anywhere!" It was always said through training that one should never yell at a patient under any circumstances, and Tir'len typically had no problem with that. He'd been utterly man-handled by patients before... but be it the fact people seemed out to actually kill him this time, or the agitation of being unable to actually communicate with the woman on any level, he'd lost that crucial bit of control. As the smell of disruptor fire quelled in the room, and it became obvious the errant shots were no longer coming their way, he forced himself on his feet again, pulling the hypo-spray from his coat. She was armed now, and had demonstrated a willingness to use force... it was about the only thing he had on him that could be used for defense.

Era didn't notice him following her, she barely even registered the yell. She was busy trying to remember which direction lay the cemetery once she was outside.

And that's when he made his move, as quickly and as cleanly as possible. This time he wasn't going to give her any warnings, or listen to her ramblings at all... she could do a lot of damage with that bar, and he 'really' didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. He'd had his lumps for the day thank you very much.

Tir'len managed to brace an arm against her and inject the sedative simultaneously, trying to make sure she didn't fall and hurt herself.

The more controlled her descent, the better.

Era's first thought was to fight again, but it was only half formed when she found herself sinking into unconsciousness. Her legs sagged beneath her, dropping her to her knees. Her torso followed, though it was caught by Tir'len before hitting the floor. Her head lolled back, onto his shoulder.

Finally, some damned cooperation. Loosening her grip around the metal bar, he slid it away, finding no practical reason to hold onto it, and gave a look to the nurse and pair of orderlies that were awed by the events occurring outside. "We have to get the patients away from the outer rooms, transfer them to the interior ones, and someone bring me an Anti-grav stretcher!"

The nurses, who had been calming the patients, hurried to comply.

Tir'len, young as he might be, was the senior doctor on the floor right now. A minute later, a stretcher was brought in while the patients were lined up, single file, prepared to head to safer ground.

He did his best to as gingerly as possible place Era on it. The fact of the matter was she was she only had half a full dose of the sedative, and the last thing he wanted to do was jostle her back to the world of the awake. Besides, with the way things were unfolding, perhaps sleeping through it was a blessing, it would save her from having to witness the carnage occurring all around.

One of the orderlies came to help him once he had the Kaelian settled down, the others lead the tamer patients upstairs.

"Pudding"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

Era awoke to find herself being manhandled. Still groggy from the low-dose sedative, she couldn't work up the energy to fight off the nurses. They unbuttoned her blouse and slid it from her shoulders, then lifted her arms above her head and slid a light blue tshirt onto her, returning some of her modesty. Next they unlaced her boots and pulled them from her feet, removing her socks as well. Then her pants.

With one nurse lifting her slightly, two others pulled a pair of grey sweats onto her legs. Her feet were shoved into floppy, fluffy slippers.

All the while, Era tried to get a fix on where she was, though her head hurt like mad. It felt as though a drill had bored through her skull to just behind her right eye, leaving her wincing in pain. The walls were white, but bulged funnily. It took her a moment to figure out that they were padded, what she'd taken to be cracks in the paint in fact the seams of the fabric. Even the door was padded, except for the window - that was reinforced glass. Only one side of the room didn't have padding. The wall opposite the bed had a long plexiglas partition. Air holes had been drilled through it. On the other side was a room exactly like hers, even to someone in a blue tshirt and grey sweats sitting on the metal bed, though no nurses harassed him.

The patient was staring back at her. It was the creepiest mirror Era had ever seen.

The nurses left, taking her clothes with them.

Bas'an watched as his new neighbor was settled into her 'home'... or at least that's how the eighteen year old Romulan, who had been in the facility for as long as he could remember, had come to think of it. It was a very simple way of seeing things... the simplicity of the view being emblematic of the reason he was here. The way it had been explained to him, he didn't think the same way others thought, and thus needed the medical help of the facility. In turn he got candies, entertainment, things to do... it was a very rewarding life to him.

"Awake, awake! Awake you heavenly hag!"

Era still couldn't understand a word of what was said to her. "Uhmm..

Standard?" she tried lamely, knowing as she spoke that the answer would be no. Her neighbor appeared both young and healthy. Why he was placed in isolation was beyond her. If he was infectious, why permit the air to circulate between her room and his? Questions buzzed in her mind as Era tried to grasp her situation, her waking mind protesting "Just five more minutes!"

Bas'an tilted his head with her response, before he began laughing. Not laughing in the way someone who found a situation comical might, but rather like a child who'd found the perfect toy. "But sleep is for the evening, now is time to awake!"

Era found the laugh as confusing as the words. Perhaps "Standard"

meant something in Romulan? "I'm Era." She tapped her chest. "Era."

She pointed at him questioningly. They were going to have to do this the hard way.

Bas'an smiled, he knew how to tell when someone was giving a name. The nurses and doctors had tried introducing themselves any number of times, and it was always a fun game. "Era?" He let the unfamiliar, funny sounding word role off his tongue, before he started chanting and laughing. "Er-ra... Er-ra...

Er-ra... Er-ra..."

Why was he being so difficult? "Yes, Era. Just once." She held up a single digit. "Who are you?"

The finger silenced him, his mood instantly changing from one of untamed happiness to seemingly bottomless sadness. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, swaying back and forth silently for a long time before, timidly, he answered her question. "Bas'an."

Era vaguely recalled a friend at the Academy telling her about a disease that made people age physically at an accelerated rate, even though their minds matured normally. Perhaps this boy was one of those? He certainly acted like a child. "Bas'an," she smiled, nodding.

"I like that name. Very charming. Bas'an and Era," she repeated, trying to think of how to ask him questions when she had nothing to draw on and they were so clearly linguistically impaired.

Bas'an nodded, slowly warming again to the attention being showered on him by his neighbor. "Do you think differently too?"

Era wanted to cry. She hadn't felt like crying in a long time. How could she make him understand that she couldn't understand? She pointed at him, then at her mouth and said "blah blah words" then pointed at her forehead, shrugging in an exaggerated helpless gesture.

"I can't understand you. I can't understand anyone."

In a move reminiscent of a puppy trying to understand his master, Bas'an's head tilted in the other direction now. How could she not understand? He could understand her just fine. Is that why she ended up in his home too?

He didn't get to ponder his thoughts for very long as a pair of the orderlies made their way down the corridor, opening selected cells and directing the occupants to a recreation room of sorts at the end of the hall. It wasn't long before both Bas'an's and Era's cells had been opened, and they were allowed to walk with semi-freedom, being ushered in a specific direction of course, to the large room. Inside there were simple games, activities being monitored by Tir'len and the nurse... the normal recreational staff, like just about everyone else had left. They weren't coming back anytime soon it appeared either.

"Pudding!" Bas'an's eyes sparkled when he saw the snack packs set up on the tables. He was about to go help himself when the nurse instructed him to sit down, and that things would be brought to him.

Era's stomach awoke at the sight of food. She'd only had that sandwich for dinner, it hadn't been very good, and she'd only managed to eat half of it before.. well, everything. After a moment's hesitation, Era took a seat next to Bas'an at the table. The chair was bolted to the floor. So was the table. <Pudding?> Era repeated the word she'd heard Bas'an utter.

"Yes!" Bas'an looked over at his partner enthusiastically. "Pudding!"

Bas'an neglected to mention the fact that there was more than the simple snack prepared. It was meal time for the patients, but given the short handed staff it wouldn't be anything more complicated than a Romulan style pasta smothered in an orange sauce. Easy to replicate in large numbers, and easy to distribute.

The trays were passed around, each one including a container of pudding, ice water, and a dish of the foreign pasta dish. Bas'an's eyes were clearly fixed on the snack.

Era used the available data and hastily translated: <Pudding> = Food.

Good to know. Lifting her spork tentatively, she poked the spaghetti.

At least it didn't wiggle. She hated to think what would have happened if she'd been stuck on Kronos. Spooling a few limp noodles around her utensil, Era raised it to her lips and took a careful bite. The pasta took her taste buds through bland and out the other side, into a wasteland of tastelessness that rivaled the sterile neutrality of the hospital precincts.

She caught Bas'an eyeing her pudding cup. Not eager to learn what culinary abortion Romulans could do with milk, cornstarch and vanilla, Era picked it up and offered it to him with a smile.

Bas'an stared at it, gasping in disbelief at his fortune. "Thank you!" The fairly diminutive Romulan male grinned broadly... remembering the time he used to trade for things. It seemed only fair, given how polite she was.

But he didn't have much to offer... well there was always the badge the hospital had given him. He didn't need that. Taking it off his shirt, he placed the translator into her hand.

Era smiled broadly. This was good, better than she had hoped. Now at last she would be able to understand what was happening to her. "Thank you." Pinning the badge to her shirt, the unintelligible babble of voices became a slightly more intelligible babble. But it was a start.

"You're welcome." He offered with a childish smile before turning back to his meal, quickly going through the pasta before savoring his collected deserts. There was always room for pudding after all.

"Through the never"

by

Flight Officer Rex "Duelist" Hall

Rebel Squadron XO off the USS Miranda

with

Pilot Vlatnnia "Scavenger"

Rebel Squadron pilot and Duelist's wingman

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

Location: Space above the capital of the Romulan Star Empire-Battlezone Alpha (Space)

"This cold war just got hot" Rex muttered as he swung his valk-2 underneath the remains of a hydran light frigate analoug that had been ashed by the USS Texas during the first stages of the battle. Rex had taken apart of the two conflicts during his time as a cadet because of the dire need to get every able bodied starfleet officer to the front lines. Rex's fists tightened in their coverings as he checked on the status of his squadron, that very thought made him mentally snort because he never thought that he'd be a squadron XO, let alone on the "Old Man's" own former ship.

*I guess dad was right when he said that you'd wind up in some pretty strange places.* he started to think to himself when suddenly a hydran fighter, commonly known as "Stingers" due to their shape, suddenly exploded close enough to his shields that the indicator marked it as a weapons hit.

=^=Six to Five, sir I really don't want to explain to your girlfriend why you got ashed out here, sir=^= came the female voice of Rex's ferengi wingma..er woman in Vlatnnia.

"Sorry, I was seeing how badly the squadron was off. Thanks for the assist, what's your status?" Rex responded to the other pilot.

=^=My torp stores are running low, then again if we run into anymore of those damn heavy fighter analogs, I'll scream my bloody lobes off...sir.=^= came Rebel Six's voice.

"I understand but..wait one." Rex said as he suddenly hit an Immelmann turn out of the way of a round of disruptor blasts from a Stinger and came up behind it and gave two mico-torps up it's engine array as a "Thanks for trying" gift. "Sorry, is it just me or do a couple of these things have disruptors?" Rex asked as he went over the energy signatures.

=^=Yeah, they must be getting them from the Breen. You know like some of the other culturial exchanges between govs over the years?=^= the ferengi fighter pilot suggested from her vantage point before suddenly speeding up for some reason which Rex saw was one of the "Heavy Fighter" variants of the Stingers comming up behind her with both hellbores and disruptors blazing when she suddenly started gowing back and forth in a zigzag flight path which Rex didn't watch all the way due to another "close encounter" with another stinger. When Rex was able to spare a moment, he was able to see that Vlatnnia was now behind her target and quickly hit it with four micro-torps of her own.

"Wow, the Scissors. I didn't think a clothed female could pull that one off." Rex said while teasing the other pilot.

=^=Screw you, the horse you rode in on, and your small lobed brain sir!=^= Vlatnnia said while trying not to laugh as the two pilots swung off to hunt down more targets as the Space Battle of Romulas keyed up more.

"The Calm before the Storm"

Major Corran Rex, CAG, USS Galaxy

Ensign Eve, IO, USS Galaxy

========

As the techs worked on sealing up Vanguard One, Eve dashed off for the last part of the equation, something else that she would need.

Returning just as the fighter passed her checks, the cyborg was sporting a flight suit, though she differed from everyone else present by a single detail: the departmental black of Intelligence clashed perfectly with the white of the fighters.

The suit itself was replicated, and on her way back from donning the garb and associated issued equipment she had tailored the environmental settings of the life support units to best suit her unique physiology. Approaching the fighter Vanguard One Eve slowed for but a moment, admiring the sleek beauty of such a craft, designed for but one purpose: Death. One she spotted Casanova she saluted.

"Ensign Eve, ready for duty Sir."

"Good to have you, Ensign." Corran replied in a distracted manner. He was too busy watching the equipment installs - and his chrono - to focus adequately. Kol and his Sabers were already in position, holding in between the wings of the Warbird D'Althaia. Corran and the Vanguards would be joining him as soon as the techs were done. "Your tech geeks going to be much - HEY!"

He cut himself off as he saw a part that the tech was removing to make room for one of the surveillance add-ons. "Put that back right the hell now, technician. That's the port-side pulse phaser regulator. You take that out and you're taking out half my firepower."

"But.." the tech frowned, turning the isolinear junction over in is hands. "According to specs, this is the - "

"I don't give a damn what the specs say, son. I know my fighter. Put it back."

"Yes, sir."

Corran shook his head. "Damn techs. Always want to go by specs, never verify." Sighing, he turned back. "As I was saying, Ensign, how much longer?"

Eve sighed in disgust and pushed the tech off to the side to get the installation herself. "This is the last component; once it's in, less than 3 minutes to reseal the hull, verify integrity, and then we're flight capable." She reinstalled the regulator and looked around for a moment. "There's no need to pull anything out, I made sure to account for that." Turning the module on it's side, she was able to slide it in easily.

"Ignore the 'this way is up' sign as it doesn't mean anything." A snap and a click later, the equipment was properly installed and Eve turned back to the tech. "Now do the rest of your job and reseal this hull. I'd rather not have to download the necessary files from the main computer to do the job myself. I've precious little freeware memory as it is and I want to keep it all for the flight."

Corran covered his mouth to hide his amusement. "Sounds good." he chuckled, finding humor in this small thing despite the impending doom around them.

Four minutes and thirteen seconds later, Vanguard Squadron was in the air.

["Allright Vanguards,"] Corran said over the squadron comm after the check-ins were done. ["You'll be seeing a configuration datastream on your comm boards. That's our little spook back here making sure your new cameras are pointing the right way, and not just recording your fuzzy backsides, so don't shut it off."]

A chorus of catcalls and smart-ass remarks came back with that, which Corran promptly squelched. ["Can the chatter."] he ordered, taking a real good luck around.

Any other time, a dozen of Starfleet's best starships, Sixty warbirds and a few thousand Starfighters would be a damned impressive sight.

Knowing what the Hydrans had done to the other resistance they'd encountered, however...

"It's not enough." Corran said under his breath, knowing the comms were off, and forgetting that the very quiet Eve could hear him. Hell, he knew it, everybody from Captain down to Crewman in this fleet knew it. He could even see it in the Romulan squadron commanders Mitchell had had him conferring with.

Eve heard the remark as she made the final adjustments to the various datastreams. "What isn't, Sir?"

"This defense, Ensign." he clarified as he deftly led his squadron into position between the warbird's wings. "It's good plan. Best we can come up with, but it won't be enough. We might stop this wave of Hydrans - but what about the next?" He shook his helmeted head. "No.

All we can do here is fight a delaying action."

Eve fell silent as this new information was processed and analyzed, and given all other information available, the conclusion was always the same. Even without the Starbeast variable, he was right. "I was originally crafted and programed to be an engine of destruction, capable of overcoming even the most insurmountable odds in the ultimate goal of the destruction of the Borg Collective. Even if I still had that programing, those capabilities, I cannot calculate more than a marginal level of success in this endeavor. However, I have recently come to learn that not everything is at the calculations

predict: human ingenuity is a variable I cannot account for in my equations."

Corran chuckled. "You're really.. something else, aren't you, Ensign?"

Eve's console bleeped, and a green smiley face appeared in the upper left corner of the display: all craft at optimal performances. Now all she'd need do is monitor everything and make adjustments as the fight progressed. "As a cyborg, I can safely say that yes, I AM something else, Sir." If any from the Enterprise encountered her, one could probably claim Eve was Data's sister, the way she talked sometimes.

"Well, let's just say I've got a few years on just about everybody."

The Major replied. "And trust me, Ensign Eve, this isn't going to be enough. You won't hear me say it over the comm, but when the time comes, I AM going to order my pilots to bug out. And the gods help anyone who doesn't."

"Off the Record is Off Topic"

featuring

2nd LT Greg Ward

SFMC Special Operations CO/ARC Operations Lead

Corporal Richard Simmons

ARC/SFMC Trooper and T/CT Expert, USS Galaxy --ONPC

Corporal Michael J. Caboose

ARC/SFMC Heavy Weapons Expert, USS Galaxy --ONPC

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

Location: USS Miranda hanger deck, near the Runabout "Alabama"

Second Lieutenant Greg Ward waited for the rest of the recon unit to get to the hanger bay while Foe-Hammer stowed the Andurial in the Miranda's bay since they weren't going to use the Pelican. Greg was using one of the runabout's nacelle's as a workbench as he went over his M90 assault rifle to make sure that in case there was any fighting, he'd be ready for it.

He heard footsteps and turned to see Simmons walking over to him, his BR55 in a easy grip. "Boss, I think that we got a problem." Simmons said in a hushed tone which made the half-trill raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"What's the matter Simmons?" Greg asked as he went back to returning his M90 to it's original form.

"It seems that Lieutenant London has been..in a unusual situation. I don't know all of the details but my intels says that there is a JAG situation." Simmons said in a hushed tone almost like if he spoke the things aloud, everyone in the fleet would know.

"Oh really, what did our resident unit XO do that's got you checking into your supposed sources, Simmons?" Greg asked flippantly, expecting him to say something like "Adopt a tribble" or "moon Fleet Admiral Murdock".

"Well, she kind of has accused the CMO of the Miranda of well...performing illegal sexual acts on her." Simmons said as he leaned in and whispered to Ward.

At this, Greg dropped the power pack for his weapon on the deck of the bay in shock. He couldn't grasp the idea of London, the most level headed person in the fraking core, accusing anyone of something like that. "Are you sure of what you're saying, Simmons? Because you know how much I frelling hate gossip." Greg said in a low growl.

"I swear to Kru and Dolshia that I'm telling ya the truth, Boss." the man from Barrayar said as he held up his right hand and his eyes wide. Simmons knew that a "Lifer" like Ward was the last person you wanted to piss off where it came to insulting people he respected that were in the core. "I swear sir!"

"Hrm, this is disquieting." Greg said as he bent down and picked up the power pack and checked it over for any damage to it before putting it on the nacelle next to the main parts of the rifle. "How'd you hear about this, Simmons?"

"Well, you know that I can't reveil my sources but one of them heard it from someone on the Galaxy, Boss. Also my source is in the JAG branch of the fleet and got the info directly." Simmons explained.

"Not that ensign we got on board?" Greg asked with a raised eyebrow. "I don't know who assigned her to the post but *I* have more experience as a JAG than she could." the half-trill said as he leaned against the nacelle with his arms crossed over his chest. Greg's father was a marine JAG and had expected his son to join the JAG corps and not the SFMC in order to keep his first born out of the firelines but Greg went his own way but went through the standard courses at the academy which he went through when he went through OCS to become a 2nd LT.

"The same, Boss. Look, what are we going to do? I mean the whole incident on Cheron showed that she was willing to die for us as a unit even Caboose likes her because she saved his bacon and that's alot of bacon to save." Simmons started to say but his commanding officer gave him "The Look" that always made non-coms shut up.

"First off, you don't need to remind me about what happened on Cheron. I was there remember and plus I still can't believe that *YOU* of all people got caught while Donut didn't. You're supposed to be Mantis, not Octopus." Greg said while glaring at Simmons. "As for what *WE* are going to do. *WE* will worry about things *AFTER* this bloody conflict." Greg then picked up the power pack and slapped it home, thumbed the power selector to half charge which it hummed to life without question. "Kapesh?"

"Understood boss, I was just curious, that's all." Simmons said, knowing that the subject was tabled for the time being and just in time two as the two men heard the heavy footfalls of the Hoffmanite marine in the form of Michael J. Caboose as he plodded over to where two of his squad was.

"Hey guys, did you know that someone here on the Miranda thinks that time goes in a line? That's wrong because clocks are round." Caboose said and then he quietly and calmly went into the runabout and waited for the rest of the recon unit.

Simmons looked at Ward who simply shrugged and said "Go and track down the others, I want to know who left Caboose untended!" which Simmons then went to go do. Leaving the older marine to his thoughts which was simply:

*What the frell is going on?*

"Confusion & Chaos"

Commander Rayna Lamar

SecOfficer

USS Miranda

Somewhere on Romulas.......

Everything was calm and everyone was behaving themselves. It seemed as if it was going to be an easy and uneventual job. It was almost the end of her shift and she was eager to get back home to her kids. But that wasn't going to happen. Five minutes before her shift was to end, the chaos began.

There was yelling and screaming, distant sounds of disruptor and phaser blasts could be heard along with various explosions. Rayna dropped to the ground and crawled to safety. The sound came closer to her location until it was over her. Debris flew through the air then falling around her. A Romulan woman was walking around aimlessly. It looked as if she had been hit in the head by falling debris. Rayna got up and dragged the woman with her to safety once again.

The Romulan woman came out of her temporary daze. Getting her bearings and as most Romulan women are, she fought Rayna, exchanged a few choice words and stormed away. Rayna didn't go after her.

Thinking that the worst was over, Rayna came out of hiding and was getting ready to help others. She heard footsteps and chitter chatter of a language she didn't recognize. She hid once more as the footsteps came closer and closer and closer. All she could see was two sets of feetstanding right next to her. Rayna held her breath, afraid that they'd hear her. They walked away quickly and that is when Rayna caught sight of the enemy. They had found the Romulan woman and with no questions asked, they killed her. Rayna couldn't stand by and watch this so she pointed her phaser and killed the two Hydrans who dropped like flies.

Now this wasn't about keeping herself safe but to do her duty as a security guard and protect. The war was on and it was obvious who was responsible for this...the Hydrans. For a moment, she said a prayer for the safety of her kids then went off to kill more Hydrans before they killed her.

"Fleet Action...A lesson Learned"

Hydran Light Cruiser Slarrardo

Primary Attack Bridge

The colorful tactical displays cast strange shadows through the swirling purple methane of R.H.S. SLARRARDO's primary attack bridge.

Shifting lazily in his plush command couch, Prince Thufi XXXIV of the Royal Hydran Attack Fleet considered the glowing lights with a satisfied sigh.

The motley mix of Federation and Romulan starships arrayed against him represented a more troubling challenge than any previous opposition, but.....as expected......coordination between the two fleets was sluggish at best.

~~~The bipeds were too recently enemies to truly act in unison~~~ Prince Thufi toggled a series of lights at his tertiary armrest, bringing the Slarrardo up to full combat capability.

~~~A house divided easily falls.....especially a fleet divided.~~~

The Huddled slug-like bodies of the bridge command crew surrounded Thufi, each hunched over his own bank of instruments, colored lights dancing strange patterns across their grey skin.

The Slarrardo was not the biggest vessle in the Hydran invasion fleet, merely one of many Light Strike Cruisers.....Prince Thufi was likewise not the most important member the arrayed commanders, with a royal Family consisting of some 30,000 members, Thufi was one of literally thousands of Royal Princes vying for the throne of Hydrax.

~~~5,723rd in line for the throne......~~~ Thufi mused to himself as he urged his ship onward into the awaiting teeth of the Federation fleet.

He was however one of the most experienced Captains present. Decades of war against the hate Lyrans had forged the Prince into a most impressive slug.

It was amazing that creatures as bulky and brutish as the Hydrans could design such sleek and refined starships as the

Slarrardo.

All graceful curves and backswept wings, the Light Cruiser was a gleaming blue warship that was as beautiful as it was

deadly.

Sliding effortlessly through the nothingness of Romulus's outer orbits, the Slarrardo turned her sharp-edged bow

towards an approaching Federation battle group.

At Thufi's command, sleek fighters slipped their way out from the Light Cruiser's attack bays and arranged themsleves

into a loose wedge in front of Slarrardo's electric blue hull.

Thufi wasnt insane enough to beleive that his ship could go toe to toe with a Federation Drednought like the Miranda

or the Galaxy, but there were other waysof doing business. BLubbering commands into his couch's speaker the Prince

arranged his ship and its tiny flotilla of fighters into a harrasment posture.

Hydrans had introduced fighter tactics to the Alpha Quadrant and as such had the clearest idea of what they

were.....and were not capable of doing.

~~~~The other races are not so experienced.......~~~ the Prince decided as he watched a Squadron of Federation

Fighters charge headlong against a flanking Hydran Destroyer.

The Federation ships skimmed closely over the surface of the Hydan ship before releasing their deadly volley of

torpedoes.

Thufi gave a 'hrumph' of moderate approval as the Destroyers back was broken.......marginally well done, but

amatuerish at best........and easily defended against.

His experience against the Lyrans and thier deadly ESG's showed the folley of getting too close to an opponent.

As if to prove the Prince's point, a trio of Federation fighters broke

off from the main group and settled intoa an

attack run on the Slarrardo itself. True to their previous tactic,

plotting indicated another strafing run just

skimming the surface........so much the better.

Twiddling a few colored dials with his tertiary hand, and heaving a

great methane sigh of purple gas, Prince Thufi

vectored his own fighters out of the Federations path and turned

Slarrardo's thickedst shields to bear.

Zipping in at high sublight, the Feds darted underneath the Point

defence fire and began their attack run skimming

mere inches above the deep blue skin of the Hydran cruiser.....it

looked to bea nother easy kill for the

Federation.......

"Expand shields to 150%" Prince Thufi slurred lazily.

The federation fightercraft disintigrated into three flashes of light

as the Slarrardo's shields reached up to slap

them in the face.

Designed to block asteroid impacts, and incoming missles......three 5

ton fighters were nothing, leaving anoy a faint

electronic crackle to indicate where they impacted.

While standard shields were not as mutable as the Lyran ESG, they did

have the ability to change thier protective

radius marginally.....and in this instance a few meters was all that

was needed.

Chuckling and shakling his wormy head slowly, Price Thufi reoriented

his light Cruiser towards his enemies........no,

the bipeds had a lot to learn about fighter tactics.....

"Fleet Action: Stinging the Galaxy"

R.H.S. Slarrardo

The swirling Methane gas of The Slarrardo's primary Attack Bridge was now tinged with the acrid black smoke of singed circuitry and fused wiring.

"Roll port 180 and fire ventral phasers." warbled Prince Thufi XXXIV through his heavy slug-like mouth. "Emergency power to sublight engines and put some distance between us and that dreadnought!"

In the confusion of Battle, Thufi's Light Cruiser had wandered a bit too close to the heavy guns of the USS Galaxy and as a result was quivvering under the concentrated fire of the Federation starship's direct phaser fire.

Still, despite the punishment, the Slarrardo was very much still in the fight. Hydran ships by design were extremely adept at absorbing massive ammounts of punishment......after all their shoRt-ranged Fusion beams demanded close combat conditions.

"Roll manuver complete my lord." blubbered a wormy crewmans voice through the purple Methane clouds. "Federation Dreadnought falling leeward."

Consulting the dancing colored lights of his Command Couch's tactical Display, Prince Thufi considered his options.

Going flipper to flipper with the Federation starship was not condusive to long life.........but fortunately there were other more indirect means available to him.

Toggling a few controls, the Hydran Prince issued commands to the Slarrardo's own squadron of sleek blue-hulled fightercraft.......Hydrans had invented starfighters and as a result knew how to employ them better than anybody.

Peeling off from their flanking positions, the Hydran fighters tore their way through the empty aether of space vectoring in on the USS Galaxy's port phaser array.

Needle-sharp lances of light stabbed at Galaxy's shields, illuminating them in a shower of purple lightning.

Tearing into the shields with their rapid-firing gattling phasers, the fighters veared off leaving the port shields intact but quite weakened.

"Federation Dreadnought veering off to protect weakened shields...."

came the warbling report aboard the Slarrardo.

Prince Thufi 'hrumphed'an amused chortle. The bipeds were too used

to direct fire weaponry.....protecting their weak shields like that.

"Quick about.....Open fire Primary Hellbore battery....then get us out of here." Thufi added after a thought.

Spinning smoothly in sapce, the Light cruiser brought her Hellbore to bear on the Galaxy and belched an amber ball of lightning straight at the starship's bow.

Just as the Federation Captain had desired, the Hydran bolt caught the Galaxy directly on her strongest shield face and if it were any other weapon, would have deflected it easily..........but that is not what Hellbores were designed to do.

Crackling with power, the Amber bolt exploded as it hit the bow shield sending white hot streamers of energy sizzling across the outer surfce of the Galaxy's shields engulfing the ship completely.........

Then moments later the various streamers of hot plasma zeroed in on the weakened port shield face and in an explosion of radioactive light, displaced all of its destructive power on its weakest section collapsing the shield completely.

"Port shield down!" blubbered the Tactical officer, "Dreadnought continuing to turn away from us....."

~~~Silly bipeds......~~~Thufi mused, ~~~Didnt they know that Hellbores sought out the weakest shield facing no matter where it hit?~~~

With another crackle of energy, the Slarrardo proved the Prince's point. A second Hellbore again struck the intact bow, ignoring it and instead sizzled across Galaxy's shields in amber waves of lightning exploding violently across the exposed bare hull on the port side.

"Hull breach!"

~~~Another lesson learned.~~~~ Prince Thufi thought as he watched little twitching bipeds get blown out into space from the blackened holes in the twisted metal. ~~~Nevertheless......we'd better seek prey more our size....~~~

Wheeling about, the sleek electric blue hull of the Slarrardo beat a hasty retreat deeper into the malestrom that raged in Romulus's orbit.

The battle was not yet won.....but the Hydran Light Cruiser was definately making its mark....

"The Winter of Our Discontent"

Captain T'Riele, Commanding Officer

Commander Ranjit Singh, Executive Officer

Main Bridge, USS Sao Paolo - Defiant Class Escort

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

"Patience, Number One", T'Riele offered calmly. "Your over-exuberance will be the end of you, Mister Singh."

Glaring at his tactical monitor, Ranjit Singh had to admit that away from the stage he was not a very patient man. Perhaps it was his Sikh family tradition - an honorable military-laden past stretching back to the unwritten history of the distant Punjab - but red alert always managed to make his beard bristle and his heart race. "Yes Captain.

Shields online. Ablative armor ready. *We're* ready."

The Vulcan showed no sign of pride or pleasure, only a curt nod.

"Very well. We'll engage the primary strike cruiser - fast at highest impulse, then we strike behind their fore weapons arc. Remember, the Fusion Beam while powerful, has a very restricted field of fire."

The Sikh shook his head. "It's not the Fusion Beams that worry me.

Those bigger ships of ours will suffer for the..."

Lieutenant Alaistar, the Sao Paolo's tactical officer, interrupted brusquely. "Captain, Hydran fighters have broken past the gunline and attacked the Galaxy, her port shields are taking damage."

Singh completed his sentence, ironically prepared by Alaistar's information. "Hellbores. Target Delta Three has already charged her Hellbore cannons and targeted the Galaxy. Our shields are undamaged - we can try to intercept?"

T'Riele's Vulcan mind had already made the calculations. "It's too late. The Galaxy will have to take the hit. Instead, we'll have to deal with target Delta Three so we can buy the Galaxy some time before the second salvo."

As the bright orange of the Hydran's hellbore streaked towards the larger Federation starship, the Captain of the Sao Paolo committed her firepower to the fray. "Helm, maximum impulse acceleration on bearing zero-one-seven mark one-zero-eight. On my signal, execute a high energy turn and maximum deceleration - bring the Sao Paulo to a course closely under target Delta Three and match her course as closely as your skills allow behind their fore weapons arc."

"Aye Captain!"

Alaistar quickly relayed the information on her tac display. "Captain, Delta Three's Hellbore volley struck home - the Galaxy's lost her port shield and she's got a hull breach."

The Captain made no comment, merely changing her calculating gaze from the viewscreen to the Commander next to her. Ranjit Singh knew exactly what his captain had on her mind. "Mister Alaister, on my signal fire all fore quantum torpedoes and pulse phasers at the target. Reload on the torpedoes needs to set a record today.

"Aye Commander. Phasers charged and torpedoes armed and ready."

The Vulcan captain raised an eyebrow and questioned her First Officer.

"Are we a flea, Commander?" Singh smiled behind his thick beard. "A tick I think, Captain. As bloodthirsty insects go, they're harder to get rid of."

T'Riele's only reply was a calm, quiet order."Helm, execute HET... now".

Streaking towards the heart of the Hydran fleet, the Sao Paolo now abruptly changed course and intercepted the Hydran ship that had fired on the Galaxy. Swiftly she matched Delta Three's course and speed, slipping neatly under her weapons horizons.

"Mister Alaistar, if you please."

Dozens of torpedoes and pulse slammed into the Hydran ship's ventral shields at close range, and Singh smiled that something on this day had at least gone right.

"Heh, some tick!"

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