"You Never.." pt 1

Corran Rex
Ella Grey

"You did not!" Ella exclaimed, holding back her giggles as much as she could while trying to simultaneously hold her drink and thwart her boyfriend's roaming hands.

Plus, she didn't like how her giggles sound like a computer malfunctioning.

They were playing a game of "Never" and she thought she had just given a never that Corran could never admit to. The earlier encounter with Victor had cast a pall on the evening at first, but after awhile, they'd been able to forget it become lost in each other once more. Or maybe they were just really good at self-deception. Who isn't, when you get down to it?

"Sure I did." he laughed, settling his hands around her waist."Jeffries Tube 47. Twice."

"Damn, I thought I had a good one." Ella pouted with a smile. "Your turn."

"You never.." Corran started, pausing for a moment as he pressed his face into her hair. The top of her head has a nice smell, he always thought - and then again, he was probably biased by her nudity. (Even if it was wrapped up in the blankets and sheets that they were sitting in on the bed. "You've never been a part of an Andorian sh'elth'reth."

He didn't have to explain, of course, that that was the Andorian's four person mating ritual.

He'd always liked Andorians.

Ella harrumphed loudly. "I still don't know if its fair that you get to count your past lives."

"Who said I was?"

She narrowed her eyes, then widened them suddenly and pointed quickly behind him in fright. Then hit him with her pillow when he turned and looked.

"Cheater." he laughed. "It's your turn, you know."

She grinned and then tried to think up a good one. "Hmmmm... you've never almost been cloned."

"No, that's true. You?"

"I think that's what they were trying back with the Jem"Hedar" Ella said and then shrugged. No sense on dwelling on it now. She looked at him smugly."Beat that."

"You've never..." he stopped, tyring to come up with something outlandish to top it. It was easy with Ella - she hadn't had a violent life, so there was always that. "You've never had an assassin try to kill you."

It was true that she hadn't had an assassin try to kill her but the word association instantly had her face palling slightly and had her body tensing.

She tried to play it off with a sudden laugh. "No, I haven't."

Corran was a lot of things, but blind certainly wasn't one of them. Two thousand years of life experience - even if he was still trying to piece it all together - had made him pretty good at reading people.

And right now, Ella was lying her cute little ass off.

His eyes narrowed as she took herself out of his embrace, and sat against the bulkhead, drawing the covers about her. "What happened?" he asked quietly, the playful mood having vanished with Ella's tension.

She widened her eyes in an innocent 'whatever do you mean' manner.

He didn't reply verbally, but just fixed the stare that he reserved for nugget pilots who'd done something extraordinarily stupid on her.

She held his gaze, the innocence fading to something... harder. "I've never had an assassin try to kill me."

It wouldn't be enough and so she made herself add the rest. "He wasn't worthy of the title assassin."

"What was he, then?" he asked, still quiet. He knew it wouldn't be easy to get it out of her, but he had to try.

"Thug." She said shortly.

"But why was he after you?"

"You've never been an opera singer." Ella said with a shrug. "You've never had an obsessed fan."

A fragment of memory dredged up then, from a life long forgotten. "Actually, I have. One of my hosts, Jezra, was a novelist and a playwright. He once got kidnapped by a fan who threatened to hobble him by hitting him in the ankle with a sledgehammer, to keep him writing stories just for her. That was one crazy bitch."

"So I know where you're coming from. Tell me, Ella. Tell me what happened."

"He grabbed me backstage."

"Go on."

"Threw me in a basement somewhere for awhile."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she continued, knowing it would be harder and harder for her to speak, and that a part of her would be reliving the memory. Corran would spare her that if he could, but, instinctively, he knew that this was why she had stopped using her voice - and why she was now force to rely on mechanical means of communication.

Corran let his silence and his support speak for him, and eventually, Ella began to continue.

Her throat felt tight. "They made me sing. For hours. Then I'd go back in the basement. That happened a few times until.... until Flitt decided he didn't want me anymore. That he couldn't get the perfect song from me. And then he told the other one to take care of me."

Flitt, he thought. He would remember the name. Or did he remember the name? So many of his memories were confused jumbles, but the name struck a chord with the part of him that had been Vorrin. There was something there, something he wasn't quite able to touch on.

But now wasn't the time to focus on that. Ella needed support now. It wouldn't banish her demons, but maybe she could deal with them just a little bit better. He reached a hand around her body to grab hers, squeezing it in support. "And then?" he asked softly, in almost a whisper.

She looked away even though she leaned into him and accepted his hand. Ella paused a moment. "The authorities never found them."

Corran didn't miss at all that she'd skipped a significant part of the story. Nor did he miss the implication that someone else had, in fact, found Flitt and his associate.

And if they, well, then that was time Corran wouldn't spend having to do it. Not that he wasn't going to make sure.

"That's why you went mute?" he asked, less for confirmation and more to keep her talking about it.

"Not really but it didn't help." Ella said. "I woke up in a hospital a day or so later, I don't really remember how long. And here I was all beaten and traumatized and almost the first things I hear out of my mother's mouth are if I'll be able to sing again. Pissed me off." She quirked her lips into a sort of smile. "I suppose my muteness has been like the ultimate version of "I'm not talking to you anymore."

At that, he just had to laugh. "That didn't strike you as.. petty?"

She sighed. "It wasn't really. Up until that point I'd done everything ever asked of me, ever demanded of me. Expected of me. Regardless of what I really wanted. And I woke up not wanting to be that girl anymore. I wanted... better. And to start off with, I didn't want to be a singer anymore. So I started with that."

"So you joined Starfleet."

"Seemed to be like a good fit. I wanted off of Earth and I liked playing with ships."

"Sounds like reason enough to me." he said. He knew their game had taken a serious turn, but that was okay, too. It was liberating in it's own way, to get things like this out in the open. "I guess it would only be fair to share some of my demons, too."

"All Bets Are Off"

Private Gomk Gurral,
Medic,
2nd Platoon, 2nd Squad, Fire Team Alpha

Recruit Khrystyne 'Flatline' Carlyle,
Medic,
1st Platoon, 2nd Squad, Fire Team Alpha

Ensign Rena Lanford, Medical Officer

****

Main Sickbay

It had come as a complete surprise to the personnel on the surface of Junction when the attacks had come. Whoever had thought to include a marine escort to most of the landing teams deserved a commendation.

Rena Lanford had been on-call when the announcement of emergency response teams and red alert status had blared throughout the ship. Vulcans, hardly in need of prolonged energy replenishment through extended downtime most humanoids needed, had been instead indoctrinating herself with as much information and data on the Jem`Hadar as could be culled from the ship library databanks.

As she scanned the biological and physiological articles, many were flagged by Doctor Burton as having needing revision or additions based on findings from the Jem`Hadar encountered on Tru'Haran - or Junction as translated to Standard. The addition of the feminine gender, as well as prolonged growth periods for offspring would present a challenge in ascertaining any new data on the warrior species genetic structures. The psychological effects on anticipating their actions would also need to be revised by the xeno-anthropological and sciences teams on the Galaxy and at Starfleet.

It was all so... fascinating.

Even when her mental faculties had been invaded by the Dithparu at Deep Space 5 several months previous, she'd not looked on it as anything but a learning experience. As she did now, detached and clinical.

When the alert klaxons had activated, it was only a short trip to the medical complex three decks down. Efficiently deactivating the terminal in the ship's library, she joined the rest of the dozens of personnel in the ship corridors as they destined to their respective stations.

Security and marine personnel invaded the corridors, taking up positions at designated high security checkpoints, verifying personnel as they were required to do so in entering said locales. Especially prevalent on the same deck as the library were one of the access points to the computer core systems on the ship. There were no less than two squads of Marines stationed with security personnel at separate points along each forcefield section.

Within two minutes, she had entered the closest lift, departed on Deck 12, and arrived at Sickbay to await instructions from the medic on duty.

Almost immediately upon her arrival, the first of the wounded began to arrive, along with assisting medics or survival trained personnel from all over the ship.

The smell of burnt flesh assaulted her senses to the extent that not even the olfactory dampening remedies could block. She toned out the extra un-necessary sounds of the wounded and dying even as she tended to the first of many injured that would pass through her administrations.

Memories of scenes played out at Deep Space 5 came to haunt her.

-----

Marine Country
Deck 16
Enlisted Mess/Lounge

"You're bluffing." Private Axl Armong stared at the Bolian across the table, trying to find a quirk in the face of the other private. Basak only puffed on the long cigar hanging out of one side of his mouth in response.

"Shut up and play, Private. We've not got all day, and you're almost out of chips. I have my eyes on a new mod for my rifle and the shop closes in an hour." Khrystyne Carlyle nodded at the ever-increasingly shrinking pile of chips the ship's cook had in front of him.

"Why don't you shut up, *recruit*. Know your place, or I'll have to remind you of it with the back of my hand." He squinted at the cards he held up in front of him.

"Oooooo... you gonna let that stand, Flatline? I think you should knock some sense into the punk." The Tellarite medic guffawed at the scene playing out, and then slapped his hand down on the table, shaking the chips. "Just make a play, human! Before we all end up like Caboose over there!" Across the range of tables in the lounge, the one known as Caboose was trying to count his fingers, but kept losing track after the third.

"Fine. I call." He counted his chips, coming to the realization he was short on the call. "Umm... can someone loan me a couple creds?"

Carlyle laughed, throwing her head back until she saw the man's face go scarlet. "Tell you what, Axl... I'll loan you the creds on one condition."

"I won't sleep with you, Flatline. I only have eyes for your mother. I ain't into butch chicks."

"Oh, you wound me. Your dick ain't big enough anyhow. I know cuz I've seen it in the showers." Everyone laughed at once on that jab, causing Caboose to lose count again, and Armong to flush a deeper shade of red.

"No, sir, I want fresh eggs and bacon for breakfast every day this week. None of this replicated sludge you call food."

"Deal." He reached across the table to scoop up a stack of chips, but Carlyle stopped his hand with her own before he could.

"...delivered personally to my table in a pink apron and nothing else. At least for the first couple of days, then you can wear a tutu. How bad do you want to win?"

"Considering there's a bottle of vintage Saurian Brandy and a weekend pass on Pacifica for the winner, it's a tough call, isn't it?" Gurral chuckled, still sore from having to fold out earlier.

Armong pursed his lips, looking from the cards in his hand, to the stack on the table, to Khrystyne's chips. He closed his eyes, began to open his mouth to reply... and the alert klaxons sounded.

"Guess we'll have to replay the round! He threw his cards into the mess on the table, scattering them about so no one would ever know what he had.

"Damn!" Carlyle groaned. "Whoever rang that klaxon is not gonna get any painkiller drugs from me if they get shot, cuz I'm gonna be the one to pop a cap in their ass."

[All marine medical personnel stand by. Fire Teams, report to your commanding officers for assignments.]

"By the way, sir," Basak lay his cards on the table as he heaved his form out of the chair he had been seated in for the past two hours and buried his cigar in the smokeless ashtray, "I *was* bluffing." Armong just stared, open-mouthed at the scoreless hand the Bolian had dropped as the latter hurried off with the other groups assembling for dispersal to whatever situations they were needed for.

Khrystyne grinned. "I guess we all lose, Private, some more than others. Your dick will always be small."

"Red Rain"

Private Gomk Gurral,
Medic,
2nd Platoon, 2nd Squad, Fire Team Alpha

Recruit Khrystyne 'Flatline' Carlyle,
Medic,
1st Platoon, 2nd Squad, Fire Team Alpha

Ensign Rena Lanford, Medical Officer

****

Deck 39
Bulk Cargo Bays

Khrystyne and Gurral had been assigned to the Bulk Cargo Bays on Deck 39 with several of the Marine fire teams. She and the Tellarite were ordered to report with several Starfleet field medic trained personnel to await what they were told would be mass transports of injured off the planet's surface.

Corporal Dexter Grif and Sergeant Bishop - their squad CO's - were on hand to brief the personnel on what was expected. Everyone had assisted in building triage stations throughout the mass bays that interconnected with each other. The squads Carlyle and Gurral were a part of were assigned Cargo Bay 3 as their responsibility in maintaining order and efficiency in processing the inevitable anarchy that would likely ensue.

"The sickbay facilities saucer-side are already pretty big, Gurral. I've got a sticky feeling something's up. Any idea how many personnel are on the surface? Your CO tell you anything?"

"Only that something big happened down there. Mass explosions were detected on the surface, at and near the settlement. And that sticky feeling is just you getting hot and bothered over Van Duren."

She smiled sideways at the Tellarite, probably the last such expression they'd see from her in a while, all while watching the slim brunette outfitting her phaser rifle at one of the triage points not ten meters away.

"Mmm... she's definitely hot, and I *will* have her. You'll see."

"That, Flatline, I have no doubt of."

The hum of the first transporters began on the mass pads ahead of them, but only six beings materialized. All Jem`Hadar children. Without taking time to shoot queries back and forth, the two medics crossed the two meters as troops stationed around the pads moved the children off the unit.

Both medics quickly ran tricorder scans over the six children, all ranging in physical appearances of age from preschool to teenage sizes. The smaller ones had clung to the oldest - a female - who looked to be representative of a fourteen year old. The youngest ones were crying, something the female marine would reflect on later as being completely out of character for a Jem`Hadar.

"All fine here, Flatline. Minor cuts and bruises." Gurral tore off a strip of green from a ribbon of sticky tape, and wrapped it around the arms of each of his charges. He waved over one of the Starfleet enlisteds who were assigned to the triage units.

"I've got some shrapnel damage on one of the youngsters. They'll need surgery." She had knelt down to stare into the eyes of the girl whose thigh was bleeding fairly profusely, but clotting at least. "You'll need to go with that man over there to see a doctor." As she wrapped the yellow ribbon - the ones designated for those needing minor surgery - with instructions tagged electronically on it, the girl refused to separate from the older one. She would only cling tighter. Behind them, the transporter hummed again, and the thump of bodies collapsing was heard. The older girl looked behind, and instantly used her free hand to cover the youngsters eyes.

Carlyle peeked over the shoulder of the smaller child, and fought down the urge to be nauseated. The thump; was the collapse of several bodies that had been cut by something so fine as could be an industrial cutting scalpel. Jem`Hadar arms, legs, torsos, heads, and parts thereof rolled off the transporter pads to come to a stop not a few feet away.

"Go with her." She noticed a gash over the older one's left eye that couldn't be healthy. Ripping off an orange band, she applied it to the silent girl's arm, and pointed to the Tiburonian enlisted who waited next in line to process. Not having time to make sure they were moved off, she opened her satchel to verify the ribbons she carried so as to apply the proper patches to those still living that had materialized. The transporter energized again, not even giving the time to move off the bodies and parts still pooling on the platform.

As more and more Jem`Hadar and Starfleet personnel alike were beamed on board, Khrystyne didn't have the luxury of full scanning the incumbents. She had to succumb to field medic mentality and use quick-assess methods to pin the ribbons and assign to the stations awaiting them for treatment, assigning by color; green for those not needing any treatment and moved to one of the other cargo bays for berthing, yellow for those needing surgery or extensive regenerative treatment but had no life-threatening injuries, red for those requiring immediate treatment or they would die, and black. So far, thankfully most of the assignees were yellows and greens, but she'd already tagged almost a dozen in black.

The Jem`Hadar had been a brutal enemy for many years, and she'd heard and even seen on training packets what they did to their enemy, but still, she couldn't help but feel for the ones that came in with terror and fear in their eyes. These were not the enemy she'd trained to defend the Federation against. These were women, children, infants, young adults dressed in accoutrements farmhands on Earth, Bajor, and a multitude of other planets would wear. These weren't soldiers, and this was a source of questioning for her.

Her hands were slick with blood now, her close-cropped blond hair glistening with sweat and other liquids she didn't think about. She'd gone through several triage kits now and more coming. The floor around her was piled high with scraps of gauze and blood-soaked cleansers. Never in her life had she seen the level of horrors inflicted upon any being. Once, in her ministrations, she found Gurral fighting with a Jem`Hadar male who had just arrived. The Tellarite was being strangled on the spot until with a start, the Jem`Hadar's hand just... fell off, spouting a geyser of blood from a torn artery and splashing the marine in a downpour of red. Within seconds, the ashen-faced being was dead on the floor, and the Tellarite had tagged him with a black ribbon.

The shrieks and wails erupted all around her, time slowed to a crawl. Someone cried out nearby. She paused to follow the sound, but lost it when her vision couldn't keep up with the calls. Everything turned hazy, voices not matching up to mouths as she tried to understand what they were saying. It was like she was behind by several seconds. With sudden realization, she understood she was going into shellshock, then everything rushed back into the present as she caught up to everything.

A gust grabbed at her, yanking her off her feet with equipment, personnel, and other Jem`Hadar sailing through the air with her. She tumbled in one direction when she was hit by something, and within the moment, terror gripped her when she saw she was being pulled towards a gaping hole in the cargo bay doors. The explosive decompression was the reason for her impromptu flight. Bodies went out the jagged hole, the horror on their faces the last thing they would ever share with the living as they were frozen in their death throes before they imploded in the cold vacuum of space.

------

Rena Lanford had been sent to the Cargo Bays as most of the wounded would be getting processed there. Sickbay would only handle the most extreme cases, mostly those tagged with red ribbons.

When she arrived in the Cargo Bay Khrystyne Carlyle was performing her triage efforts in, there were already several dozen Jem`Hadar and Starfleet personnel set into individual portable berths. Immediately compelled into urgency by a Starfleet gold uniform pressing a manifest of injuries into her hands, the Vulcan committed the data to memory, assessed the traumas, and re-ordered the critical cases so that she may consign her skillset to those that met her strengths for efficient recovery first and foremost.

She crossed the cargo bay, pausing only to re-order her priorities as she witnessed the next transport arriving. She saw a Tellarite dressed in the uniform of the Starfleet Marines wading through a group of injured, wrestling with getting a Jem`Hadar male upon a gurney. Moving on past to a line of critical rows only a few meters away, she caught a movement near the manual control panels at the cargo bay doors. She didn't pay it much thought at first, pausing to examine one of the patients on her list first. Finding that the initial injury report was invalid and determining the patient had simply experienced a collapsed rib set and not a lung, she updated the electronic red ribbon with new instructions, and overlaying it with a new yellow band.

The smells and sounds were overwhelming, even after her olfactory senses had been dulled from her earlier stint in Sickbay, followed by a dampening agent she'd inhaled to further impede the odors. Even so, she still experienced urgency at the wounded calling out for help. She became mindful of the onset of sympathy for the casualties.

It was always difficult as a Vulcan to be a physician, contrary to popular opinion. To be presented with a large contingent of wounded in any sort of warfare, but especially those the victim of civil or urban combat was a challenge for most Vulcans. As one broke down the clinical side of treating a patient, it became more problematic as an increasing amount of variables entered the equation and taxed efforts to their logical limit. She was approaching that limit, brought much lower after the psychological aftermath of the Dithparu had weakened her defenses.

As she grappled with controlling potential emotion infringement in the scant moments that flew by, she was made aware of the Jem`Hadar the Tellarite was treating become critical as his life-blood was ejected through a severed artery. At the same moment, she witnessed a shimmer of light at the cargo doors followed by an explosion of ear-splitting sonic reverberation that almost immediately passed as the rush of air was vented out through the gap. Bodies and equipment not firmly attached in place were rent off moorings and deposited into the cosmos with little fanfare and almost immediate consequence.

Rena was unable to act quickly enough to prevent the Jem`Hadar and Starfleet officers from being ejected into space, but she was able to clamp onto the calf of the first body that passed within reach. It was not required or needed though, as forcefields ignited to collapse the hole in the doors. A clamor near the transport pads was ignited as someone yelled to use the transporters to beam in those that were sent into the void. Unfortunately, it was too late. Those that were retrieved came back a solid frozen mass.

Rena flipped over the one she'd caught, and recognized the Marine woman she'd noted had been among the first line of medical crew to tag the incoming.

"Are you injured?" She had no scanner; it was lost in decompression. Instead, she ran her eyes over the woman's form, of whom was breathing heavily, but aware.

"No, I don't think so." She bolted upright, eyes scanning the bay, soaking up the damage. All the critical beds nearest the doors were gone.

"Dwell on the lost another time, recruit. We have other priorities to attend to."

"Where is Private Gurral?" As she was helped to her feet by the Vulcan woman and led to the bay exit to be handed off to another crew member, she tried in vain to locate her companion in the throng.

"I do not know, nor do we have time to search. Now, go." Rena pushed Carlyle into the group of Marines escorting the survivors out of the bay, becoming lost in the crowd herself.

“Collin Ferguson”

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Ensign Collin Ferguson, Nurse
Ensign Mei Sime, Engineer

*****Sickbay*****

The young male nurse quickly shut the door as he heard the main sickbay door swoosh open. He walked out of the storage area and saw a woman who didn’t look like she spent her shift hanging out reading PADDs. Like him. He walked over and smiled, “Hello, how can I help you?”

Nara looked at him and nodded to her shoulder, “My shoulder was grazed.”

He pointed over to a chair as a biobed wouldn’t be needed, “I can fix that.” He picked up a dermal regenerator along with another tool. He got some scissors and started cutting around the wound gently. “I’m Collin Ferguson, by the way. Security or Engineering?”

Nara winced, suddenly realizing how tender the area was. “Engineering.”

Collin smiled, “Do you know Mei?”

She looked at him oddly, “Yes, why?”

He chuckled, “We have a date tomorrow evening. Any hints?” He put down the scissors and picked up another tool, running it over the graze, “I’m cleaning it out first. Don’t want to close in these infections.”

Nara shook her head, “None that I can think of. She’s a typical girl, really. Flowers and candy are good sellers.” She wondered what happened to Running Tree. That was the last man she remembered Mei mentioning.

He nodded, “Yes, already planned that.” He started to run the regenerator over her now.

After a few minutes, he was done and Nara went off to her quarters.

*****The next day in Engineering…*****

“I met Collin.”

Mei blushed not looking up.

Nara looked over with a small smile, “Guess Running Tree ran off?”

Mei rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help laughing, “I swear, Nara, you’re so corny.” She looked at Nara then, “We realized we were just rebounds for each other. This guy…I don’t know. He’s pretty and seems really gentle.”

Nara nodded, “Can I offer some advice?” After Mei nodded, Nara said, “Just take it slow.” She then lowered her voice and bent over, “No bed for a long time.”

Mei just blushed and returned to her console.

"Choosing Sides" - part one

Principal Characters:
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Admiral Jenee Teleel, Chief, Starfleet Foreign Affairs Office

****

Starfleet Orbital Administration Center
Earth Orbit
Level 47
Temporary Officer's Quarters

Daren sorted through another report, initialed it, and filed it electronically. Even while undergoing a competency hearing, with his ship on the far side of the Federation, Starfleet bureaucracy required him to stay on top of more paperwork than he would have expected. He'd never been court-martialed, but if this, admittedly lesser review, was anything to judge by, he couldn't help but wonder how anyone managed to see to their defense while handling it.

Except Jean-Luc Picard - he would have everything organized so neatly and in its place that a Starfleet Security Forensics Team would have been necessary to locate a misplaced microbe, much less a period or comma. Or James Kirk - he would have just piled the work up on top of a table and phasered the lot into subatomic articles, and blamed it on the Klingons or the Romulans, or some would-be all-powerful alien claiming to be an ancient Terran god that no one else had ever seen before, or would ever see again.

Daren considered his choices, and spared a pleasant moment's thought wondering if one of the nice security personnel that followed him at a distance would loan him a phaser.

His comm triggered a moment later, and he recognized the voice of Chief Harknass, one of his "escorts." =/\= "Captain, you have a visitor." =/\=

Not as good as a would-be omnipotent being of dubious benevolence, but any port would do in a storm. =/\= "Send them in, Chief," =/\= he replied. Maybe it would be Admiral Proctor come to gloat again, or, far better, it might be June, come to bully him into eating properly again. That would be the best thing that had happened to him all day.

=/\= "Aye, sir." =/\=

Admiral Jenee Teleel was one of the more prominent members of Starfleet's Admiralty, and the head of the Foreign Affairs office - the arm of Starfleet that worked very closely with the Starfleet Border Service and the Federation Liaison Office's Diplomatic Corps.

She was also one of the major players in the so-called "Dove" party, those Starfleet officers and Federation politicians who firmly believed that any war could be avoided, if the proper diplomatic avenues were followed. And it was a good philosophy - in theory.

As a starship captain, however, Daren was supremely aware of just how little any commander's philosophy could afford to be absolute in anything.

"Captain M'Kantu," the Betazoid Admiral said in greeting. "I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?"

Not June, but nor Proctor either. "Of course, Admiral," he nodded as he stood. "Please, come in and make yourself comfortable." He waved a hand at the work littering his desk. "I'd welcome the diversion." He moved around the desk. "Can I get you something? Coffee or tea, perhaps?"

"Tea, certainly." the Betazoid Admiral replied, sitting in the comfortable chair. "I apologize for all you're going through, Daren. Believe me, if we could all just afford to ignore Olivia Proctor, you wouldn't be here."

As the replicator hummed, Daren's thoughts kept pace with it. Why was the admiral here? What did she want? And was this conversation being recorded, as he believed all his others had? As he turned back with the tea in hand, he observed that there was one way to settle the last question if none of the others. "For conversation's sake, Admiral, why can't 'we' do just that?"

"Politics, Captain. Like anything else in this universe, politics is what the Federation - and Starfleet - runs on. Olivia's obscenely well-connected." Teleel replied, a look of distaste spreading across her Mediterranean features.

No, no recorders then. Admiral or not, Teleel wouldn't want that comment coming back as a sound bite on the Federation News Network. "Well then," he continued as he settled into another chair, "what exactly is it that you want from me, Admiral?"

"To the point, Captain. I do respect that, even if it does take some of the fun out of the game. Very simply, I can be of use to your in your hearing. You need an advocate in the Admiralty. And thwarting anything Olivia Proctor does is of great interest to me."

In a momentary epiphany Daren knew where this was going and why Teleel was here. He supposed that he ought to have expected something like this, but he frankly hadn't; there were too many other things on his mind. "Because?" he asked softly over the rim of his mug. He wasn't going to make this easy for her, because it shouldn't be easy.

"I represent the so-called "Dove" faction that has developed. I'm sure you're aware of the increasing polarization in the Federation's political bodies? There are those who believe war is inevitable, and seem willing to make sure that it is. Then there are those of us who feel that diplomacy must be given it's chance, that the problems we currently have with powers such as the Breen Confederacy, the Hydran Sovereignty, or the T'Kith'Kin Hive *can* be resolved diplomatically. Look at the Klingons, or the Romulans, or the Cardassians. The first two were some of our most bitter enemies, yet the Klingons are now our staunchest allies, and if the Romulans ever stabilize their government, they will be as well. And the Cardassians... well, they've been a Republic now for years, and owe a great deal of their planets recovery to aid supplied by this Federation. A far cry from the hostile power we've fought two wars with within the last twenty-five years."

"It would be difficult to have *not* noticed the political polarization running through the fleet, Admiral," Daren replied, "or the reasons for it." He took a sip of his tea and shook his head. "But we still haven't gotten to the real point of this conversation. You've told me what you're willing to do for me... but not what it is that you would like in return."

"Simply put, Captain," the Admiral said frankly, "We need more advocates in the 'Fleet, and we need them to lead by example. We need them especially on the plum commands, like your Galaxy. Admirals like the late Jurgen Hoth and " she actually gritted her teeth here, as though acknowledgment of the rank was more difficult than giving birth "John Brhode and Olivia Proctor have done so much more damage out there than we can ever hope to repair in the Council Chambers or at Admiralty House alone."

After a sip of his tea, Daren asked, "What do you mean by 'example'? There are any number of things I can do - but I expect that you have something specific in mind or you wouldn't be here, offering your assistance."

"I want you to make sure, in every encounter, that you fire weapons only as an absolute last resort. And since we're being so frank, possibly not even then."

Daren managed not to blink. "You want me to not defend myself if attacked?" he repeated carefully. If he hadn't known before, he knew now that no one was recording this - even for an admiral that was a career-ending statement.

"There are times, Captain, when a shot fired even in defense can do far more damage than one fired in anger." the Betazoid Admiral said solemnly. She knew exactly what was saying - but she also wholeheartedly believed it.

"You'll have to pardon me if I question exactly how sacrificing my ship and her crew is going to assist the cause of peace, Admiral," Daren replied. Unless, of course, a martyr was what the Admiral wanted - which made no sense. That would assist the Hawk faction far more than it could the Doves.

"I trust your judgment would be good enough to identify such a situation. But.. I've taken up enough of your time, Captain. Think about it. That's all I'm asking." Admiral Teleel said patiently, and stood. "I'll show myself out. Good day, Captain."

As Daren stood, he nodded. "Good day, Admiral - and thank you for the conversation."

He waited for the Admiral to be outside casual contact range before he shook his head in disbelief. She wanted him to let his ship be destroyed rather than fight back if attacked? A Starfleet Admiral had just told him that her political faction wanted him to commit suicide - no, to murder his ship and her crew - in the name of peace? And not even in contact with a specific enemy... with *any* enemy. Madness.

He buzzed the door and informed the Chief that he would be busy for a short time as he unpacked his prayer mat. He might not pray for himself as he used to - he'd never stopped praying for his wife and daughter - but right now, he felt that the Federation need his prayers more than anyone.

"The V-Day Blues"

Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter

Some people didn't like Christmas. This was understandable. There was a lot of family drama centering Christmas, not to mention some lengthy Jesus-talks and empty bank accounts. You spend your entire life savings on your kid's minature snazzy Starfleet spaceship, and then some mythological fat guy in a red suit steals all the fucking credit. And when your kid finds out that YOU were the one who really bought the toy, do they care? No. All they care about is the fact that you lied to them, that SANTA CLAUS IS DEAD.

People didn't like Christmas. 8-ball understood this.

And yet there was a holiday that was actually, fantastically worse. There was one holiday, other than Christmas, that made you wish you had a Mossberg 500 Persuader Pump Action Shotgun (or at least a good, Starfleet standard phaser) to splatter your brains against the wall in a less than elegant fashion. One holiday that was even worse than fake fat old men, than presents under the Christmas tree, than fucking Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

One holiday to rule them all. One holiday to find them. One holiday to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.

"Happy Valentines Day!" exclaimed some random, cheerful lieutenant on Deck 8.

"Oh, eat me," 8-ball said and stormed off to her quarters.

****

"Personal log. Stardate: Day of Death."

"I, 8-ball Hunter, am single YET again on this evil, evil holiday that drives people MAD. I mean, what kind of a lousy holiday is Valentines Day anyway? Christmas is all about family. And Jesus. Easter is all about family. And Jesus. Thanksgiving is all about family. And inevitable failed relations between two cultures resulting in the near total slaughter of the Native American population back a long, long time ago. What the hell is Valentines Day about? Tormenting single people? Running around with your hand in your boyfriend's pocket going, HA HA! LOOK WHO'S GETTING SOME TONIGHT! IT ISN'T YOU! HEH HEH HEH!"

"Oh, they say it's about celebrating love and eating freakish amounts of chocolate, but it's not. You know it's all about torture. And I don't want to have to endure it again. Next Valentines Day, I want a freaking boyfriend! We can be broken up the next damned day, but on this one, lousy holiday, I want someone to snuggle with, dammit. Problem is, my choices are severely, severely limited."

"I mean, think about who's on this ship. Who the hell am I going to date? Captain M'Kantu? Well, he's not really captain anymore, is he? He's certainly not on the ship, which makes that kinda hard. Plus he's old. And he's got a sadistic streak in him a mild wide. I mean, sure, he looks all calm and mannered and dignified like, but you do something small like get in a food fight and you will be paying for it FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Command school? Jesus. I'm pretending it didn't even happen."

"So M'kantu's out. Who's next. Henderson? Eh. I think he's dating anyway. And he seems like a definite Starfleet man. Very not my type. Who else is on this boat? Hmmm, James Corgan. Corgan is kind of cute, admittedly. A little scary but cute. Doesn't matter though, cause guess what? He's not single! Nobody on this boat that I'd want to date is single. Corran was a lot of fun, but now he and Ella are in. . .something.  . .and I can't break that up, not when Ella is finally pretending to move on just a little."

"Who else? Saul? Well, I have to say that there's definitely some interest there. I mean, Saul's just such a tricksy little bastard, how can you not want to know what he's like in bed? And he's funny enough and I like him. . .but, unfortunately, he gives Ella Grey a run for her money on the most freaking complicated love life. He's dating Nara now, who is sort of my friend, often my buddy in strange situations down on alien planets and temples, so that's not good. And if he wasn't dating Nara, he'd likely be dating Branwen, who isn't exactly a friend but we've hung out and she's just so freakishly nice. . . I'd feel like I'd broken freaking Tiny Tim's spirit or something. I'd be like the Princess of Ultimate Darkness, and that's not worth it. So moving on."

"Well there's Saul's friend, Miramon. . . .nah. He's kinna older, and I think he's dating somebody too. Maybe. Can't remember enough of the ship's gossip. But he's way too sedate and calm and peaceable anyway. We'd be a terrible match. Uh, who else. . .Running Tree? Eh, he's good in bed and everything but we have absolutely nothing in common and he'd want to tame me and blah blah blah. Been there, done that, not interested."

"Ummm, well I did screw around with Baile that one time. He was definitely. . .vigorous. Yeah, that's the word. Good. Very good. But boyfriend material? Ha. He doesn't appear to have any sense of humor whatsoever, and that would get annoying. Besides, he'd probably have no qualms about killing me if I drank his coffee or something. Maybe not the best idea."

"Let's see. Who else is on this boat? There's the doctor, Artim, which ewwwwww. I realize he's like, two hundred years older than me or something but he looks like he's freaking ten and yuck, yuck, yuck. Princess of Ultimate Darkness goes child molester. Nah. Same problem with that counselor, Kiel. Not in for the kiddies. Hmmm, other counselors. . .well, there's Elessidil. . .no. For one, I'm trying not to have to see him again, you know, ever, and there was absolutely no chemistry, and I don't know a thing about him. He could be dating, married, gay, in love from far away with someone who will never love him back. . .who knows? Anyway, no counselors. Counselors are bad."

"Um, the Science Department is pretty worthless for guys. There's Cain Forrester. . eep. No. Besides, he's too scared of women to actually get a woman anyway. Who else, who else. . .Jesus, the ship sucks. The only people I can think of are Curran, who is SUCH an asshole, and Victor Krieghoff . .. pause personal log while I go off into gales of laughter."

"Resume personal log. Okay. Yeah, Vicky is a bad choice. Should I count the ways? Is there a point? Well, for starters, he's FREAKING DEATH. And that's not great. Then, I've been inside his mind, and wow baby, is that not what I'm looking for. Plus, again there's the lack of a sense of humor, or personality, for that matter, he's annoying as fuck, I'd get really sick of being called a sheep (I wonder if he does that in bed. . . if he slept with people, that is), I'd be constantly afraid for my imminent demise, and perhaps most importantly of all, Victor is Ella's stud muffin. I don't know if they'll ever get together, but it doesn't really matter. Ella loves him. Nothing to be done."

"So where does that leave me? Well, except for once, I've never really done anything with a girl, but I've come to wonder about that.  . .I mean, I KNOW I'm into guys but girls. . .I'm not sure. I'd be willing to experiment, willing to try. Unfortunately, no other girls I know would. For that matter, I don't know that many girls. I know Ella, which would be weird and no and eck, and I know Nara and Branwen, and all of them are both not gay and in love already."

"Man, am I fucking screwed. I think that just leaves me with the holograms. And that guy who occasionally runs in on me naked. Great. That's just great. This is a fucking terrible holiday. I'm going to die alone, I know it. I could try to get back together with Himne, I suppose. Eh, fuck him. That loser. Tells me he could see it in my eyes. . .I LIKED him. I don't think I loved him but I definitely LIKED him and I tried to save his life when Anlaika took over and what do I get? He sees it in my eyes. Fucker."

"No, this is not good. This is Lieutenant 8-ball Hunter, Chief Science Officer, of the USS Galaxy in desperate need. I have no boy. No girl, for that matter. I have no one to play with or hold or love. I've never been in love and, at this rate, I don't think I'm ever going to be. There's no one for me on this ship. The eligibility of the Galaxy crew is null and void."

"I'm getting a fucking sundae. End personal log."

"Check-up"

Artim
Samantha

==========

Samantha found these things so unnecessary. Honestly, if she needed a checkup, she figured that she was smart enough to learn out how to do it herself.

"You boy," She told the boy walking up to her. "Will you tell the doctor to get a move on? I haven't got all day."

Artim grinned widely at the girl who loked slightly older then he well, looked. He'd heard about this Widdlestein pest before and hence why he'd specifically changed shifts with the duty pediatrics officer so he could see her.

"Dr. MacIntosh you mean? She took the day off. I could get Dr. Artim, I'm sure he can see you," the Miran said concealing a smirk.

"Whatever." Sam said, waving her hand magnanimously.

"Good, I'll go get my equipment then, please, sit down." Artim replied now openly grinning

She blinked and then narrowed her eyes. "They let a little boy be a doctor but I can't join the Academy two years early?"

"Who said they let me do anything early. You're what, 13? That would make me about 33 times your age. Just because I look like a kid doesn't mean I am one."

"I'm SIXTEEN, thank you very much," Samantha said growled. "And they shouldn't let in doctors that look like children. What kind of confidence does that inspire?"

"Really? I thought it would make younger paitients feel more comfortable.", Artim replied unphazed. If he could take that criticism all through med school, he could take it from some brat. "For example, the last head of Pediatrics at Star Fleet Medical was only slightly older then me in appearance. Besides, I thought you weren't supposed to judge a book by its cover. Now, kindly take a seat over there since I don't need to be empathic to know you want to get this over with."

Sam sat down with a harumph. "I can judge anyone I want to."

"Judge away then, I really don't care" Artim said pulling out his tricorderand starting a scan, "But just because I'm shorter then you doesn't mean I'm any less of a person. Besides, its not like I had a choice."

"I never said you were less of a person." The girl said and sighed. "But I can understand being something that you have no control over."

"And what are you that you can't control" Artim replied

"Why, I'm a genius, of course." Samantha said with a grin. "And devastatingly beautiful to boot." She sighed dramatically. "It's a curse."

"If you think that is a curse, try barely aging a day or two a year for a few centuries." , Artim replied rather sternly as he finished the baseline scans.

"Wow! Really?" Samantha said, suddenly interested. "That's not a curse; that's hitting the jackpot, my friend. If I still looked like I was ten, why think of all the carna...ah, what I'd be able to get away with."

Artim grinned a little as he removed the peripheral from the tricorder and scanned a bit closer. "Doesn't work that way in the long run, especially once people figure it out. Still though, I will say there are some advantages."

"Like?" Samantha prompted.

"Well, being short can prove useful at times, as I'm sure you well know.

That and the sheer amusement I get whenever someone sees me in here for the first time, or anywhere else for that matter. Last year's Federation Science Council symposium on rare bacteria was my favorite. Giving a presentation to a few hundred promeninent microbiologists from a hundred worlds from on top of a cargo crate...oh that reception was a blast. Was even more fun then when I was teaching"

Samantha frowned at the boy...man, she reminded herself. She couldn't tell whether he had really been amused or if he was in fact being bitter and covering it with amusement. So, not being shy, she flat out asked him. "Did you really have fun or are you just trying to be sardonic or soemthing?"

"Oh I really do have fun with it alot of the time, though at times it does get rather irritating. Really depends on the situation. Valera never had a problem..." Artim stopped in his tracks and decided he really shouldn't go there or it might involve another day in the holodeck. "Anyway, you're fine, though you could benefit of some more fiber in your diet."

"Fiber?" Samantha said with loathing. "What like prunes? You really must be old if you think that."

"I'm over 400, judge for yourself. And how you get it is up to you, I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Psychosomatic"

Lieutenant JG Tarin Iniara, Operations Chief

with Ensign T'Val, Physical Therapist (NPC)

----------
Deck Nine,
Crew Quarters
0330 hours
----------

"The time is zero three thirty hours."

"Don't remind me." In the darkness, bedcovers shifted.

"Unable to comply. Please restate the request."

"Mmm...stupid computer." The bedcovers shifted again, the lump beneath them compacting. After a moment, all was still.

----------
Deck Nine,
Crew Quarters
0335 hours
----------

"The time is zero three thirty-five hours."

The lump shifted again, elongating. Several seconds later a low, muffled groan could be heard. Then, once more, silence reigned.

----------
Deck Nine,
Crew Quarters
0340 hours
----------

"The time is zero three forty hours."

Almost instantaneously a single bare arm shot upward and back, throwing the bedcovers wildly back. Pushing herself up with her arms, Tarin Iniara glared at the ceiling, trying to determine the exact location of the computer's all-seeing eye. It had to be staring down at her, taking some perverse pleasure in this.

"Computer. Cancel alarm." In response, the computer simply chirruped pleasantly.

Iniara rolled onto her back, then sighed loudly. A moment later she began the shuffle to the edge of the bed.

----------
Deck Nine,
Crew Quarters
0352 hours
----------

There was no sense in showering, or getting into uniform. Where she was going, she was going to get sweaty, frustrated, and maybe even a little bit dirty. Thankfully, Starfleet had the attire for such activities.

Iniara clipped her comm badge to the loose, white shirt that comprised the upper half of standard issue 'Fleet workout gear. She slipped on a pair of comfortable white shoes, and made sure the cuffs of her baggy white pants weren't caught in them. It had only taken her one time to realize how stupid she looked when that happened.

Satisfied, Iniara reached upward, then pumped her arms back towards her body. The movement caused the rest of her body to bounce upward off the soft surface of her bed. Riding the crest of the wave she launched herself sideways, grabbing the arms of her grav chair. In one smooth motion she landed, settling comfortably into the seat.

At least I'm getting better at something, she thought to herself as she navigated the chair out of her room and into the hallway beyond.

----------
Deck Eighteen,
Auxiliary Sickbay
Ward Three
0357 hours
----------

"You are three minutes early."

"I try, Doc; I try," Iniara replied, smiling at the Vulcan who had addressed her.

"I am not a doctor," Ensign T'Val corrected.

"I know." Technically the woman was a nurse, but that didn't stop Iniara from calling the woman 'Doc'. "I call everyone here 'Doc'; it's a nickname. Haven't you ever had a nickname before?"

T'Val raised an eyebrow.

"Right." Iniara sighed. "So what's on the agenda for today?"

"Follow me." T'Val pivoted smartly on her heel and walked away. Iniara had no choice but to comply.

----------
Deck Eighteen,
Auxiliary Sickbay
Ward Three
0406 hours
----------

"Explain to me again what this is supposed to accomplish?" Iniara asked as she looked up at T'Val, who was configuring some sort of view screen.

"Your muscle strength is more than sufficient for bipedal mobility. This exercise will assist you in relearning complex motor function," the Vulcan replied simply.

"I don't know about this, T'Val..." Iniara looked back down at the grid on which she was now standing. It was about one meter square and broken into nine pieces, eight of which contained an arrow. She was standing in the ninth, the center piece. On either side of the grid was a handhold, which T'Val had adjusted to a comfortable height. If she wanted or suddenly needed to, Iniara could use the bars to support her entire weight.

"Arrows will ascend from the bottom of the screen," T'Val continued, ignoring Iniara's comment. She gestured to a spot at the top of the screen. "When an arrow passes over these arrows at the top of the screen, you will move a foot to the corresponding square. We will start with a level one difficulty."

Iniara gulped, grasping the two handlebars. At least they would offer her physical, if not moral, support.

----------
Deck Eighteen,
Auxiliary Sickbay
Main Office
0437 hours
----------

After a quick sonic shower and change of clothes, Iniara made her way into the room that served as the physical therapists' base of operations in the small auxiliary sickbay. T'Val was already seated behind the small desk, obviously engrossed in whatever information was being displayed on her computer console.

"Enter, Lieutenant," the Vulcan began, not looking up from the screen.

She was awfully authoritative, Iniara thought, especially when dealing with a superior officer. Though technically they were in different departments...but Iniara was still the one with an extra half pip on her collar...though medical personnel did have some degree of authority over the rest of the crew. She shook her head, trying to clear it. No matter how old she got, or how long she was in a military setting, such dynamics would still give her headaches at the worst times.

"Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?" Now T'Val was looking up, and straight at her.

"Mind just wandered a bit there," Iniara replied, smiling. "So."

"So?"

Iniara's brow furrowed slightly. "What's the diagnosis, Doc?"

T'Val hesitated for just a second, and Iniara could tell exactly what was bubbling up in the Vulcan's brain. She wanted to say something, wanted to correct Iniara's use of the term 'Doc'...but at just the right moment her superior Vulcan restraint took over, and instead she turned back to her screen.

"Your results are...confusing," she began. "As I have stated before, your muscle strength is more than sufficient for bipedal mobility. You have consistently proven this fact in various tests."

"Then why can't I walk?"

"There is also no evidence of degradation in your neural pathways, nor have any connections been severed."

"T'Val, that doesn't explain why I'm still stuck in this chair."

"In a way, Lieutenant Tarin, it does," T'Val concluded. "All other causes of your condition have systematically been eliminated."

"So what does that leave us with?" Iniara asked, frustration beginning to creep into her voice once more. She wanted to walk, wanted it so badly, but why did it have to be this difficult? She was strong enough, and T'Val had said so; why couldn't she just get up and walk out of this office right now? "And why do I have the feeling that I'm not going to like what you have to say?"

"All other causes being unlikely, your condition is, as Doctor Burton originally diagnosed, largely psychosomatic. Unfortunately, treating such a condition is beyond my abilities."

Iniara's face began to flush as nervousness set in. "T'Val, what are you telling me?"

"I recommend you consult with a member of the Counseling department. Given your unique...psionic abilities, I feel it is best you speak with a specialist. I have taken the liberty of scheduling an appointment with Counselor V'Lot."

"Never heard of her," Iniara muttered, trying-- and failing-- to conceal her displeasure. Counselors were far more trouble than they were worth.

"Counselor V'Lot is an expert in the psychology of telepathic races. Her methods may be a bit...unconventional, but she will be able to determine if your condition is truly psychosomatic."

"Ah. Sounds...interesting." Sounds more like torture, she wanted to say.

"You will meet with the counselor in three days." T'Val held up a hand to stave off Iniara's inevitable protestations. "When confronted with the prospect of being confined indefinitely to a chair, I would hope that a counseling appointment would not seem so unpleasant. Three days is but a short time to wait, Lieutenant," she repeated.

"Right. Three days. I'll be there," Iniara admitted grudgingly. For a Vulcan, T'Val sure knew how to hit home. "Anything else?"

When T'Val simply shook her head, Iniara continued. "Okay. I'll be going, then." She turned her chair around, pausing in the doorway. "Thanks again."

----------
Deck One,
Main Bridge
0852 hours
----------

Eight minutes early, Iniara noted as she glided out of the turbolift. The quiet swish of her grav chair was almost deafening in the near-silence of the bridge.

Without saying a word she made her way around the back of the bridge to the auxiliary Ops station. It was much easier than trying to use the forward console, with its fixed-position seat. Plus, people tended to pay much less attention to the back of the bridge, which meant fewer people staring her.

Iniara caught the eye of Cameron Bartlett, the Delta shift Ops officer, as he vacated the station and made his way back. "No worries?" she asked.

"No worries, boss." Iniara smiled; those words were all the report she needed.

"Good. Go get some sleep." Bartlett nodded smartly then quietly made his exit, leaving Iniara alone with her thoughts once more. Which, of course, naturally drifted towards the main Ops station.

After a full minute of staring at the forward part of the Bridge, Iniara turned back to her auxiliary console. She sighed heavily, unexpectedly catching the attention of the Trill science officer at the neighboring station. "Got to get back in that chair," she muttered under her breath.

By 0903, just as her duties were ramping up to a full load, that had turned into her mantra for the day. Well, it was something to focus on at least.

"Rubber Ducks and Sinking Ships"

(Occurs 17 hours before M'Kantu departs DS5)

Principal Character

Captain Daren M'Kantu

****

Captain's Log Supplemental Entry 4

I find it irritating that I am forced to make this, and my last three entries, not on the computer as normal, but transcribed onto physical paper, so that I can speak freely without worrying about Admiral Proctor coming behind me and reading them. I find it even more irritating that the woman made no effort whatsoever to conceal the fact that she had done so. What has Starfleet come to that someone like Proctor, with her childish jealousies and petty spite can wield the power of an admiral in order to satisfy them?

The woman doesn't scare me, far from it - at least not on a personal level. What terrifies me is that she may embroil us a war for no reason other than to live out her fantasies of being a great commander, leading the ships of the Federation to victory.

Sight unseen, I would place the most recent graduate of Command School aboard the Galaxy - Lieutenant Hunter - against her in a simulation with utmost confidence. The Lieutenant may lack actual command experience, but she is more capable now, despite that, than I feel Livia Proctor will be at the height of her prowess, real or imagined.

And if you are, via sensor probe or some other method, reading this Admiral, I hope you choke on that thought.

No, that was unworthy. I am letting my true fear get in the way of what I should be doing here: the fear that Livia Proctor will make it a personal crusade to destroy June's career whether or not she manages to destroy my own.

I wish June hadn't come, hadn't said what she did... and I love her more for doing so with the knowledge of what it might cost her than I can express. But then, I've always had problems telling her the things that she needed to hear, even when they might have kept us together

Or telling her the things that I've done since we separated that might have brought us back together.

Enough of that.

I'm told that, despite Admiral Proctor's wishes, the hearing has been moved to Fleet Administration at Earth. I can't say that I'm sorry to hear that - there was no chance that I would have received a fair hearing here at DS5 - but it does mean that I'll be traveling in close quarters with the Admiral back to Earth tomorrow.

My counsel feels that once we're back at Fleet HQ it will be easier to make this hearing simply go away without ever occurring. I think that he's a very young, skilled, and earnest young man who doesn't understand that the Admiral is influential enough to make this farce proceed no matter what he does.

I just hope that June hasn't made an enemy that will ruin her career out of the Admiral trying to stop the ship that is my career from sinking.

"You Never.." part 2

Corran Rex
Ella Grey

"Sounds like reason enough to me." Corran said. He knew their game had taken a serious turn, but that was okay, too. It was liberating in it's own way, to get things like this out in the open. "Guess it'd only be fair to share some of my demons, too."

"I wouldn't even know how to phrase that question." She said honestly.

"Well, If you don't want to know, I am just *fine* with that, Princess." he said, his smile turning into a bit of a leer. "I can damn well think of more.. exciting things to do with the time."

She shook her head. She was still tense and while what he was suggesting was a great way to deal with tension - again - , Ella wasn't sure that she wanted to do things like that with the black cloud of negativity hanging over her head. Besides that, there was some appeal to going into a relationship with everything laid out there on the table, she noted, unaware of how closely her thoughts parallelled Corran's.

Of course most of her was screaming that it was a bad bad bad idea but she didn't think he would do anything about it. And if did, well, there was some lovely property on Risa she could vacation indefinitely at.

"You," She began, licking her lips slightly. "You've never paid for an assassin."

"Paid for? No." he acknowledged with a firm shake of his head. The phrasing didn't leave much doubt as to the true answer.

That he seemed to breeze by her confession relieved her enough to be able to unclench her hands and to think about what he was saying. "Been one?"

"That and worse." he confirmed, thinking of the night, more than a week ago, when he'd awakened from a cold sleep, reliving some of Lazlo's worse crimes, or the crimes of some of the targets Baraban had dealt with. Lazlo had been a monster, and just the knowledge of the things he'd done was nauseating enough. Having the memories of doing them and.. enjoying it.. well, that was far, far worse. And Baraban had supposedly been one of the "good guys", but he'd always wondered whether or not he'd enjoyed his job too much. In his own way, he'd been just as brutal as Lazlo had.

Rex didn't know which memories he found more sickening.

Or the actions of his very first host, Jacen, who'd participated in act so horrible - and yet completely necessary - that his guilt had ultimately led him to commit suicide by ripping Rex out of his own pouch. Not an easy way to go, that.

"I suppose my saying that it wasn't you would be kind of insulting, wouldn't it?" Ella asked as she held his hand tighter.

"Well, those pronouns are a little.... muddled with us Trills anyways." he confessed. "When Baraban was my host I was an.. agent for the Symbiosis Commission. It was new, then. We'd formed it because sometimes, Joinings produced some really.. horrific people. As Baraban, I was one of those who... fixed those problems. They didn't usually like to come quietly. Baraban was a lot like Victor, now that I think about it - it's probably why he doesn't bother me, and why I give a damn about the man when so few others do. I get what's inside his head. I've been there."

"But before that, as Lazlo, I was... one of those problems." the admission wasn't easy for Corran to make, and he wasn't at all certain how to react to it. Discovering who he was - or had been - was such an ongoing process, and he needed to talk to *someone* about it. And if that person couldn't be Ella, then he didn't know who it could be. Just thinking of it brought the grisly parade of bodies through his memories. Lazlo hadn't just been a sadist, he'd made it.. art.

"What happened?" She asked, echoing his earlier question.

"You've gotta understand, first, what things were like before the Commission. Guiding a joining was a very rudimentary thing, and as often as joinings created blended individuals capable of creating people who could be great. Great leaders, politicians, soldiers, artists, scientists... all those experiences are what've made the Joined the creme de la creme of our society for so long. But nothing comes without a price, and before the Commission, sometimes ... sometimes the Joined made real monsters, too. And I mean some real bastards - they make some of your human serial killers look by rank amateurs by comparison. We could never really be sure how a joining would turn out." he said cautiously, trying to decide how and what exactly he should tell.

"Go on."

"Lazlo was my seventh host. And he was the worst kind of monster you've ever heard of. I'm talkin some real nightmares here, sweetheart. Over six weeks, I - he - killed and..." Gods, he didn't know whether he should relate this part or not. "raped forty-seven different women before he was caught and executed. Rex spent more than a century in the pools, coming to terms with it."

"Wow." She managed. "How very proactive."

"That's one way to phrase it."

"It must be difficult for you." Ella interrupted, moving to plant a tender kiss on his face. "Rex at least had a century; you've had only a few months."

"Yeah.." he replied. "I've been having nightmares. Vorrin - or all people - thinks I should go see one of the counselors about it."

It was something of a sign of Rex's still often-fractured mental processes that he referred to his past host as a separate individual and didn't even think twice about it. Of course, the old smuggler was still the strongest of the many voices in Corran's head, either because he was the most recent, or because, as the Trill suspected, of the old man's sheer force of personality. "Of course, how do you explain *that* to a Counselor? Hell, all this is starting to make me wish the memory block had never come down in the first damn place."

It was a dumb question but she supposed it had to be asked. "Why?"

"Because sometimes I think it'd be easier to be dead than have to live with some of these memories." he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. He didn't know where the thought had come from - he'd not been aware of it before. But he had to wonder? How long had it been lurking there. "I see these things I've done, and I wish I didn't know. I don't know what to do about this, Ella. I don't know how to *fix* this."

Ella sighed. "Corran, I don't want to sound cruel but maybe you're not supposed to fix it. Maybe this is something you have to live with."

"And there's some things you never can." he said quietly. Neither knew what to say after that, really, so Corran simply laid down, pulled the blankets up, smiled as best he could as Ella curled up against him - though her touch was more hesitant than before - and settled into his dreams.

They were not peaceful, or pleasant.

OOC: Slight backpost. Took place after ' Camping Trip Part Three; "Dinner with the enemy" '

"The Sleeping Porch"

Engineer - Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe
Civilian - Engineering Specialist Mr Michael McDowell

***Jem'Hardar settlement***

The room was only dimly lit. There was some shuffling going around. Someone was still up and about at this late hour, or early depending how you looked at it. At some point there was a muffled cry.

~"Aarg...damn! Shit, that...hurts!"~ Michael felt like swearing, but he already could hear his mother scolding him.

"Whoever placed this here!?" he hissed in anger when he finally recognized what had to be the huge table in the living room.

He limped on towards the part of the house what he thought was the kitchen. After some searching he found a cup which he filled with cool water. While taking a sip he walked towards the door and carefully opened it. He stepped onto the porch and sat down on one of the first steps that led off it.

This was better then being inside. A cool breeze and a crystal clear sky. Stars were shining like diamonds.

Above the porch, up in the rafters of the farm house another body stirred in the rising heat of the night. Kicking off the covers in a fit of frustration Dhani sat up and rubbed her eyes. There was nothing wrong with the bed, it was quite comfortable. The room was fine, sure it was small and slightly claustrophobic, but then it wasn't intended as a room, and all she had to do was sleep in it and hey, she worked in confined spaces every day.

No it definitely wasn't the room. It wasn't the food either, for a species that didn't eat they sure could cook! And the vegetables actually tasted of something, unlike the replicated rubbish that Starfleet provided. In fact having real fresh food gave Dhani the urge to grow some in one of the hydroponics bays on the ship. She could learn how to cook and eat 'real food'. Though she didn't 'need' to learn, just remember. Turan taught her how to farm, how to prepare meat, vegetables and fruit, all she had to do was put all her memories to good use.

So it wasn't the food, the bed or the room. The heat? Dhani questioned. Nah, she grew up in a desert. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she slipped off and knelt down on the floor. Opening the hatch carefully she peered out into the darkness. Slowly, trying not to make a sound she climbed down the ladder, feeling her way with her bare feet. As her toes touched the floor she yelped slightly, it was bloody freezing!

Tip-toeing across the landing and down the stairs she made for the kitchen. Well it was similar to a kitchen, they had a table and a larder to keep the food cold and most importantly they had a stove thingy to make hot drinks, and right now that's what she wanted. Well, she really wanted milk, it was an earth drink. Squeezed from the nipples of a beast called a cow, really kinda icky when she thought about it, but it was terrific warmed up with a splash of rum, helped her sleep. The Jem'Hardar didn't have milk, but they had tea, and that would substitute.

There was always a president when trying to do something quietly, no matter how softly you moved things or how gently you closed the door, it was bound, especially at 2am, to make a noise.

There was an ever so soft squeaking noise that made Michael turn towards the door behind him. He waited. Someone had to be in the kitchen, but if it was Thi'Inni or one of her children, then he didn't want to disturb them or let them know he was outside on the porch.

As soon as the kettle began to boil Dhani turned off the heat and poured the water into the mug. The tea was different from any that she had had before, completely indigenous to the plants on the planet but it tasted nice, very relaxing.

Taking the mug she walked to the front door and out onto the porch. The air was cool and refreshing and it was nice to feel something real on her skin again. She really did miss the little things about planet side life. Working and living on a ship had its good points, but nothing compared to the feel of the breeze across her skin or the sand between her toes or the smell of freshly cut grass. Every time she had some shore leave she began to feel home sick, but then confusion would set in, which planet was she sick of being away from? Vulcan, Trill, Qo’noS, Earth?

Slowly she walked across the porch and leaned on the railings, looking out across the farm as her tea cooled in her hands. As she watched the steam rising in little curls from the mug she was reminded of the heat waves on Vulcan, she would watch the them rising from the parched earth, it was like looking through a glass of water, those few meters above the ground would just shimmer, the scenery behind it slightly blurry.

"And here I thought I was the only one with sleeping problems." Michael stood a few steps behind Dhani. She probably had not seen him because the spot he stood was rather dark.

Dhani turned sharply, spilling her tea as she did. She glared at the figure in the shadows, until she realised who it was then a smile broke out across her face. She smirked for a moment her mind quickly being drained of Vulcan.

"Sleeping problems!" she remarked, "Try two years of insomnia." she replied, "That will drive you nuts. But a nine month coma clears that right up!" she chuckled and sipped her tea, wiping her wet hand on her shorts.

"You would think that, but I'm not sure if it's really so. I'm no Doctor." Michael joined Dhani at the railing. "So, you want to share why you're here at this unearthly hour?"

Dhani smiled and nudged his arm with her elbow playfully, "Call it a hunch but I think it's the same reason as you." She grinned wildly at him and took another sip of her tea.

"I don't know about you but this morning when I heard about this mission I was uncertain about it. About how I would react, how you would. I know that I didn't fight the Jem'Hardar during the war, well not as much as you did at any rate. But they were still responsible for the death of my fia," she paused slightly and decided to change her wording, "friend. Well the Brean were, but they were still part of the Dominion. And I thought that I would still feel the same way about them. But being here, it's radically changed my opinions about them. I see now how they were used, how they were treated and you know it's awful. And even though seeing a Jem'Hardar woman and a child is totally weird it’s kinda growing on me."

Michael nodded once. "I think I know what you mean. It's weird to say the least. Maybe too weird? I have trouble accepting this is all for real, no hoaks! Don't get me wrong, I too look differently towards 'them' as I did before...but it's like this is not how it should be." He looked around, trying to find a chair or something like it. "You know where we can sit down somewhere? I've been standing here for about half an hour now."

Dhani nodded, "There's a bench over there." She said pointing towards the side of the porch. She walked over with Michael and sat down, "So insomnia has taken you too." she said, "wanna talk about it?"

"There's not much say about it. I've talked about it with miss Branwen London, you know, the Marine psychologist. After that I went to Sickbay and got an Alpha wave inducer,....which I have forgotten to bring along. That's the reason why I'm still up and about. I'm not really looking forward to falling asleep."

Dhani nodded at the mention of Branwen, she knew the woman, she had sat in on many of her counselling sessions. She frowned slightly at Michaels' comment, "Why aren't you looking forward to falling asleep, is it just because you had trouble, or is it something else?" she inquired, "Nightmares?"

She knew that something had happened to Michael on the last mission, and he knew that things had happened to her, yet neither of them had spoken about it. It was almost as if they didn't speak about it then it never really happened. But it was obvious that denial wasn’t helping either of them.

"Yes, I guess you can call them nightmares, but they're more like memories. There are no freaky monsters if that's what you're thinking about." Michael flashed Dhani a smile. Nightmares were no fun, but not the end of the universe either. So he tried to lighten the mood.

Dhani smiled back in sympathy.

"Ya know, I have suffered with the insomnia, and then the nightmares and," she paused for a moment in thought, scanning the darkened fields through the railings, "It may not be the end of the universe but it does change your perspective, and it can damage you, health wise. Sleep deprivation and restless nights, all add up. They take their toil. And the outcome.." she looked up at him, "you could become as crazy as me." her tone was semi serious, although she knew that Michael would think she was jesting. But part of her knew, she just knew, that she was a hypo-spanner sort of a tool box. She tried not to let the thought fester, but it would it was bound to.

"Crazy,...alright, maybe...but in a nice way." Michael said and winked at her. Though he felt he could sleep for days, he fought it. To his surprise it worked, be it only partially. "Like that time when we met that man on the Orion ship. You know, the Chinese guy?"

Her blood ran cold at the mention of that covert mission. She forced a smile and looked at Michael. Dark rings framed his eyes, she dismissed his comment as she realised how lethargic he had become. She knew what would follow; he would become disconnected from the world around him, he would look but never truly see anything, his actions would become stiff - like that of a zombie, he would lose his essence and slip away, never awake and never asleep.

It wasn't something she was about to let him go through, not alone, not without help. She had gone it alone, there was no one that she trusted no one that she could go to without the fear of serious ramifications. But she trusted Michael, and she knew that he trusted her. She didn't know how much, but it was enough.

"Hey, lay down." She said shifting up on the bench that they were sitting on indicating him to rest his head in her lap and stretch out across the length of the bench, "I'm not an alpha wave inducer, but I know a good substitute." she smiled at his nervous reluctance, "Promise I wont bite, or pry into your mind."

Michael kept looking into Dhani's eyes for another 2 or 3 seconds, still not entirely sure what she wanted to do. "Are you...- " he started, but stopped when she gave him a look that said something like 'Just trust me on this.'

Once Michael was comfortable Dhani began her work. She placed her fingertips on his temple and began to massage the area. It was a simple pressure point that most people know about, but whenever you tried the technique on yourself it didn't work! The touch from another person could have such a different effect.

"Close your eyes." she told him, "and relax. Feel your body unwind, and let your mind go. Any conscious thought, discard, clear your mind and focus on your breathing."

That was so much easier said than done. How was he going to relax when he knew that once he closed his eyes he would fall asleep? That was just the thing he tried to avoid. He had enough of those nightmares. The same one over and over again. But despite this foresight he still did as Dhani said.

It took a while for Michaels body to relax in her arms, she could feel every knot in his shoulders, every tense muscle in his back. And as he finally let go some of his control Dhani began to scan him mentally. She wasn't looking for his memories, just an emotion. And it took one hell of a long time to find, or maybe that was just because she was looking for it.

Michael was tired and that was obvious, he could sleep but he was fraught with visions and he probably woke up screaming every night. Hell she had on several occasions. But there was that moment, between sleep and awake, when your aware of where you are and yet totally oblivious at the same time. You respond to verbal communication but without thinking, without really knowing what you are saying. And at that point, you are relaxed and there is nothing running through your conscious mind. That was what she was looking for; contentment.

Once Michael reached that state, Dhani held him there with her mind. She couldn't create the conditions but she could keep him sustained in that tranquil place while he fell into a deep nightmare-free sleep.

If Michael had to describe it then he would say that it felt like he was floating in a warm, tranquil, sea. No pain, no fear, no screams, no concrete thoughts,...just a feeling of safety and knowing that somehow, someway, all is going to be alright.

The pale moonlight illuminated his soft features; the gentle smile that danced on his lips, the graceful curve of his cheekbones and she was sure that the rings around his eyes were already receding. Her fingertips had long since stopped their temple massage, and now absently stroked his hair. For a while she just watched him sleep, listening to the regularity of his breathing. Until she found herself drawn to the rhythm of his beating heart, her eyes closed and she rested her head on the back of the bench, tranquillity washed over her.

OOC: I got the inspiration to do this from Kylee's post with 8-ball. Yeah, I know, Artim has a girl sorta, but, well....

Ens. Artim - Really Old Kid

"Lament of a 400 Year Old Child"

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

<<Holdeck, Shivar Estate Program>>

Humans seemed to celebrate love. They even had a holiday for it named for some religous figure that had something to do with love. On that day the humans, and some of the others, seem to go crazy about love, giving out flowers, chocolate, elaborate jewelry, and all sorts of other things that seemed targeted at one thing, sex.

Again Artim had retreated to his childhood home in the holodeck when this day came. All this celebrating and gift-giving had reminded him of the fact that he'd never get a woman. Well, at least not for another few hundred years. It had been a long time since he'd made a personal log entry, now was as good a time as any.

"Computer, record personal log entry." , after a moment he heard the computer chirp and he began to speak.

"St. Valintine's Day. That's what the humans call today though it really should be named 'Hey, lets do it!' Day. That's what it about as far as I can tell rying to find someone that you want to have sex with and do everything possible to bribe the other person to do so. Heck, even the kids seem to try to find someone to demonstrate affection though not...well that other stuff. Even I had a couple of 11-year old girls swooning over me. At least it wasn't that Widdlestien...wait, she might be in here somewhere and I'm giving her ideas. As much as I try and tell people I'm not a kid, I'm having one of the great urges of children. Dammit, I wanna play too!

"While I'm well over 400, everyone, save Valera, seems to only think I'm 10 and don't look past that. Humans seem to be creeped out with loving children...at least in THAT way. Especially the women. I mean, there's all sorts of girls on this ship I'd love to get under the covers with. Especially those chicks in engineering, whats her name, Ella, whoah. That Barnes girl in security isn't bad either. Same with that Japanese girl in tactical that follows Zavian around, I like her energy. However, there's one problem, they'll all be long dead before I'll even look old enough to date any of them. Hell, the only things that will be alive then is that slug in Corran's belly and maybe Kiel and I'm not up for either of them."

"True, in about four or five centuries I'll be dashing and hansome and I'll stay that way for a couple millenia so I'll have plenty of chances to get with the girls. But why should I have to wait that long. I wanna play now dammit! I'd rather have a normal lifespan then be thought of as a creepy oddity that noone will touch! I wanna give some girl chocolates and flowers and overally expensive trinkits to get her to do it. I wanna play too! I wanna play!!!"

After a brief tantrum, Artim gathered himself and said, "End personal log."

"Gettin Some Action: Part 1"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineer
Ensign Zev Raynor, Intelligence

*****Ten-Forward*****

Raynor felt his highly destructive urge kick in again. He stared at his victim intently, hovering his hands finger over the target. Hatred filled his eyes as and imagined the upcoming fate, and his finally slighted his fingers into place. His pressed down hard and watched the air come out, which was accompanied a loud popping sound. Everyone in room turned what he had done, as his victim no longer had any air in it. Their eyes showed shock, they were startled.

In other words Raynor popping bubble wrap loudly, and laughing, in the middle of Ten Forward. He was sitting in the center table, with the highly addictive substance. No one looking at him could actually tell he was brooding. For every bubble he popped, represented an enemy he wanted to kill. Those passing just saw a giggling idiot, in an intelligence uniform, with outdated technology in hand. Unless they knew him.

He knew he should be talking to the Jem'Hadar, getting to know them, for

Ender's sake, but he couldn't do it right now without setting off too many questions. A man from intelligence going to see the Jem'Hadar wasn't a good sign, and they'd never take him at face value. Raynor didn't even take himself at face value.

Nara was one of the ones who knew of him, and not knowing, nor caring, if he noticed, she placed a glass on the table. She had passed him to get a refill and nearly jumped as a pop was heard. Now she had her refill, "What the hell are you doing now, Raynor? It seems your mission is to completely annoy everyone around you."

"I'm popping bubble wrap," Raynor explained as he popped another bubble. "They used it to prevent packages from being damaged in the 20th century on Earth. But it was also used to be popped like I am doing now."

"The most fun, I've ever had by myself. Better than sex... or masturbation... Care to try?" he asked, offering the sheet.

Nara shook her head, "I don't believe it was invented to be popped. It was just something people like you decided to use it for. Using something for other than its intended use. It's not too uncommon. Sometimes it's simply annoying. Other times it can be dangerous." Nara paused a moment to see if he caught the reference to the earlier ordeal in the Intel office.

"Yes. It can be..." Raynor said catching the reference, but unsure of how to respond to it in a truly public place. "As for my mission to completely annoy everyone... it’s more a pastime than a mission, but anyways... what can I do for you today, Nara?" He slightly struggled with the name... even though he had seen her on multiple occasions, he hadn't really needed to any sort of salutation, where it be name, rank, or position. Weird that he run into her that often and not needed it. Also he managed to continue his bad habit of using the person's first name, in spite of the fact he was outranked at present.

"I seem to bump into you more often than my own boss..." Raynor continued, "And that’s quite an accomplishment considering the trouble I cause."

Nara nodded and after a sip, "Well, it's not like you hide in a corner or anything." After another pop, she snatched the bubble wrap, "Cut that out!"

"I like to play the irony... the intelligence officer who's an annoying idiot who sits out in open," Raynor joked. "I swear, people in that department take life too seriously. Either the Federation is about to be destroyed, or betrayed or someone is about to be assassinated and we can't just sit back for once and be bored... like middle aged people should be."

"Or boring, I forget which."

She smirked, "Speak for yourself. I'm in the prime of my life. And I still probably lived more than you. Besides, irony isn't always a good thing. I've got irony naturally."

"Maybe you've lived more, but then again, I was taught quality not quantity is what counts," Raynor rebutted.

"Hmmm." Was all she could say. She didn't really want another whose tougher debate. Not that he was anything like Baile, but after that, she kind of got over the whole proving how tough she was thing. She dealt with Baile. She lost, but she survived. She wasn't the toughest of them all, but she gained the respect of the toughest man the universe may ever encounter. At least she thought. She let herself think that anyway. She shook her head, "You Intel people are a strange bunch."

"Just about every Intelligence officer in the universe will tell you not to judge that department by me alone. But that aside, what are you drinking?" Raynor asked suddenly. He had been there twenty minutes and had yet to order.

"Vulcan Sunrise."

"Any alcohol in it?"

"You of all people should know only synthenol is allowed on starships." Nara didn't mention the underground rumor of some people's private stashes.

"Me of all people should know this? A person born outside of the Federation... Okay..." Raynor said in a kinda of spaced out way. "But then again I can't quite figure out if the Prime Directive is an actual Federation law, or something Starfleet bullies everyone else into following."

"You did go to Starfleet Academy and in the department you're in, you would, or rather, SHOULD know the rules and protocols."

"Why the Intelligence world is infamous for breaking them or manipulating them... or does Section 31 just not prove that enough?" Raynor asked sarcastically. "To quote a very old movie... the only rules that matter are these... what a man can do, and what a man can't do."

"Or woman... Or whatever gender you happen to be...," he added.

"Well, the better reason to know the rules. So you can manipulate them, know loopholes to keep out of court marshals."

"Now why would I want to keep out of court martials? I don't particularly care about my career, or Starfleet. Doing what’s right, and doing what's right effectively regardless of consequences that have been generated by the system is my aim. If I have to face a court martial, death or walking around the Promenade of Deep Space Five nude... I'll do it... That simple."

"And quite frankly, I don't see the point of banning one substance and replacing it with another on a ship that encounters new species everyday, that could have a more serve reaction to synethol, than alcohol."

"Then why are you not simply a mercenary? Why go through all the pomp and circumstance of Starfleet?" Nara looked at him strangely.

"I was bored," Raynor said with simplicity. "And they won't let me leave." Plus there's a higher chance for revenge here, but that’s beside the point, Raynor thought to himself quietly...

"Bored. Well, I'm sure there are worse reasons." She shook her head.

"Eh, when you meet the requirements to get into the academy without even trying for that particular end, with only a years worth of schooling... the idea is kinda thrown your way more often than you'd like." Raynor stated causally.

"Must be a special talent."

"Talent or Hard work. But anyways... other than stealing my bubble wrap is there anything else you wish to talk about?" Raynor asked.

"I meant the talent to speak so highly of yourself in such a nonchalant manner. No. I suppose I was bored and wanted to be the hero to stop the annoying Intel officer from driving everyone batty."

"Okay then..." Raynor's voice trialed... then for some reason another odd thought. "Do you have a sparing partner?"

Nara laughed at him, "And random to boot!" She shook her head, "But no, I don't. I have been neglecting that sadly."

"Yea well, Holograms can only do so much damage to you before they decide that they can't kill you," Raynor said while making gesture that suggested how idiotic the system was. "Personally I wouldn't mind being beaten within an inch of my life every now and again. And I'm not popular enough to start a fight club or anything like that. So yea..."

"Gettin Some Action: Part 2"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineer
Ensign Zev Raynor, Intelligence

*****Ten-Forward*****

"You should meet Baile. He'll do just that. I don't like to cause much damage to someone unless in self-defense. What you want is a full-out fight."

"From what I heard, he would beat me to death... not within an inch of my life," Raynor joked. "There's a slight difference, being that one I would die, the other I would simply spend several months in sickbay not doing anything but annoy doctors no one wants to see anyways."

She shook her head, "You're the laziest officer I believe I ever met. Complain when work comes your way. Wanting to spar just to get off duty. Sheesh."

"No I want to spar to test myself. The possibility of getting injured and then getting off duty as a result is a side bonus possibility. I do it first and foremost to see how I can handle myself relative to other living breathing bodies," Raynor rebutted.

"I need practice myself. I don't dare to consider if I would had survived if the Jem'Hadar weren't such sissies on that planet."

"The Jem'Hadar on that planet were... different, but then again I've seen a couple varieties of that particular species," Raynor said thoughtfully. "The Dominion might consider using the idea of different genders or love as a driving force in the future though. Considering this started as a Vorta overseen experiment to begin with. It's a tricky concept to get right, but I know there has been at least one military that had an unit that were required to be in a relationship with someone else in the same unit. It's an ancient Greek concept, one of their armies was composed of entirely gay men, but the results spoke for themselves. That army was the most devastating when pitied against any other army of the time. The desperation to protect ones lover in especially in a battle situation led them to kill more enemies to protect, than any other army did during the time. But of course it can lead to complications, still it might be something they try pursuing somewhere down the road."

Raynor stopped to breathe for a second, "In other words, just because they were experimenting with the whole reproduction concept, doesn't mean they will always be 'sissies' as you put it."

"I was just saying I need more practice too, Mr. Human Encyclopedia." She rolled her eyes.

Raynor laughed, "Sorry, kinda got all defensive seeing as I raised a Jem'Hadar. Bad habit. But anyways... when would you be free to do this regularly?"

"When did you raise a Jem'Hadar?" That peaked her curiosity.

"After the war, on the Strife, doing peace keeper type of patrolling..." Raynor let his voice trail. He asked himself why oh why did he mention Ender. Oh well time to let the standard question and answer/unusual chat ensue.

Nara watched him, interested to hear the story. For a moment, he wasn't the annoying Intel man.

Raynor sighed a little, and decided to relent, its not like the information was classified anyways. "It was a post war raid on a supposedly abandon cloning facility. A federation traitor was hiding out there, making himself a small army trying to avoid well, prison. He was reproducing Jem'Hadar who had the genetic loyalty the Founders, as well as the need for the white removed. We got sent in to deal with him, he ended up killing himself. Most of the Jem'Hadar went down fighting, but there was a fresh batch that had just come out of the chambers..."

"And you raised one?" Nara smiled as the situation reminded her of Saia.

"Well I wouldn't call it raised exactly... but it wasn't simply being a mentor either. They grow up fast, literally. But we before we even considered that, we contacted the Dominion, who decided that they didn't want them. So we were kinda stuck with them."

Raynor reflected a bit, "But anyways, I figure I'll be hearing from him soon. As soon as word spreads around the fleet about our group of Jem'Hadar that are on board."

"You don't seem fond of him."

"I am, but we've had an argument recently so its a bit rocky," Raynor stated.

"Saia and I argue at least once a day. Nothing you can't get over, right?"

"Eh, considering it was over my transferring off the ship and him staying I'm not so sure..." Raynor admitted.

Nara sat back, looking at the bubble wrap. She sighed and threw it back at him, "Knock yourself out."

"I will with a blunt object later on" Raynor said. "Maybe a wall." Looking at the bubble wrap... "Oh yea when do you want to spar regularly..."

Nara shrugged, "Don't know yet. I'm sure we'll bump into each other again." She stood.

"Yes it seems to be happening a lot... your not stalking me or anything are you?" Raynor asked chuckling.

She laughed as well. "Hardly. I don't think Saul would be too happy about that."

"Right back to annoying people, have fun running away now..." Raynor said his eyes now clearly intent on popping more bubbles.

Nara smiled, "I believe I have a few moments now to kick your butt."

"Good luck getting through the chair," Raynor smirked.

"Or you could take it to the gym."

"Alright then lets go..." Raynor said smiling.

*****Moments Later*****

Nara tried a left hook as she dodged the fist that aimed for her stomach. He'd already managed to kick her once there, and it didn't feel particularly lovely.

Raynor moved his other arm to block her swing at him, which made his arms cross over, normally this would of presented an opening, but Raynor was already moving his leg, in a moon crescent like swing so that she couldn't take advantage... Raynor wasn't going all out, but he wasn't holding back technique wise either.

She fell to the ground, using the opportunity to sweep a leg around, trying to bring him down as well.

Raynor went down hard, because he was only balancing on one limb, but jumped back onto his feet quickly, and raised a his arms in defense to see what Nara had in store for him.

She lifted her own hand, as a time out gesture. "Truce so we can catch our breath?"

Raynor relaxed his pose. "Sure, why not."

She laughed, "You're not half bad." She couldn't help but be in a good mood. Perhaps it was the adrenaline or the endorphins produced from the exercise. Perhaps it was the opportunity to kick a man around. Yea. That always made someone feel better.

"Eh, I try to keep in shape," Raynor said cheerfully, making a huge understatement about the things he had done. "You still have yet to land a blow on my rear. Which I believe was the whole point."

She chuckled at that, "Oh, I'll save that for when you're not looking. Revenge on behalf of all Ten-Forward against you and you're lusty affair with bubble wrap."

"Unfortunately, its about the only thing on board that will have a lusty affair with me," Raynor sighed. "Everything else just seems not to be interested. Including my hand which I've had the longest long term relationship with until recently. But it got injured and things just haven't been the same since, so we broke up."

After a spiel like that, there wasn't much to say.

"Orphan"

Ensign Kiel
Apprentice Counselor, USS Galaxy

Setting: Free Jem'Hadar Colony (during the Great Purge)
Soundtrack: "See You Space Cowboy" by Mai Yamane & the Seatbelts

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There were no words to describe what it felt like to kill. A thousand excuses. A million reasons why. Still the end remained the same; and someone died. Self-discipline was something expected of civil people in every aspect of life; except where self-preservation came into play, the social out which then made more acceptable a thing as atrocious as the act of murder. Who lived and who died, who chose for another, and who could say what the value of a life was? Whether it was nobler to sacrifice the wolf for the life of the lamb or if it mattered anyway. As he cradled the child against his chest, there was no solace amid the youth's thoughts for what he had done. No sense of justice, nor guilt of wrong. He had merely acted. Action preceded thought. And now a soldier lay dead.

The child clung to him so tightly that the Jem'Hadar youngling's knuckles were white, his small fingers digging through Kiel's dark shirt. Barely more than a toddler, the small kid shivered on trembling, nearly collapsing legs as he pressed himself against the El Aurian's wiry form. A rank odor offending Kiel's nose with every breath as the Galaxy's adolescent counselor crouched over the boy protectively, the child having soiled himself sometime during the chaos and confusion of the fighting which had broken out and brought a war into the hallways of a school.

If this would be his last stand upon this planet, then Kiel found it oddly fitting that his last impression of it would be shit.

The child was one of dozens that Kiel had stumbled across on a one- man quest to try and save the world, one life at a time. Ironic, then, that he would - by death - accomplish such a task. Hiding in a wall locker, the child had been uncovered by a Jem'Hadar soldier amid a search through the classrooms and the halls for children forsaken to die for no reason that Kiel could fathom. Stumbling by the classroom, either the right or wrong place at the opportune time, the young El Aurian had witnessed the soldier making a draw for his knife. And then, in that moment, Kiel had done that which he would have never expected of himself. He could perhaps blaming it on Starfleet indoctrination. Blame it on the stress of the moment or the pangs of compassion.

The real blame was the burden of proof which shone a smoking gun before the hand that had pulled the trigger. His hand. The pistol that he'd taken from the Jem'Hadar he'd knocked out earlier. The one on the floor now would not be waking up, however. He had done what many would have said had to be done. Which didn't make it right. To have said that it did would be to succumb to the tempting treaties of ubiquitous righteousness and then the El Aurian youth would have been no different than the Jem'Hadar soldiers who stalked as lions amid lambs.

Coaxing the child out of bent and twisted confines of the locker had been no such simple task as pulling a trigger however. In a world weeping red rain, there was no way for such a small life to have comprehending the sorrow or the pain erupting around him. And now here came someone who wasn't Jem'Hadar, an outsider, beckoning to him. Kiel imagined that a child could envision Hell, that this school had likely become something even worse. And he wouldn't have disagreed, either.

It was while during the harried negotiations to try and draw the boy out of his hole that Kiel first noted that something was different. The thunder of polaron cannons no longer echoed overhead. The sounds of weapons fire ceased their rapport. Had the battle been drawn to its end? And, if so, who had the victors been? For that matter, who had the players on the fields been. Kiel couldn't have said he understood any of what had happened. But understanding wasn't always necessary. And sometimes one didn't have to think to act.

Which was about the moment when everything suddenly turned around on him. He realized there was something wrong as he felt a shiver move down his spine. The child had obviously sensed it as well, for the small boy suddenly burst from out of his cage to seek shelter instead from Kiel when the cadre of Jem'Hadar troops had appeared from out of their shroud cloaks to encircle the pair.

Covering the writhing, whimpering form which clung to him with one arm, Kiel held the still smoking pistol level at the soldier before him. The youth's gray blue eyes unblinking as he stood in unwavering determination there, like a gargoyle posed in protection of the small Jem'Hadar huddling against him.

Undaunted, the Jem'Hadar soldier merely unslung his rifle as he asked, "Federation, what do you intend to do? Shoot us all?"

"No, ace," Kiel replied calmly, swallowing as he held the child and tightened his grip on the outstretched pistol. "Just you."

A ripple of laughter passed around the circled cadre of Jem'Hadar. Several seconds ticking by as Kiel stared at the soldier and the soldier stared back at him. "An armistice has been arranged," the soldier informed the counselor finally. His tone biting and flat. Kiel could sense the disappointment underneath them. "You will be escorted to a place where you can rejoin your starship," the man added, barking it like a command.

"Not without the boy," Kiel answered, in a firm tone that was almost deathly quiet.

"We are agreed. That abomination goes with you, then," the soldier quipped, inclining his head toward the El Aurian, even as he reached out a hand to take the pistol from Kiel's hand. A second seemed an eternity as the two continued to stare through one another, before Kiel relaxed his grip and set the butt of pistol in the palm of the soldier's hand.

"Visions In The Head and The Heart"

(Takes place after M'Kantu arrives at Earth, and 24 hours before 'Choosing Sides, Part 1')

Principal Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Dr. June M'Kantu

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Starfleet Orbital Administration Center
Earth Orbit
Level 47
Temporary Officer's Quarters

June gave her ex-husband a few minutes to himself before she knocked on the door of his quarters like she used to do so many years ago. She gave the guards a disapproving look before the door opened to reveal Daren.

Daren turned from where he was looking out at the stars through the expansive window that wrapped around the exterior wall of room. "June?" He'd known that she was following him to Earth for the actual competency hearing, but hadn't known that she'd arrived yet. Admiral Proctor, unsurprisingly, had decided that June wasn't an official part of the hearing, and had forced her to take other transport than the high-speed shuttle that she and her immediate staff, Daren and his counsel, and several security personnel large enough to restrain a mugato on combat drugs, had taken.

"I want to make sure you ate something before the hearing resumes." June said before breezing into the room, uninvited, as only ex-lovers and women in general could do. She headed for the replicator.

"June," he repeated, as much because the sound of her name brought back memories that made him wish he'd known a decade before what he knew now so that they'd still be together, as to draw her attention. "What are you doing here? I warned you about the Admiral."

"Daren," She said sternly as she stabbed the buttons on the replicator to scroll through the menu. She noted how thick her accent was sounding these days but continued on regardless, the Admiral be damned. "You need to eat and tea is not food."

He glanced down at the mug resting on the window ledge by his hand. "I drink coffee as well," he protested, knowing that the conversation was pointless, that he'd surrender and eat whatever she selected, no matter how terrible it tasted, just so she'd stay a bit longer.

"Stew." June decided. "I know there's a good recipe from home somewhere in here."

"If I'd known that was what you wanted, I could have brought the replicator codes for the stew you always made," Daren observed quietly -and then inwardly winced. The last thing he wanted to do was remind June that they were no longer married.

She ignored that and ordered two bowls of stew, bread, and fresh fruit. June set the bowl in front of him and then crossed her arms and waited for him to start eating.

Daren waited for exactly one tap of June's foot, just like he'd always done when she'd come and drag him away from work to have dinner with her and Bahiyah on the USS Yamaguchi, back when he was only a Commander and XO. The old pattern was comfortable - dangerously so -but he welcomed it, welcomed the feeling of *rightness* that it gave him to sit at the same table with the woman he'd chosen to spend the rest of his life with. The woman he'd lost because he hadn't known how to look past his duty to see that he was losing her.

"You didn't have to come," he said quietly after she'd joined him at the table. "But thank you." He'd learned something from his loss, at least.

"You're welcome." June said and then gave in to the exasperation. "Are you going to talk to me about it, Dar, or do I have to go bribe some ensign for the details?"

"There isn't much to tell," he replied slowly. Even if Livia Proctor wasn't recording everything he said or did now, there were still other recorders going. "We've moved to the point where I explain why I did what I did in this situation and that one while the review board second-guesses me. Another week and it will be over." He sighed. "I don't want to tell you the blow-by-blow recitation of why my competence is being questioned, it'll just make you mad, and then I'll spend all my time in here worrying about you and what you might do or say... and I worry about you enough as it is."

"I said I wouldn't say anything," June replied, feeling a mixture of annoyance and pleasure at his concern. She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to worry about her but then he'd just turn around and say the same thing to her

"I know," Daren conceded. "And you wouldn't. But I know you, and you'd *do* something, and I don't want you hurting your career over this."

She didn't have the heart to tell him that her career was something to fill the time in between sunrise and sunset, something to keep the mind busy while she tried not to think about the loss of her daughter and husband. So she didn't.

"I am doing well, excluding all of this." June said, switching topics.

"Good," Daren said softly, managing a smile. "I saw your paper did well at the conference last month."

"You read my paper?"

"I always read your papers - I don't always understand all of them, but if you think those parts that utterly confuse me are correct, well, I trust you," he returned.

"I could explain them to you, Dar." June said with a twinkle in her eye.

"That never works," he smiled back. Talking to her like this was easy. It was the way things had been years ago, when they were younger, and everything was different. Back before.... "You remember," he finished, looking down at his stew to find it had somehow vanished.

"I remember," she said.

"I'm sorry." The words were quiet, and seemed to float away from him like feathers on the wind.

"Daren," June said on a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the past. "I do not blame you anymore."

The words, 'You should' almost left Daren's mouth, and he could do nothing but nod in response while he kept them inside. After a moment he said quietly, "I'm still working on forgiving myself."

She wanted to go to him, like she had when they were younger, kiss away the fatigue she saw and lead him to another room, to take solace in each other, to talk about the future and family and dreams, to be together...

But she was not young anymore and that damn woman had probably bugged the room. So June settled for giving her ex-husband a stern lecture.

As he listened to her speak, Daren felt the truth welling up inside him, felt an almost irresistible need to tell her that their daughter was still alive, that he'd betrayed his oath and lied to spare Bahiyah a trial or worse, that he'd kept it from her because they only spoke through messages that he didn't trust, and that now, here, in person, he could finally tell her the truth... except he couldn't. He was still under surveillance, still being watched. If he spoke the words bursting inside him, then Livia Proctor would know, and what she would do with the information was something that he couldn't make himself contemplate.

Instead, he said the only thing that he could think of to avoid ruining three lives with those words: "I sometimes wonder if the Command Staff thinks I'm strange for always referring to you as if we were still married, June."

She knew why she still slipped on the words. "Why do you?"

"Because that's the way I see you," he answered, one finger touching the side of his head. "In here."

June was quiet for a long time, so long that he had started to feel just a touch fidgety and Daren had never felt himself to be a fidgety man. "When all this is over, regardless of the outcome Daren, we must come to an understanding, you and I."

Understandings were ominous; an understanding had led to the only woman he'd ever loved no longer being there when he woke up in the morning. "An... understanding?" he asked quietly, part of him afraid of the answer. Had he said too much? Would she no longer want him to even call her? What would he do then?

"Because that's the way I see you too." she answered, pointing to her heart. "In here."

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