"camping trip part IIIb "hangover"

by Turan Trelar, Quentite ambassador and engineering trainee

Turan leaned at the farm house's porch bar.

He woke up early that morning. The farm house was already filled with noises then. He heard a mother who prepared her children for school, the sqeek and slam of the houses insect net door and the whining noise of an engine – the school bus he guessed.

The tall Quentite got up. Standing upright, his head almost reached the ceiling. This building was certainly not build for Quentites. Jem’Hadar were not much more then half his height so there was no need to build rooms higher – and of course there was no need build larger beds.

Obviously he had slept well on his sleeping mat spread on the floor. There was something missing – memory. Turan didn’t remember how he went to bed, how he unrolled his mat and he was still fully dressed. The boy scout sniffed at his dress. There was a light smell of used clothes but not as strong he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Nevertheless he felt a little bit dizzy. A little bit? With coming back to consciousness he realized the gorgeous headache he was having. And with every breath he took, the headache grew stronger. Was that what the humans called hangover? But where did the hangover come from? As far he was able to remember (and there was surely a gap of several hours) he didn’t drink any milk nor did he eat anything containing milk.

Turan climbed down the narrow ladder leading down to the living room and left the house.

For almost an hour he was now leaning there, watching the swaying of the corn, listening to the unbearable yelling of the local bird’s, breathing the dusty perfume of strange alien blossoms. The hangover faded away rather slowly. Still there was enough headache left to keep him from becoming homesick again.

Inside the house an other sound joined the carpet of noises. The clinging of cutlery told the world of a Jem’Hadar woman who prepared breakfast for her alien guests.

Outside the house an almost adult Quentite fighting his first hangover leaned at the farm houses porch bar and doubted if he was able to face the possible side effects of a ‚first contact breakfast' that soon.

Camping trip part four; “Soul-Chasers"

Primary characters
Engineering - Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe
Civilian – Engineering trainee – Quentite Ambassador Turan Trelar
Civilian – Engineering Specialist Michael McDowell (Unauthorised use)
Thi’Inni – Jem’Hardar guide
and host Rhi'Thar – Thi’Inni’s daughter

***Jem’Hardar settlement***

Dhani had woken up on the porch at about six am with Michael sound asleep on her lap. After waking him gently she went and got dressed. By seven she was out on the farm with Rhi’Thar.

Rhi’Thar was growing on Dhani, after the girls’ initial wariness of the fleeters, she was beginning to open up. Together they sat on the dry land playing a game; patter-cake. It was a hand eye coordination game where the participants sat face to face and clapped their opponents left hand, with their right, and then vice versa and then clapped their own hands together. The repetition continued getting faster and faster. The test was to see who failed first. Dhani and Rhi’Thar had been playing for the last fifteen minutes and so far Dhani hadn’t won once!

Turan dunked his head into the water filled barrel. The water fell like thousands of small needles pricking into the Quentites face. Nevertheless, the cold water cured the dull headache that kept Turan from having clear thoughts.

Turan listened. There was a noise, not one of those natural regular noises. It rather sounded like a rhythmical clapping. Probably there was someone working behind the barn. Curious as Quentites are, Turan decided to have a closer look.

"What are you doing?" Turan asked his Mentor who seemed to play with the Jem'Hardar child.

Dhani looked up at the interruption.

“Oh hey Turan.” She smiled docilely, “Just playing a game, wanna try?” she leaned back away from the child, “I’m losing pretty badly.” She whispered to him.

Turan shook his head in silence. His head felt much larger as usual and obviously his brain morphed into a jelly-like mass which tried to adjust towards the magnetic north pole.

At that time Michael looked around the corner of the barn. He felt kind of dizzy. He wondered why because last night he had slept like a rose. He should have clear mind. "Goodmorning,...for as far that is possible. Anyone have an idea what was in...- " Michael stopped with what he wanted to say when he noticed Rhi’Thar. He put up a smile. "Hi there."

Thi’Inni stood out on the porch and look out across the grass, smiling when she noticed her guests taking advantage on the morning sun she walked over to join them.

Dhani smiled as she saw Thi’Inni approaching, “Morning.” she called out.

Thi’Inni nodded and greeted them all.

Turan nodded and greeted the Jem'Hadar woman with a friendly "Good morning Ma'am".

Sitting down on the grass next to her daughter Thin’Inni pulled out a scroll and presented it to them all, “I have a dilemma,” she began, “I was hoping that as you are all engineers you may be able to help me?” she questioned.

Turan set his hands akimbo and glanced at his crew mates - first at Michael then at his mentor Dhani. As much as he was willing to help and to prove useful he wasn't sure if he was allowed to offer help.

Dhani nodded, “Sure.” she replied.

Thin’Inni smiled, “I thought that you would. Starfleet are so helpful.” Unrolling the scroll she placed a rock down at either side to prevent the wind from taking it and began to explain her dilemma.

The scroll was a map of the irrigation system that she was using. And the problem was the far left field, it was barren and nothing would grow. Leading the three of them across the farm she pointed it out from the fence, “See,” she said, “you can see even from here that nothing is growing in that field, and it’s not for lack of trying.”

"Looks horrible." confirmed Turan. There was a small vortex dancing over the field taking a remarkable amount of dusty soil with it.

"Maybe the crop you raise was too demanding. Did you use the same seed with every sowing? Probably you should keep the field fallow for one year than change to a three fruit rotation. Did you try to revive the field by using dung instead of artificial fertilizer?" suggested Turan.

Thi’Inni nodded, “We have tried everything.” She replied, “It was the first field that we planted anything in back when we first set up the farm, so I know that it can grow crops I just don’t know why it wont any more. I figure that it has something to do with the system that I am using.”

Dhani stared at the scroll again, “Well we can check it out, see if there’s a problem somewhere.”

Thi’Inni smiled warmly, well as warmly as a Jem’Hardar could.

***

Four hours later Dhani sat down exhausted. They had decided to walk to the field, it hadn’t looked that far, but in fact it was and walking round checking every part of the irrigation system really took it out of her.

“I conclude *again*,” Dhani said a little aggravated, “that the irrigation system is perfectly fine.”

Turan knelt down and plough the soil with his fingers. Two fingers beyond the layer of dust there was indeed wet soil. The Quentite giant took a crumb of soil and rubbed it between his fingers. The soil felt like every soil he knew. The soil looked normal and there wasn't any special smell. Turan got up and turned around his hands set akimbo.

Dhani grabbed a handful of soil and threw it in defeat. “I’m clueless!”

"It looks like a field but it seems to be like desert. The Jem'Hadar already sorted out any possible reason. Don't laugh but if you'd tell my mother about the problem she would probably answer that the soul is gone." concluded Turan.

"A soul?" asked Thi'Inni "I heard about a phenomenon you call soul. I can't believe in that."

"It's not the ... phenomenon you think about." argued Turan then turned towards his mentor, "Ma'am, do you remember what you told me about the Galaxy's replicators. You may replicate something what looks like a Malo fruit but you can't seed the core and expect to get a Malo tree one fine day. Even the scientists say that there is a soul missing. What if it is the same with the soil of this field. Soil is so much more than a wet mixture of sand, minerals and organic stuff. There are bacterium, insects, fungus the plants depend on. That's what I would call the soil's soul." He explained "If that soul is missing all you have is dead desert no matter how the soil looks like."

Dhani frowned and looked back down at the earth, “Why the hell didn’t I think of that before!” she could have kicked her self! Taking a sample of the soil she plopped it into her tricorder and waited for the results.

She frowned and handed the tricorder to Michael, “What do you make of that?” she questioned.

Michael took the tricorder, “That’s odd. There are very few decomposers.”

Dhani looked at him with a ‘huh?’ expression.

“Decomposers are organisms that Turan mentioned. They break down dead plant and animal matter, they in effect give the soil nutrients and that then goes into the new growing plant life. But without them the top soil is virtually infertile.” He explained.

“What about the sub soil?” Turan asked, he looked at Dhani’s confused expression; oh how the student became the mentor! “The sub soil contains the most nutrients, larger plant roots go there looking for sustenance. If *that* layer has lost its fertility too then…” he paused letting his sentence hang there as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

Dhani turned around and looked over the hills, there were hundreds of acres here and if they were all going to become infertile…. The Jem’Hardar would die out. She turned back to the others, “We have to find out what’s causing this.” She stood up quickly and motioned for the other two to get up as well.

“Right, Turan gather some more samples from this field, Michael I need you to run some scans in this field and compile all the data to take back to the Galaxy. I’ll take Thi’Inni and we will take some samples of the fields that are okay and run the same scans. Once we have all the information we can process it back on the ship and hopefully find out what’s causing this.”

"Ready For Battle..." Part One

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS-Galaxy
Lieutenant (J.G.) Dhanishta Eshe- Engineering Officer, USS Galaxy

(This is set after ‘Camping trip part four’; “Soul-Chasers”)

Ten-Fore

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

PADD in hand Kimberly walked purposefully onto the turbolift and directed it to Ten-Fore, her quarry was there, the annoying, dangerous and source of some concern, Lieutenant Eshe. After her chat with Jiiles she had resolved to be more stern and authoritative with the engineer. Agreed, she'd quite literally been through hell and back, and it was a testament to her determination that she was still on duty and trying to get on with her life, but from the brief scan she'd got of Eshe Kimberly had her concerns, and as CMO had to act on them.

Armed with a few regs, as well as a few suggestions and backup ideas, she got off the lift as it stopped and walked straight into the bar. Eshe had two choices really, come down to sickbay, or be relieved of duty and dragged! Looking around she smiled at a few now familiar and friendly faces as she searched the room, spotting her reluctant patient she walked up to her.

"Lieutenant," she started as she dropped into an empty chair beside her, "we need to talk!" she said simply, waving away a server who came over.

Dhani looked up at as the new-comer spoke. She frowned slightly at the sudden and frankly unwanted intrusion and set down the padd that she was reading, leaning back in the chair she crossed her legs and folded her arms in a some what unreceptive manor.

"Simply put, I need you to come back down to sickbay," Kimberly said, keeping her voice down, "as CMO I have the authority to order you, but I'd rather sit here and discuss it so you'll understand my reasons and come voluntarily!" she asked, trying to keep a stern tone in her voice.

Pursing her lips Dhani cast an eye back to the padd on the table, “Actually doctor I am slightly busy right now. You see we found some disturbing news on the Jem’Hardar planet….” Dhani pulled a face as the doctor interrupted.

Shaking her head, "No buts I'm afraid, following on from the, admittedly incomplete scan I got of you I need to complete your physical, I have some concerns and I'd like to discuss them with you, as well as finish what we started." Kimberly interrupted.

"Alright, alright, gee doctor calm down, I'll come now." Holding her hands up in a defensive gesture she stood up and slipped the padd into her waist band.

Raising an eyebrow Kimberly sat back, slightly surprised, she'd been expecting a disagreement of monumental proportions, and a floor fight that would linger in memory, not a quick and easy acquiescence on her part.

"I think its time for you to stop drinking coffee." Dhani said smiling slightly as they left ten-forward.

Following her out Kimberly tried to think of a suitable comeback to that, "I think you may be right," she agreed finally, "it's just after our last chat I thought you might disagree with me a little more."

“Disagree with the chief medical officer?” Dhani remarked, “Never!” she smiled sweetly.

As they got on the lift, "So what happened dirtside then?" she asked Eshe.

“Oh, yes.” Dhani pulled out the padd from her waist band, “It’s interesting to say the least. According to our research the farm land that they are using will become barren within the next twenty years. At the moment we are trying to work out what’s causing it, as there is little evidence of over use. It’s a puzzle, but we will get to the bottom of it.” Dhani reassured her, “It’s not like were about to let them go hungry, after all those little Jem’Hardar kids are the cutest things I have ever seen!”

Raising an eyebrow, ~ This is almost like a completely different woman! ~ she thought, their last encounter hadn't exactly been cordial, "May I?" she asked, looking over Eshe's shoulder at the PADD, "I saw the kiddies too, agreed, they were cute, but still Jem'Hadar," she recalled, "mind if I have a look at your data?"

“Sure.” Dhani replied brightly handing her the data padd, “And you know you shouldn’t think like that…. about the Jem’Hardar. They are people just like you and me. And they were done an injustice, their Gods made them fight, made them kill, they didn’t want to but they had no choice. What they have done on that planet is short of remarkable. I think the federation should be taking notes and looking closely at there own philosophy.” Dhani said aloof. Her eyes remained fixed front, staring at the door, and the intoxicatingly sweet smile never left her face, never wavered and surprisingly didn’t look false.

~ Gods! Philosophy! Uh Oh! ~ she thought, glad they were heading for sickbay, really wanting a run a check on either Eshe or herself, and not sure which yet.

As the lift halted and the doors parted, Dhani stepped to the side, "After you Doctor." She gestured with her hand for Burton to leave the lift and bowed her head slightly.

"Thank you," Kimberly replied with a smile, "agreed, I should give them a chance, I met nice Doctor down there I'd like to keep in touch with," stepping out of the lift she led Eshe down to sickbay, "you say the farm land will be barren in about twenty years, did you bring any samples up?" she asked curiously.

Dhani nodded, quickly becoming disinterested in the topic, “Yes of course.” she replied, “They are being processed in the lab as we speak.” she said lethargically in a distracted airy-fairy tone.

She continued to smile as she walked through the doors of sick bay, her eyes front staring at everything but never actually focusing on anything. She made her way across the room pausing at a wall display. For a moment she studied the graphic representation of a humanoid body and then began to read the text displayed next to it. She frowned when she realised that she had read the first three lines six times. No wonder it didn’t make any sense!

The same thing had been happening for the last hour in ten-forward. She had read the data padd about a-dozen times and still she couldn’t remember anything past the first paragraph. The scans that they had took, the geologist report, the primary annalist from the science lab; nothing seemed to stick in her head, and she had been present for most of the scans, in fact she had done half of them. Yet still she found herself reading the data over and over and not making any headway.

Watching Eshe as she stood by the display panel Kimberly quickly set up a biobed and a few pieces of equipment, "Ms Eshe..." she asked after a moment, "over here if you would?"

“Humm.” Dhani mumbled as she pried herself away from the display panel. Stepping over to the bed she glanced back at the display frowning at it before turning her attention back to the doctor.

"Okay, well first thing, anything you'd like to say before we start?" Kimberly asked as she offered Eshe a hand onto the bed, activating the bed's scanners she set it to run through a standard series of scans.

Dhani thought for a moment as she lay down. “Like what?” she questioned closing her eyes.

Looking at Eshe, who appeared very relaxed compared to the last time when she'd been almost terrified of simply being here Kimberly shook her head in confusion, "Anything out of the ordinary, dizziness, nausea, headaches...?" she trailed off, hoping Eshe had got the drift.

“No, nothing like that.” Dhani replied slowly. The humming of the instruments took over like they always did. She could feel them vibrating through her body and her mind. Each shrill and chirp sparked a memory long forgotten. Images presented themselves before her closed eyelids. But this time was different from before. The sensations of dread and overwhelming fear melted away. She didn’t tense up, her heart rate didn’t increase, in fact she was so relaxed that she watched the memories with complete detachment.

It was strange to watch instead of feel. It didn’t make any sense. The images were flashes, incoherent. The feelings were what made them real and now they were just a slide show of someone else’s holiday clips. Although this was no holiday! Her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to work out what the images meant.

Looking at Eshe's face Kimberly wondered for a moment just what was going on in her mind. ~ Ah well, ~ taking the opportunity while she was more relaxed she started the bed's systems running and picked up her tricorder, starting her own scans she started getting the baseline readings she'd been after earlier, "So how've you been feeling in general then?" she asked after a moment, trying to ease into a conversation.

Dhani didn’t respond to her question. Her eyes stayed tightly shut. She watched the image with a growing curiosity, she was confined, that much she could make out. But the image confused her. Colours flowed all around her like rivers but they didn’t connect with any understanding.

“Pretty.” She mumbled through the distortion of reality.

Raising an eyebrow at the non-sequitur Kimberly adjusted her tricorder, ~ Oo...Kayyy... ~ she thought in confusion, let's check something else.

The view changed dramatically and she suddenly came face to face with a small child. The girl was small, no more than six years old Dhani gauged. She was a pretty little thing, with soft, smooth milky white skin and glistening golden hair, her dark ebony eyes sparkled in the moon light as she stared up with an expression of awe.

Dhani felt tempted to reach out to her, she was so small, so fragile. Her hand rose up towards her…. and she flew across the room!

Dhani flinched, her heart froze, her breathing stilled.

A resonating crack filled her ears as the child rebounded off the far wall.

No matter how relaxed Dhani was, nothing could stop the shock of seeing such a small thing thrown around like a rag doll. She heard bones breaking as the girl hit the wall and saw the trickle of blood that ran from her ears as she sunk to the floor.

"Ms Eshe?" Kimberly asked as she saw a spike in the heart rate, "are you okay?"

“Maybe a little bit of nausea.” Dhani replied slowly detached and strained.

The perspective changed and Dhani was now staring at a wall splattered with blood. She froze, even on the bed her whole body stiffened. She didn’t want to see anymore, but it didn’t stop.

~ This isn't quite right, ~ Kimberly decided, there was something a little, ~ 'Screwy' ~ she decided about Eshe's readings, there were, 'off' a bit... ~ All I wanted was to finish her physical! ~ she muttered sourly to herself as she looked at Eshe's rigid form, cocking an ear slightly she realised that the low muttering she was hearing wasn't coming from a nearby bed, but from Eshe, something about killing children, blood splattering, ~ What the! ~

“So much blood! How can a child bleed so much? It’s so small! No, no I don’t want to see any more I …..it’s not the girls.” Dhani mumbled incoherently as her view changed and she saw another small body lying face down in a pool of blood.

Her head cocked to one side as she examined the body with a critical eye. He had made such a mess, lucky for her that she didn’t need to walk. Levitating had its advantages; no footprints. She took in a deep breath, “So easy.” she muttered. “They never see it coming. Shame he was a screamer, these two had far to go…”

Dhani became silent again as the image floated back to the streams of colours and the chirps and trill sounds of the scanners filled her ears again.

Listening with no small amount of concern Kimberly let the bed run it's scans and picked up a PADD, quietly and quickly typing a note she send a request to Commander Dallas that Lieutenant Eshe receive an immediate and urgent psych review, there were just some things she couldn't dismiss, ~ I'll not make friends this way, but regs are regs, ~ she decided, setting the PADD down she returned to her patient... Shaking her gently, "Lieutenant?" she asked with a note of concern, “are you all right?”

“It burn’s.” Dhani said in a small voice, so distant that it was barley recognisable as hers.

"What burns?" Kimberly asked softly, her concern and confusion growing.

“The ropes.” she clarified. A small part of her was aware of where she was but the rest of her mind was inundated by the images. “I don’t understand….” She said to the ribbons of colours that illuminated her bedside. She was beginning to understand now what the colours meant as this realisation dawned on her; this pattern she knew, it was familiar, and just like recognising a persons’ face or their voice Dhani recognised this pattern of colours. She couldn’t determine her feelings towards this ‘person’ she didn’t know if he was good or bad, but he had put her here, he had tied her down and she supposed that that wasn’t a very nice thing to do, but still she wasn’t sure.

And she didn’t know if he understood her. Did he speak the same language? Because she ‘heard’ one thing and yet he seemed to ‘tell’ her another and they never matched.

“I want my daddy!” her voice trembled as she spoke but no tears followed. Dhani was caught in the dialogue of a conversation from years past, but the emotions had been excluded. Without them the situation lost its intensity, lost any true context.

~ Daddy! ... Right... ~ rigging a neural scanner Kimberly placed one gently on Eshe's forehead and started a detailed neurological scan, at the same time she switched her tricorder from its general scan mode to a set of specific scan parameters and set it running, there was something definitely 'odd' here...

After their last encounter Kimberly had expected to have to fight Eshe the whole time during a basic scan, but right now here Eshe was apparently having some sort of episode and letting her do more or less as she pleased while she was off with the fairies in never never land!

~ This is 'not' a normal ship! ~

Running a blood scan with her tricorder, just in case she was on something Kimberly shook her head at the negative results, everything looked normal, "Lieutenant," she said after a moment, "I just need a small blood sample," she asked quietly, despite Eshe being fairly oblivious to her surroundings it never hurt to ask nicely, collecting a sample quickly she waved a nurse over and gave him swift and concise instructions as to what she needed.

Sending him away she turned back to Eshe, "Lieutenant, has anything unusual happened recently?" she asked ~ or is this just normality for you? ~ she added silently.

Dhani murmured the word ‘kala’ over and over for a few minutes before again falling silent. Even though the images and pictures made no sense something was beginning to. It was a lesson that Sark had tried to teach her, and up until she had joined the Galaxy it was easy to follow. Since then she had become lost and confused, lead by the emotions of others, at their beckon call. Take emotion out of the equation and everything becomes so simple. The pursuit of logic had never before been a lesson that had any basis in reality for Dhani. But now she understood. She understood so clearly, but was it something that she could again master? Would she be able to see these images and feel nothing towards them? Would she still have a conscious if she could?

~ Kala? ~ Kimberly muttered to herself, ~ what's that? ~ she wondered as Eshe repeated the non-sequitur several times more, making a note to look it up later she tried to gently shake Eshe awake, "Lieutenant?" she asked in a normal tone, "You can wake up now." ~ 'cause you're starting to freak me out! ~ she admitted to herself.

She knew about the Galaxy, she knew where she was but she was torn between the memory and reality. In the memory it became clear that she did in fact not like the person standing beside her bed. He made promises that he had no intention of keeping, and she saw his deceit, ~ “Double talk!” ~ she accused him mentally. As any five year old would do when they did not get their way she threw a tantrum, although her small form was restrained, they had yet to restrain her mind. Anything that was not pinned down became ammunition.

The memory spilled over into reality. Many instruments were lying about on table tops, all became weapons, wielded by thin air.

"Goddess above!" Kimberly swore mildly as a tricorder narrowly missed her nose, ducking involuntarily she felt several impacts against her back from one object or another, and a sharp pain as a laser scalpel from across the ward activated and buried itself in her lower back.

Crying out in pain Kimberly dropped to the floor to try and get under the line of fire, calling out as she did, "Everyone get down!" as loudly as she could, she was horrified however as the objects in flight altered their course to follow her. ~ Sedatives are out! ~ she remembered as she rolled under the biobed, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as she felt the scalpel in her back dig in as she rolled over it, ~ Phasers and hand to hand are out! ~ she added instantly.

"Aya," she cried to one of her nurses, "get me 50cc's of triloxicopital-seven!" she called out as her mind helpfully supplied the data she needed, biting back another cry as a rather large instrument landed on her knee she looked around for cover.

Realising that 'she' was the target here she kept rolling away from Eshe and under another, unoccupied, biobed. hearing the not so gentle pitter-patter of instruments as they pelted the bed above she cringed slightly, ~ This girl's a menace! ~ she realised.

"I've got it!" Aya called after what seemed an eternity, but was actually less than thirty seconds, sticking her head out slightly to see where Aya was Kimberly rapidly tucked her head back in before something took out an eye, or something more vital, like her brain, "Give it to her!" she called out instead.

Hearing a few muted curses and exclamations from Aya, Kimberly winced in sympathy, but smiled in relief as she heard the soothing sound of a hypo spray. After a moment she saw and heard a clatter as the gadgets hung in mid air fell to the floor in perfect unison.

Sliding out from under the bed Kimberly looked around as she stood and realised that some nearby objects were still shaking, 50cc's of the PSI dampener should have numbed her paracotex, her telepathic lobe, almost completely and instantly, but she was still showing signs of some control. "Damn her body's liver and immune system must work overtime!" she bitched, accepting the offered arm from an orderly she leaned on her before her own knee gave out, "get an alpha and a delta wave inducer, see if either will knock her out for a while, plus get Doctor Sissons down here, I want a complete neurological workup done within the hour," looking to another nurse, "plus get me everything we have on file about sedatives and Psi blockers, plus any recent articles."

"and lastly, get me to a biobed, I seem to have a small knife in my back!" she reminded her staff.

“Gamma, Delta, Alpha” Part One

Principle Characters;

Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe, engineering officer

Lieutenant Zack Jackson, Engineering officer (NPC)

(This is set Straight after “Ready for Battle, Part two” with possible unauthorised use of an NPC, sorry!)

***

Jackson hustled Dhani into Engineering rather quickly and forcibly. She cast him several confused looks as he emphatically gestured to the mountains of crates that littered the once pristine deck.

“Well?” he inquired with nothing but hostility in his voice.

Dhani was bemused. She took a step forward and examined one of the crates. “There full of some kind of ….. fruit?” she replied shrugging her shoulders.

“And what is…” he looked down at the transfer note for verification of the figures, “*fifteen* crates of fruit doing being delivered to Engineering?” his nostrils flared as he spoke, and if his eyes widened any more she swore that his eye-balls would fall out of their sockets.

“How am I supposed to know?” she replied defensively.

He stomped towards her, “It’s your bloody authorisation code!” he half screamed thrusting the padd towards her as evidence.

Normally Dhani would have punched him for talking to her like that, but she just took it in her stride today, nothing seemed to bother her or rattle her. She took the padd he waved around and read it. Chuckling slightly she murmured, “Oh so it is…”

He almost jumped up and down in his fury, “By hell, fire and brimstone, and *everything* you regard holy, you had better get these shifted or else…”

She cut him off with a wide smile, “Consider it done.” she said brightly passing the padd back to him.

He gaped, and frowned as if she had just pissed all over his cornflakes.

Dhani turned around and began to scan engineering. As soon as she turned mind you, everyone’s eyes went back down to whatever it was that they were doing. For the past fifteen minutes they had watched Jackson flail around like a headless chicken in total distraction and exasperation. It hadn’t been a pleasant nine hundred seconds! Even so, each one of them was mildly amused to watch *him* completely blow his top, and Dhani, well what could be said about her reaction? They were all gobsmacked to see that Jackson still had his teeth!

As everyone was apparently engrossed in what they were doing she turned back to Jackson. Lifting up one of the pallets she offered it to him, “Want some fruit?” she questioned with a radiant smile.

His frown deepened, creasing the skin across his forehead into dark crevasses.

“My office, NOW” he informed her.

~*Your* office?~ Dhani questioned silently, ~I thought it was O’Shea’s.~ Never-the-less she followed, trotting along behind him like an obedient puppy, tail wagging all the way.

He sat down behind the desk and then looked up at her. He sighed, shoulders dropping in resignation, “Did you *have* to bring the crate with you?” he asked somewhat dismayed.

Dhani looked down and giggled, “Sorry, I forgot I had it.” She looked around for a moment or two, adding to Jackson’s annoyance, before finally opting to place it on the desk. She sat down opposite him, although her line of sight was blocked by the crate.

Forcing a smile Jackson pushed the crate to one side with his index finger and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Now I don’t want to alarm you…. But we have lost contact with O’Shea and Grey…” he paused.

Dhani just blinked.

Jackson shook his head slightly, it was like talking to a fish in a bowl; totally pointless. Slowly he continued, “Now it could just be a breakdown in communication, nothing at all to worry about. But …” he cringed, “until either of them gets back….. you’re in charge of Engineering.”

She blinked again.

Jackson frowned.

“Did you hear what I said Lieutenant? *You’re* in charge of Engineering…?”

Dhani pouted slightly, and then nodded her head, possibly a little too overzealously; her hair pin fell out and dark curls cascaded around her. She smiled again before darting under the desk to find them.

“No problem boss.” came a disembodied voice, “I got it covered… ah there it is!” she exclaimed.

Jackson sat back in the chair and pinched the ridge of his nose. Why was he surrounded by idiots?

"Suffer the Little Children" -- pt. 6

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil -- "Radu Prett"
Team Psionic/Diplomatic Specialist

"Wake up and eat."

The gruff voice was punctuated by the sound of clanking metal, enough to rouse Brian from his sleep. Trying to blink the slumber from his eyes, he lifted his head from the pile of straw he'd balled up to use as a pillow. Every part of his body ached after a chilly night's sleep -- as much as possible, anyway -- on the stone floor of the cell he'd now spent nearly twelve hours in. The leather trench coat he'd been wearing had provided what little warmth he had without a proper blanket.

As he groggily came to his feet, he noticed a tray of something that must have been food (thought he wasn't certain) had been set on the floor of his cell, a burly man with a beard and absolutely no smile -- presumably one of the man in white's henchmen -- standing watch over it only a few feet away.

"Am I supposed to eat that?" Brian asked, warily eying the contents of the tray: a generous glob of something that looked like a cross between oatmeal and pate.

The only response he got was an indifferent shrug from the goon.

"Alright," the counselor said, answering the silence. The guy remained maybe four feet from where he'd set the tray, on the inside of the cell but solidly between Brian and the now closed gate, and Elessidil paused for a second wondering if the tray were just bait to get him close enough to injure or kill. But he sensed no such intention from the man, who was much more readable than the man in white had been. Besides, he silently mused, where was he going to go? If they'd wanted to injure or kill him they could simply walk in and do it.

Picking up the tray, Brian turned back toward the far side of the cell, his eyes never leaving the guard despite any outward or inward indication that he was there to do anything more than watch.

"I guess a fork or a spoon would be out the question," Brian muttered.

There was no response of any kind from the guard.

Elessidil settled into a corner and using his bare hands began eating the "food" which, despite its less than appetizing appearance, was perhaps a little bland but edible. As he ate, he studied the guard, probing telepathically for any useful information. Other than some thoughts about getting on to the tasks of the day and a general sense of impatience, the guard's mind provided nothing particularly noteworthy.

"Have the children already had their breakfast?" Brian asked between mouthfuls. "That is, of course, assuming it's morning."

Again, there was no visible or audible response, but the Betazoid did catch a flicker of discomfort that crossed the other man's mind at the mention of the children. It was the closest thing to something to go on the counselor had gotten from anyone since being unexpectedly beamed from the inn the previous evening.

"You do feed them?" he queried further, referring to the man himself as well as whatever policies that governed the children's care.

"They eat."

Well, at least it was an answer, Brian thought.

"Why are they here?' he asked, pressing the topic further.

Nothing.

"How many of them are there, anyway? Twenty? Fifty? Hundreds?" The counselor could sense the man's irritation as his questioning and knew it was his best shot at cracking the guard's brick facade. "Are they prisoners too?"

This time, his question garnered something of a stern look, a significant departure from the detached stare off into space the man had exhibited until now.

"Are you their keeper? Do you work for the man in the white suit?"

"You have five minutes to finish."

Six entire words. It was progress.

"Who is he anyway? What does he have to do with all this?" Brian pressed on, ignoring the warning.

"He is a businessman; this is his business," the guard finally offered up in a tone thickly laden with annoyance.

The counselor paused. "His business? This?" he asked, glancing around the cell, brow furrowed. "I'd hardly call this a hotel."

"It's not!" the guard barked. "You are a spy; they are his property. Eat or I will remove the food and you will wait until tomorrow morning before eating again."

A full day with only a few mouthfuls of unidentifiable mush as sustenance wasn't a particularly comforting thought, but Brian considered it well worth the risk for whatever information he could get from this guy. Besides, he had neither seen nor been told about anything resembling a latrine, so perhaps not eating wasn't such a bad idea.

"Property?" the counselor asked of the obvious reference to the children. "So they're slaves?" he asked, not bothering to hide his contempt at the notion.

In a flash, the guard closed the distance between them, snatching the tray from Brian's hand and shoving his chest so he slammed against the bars behind him. Brian knew he'd strained the man's patience as far as he was going to -- for now, anyway.

"They are servants; his business, not yours!" the guard hissed, retreating back to the cell door. He pressed a button on a metallic belt of some sort he wore around his think trunk of a waist, and a section of bars swung open in response.

For a moment, Brian considered rushing him in an attempt to escape but then thought better of it. It was obvious the guy would have little trouble stopping the strong but still well out-matched Betazoid from getting anywhere near the door.

"You will eat again tomorrow, no sooner!" With a solid clang, the cell door slammed shut again and the guard quickly strode down the dimly-lit corridor.

As he watched the guard storm away, Brian pondered what he'd said. The children were servants. The next logical question was what kind of services they provided. Contemplating the possibilities made him feel sick to his stomach (or maybe it was the food?), but he knew he had to find out more. He'd gained a millimeter of progress with this guard today, and if he had to wait another day to gain a millimeter more, so be it.

"Ready For Battle..." Part Two

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS-Galaxy

Lieutenant (J.G.) Dhanishta Eshe
Engineering Officer, USS Galaxy

***USS Galaxy Sick Bay***

Sliding out from under the bed Kimberly looked around as she stood and realised that some nearby objects were still shaking, 50cc's of the PSI dampener should have numbed her paracotex, her telepathic lobe, almost completely and instantly, but she was still showing signs of some control. "Damn her body's liver and immune system must work overtime!" she bitched, accepting the offered arm from an orderly she leaned on her before her own knee gave out, "get an alpha and a delta wave inducer, see if either will knock her out for a while, plus get Doctor Sissons down here, I want a complete neurological workup done within the hour," looking to another nurse, "plus get me everything we have on file about sedatives and Psi blockers, plus any recent articles."

"and lastly, get me to a biobed, I seem to have a small knife in my back!" she reminded her staff. **~**

Dhani watched the memory with complete unawares as to what was happening in the real world. In the memory there had been very few objects to throw at the man beside her bed, but still he had been caught unawares.

It was like watching yourself on camera, unable to change your actions or reactions. She was simply a spectator here, and there was nothing that she could do even if she wanted to, she couldn’t change what was happening, what had happened.

Her brain reacted unconsciously to what she was seeing, what was happening in the memory. But she still felt nothing, even when she realised that this little girl was herself, and these incomprehensible images were a memory. They actually happened, these things she saw happened. This child that she was watching being held down, pinned to the floor by four men, four strong men whose fingertips dug into her skin and bruised her flesh, was her.

And she felt nothing. She was numb. There was no fear, not towards the memory nor the realisation. Surly she should react? Surly she should feel something to the fact that she was remembering things that she never knew happened?

Perched on a nearby biobed Kimberly winced as her tunic was cut away at the back and one of her staff began patching up the hole in her back... Watching as several medics began complying with her orders she accepted a PADD from an orderly as someone else began running a dermal suture over her back, "Why is nothing ever easy?" she muttered.

Eshes’ combadge chirped suddenly,

=^= “Engineering to Lieutenant Eshe.”=^= Lieutenant Jackson’s voice broke through the chaos in sick bay.

=^= “Lieutenant?........Lieutenant respond!”=^= the tone of his voice pitched from one of annoyance to slight concern. For a moment there was static over the channel and then Jackson redirected,

=^= “Engineering to Sick Bay”=^=

Tapping her own commbadge Kimberly raised her voice slightly, "Sickbay, Burton here, go ahead..."

=^= "Doctor Burton this is Lieutenant Jackson, is Lieutenant Eshe with you? According to internal sensors she is in sick bay, is everything alright?" =^=

"She's here, you ah, might want to deal with whatever it is Engineering, Lieutenant Eshe is somewhat... Indisposed at the moment," she informed the voice at the other end."

=^= "Is she dying doctor?" =^= he questioned the irritation was back.

"Right now I'm not sure exactly what her condition is." Kimberly started.

He broke in, =^= "That's a 'no' then doctor, in which case I want her in Engineering on the double." =^=

"Whoever you are, Lieutenant Eshe is currently in no condition to be of any help top you, I suggest you deal with whatever it is you need her for yourself." She advised the caller.

He ignored her concerns, =^= "You have ten minutes to wrap up whatever it is that you are doing. Then I am coming to get her. Understood? Good."=^= he didn't wait for her to reply just closed the channel.

Taking a deep breath Kimberly bit back her anger and wondered just why most people assumed medical staff had nothing better to do, "Computer, re-open that last comm-channel please," she asked it, never having gotten the name of the caller, "Burton to Engineering," she called softly, not giving the faceless voice at the other end a chance to interrupt, "Now, listen carefully, unless this ship is in danger of blowing up, Lieutenant Eshe is remaining in sickbay, by order of the Chief Medical Officer, right now she is unconscious, and likely to remain that way until I can stop her from hurling my medical instruments around telekinetically. Clear!"

=^= “Doctor,” =^= Jackson began with an aggravated sigh. He lowered his voice slightly, =^= “I know that you are still new round here and therefore I will give you the benefit of the doubt. But when I tell you that I need my engineers in engineering on the double it’s BECAUSE I NEED THEM RIGHT NOW!! Not because I want to sit around drinking coffee and eating candy canes with them, and whilst the ship might not be about to blow up…… I MIGHT!!!.” =^=

"Just what is so important you need her for?" Kimberly snapped back, "do the words 'out cold' mean anything to you, right now she's going nowhere, by my order and by the simple fact she's asleep," turning she checked that was still the case, the alpha and delta wave inducers on her forehead were doing a reasonable job of keeping her asleep, for now, but for how long? From her file chemicals wouldn't really do the job, these gadgets though were only meant for short term use.

The sound of grinding teeth came clearly over the line, =^= “If I could handle the situation myself don’t you think that I would? =^= His pitched increased as did his stress levels, =^= “*My* shift finished twenty minutes ago around the same time as Eshe’s started and I am going to tell you one last…. Oh for the love of God!” =^= for a moment there was a muffled cry and then several other voices interjected, too far away from the com channel to pick up clearly, =^= “Put it over there…. No you fools…”=^= his exasperated voice could still be heard although what he was saying was unclear as he stomped away from the interface.

The line went quiet as it was put on hold, and then another voice came on, softer; obviously female, =^= “Erm, Ma’am?” =^= the other woman questioned timidly.

Signing, "Yes?"

=^= “Lieutenant Jackson will be with you…” =^= she broke off as something crashed loudly in the background and in the distance someone could be heard yelling ‘I’ll bloody swing for her’ before he too was cut off rather suddenly, =^=“shortly.”=^= the woman finished once the drama was over.

"Well, please inform Lieutenant Jackson if he comes up here with that attitude I will simply have him removed by Security, but if he comes up here and talks civilly then we'll be able to discuss Lieutenant Eshe," Kimberly informed the tentative voice at the other end of the line.

=^= “I would ma’am, but he has already left.” =^= the woman replied apologetically, =^ “Sorry.” =^= she added before closing the channel.

Wincing slightly as the deep cut in her back was neatly repaired she sighed again, "Lovely day," she remarked to no-one in particular, "kinda makes you wonder what'll happen next?"

Just as promised Lieutenant Jackson stomped into sick bay. His hair was a mess and he was shaking, was it stress or anger? Both probably. He looked around and spotted Eshe on a bio bed. The temptation to just strangle her while she lay there was overwhelming. Taking a very deep breath he tugged his uniform down that was riding up and turned to face the woman that approached him.

“Burton?” he inquired with a forced smile.

"That would be Lieutenant Burton," she reminded the engineer, not liking his attitude so far, "shall we talk here, or in my office." Indicating the way she walked to her office.

“I don’t have the time for either. I told you over to comm to wrap things up Doctor, I expected Eshe to be ready by now.” he said meting her eyes.

Turning slightly, "I can shout at you out here or in my office," she offered the engineer, "but please remember you are addressing the CMO. So far, your attitude to a senior officer isn't something to write home about, now if you'd like to discuss this reasonably." indicating her office again she walked to her office.

“Fine then you’re office would be great, I suppose that you will offer me a cup of tea and waste even more of my time!!!” he half shouted shaking with rage as he stomped in the direction she indicated.

Letting him walk in her office first she reflected a little mournfully she couldn't slam the door behind her, a futile but satisfying gesture she missed, letting the door slide shut she stood before her desk, "Right," she said in a no-nonsense tone, "One, you need something from me, you ask. Clear! Do not demand! If the Lieutenant is needed for an emergency I don't mind being told so, but politely. but when I say she is unconscious and not able to leave unless the ship is in dire danger of exploding, I expect a better reason to endanger her health and the safety of those around her than you want it! Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear. Mister!"

His face flushed a deeper shade of red, “I do believe that I did ask politely, Doctor!” he said in a low grating voice. He was trying very hard not to just scream at her, shove past her and throw Eshe’s body out the nearest air lock. He glared at Burton again, maybe add her to the list too.

"My definition of polite doesn't include being shouted at by someone," she informed the engineer calmly.

He closed his eyes tightly, his entire body clenched up as he took a deep breath and tried to relax somewhat. "Doctor Burton, I have an emergency in engineering and I need Lieutenant Eshe to solve the problem. Now as she is not dying and isn't already dead," his voice lowered slightly indicating that at this point in time he wished that she was, "then I would be grateful if you could wake her up so that she can do her job!" he opened his eyes and forced another polite smile.

"Just who are you?" she asked curiously, "it would be nice if you at least said who you are?"

He rolled his eyes, “I told you that as well, you seem to have a problem listening too! Lieutenant Jackson. It’s a pleasure!” he added sarcastically.

"Well Lieutenant, right now, Lieutenant Eshe is unconscious, and a danger to those around her," turning slightly she showed him the rip that extended up the back of her jacket, "courtesy of her I just had to have a laser scalpel surgically removed. now, once I'm satisfied she is no longer a danger to those around her and in no immediate danger she'll be released, which, if you'll shut up, go back to engineering and leave me to do my job should be within the hour, sooner if possible."

Jackson crossed his arms and looked down at the floor for a moment. “Doctor,” he began slowly, “Just how…” he sighed, “I….” he gave up.

“I’ll be in the waiting room.” He turned round and walked out of her office.

Watching him go she sighed and sat down slowly in her chair, keeping her back straight she sighed once more as she tapped her commbadge "Burton to Nurse Ketharaju, please ensure that the engineering Lieutenant out there stays away from Ms Eshe, if he gives you any trouble call me. I'll be out in a moment."

=/\= Understood Ma'am. =/\=

Picking up the PADD she'd carried in she quickly scanned the information on there on PSI suppressants and experimental sedatives. Lieutenant Eshe's resistance to drugs gave her an edge that meant she adapted to medication very rapidly, wondering just how that affected her metabolism she checked her medical file, and was more than a little surprised when she found that no research into this had been done.

"Unbelievable!" she muttered.

Realising that the Lieutenant would soon adapt to the PSI blocker she quickly ran options through her mind. The telekinetic aspect of her abilities was a definite hazard, and presented a unique problem. If the Lieutenant lost control of it, especially in engineering, all sorts of interesting things could happen, ~ Question is, why is she suddenly loosing control, okay, it only seems to have happened while she was asleep, but there's still the danger of it happening again. ~

Leaving her office after another moment's reading, and after changing her jacket, she walked over to Eshe and removed the sleep inducers, waving her staff back as she did so, "Lieutenant?" she said softly as she shook her gently, "can you hear me?"

Dhani’s eyelids fluttered slightly and she let out a groan as she rolled on to her side.

"Lieutenant?" Kimberly said a little louder, "Wakey wakey?" glancing around she made sure no instruments were moving of their own volition, picking up a hypo just in case she checked it was loaded with the triloxicopital-seven compound and gave Eshe another dose, ~ C'mon, wakey wakey! ~ she thought to herself.

Dhani reached out her hand flapping up and down as she tried to pull the duvet closer round her, but she couldn’t detect one. Slowly she opened an eye and looked around. “Wh?” she grunted in confusion, yawning and stretching.

"How're you feeling?" she asked as Eshe's eyes opened, "you've been a little out of it for a while."

“Huh?” Dhani frowned and opened both of her eyes. After a second or two her senses kicked into gear. She sat bolt upright and looked around Sick Bay perplexed. At the amount of eyes on her she figured that she had done something weird. “Did I fall asleep on you Doc?” she asked totally embarrassed, “I am so sorry.” She glanced round again, “What time is it?”

“Twenty-one forty-three.” Jackson stepped forward. There wasn’t really any waiting room in Sick Bay; he had been standing by the door watching Burton attend to Eshe. Now she was awake he stepped closer but still making sure that he didn’t get in the way of the nurses, and there were a hell of a lot of them for one small woman.

Dhanis eyes widened, she looked from Jackson to Burton, back to Jackson and then to Burton, “I’m so sorry doctor I didn’t realise the time….” She was a little confused as to what was going on but the main thing that was rolling through her mind was work and the fact that she was really late! She made a move to get off the bed.

Glaring at Jackson to stop him from getting any closer she spoke up, "Whoa there, before you go anywhere I need to ask you a few questions and run a quick check, okay."

Dhani double taked between the two officers, “Do you have to Doc, I’m really late for work.” She rubbed her stomach and frowned, “And I’m totally starving, you got anything to eat round here?” She slipped off the bio bed, waving Burtons restraining arm away and headed towards the replicator.

~ Why can't people just sit still for a moment, ~ she asked herself, "Well you'll be a little later for work I'm afraid, as soon as we're done you can go though, okay."

“Humm,” Dhani mumbled perusing the replicators selections.

"Good, now, I just need a blood sample, to run a few scans and then we're done, but I'm going to want to see you again so we can have a chat about what happened here today, okay."

Dhani frowned wondering what the hell Burton was talking about, she was so dramatic! “Sure, whatever.” she said holding out her arm for Burton to take the blood sample.

Taking the needed blood sample quickly she set it aside for now, determined to do a little digging later.

Dhani smiled, "We done." She said after Burton took the sample.

"Almost, just be patient okay, no pun intended," she offered with a small smile.

Dhani looked from Burton to Jackson again, her loyalties torn; the conflict was clear on her face. Frowning she shook her head, "I'm really sorry doctor but I don't have time for this, I didn't know this check up was going to take so long and I know that it was my fault for falling asleep but I *really* have to go to work now!" she looked as apologetic as possible. Patting Burton on the back she smiled, "I promise that as soon as my shift is over I'll come back. Okay?"

Shaking her head in resignation she sighed, ~ Should I give up now or later? ~ she thought, "I'll hold you to that Lieutenant."

She hesitated again, like a pet dog that was unsure of who its master was, before following Jackson out of sick bay.

Watching her go Kimberly picked up the blood and notes from the bed, there was, without a doubt something odd about the young Betazoid-Trill, only time would tell what though.

“Gamma, Delta, Alpha” Part two.

Principle characters;

Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe, Engineering officer

And several NPC’S ….

(This is dedicated to Jelly Dude, my long time friend who inspired me; the ‘Banana Boat’ has made its debut….)

***

After Jackson left Engineering Dhani opened one of the crates; she was starving! Munching vigorously she pottered about, checking a report here, glancing at a console there; basically milling around without any particular purpose.

Being in charge of Engineering wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before back when Suder was Chief. He decided mid-crisis that it would be good for her to give it a whirl. The fact that the ship was under attack and all hell was breaking lose didn’t seem to faze him or alter his course of action. Dhani became Chief for a day… or was it a week? She scratched her head absently trying to remember. It was a little blurry to say the least. She had ended up in a corridor, totally severed from the ship, floating around in space while the Hydrens blew the Galaxy to merry hell! Suffice to say she didn’t mind in the slightest when he took his office back.

After a while of pottering around she ended up at the master systems display consol. Staring down at the readouts she pursed her lips. There was a time when the stream of data unfolding before her eyes actually meant something, but right now she was at a loss. To any passer by it looked for all intents and purposes that she was concentrating hard, especially combined with the deepening scowl that crossed her features. Fact was, she was trying to work out why the data reminded her of line dancers! Maybe it was the way that the numbers flowed from one side of the screen to the other, “Hummm.” she mumbled to herself whilst leaning backwards to grab another piece of fruit from an opened crate.

As the next shift poured in Dhani looked up and scanned the faces in the crowd; no O’Shea and no Grey. ~Guess that means that I’m pulling a double then.~ Dhani grumped.

“Lieutenant?”

Someone interrupted her thoughts, not that her thoughts were particularly important at this time; she looked up with drowsy eyes, “Yu?”

The officer frowned and looked behind him and then back at Eshe, “What’s with all the crates?” he asked confused.

Dhani sighed, “Oh yeah…. Erm…. They are a gift!” she decided smiling brightly, “Jackson thought that as we all work so hard he would give us something back in return.”

The officer shrugged, “I would have preferred more annual leave…. But don’t look a gift horse in the mouth… right?”

Dhani smiled pleasantly in return.

The officer nodded and turned around, “Hey guys, crack open a case!” he shouted across the room to his friend.

“Drinking on duty?” the other countered confused.

“Nah,” he replied walking up to him, “eating, on duty.” His grin widened as he opened one of the boxes and began to toss the food across the room to the other engineers.

It wasn’t long before the sound of warp core humming was drowned out by the gnashing of teeth on raw fruit.

********

Two hours later…

There were seven of them now, gathered around the master systems display console, each of them had their head resting in their hands, or an elbow on the table; jaw in the palm, and there were several that were just flat out with their heads resting on the display screen itself!

It had been a slow night and an even slower morning. Dhani gazed over her coffee mug transfixed by the little puffs of steam that curled from the hot beverage.

“I am sooooooo board.” one of the officers whined slapping the screen with his hand.

Dhani didn’t know what his name was, in fact there was not one single face surrounding her that she could put a name to. This guy was the same one that had approached her before asking about the fruit, he was kinda good looking, although that all depended on what you looked for in a man. He was rugged with strong cheekbones and a prominent jaw. His hair had been carefully moulded before his shift into little spikes, not too obvious, but enough for her to notice that he took pride in his off-beat appearance. She figured him for a bit of a rocker. And so that became his name for the morning; Rocker.

At the other end of the table was another guy; his head firmly stuck to the display screen, and she wasn’t too sure but that might have been a little puddle of drool forming beneath his mouth. At his mates utterance of boredom he flinched and raised his head.

Defiantly a puddle of drool, Dhani concluded as she watched the trail of phlegm expand, thin out, and then break off into a droplet and role down his chin as he pulled up from the table.

“I do declare,” Drool boy slurred, swaying slightly, he raised his finger, which too rocked back and forth, “that we do something… fun!”

*****

Three hours later….

Dhani scratched her leg and reminded herself to blink. She had been staring at the other six around the table, trying to work out what each person’s ‘tell’ was.

Inwardly she groaned as ‘Pinkie’ leaned forward in her bean bag chair. The sound of the little balls grating against each other got louder and louder with each passing second, so did the sound of Drool Boys lip-smacking. Dhani had no idea where the bright luminous pink bean-bag had sprung from, it wasn’t a usual sight in engineering, but then neither was the seven of them sitting round the MSDC (Master Systems Display Consol.)

“I see you and…. raise you……five apples, and this thing that looks like an orange.” Pinkie said leaning forward and placing the fruit in the centre of the MSDC.

Drool boy rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing in contemplation. He stared down at his cards and slowly began to nod. “Okay….” he said even slower than his nodding, “I’ll take that bet… I’ll see your raise, *and*… I’ll raise it again.”

The pile of fruit on the MSDC suddenly grew into a mountain. Dhani and the other two; Splash and Dash (named such cause she couldn’t think of anything better at the time) had folded twenty minutes ago. The three of them sat back in their chairs and gasped and, in unison, turned to look at.…‘The Dude’!!

The Dude was sat at the other end of the MSDC surrounded by a cloud of smoke. He chewed his cigar, moving it from one side of his mouth to the other before taking it out and tapping it; ash flittering to the floor. He shifted in his seat and then tugged on his ‘dealers hat’. His hat was another strange sight; it was almost like a baseball cap, but the part that stuck out in front was made of a green see-through film, and there was no ‘top’ to the hat, it just had a string of elastic that went round the circumference of his head.

The Dude looked down at his winnings and then menacingly across the table at his opponents. Drool Boy was loosing badly; his crate was only half full…. Pinkie wasn’t doing too badly; she had gained most of the apples though, and he was sure that she had a secret stash of the ‘orange type’ hidden somewhere. His gaze fell on Rocker boy; he still had a full crate, and a punnet of winnings to boot. He scratched his head, fiddled with his ‘dealers cap’ and then pointed to his full crate.

“I raise!” He said taking a puff of his cigar and blowing out the smoke in Rocker boys direction.

All eyes now turned to Rocker boy, who grinned widely. Puffing out his chest he set his cards down on the table and smiled smugly.

“SNAP!” he exclaimed loudly.

Dhanis eyes widened; Pinkie frowned; Drool Boy gaped; Splash and Dash fell off their stools and The Dude bellowed, “WE ARE PLAYING POKER YOU FUCKIN IDIOT!”

*****

Most of them had ducked in time before the fruit fight started, but only most of them.

Dhani was laying on the floor, half under the MSDC, next to Dash, picking the goo out of her hair. Looking up at the ceiling she nudged him, “How the hell did it get up there?” she questioned pointing to the big splatter mark on the ceiling.

Dash half opened an eye, shrugged and grunted in reply. He was rapidly passing out, his head ringing in protest at the slightest sound.

Dhani rolled over on to her front and looked out from her hidie-hole. The Dude had skulked off to a corner with whatever fruit he could find that was still edible. He kinda reminded her of a gorilla. When ever anyone passed by him he grunted at them and shifted round to protect his stash.

Rocker boy was sitting on a big multicoloured beach ball with Splash behind him in a blue blow-up arm chair; picking the fruit off him as if she were picking fleas, and at times Dhani swore that she actually ate the squashed mangled bits that she retrieved from his clothing and hair!

Pinkie shifted in her bean bag chair and leaned forwards, “Did you always want to become an engineer?” she asked the question to the room, hoping that anyone that was still awake would answer.

Dhani frowned and contemplated the question. Beside her Dash groaned and shifted in his semi-conscious state.

“I wanted to be a marine biologist.” he muttered unexpectedly.

Dhani raised her eyebrows in surprise. Although Dash still had his eyes closed, and therefore didn’t see.

“I wanted to be a pilot.” Rocker boy said flinching as Splash pulled out a strand of hair.

“Really?” Splash inquired leaning forward over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He replied, “Always wanted to be up in the air flying around blowing the crap out of something.”

Splash smiled, impressed, and resumed her ‘nit picking’. “I wanted to be a dancer.” she said whimsically.

Drool Boy flushed with embarrassment, “A poet.”

Pinkie giggled, “A poet!” she repeated almost hysterically covering her mouth with her hand to stop from squeaking with laughter.

“Yeah.” he replied defensively, “So what did you want to be?” he asked back in an accusing tone.

Pinkie straightened her face, “A counsellor.” she confessed.

“Great counsellor you would have made” Drool Boy muttered.

“I’m sorry.” Pinkie said tapping him on the arm reassuringly. She snickered once more and turned to look at Dhani, “So what about you?” she asked.

Dhani shrugged, “I guess I always wanted to be an engineer.” she replied, and then ducked when her reply was met with an almost harmonised chorus of ‘oh come on’, followed by several of the ‘orange type’ fruit!

She sighed and began to pick the fresh goo out of her hair.

From the dark corner of the room a gruff voice spoke up, one that was slurred by the amount of un-chewed food he had in his mouth…. It was… The Dude!

“Scientist.” Was all he said, spittle flying from his mouth and the juices dribbling down his chin. He backed up again into the shadows and continued to eat.

Pinkie nodded and sat up, Dash moaned again in protest at the noise, “If all of us here, except for the one geek over there….”

“Hey!” Dhani interjected, parting the mane of tangled hair that covered her face as she was picking through it.

“Your denial is duly noted.” Pinkie told her before continuing, “If none of us planned to end up here…. How the hell did all of us become engineers?”

Silence filled the room, but if brain power was audible; it would have been deafening.

Drool boy was the first to pipe up, “It’s just like the ‘Banana Boat’.” he said.

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Pardon?”

“Eh?”

Rocker boy slid off from his ball and pushed it towards the wall and leaned back on it. This way was so much more comfortable! “You’re gonna have to explain that.” he told his friend, “None of this lot have the slightest clue as to what you are dribbling about.” he paused and looked over at him, “In fact I don’t even know what your talking about… you just chatting shit?” he asked.

Drool boy shook his head and sat forward, he took a long look around the room and stared into everyone’s faces, “Ya get on it,” he began with unbridled enthusiasm, “but you don’t really have a choice in the matter. You’re egged on by your friends or when you’re totally wankered. You got no control over where you’re going. Ya bouncing around all over the place… hanging on and *praying* that you don’t fall off like some of the other buggers. And if you’re lucky you’ll hang on, but if your not you’ll fall out. And all the time you’re cursing the bastered driving the boat….”

The silence filled the room once more as they all stared at Drool Boy totally bemused.

“What the hell has that got to do with how we all became engineers?” Splash asked.

“It’s a representation of life.”

Everyone including Dash turned their heads towards the origin of the voice.

“The boat is the journey of life.” The voice from the shadows said, “None of you, of us, know where we are going. We are on it for the ride. And we are all terrified of falling off the path. And each one of us screams and begs a god or some other omnipotent being for the answers.”

Drool Boy nodded, “The Dude hath spoken.” he exclaimed in awe.

“And once you get to the end,” Pinkie added, “You wanna get back on.”

Dash opened an eye, “Wow, that’s totally deep man!”

"Lowered Expectations"

Commander Kol
First Officer - USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer - USS Galaxy

USS Galaxy - Phaser Range

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

Grumbling to herself quietly Kimberly exited the turbolift and made her way past the security offices to the phaser range somewhere on the deck, after several aborted attempts to do this, and having been delayed by emergency calls or mission requirements, and also after several more reminders she had finally just sent out a blanket mail to any qualified instructors and said 'I'll be at the phaser range oh eight hundred - someone please be there!'

Perhaps not the most dignified way to arrange it, but the current XO had made his wishes clear, as well as his threats, ~ So here I am! ~ she thought sourly as she entered the phaser range, and stopped. ~ Someone 'hates' me, ~ she decided, ~ who have I offended to deserve this! ~

Seeing the massive and imposing figure of the Klingon XO waiting there and no one else Kimberly sighed, "Commander," she said politely after a moment, "Good morning to you."

"Doctor." he said, with all the forced, clenched-teeth politeness of a typical Klingon.

Or he was smiling. It was hard to tell.

"Am I to assume you're here in reply to my request?" she asked, already guessing he was as he was the only person waiting.

"I am." he replied. "If you are going to learn to shoot, Doctor, then you should learn to do it well. As first officer, the training of the crew is my responsibility."

Biting her lip a little Kimberly looked around, "Something you take seriously I gather from our last chat," she asked, just wanting this over and done with.

"Of course, Doctor." the first officer replied. "Klingons take all responsibility seriously. The only thing we take more seriously is our... play."

Raising an eyebrow at that she debated whether or not to ask the obvious question, realising it would probably involve a recitation of Opera, or some blood soaked story of gory conquest she decided to decline to comment, shrugging, "Well from a purely medical standpoint I should consider that a good thing, everyone should enjoy their... play..." ~ Even a Klingon, though you never know what constitutes 'fun' to some. ~ she realised. "

"Food, drink, battle... sex." Kol admitted with a shrug. "All of the essentials."

~ I was right, I shouldn't have asked! ~ she decided... "Can I assume you'll just be running through the basic Starfleet requirements and procedures here," she asked, "or are you expecting more because I'm a senior officer?"

"You are human, Doctor." he replied archly. "My expectations are therefore very low." he stated simply enough, and drew two phasers from the charging stand. "Are you prepared?"

"Yes, I am Human," she replied simply as she took one of the offered phasers with obvious distaste, declining to comment on his expectations she simply reminded herself to make his next physical as... Interesting... as possible, "and yes, I am ready," checking her phaser was on its lowest setting she looked to him, "refresh my memory, how does the test go again?"

"The certification is quite simple," he replied. "Though I should not be surprised at the low standards your people set for Medical officer. Among Klingons, a Doctor is one of the most skilled at battle. Why, the Doctor on the last Klingon vessel I served aboard was a master of precision amputation with a bat'leth. Truly an artist."

Raising both eyebrows now she looked at him for a second wondering if he was trying to be funny, ~ Funny... Klingon... They just don't seem to go together! ~ letting her eyebrows return to their normal level she shrugged, "Different cultures Commander, among Humans at least there is a slightly different skill requirement."

"Yes, that may be." he shrugged diffidently. "The test runs for five minutes. During that time your targets will increase in speed, and randomness of motion. A hit/miss ration of fifty percent will be sufficient to pass you at the bare minimum. I assume, from your prior... reticence... that is all you are interested in?"

Simply nodding again she flicked the safety off the phaser and raised it.

"Very well then." he nodded, and pressed a button on the control console. "You have five minutes. Begin."

Taking a deep breath as he activated the range she let it out slowly and focused on the targets, it was a simple test at the start with only a few targets at reasonably slow speeds, picking the staring targets off easily the computer adjusted automatically and began slowly increasing the difficulty, as time progressed more and more random motion was introduced into their motion, as well as more targets appearing.

For someone who disliked phasers though her hit ratio wasn't too bad, though she wasn't watching the display herself... Focusing intently on the target area Kimberly found herself snapping her hand back and forth between the targets. Trying to hit as many as possible sounded easy, but as the difficulty slowly increased so did her impatience with the exercise.

Kol merely watched patiently. Truthfully, the Doctor was performing better than he had expected. Not that he card to admit it, but the big Klingon had to refrain several time from wincing as she missed some of her targets. He almost even succeeded.

Gripping the phaser tighter as the exercise continued she tried to focus on exactly what she was doing, not realising that her knuckles on the phaser were going a whiter shade of white in the process. Her tense arm and white knuckled grip started affecting her aim as the difficulty increased, and several more of the swirling targets vanished before she could target them successfully. Ignorant of how long she had left she just stood there, stiff armed, picking off targets as best she could, swearing softly now as she did so.

"Time" Kol called out, ending the simulation. "Fifty-nine percent accuracy, Doctor." he read off as the screen displayed the results. "That will be... sufficient."

"I thought you'd never stop it," she replied angrily, setting the safety on the phaser she turned and dropped it on a nearby table negligently, "So? Fifty nine percent, all done for another year. Satisfied?"

"With as low standards as I set for your people, Doctor, it is not difficult to impress me."

"Gee, thanks," she replied a little sarcastically, "so tell me, what's next, emergency amputation practice with a field knife since you brought the subject up?"

"Perhaps another time. Kol shrugged. "It would be messy, and I'm told Maintenance frowns upon it."

"Well, you seem insistent on ensuring I'm trained, did you want to do the hand to hand test as well?"

Kol let out a bark of laughter. "It would hardly be fair, Doctor. And I would not wish to injure you unnecessarily."

"Gee, thanks."

OOC: This is a post that sees Saul and Miramon still on Vaden on Covert Ops. As a result, we're not included the promotions, since those orders won't have come through yet, and this can be considered a backpost should the story move ahead to the point whereby the team should have left Vaden already and have returned to the GAL.

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

"Eve of Destruction" Part 2 – 'Inverted Helix'

Lieutenant JG Miramon Terrik, Team Flight Specialist -- "Danar"

Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Team Infiltration Specialist -- "Raheem al-Hariri"

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

They found an abandoned factory, not too far away from the landing pad where Saul landed the shuttle he hijacked. Saul was very cautious, and spent the time it took Miramon to return to the city with the mounts in order to ensure that no one was keeping an eye on the shuttle. Even after the two met, he refused to say anything to Miramon about what happened and about the A-grav container he was carrying with him until they ensured that the factory was clear.

Miramon had been waiting for his friend back at the city. Once he'd been certain that Saul had been gone long enough so that nothing had immediately gone wrong, he'd headed back to wait - and, of course, stay out of sight while Saul got back in contact. Sufficed to say, it'd been quite something to see the look on his face when Saul arrived with the anti-grav unit in tow.

Once they'd arrived at the factory that Saul had led him to, along with that big anti-grav unit he'd been dragging with him for a while, Miramon eyed his friend curiously, then tapped the metal casing of the unit with one hand, listening to see if it was at all hollow. He nodded in satisfaction, then fixed a soft glare on his friend.

"So, what did you find, steal or otherwise pick up? Presumably it wasn't a parting gift from the Hydrans." he noted, somewhat sarcastically.

Saul glanced solemnly at his friend. Then, he opened the container.

Inside there was a blue-skinned woman, unconscious. She was bent like a fetus inside her mother's womb.

"Help me with her."

The two pulled the woman out of the container. She was petite, and Miramon was sure that Saul could handle her himself. But there was something about his friend that was…unsteady.

"You know, Saul, at last check, you already had a girlfriend. What in the name of the Prophets were you thinking bringing her here? And who IS she, for that matter?" he asked, his voice tight and irritation quite clearly expressed in his tone. He was used to some of Saul's more eccentric moments, but this was something else...

Saul seemed to snap. He violently drew a hypospray from his suit, and injected some more sedative onto the woman' s neck before turning to face Miramon.

"No names. Understand? This woman will NOT know who kidnapped her. It's crucial."

He let Chava drop on the floor, then dragged Miramon by the sleeve. His anxiety seemed inexplicable - the woman WAS sedated, there was no way she could hear them.

They circled a large, mold-covered machine. Saul halted, and released Miramon's sleeve.

The Bajoran was taken slightly aback by the vehemence in his friend's tone - almost as though the man were addressing a complete stranger, or a stubborn student of his. He turned his gaze away from the woman and stared piercingly at his friend with those deep blue eyes of his, the flesh around them tightening as he narrowed them, slightly suspicious of what Saul had in mind.

"Listen carefully.", Saul hissed. "The facility on Olor 50 is some sort of factory mixing bioengineering and cybernetic technologies. The evidence I found there disproves some of our most basic conceptions about the Hydrans. THIS", he planted something in Miramon's palm, "contains a copy of the evidence, including some visuals and partially copied databases. Once we're done with the woman, our job here is done as far as I'm concerned."

"Once we're done with her? And just what exactly did you have in mind? Who IS she, anyway? It's not like you to start acting like this." the Bajoran noted, his voice beginning to carry with it a tinge of irritation at Saul's fervent attitude. Even so, now was not a good time to stand there arguing over it, but they most definitely were going to have words later.

"Remember that I told you there's one secret left?", Saul asked wearily.

"Actually, no. More likely because you didn't, rather than because I forgot."

Saul scowled, clearly remembering that he told such a thing to Miramon, and gestured simply toward the center of the room where Chava lay. "What I intend to do is to wake her up, and accomplish what I need to accomplish. To do so, I need to ask you two things. First, we need perfect privacy, so I'm going to ask you to make sure that no one enters the factory until we're done."

"That's easy enough. I'm not sure I want to watch whatever it is you have in mind anyway." The Bajoran spoke half-sarcastically, half seriously, since he had a sickening feeling that he knew exactly what Saul was referring to, and didn't like it one bit. Sufficed to say, this was a side to his friend he had never seen before, and for that matter, hoped he never had to see again.

"You don't. Second... I need to ask you not to mention the woman, ever. Exclude it from the debriefing, don't talk to the other teammembers about it... or anyone for that matter. If you can't do that... the only other choice will be to get rid of her."

Miramon snapped at that point. He'd heard Saul say things he wasn't comfortable with before, but that downright offended both his views as a Bajoran and as a Starfleet officer. He stepped forward vigorously and poked a finger into his friend's chest, his expression completely serious.

"Firstly, no. We're both senior officers, and we both have a duty to report exactly what we do, how we did it, and what we came up with. Speaking as an officer, if I can't be honest about such things to my Captain and commanding officer, I don't deserve to wear the uniform, because the only thing you'd not want to reveal to others would be something of which they'd disapprove. Secondly, I disapprove of that last statement. I won't be killing anyone, or letting you kill anyone simply because their life happens to be inconvenient to you. It's quite possible that you don't think I understand the cruel necessity, but as it is, we should never sacrifice our principles for a cause, because in doing that, we're going against what we signed up for."

Most of the time the Bajoran preferred to be relatively relaxed and calm about things, but his spirituality had been offended by what Saul had said. Sure, they'd both killed before, but only in defense (at least, in his case). He wasn't a casual killer, and he wasn't going to be turned into one just because he'd agreed to come along and watch his friend's back. That much he simply couldn't tolerate.

"Danar, calm down.", Saul said dryly. "Think. This woman is a Federation citizen. I found her in a top secret facility, assisting our enemies. If either of us report her existence, she'll be as good as dead. And I, for one, don't want to kill her. I want to know who sent her. Once she wakes up, I intend to procure this information from her, by any means necessary. That's the only way to spare her life."

"You don't know that. If, as you say, she's commited a crime against the Federation, it's our job to take her in for trial and sentencing by a Federation court. Those are the rules. And contrary to that which you suggested, executions don't go on anymore. She'd get put in prison, more than likely, but that's her own fault." The Bajoran wasn't at all happy about the notions that Saul was suggesting. They just didn't sit well. "And I'm not going to sit back and let you do things 'by any means necessary'. And don't you think our superiors will want to know where the information she gives you came from?"

"Do I have to spell it out to you? If we bring her with us, SFI will kill her.". Saul looked sideways in distress. Not only that the Miramon's resistance was more fierce than what he expected, the constant mentioning of Starfleet and the Federation was very risky. On Vaden, Saul assumed a role, and from his point of view his survival depended on how he became that role. Right now, Miramon was almost literally tearing the mask off his face.

The Bajoran wasn't sure what to make of that one, but Saul knew Intel better than he did - he'd served as an Intel officer himself, and there was far more to it than the human had ever said. He'd rather that didn't happen, frankly put, and thus the choices Saul had suggested were not easy to choose from.

"And if we leave her here, she could possibly give away the fact that we were here, not to mention the fact that she would likely return to work for the Hydrans. So, what's your call?"

"My plan is to make sure that she will not know who interrogated her, and that she will be unable to return to the Hydrans. If I see during the interrogation that there's a chance that she WILL return to the Hydrans, we'll take her with us. But Cadence will never allow us to take her on board, and most likely she'll execute the girl herself."

Saul bit his lips. "It's not my call, Miramon, it's yours.", He admitted. Several alternatives and scenarios already began to run themselves in his mind. He cursed himself for not expecting this. "I can't and won't do anything without your agreement, for obvious reasons."

"Cadence wouldn't dare. She's in charge of the operation, but she's still subordinate to both of us. Make it an order, and she can't obey unless she's inclined to follow up a court martial. Besides which, her action would be murder if she decided to dispose of this one anyway, so either way, her career would quite literally be over." Miramon noted with a slight amount of vehemence in his tone. Normally he hated the notion of pulling rank, especially with regards to an operation like this one, but it seemed the appropriate thing to do right now.

The way he saw it, the roles they were playing were simply assumed personas, and at the end of the whole thing, they were still Starfleet officers, and anything they did while on the mission would have to be reported, and they'd have to take responsibility for those actions. He didn't want someone's death on his conscience when there might have been an alternative.

"You really don't get where you are.", Saul murmured. "Rank doesn't make a difference. Cadence is in charge. If she tells us to lap dance wearing the traditional outfit of Nausicaan strippers, that's what we'll do, no questions asked. These are the rules at the situation where we are, until we... are done here. No one will question her if she says that killing this woman was crucial to our survival, it's her judgement, like you used your judgment on the chamber of commerce."

"That was different, and you know it. I still disagree that any end justifies the means by which we achieve it. Once again, I reiterate, we may be on assignments, but we're operating on orders from Starfleet. That means that we act in accordance with the principles that we agreed to when we signed up. You better come up with an alternative, otherwise we'll question her and take her with us. Cadence can say what she likes, but if she has an issue with it, she can take it up with our CO once we're off this rock. Are we clear?" Miramon was well aware that he sounded somewhat condescending in saying so, which was ironic given that both himself and Saul were of the same rank, and both senior officers. Certainly, his age gave him a slight amount of leverage, since he was older than Saul by a good nine years, but even so, this was tricky ground. That said, they were both as stubborn as each other, and this particular argument wasn't going to be resolved until one of them gave ground...

Saul's glared at his friend. The scenarios in his mind became more and more solid. One option was to shoot Miramon, but Saul knew that as tempting as it was after Miramon screwed his plan, he wouldn't really shoot the man. The other was to kill Chava, but that was equally impossible for him. He would lie or cheat in cold blood when needed, but not kill. Oh, not that.

His lips began to move. He was on the verge of telling Miramon that he knew Chava, and what it would mean for him to have her interrogated by Starfleet personnel. But no - after Miramon declined to keep her existance secret, Saul didn't want to take the gamble and make Miramon the only other person alive to know of his agenda.

And that was sad, Saul reckoned.

So instead of confessing, he just shrugged his shoulders. Some times you need to go with the flow, and let the current carry you to safe waters.

"You're signing the woman's death certificate.", The Chief Tactical officer indicated dryly. "I need you to help me improvise something before the preliminary interrogation."

"Maybe I am, but at least we won't be the ones killing her. The responsibility for that lies with another." Miramon noted, his own tone just as dry. Internally, though, he was somewhat amused. It was about time he and Saul had an argument.

"Is it possible to give the woman a cover story, so that we have a reason to take her with us and not have Cadence shoot her? I don't know - pretend she's some sort of refugee, or political idealist, and it would be dangerous to leave her on the planet? Come on, this is your area. Think of something."

"Yes, but we'll need her cooperation, and there's no way to assure that--"

Then, inspiration dawned on Saul. As it always did.

Chava cannot know that they were on Vaden, and he couldn't allow her to tell anyone in Starfleet, including Miramon, of the Bentals' connection with the Hydrans.

Unless.

He could physically feel the tension in his muscles being relived. There was a way out, a way that would work regardless of whatever changes Chava went through.

"If I'm going to say that she is an agent of mine, will you play along?"

The Bajoran gave his friend a gentle smile, although the relief in his expression was both easy to read and sincere in nature. He didn't like the road the two of them had been going down that time. He nodded to confirm that he agreed with Saul's idea, at least as far as what he'd said went.

Hopefully there wouldn't be too much more to the whole issue...

"Sorting it All Out"

Lt(jg) Cora Dobryin, Chief Intelligence Officer
Pilot Paulo DiMillo, Vanguard Intelligence Liaison

*****

Cora turned her head to face him. "How did that happen?" Her expression clearly showed she was concerned.

Paulo looked at her. "Being Chief of Intelligence I thought you would have know first," he said as his eyes drifted back to the ceiling. "Shes been labeled a traitor by Starfleet. They wont tell me why except that the incident occurred on the last mission."

Somberly Cora nodded, "Thanks and believe me I'll do what I can. If they aren't willing to talk it usually means there's more to it than meets the eye."

He nodded and kept holding her. "I just wish I could have seen this coming. I am an intelligence officer... I am trained to see things like this. I just can't think of what would cause her to want to do this."

"Don't beat yourself up for it," Cora responded gently as she enjoyed the comfort of his embrace. "That's another thing Intelligence officers are very good at doing."

"Speaking from experience?" He asked with a small smirk and keeping a tight hold on her so she wouldn't try to retaliate.

Cora turned her head to look at him the best she could with a sly smile, "You know I should smack you for that even though I love you." Then she was silent, "Yeah you could say I'm speaking from experience."

Paulo just held her. "Well, we can work it out together," he told her. He thought a few seconds as some images from the mission drifted back. The rescue mission of the crew. Everyone was safe now, except for his sister, who he had no idea about.

"Choosing Sides, Part 2"

(Occurs 1 day after Part One)

Principal Characters
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Admiral Jas Abrik, (Ret.), Security Advisor to the President

****

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

Replicator food was, as a general rule, indistinguishable from the actual meal that had been scanned and encoded to make each recipe offered in Starfleet's tremendous menu selection. Since scanning the meal was fairly uncomplicated, extra effort had been made to ensure that the scanned and encoded meals were as tasty and well-prepared as possible. Accordingly, the Fleet was widely considered to have the best cuisine available at the touch of a button of any entity in the Federation

As he sat, thinking about Admiral Teleel's visit, Daren's expertly and lovingly prepared and replicator-encoded fillet of sole tasted like ashes in his mouth.

There was no record of the conversation, no evidence that it had ever occurred at all other than his memories of the event. Additionally, any report or accusation he could make regarding the Admiral's - there was no word to describe it other than 'insane' to Daren's mind - request would be denied; he was as certain of that as he was the fact that Livia Proctor was unfit to command a squadron of rubber duckies in a bathtub, much less a critical point like DS5.

Which left him with no resort other than to do what he'd done since the meeting: pray for guidance... and the Federation.

Then the voice of his personal watchdog, the good Chief Harknass, came over the intercom. The Chief's voice was clipped, tighter than usual - the very model of military efficiency.

That did not seem to be a good sign.

=/\="Admiral Abrik to see you, Captain M'Kantu."=/\=

Daren looked down at his meal and pushed it aside. Abrik; the President's Security Advisor - and one of the prime movers behind the so-called "Hawk" party.... Not a good sign at all, even if hardly unexpected. =/\= "Please send him in, Chief." =/\= He'd heard form the Doves; it seemed only fair that the Hawks tried to pull him into their camp as well. There was a certain balance to it that Daren found faintly disturbing.

Abrik was a Trill, though unjoined, just entering old age. His grey hair contrasted against his spots which, though slightly faded with age, were still a fairly rich brown. He wore civilian dress, as befitted his current station as Security Advisor to President Bacco, but the suit still had a slight military look, and no one would ever mistake his military bearing for anything else. "Captain," Abrik said in greeting.

"Admiral," Daren nodded back as he indicated a chair. "Would you care to have a seat?"

"I hear you had a visit with Jenee Teleel yesterday, Captain." Abrik said without preamble, declining the seat. "I'd very much like to know the content of that conversation."

Short and to the point, Daren reflected. Although they'd never really met, everything he knew about the man – or Trill, as the case might be – told him that this was probably normal behavior for the Admiral.

"Simple enough, Admiral; she wanted more or less the same thing that I imagine you do, for me to align myself with her faction within Starfleet."

"In a way," Abrik said, folding his hands behind him and beginning to pace. "If I may, Captain, you don't seem particularly impressed with Admiral Teleel."

Daren had to agree that 'impressed' wasn't the word he would have used; 'terrified' came closer, or perhaps 'appalled.' "There may be a philosophical gulf that is too deep to bridge between her views and mine, sir," he acknowledged.

"I take it she voiced her rather interesting... perspective... on the topic of self-defense?" the retired Admiral asked, taking a less-commanding tone than before. "Jenee Teleel means well. Honestly, she does - and I don't doubt she really believes in the power of diplomacy. For that matter, so do I."

Ah. Daren had wondered how this meeting would go, but now he knew – or thought he did. Since the Doves had taken the odd approach of using the stick to entice him, that left the Hawks to try the carrot. "Oh?

"Well, I'm hardly an idiot, Captain. If I was, being the President's Security Adviser would likely be a very bad fit, wouldn't it?"

It didn't Daren even take an instant's thought to realize that his first response, 'Historically speaking, no, not really' was ill-advised. "It sounds, sir," he said instead, "as if you're pleading her cause and not your own."

"I don't mind diplomacy, Captain. I think it's a wonderful thing. I think it works best when one has got the strength - and the will - to back up one's words with force if necessary. And I think that there are times when we hamstring our own ideals by capitulating to diplomacy."

He was certainly a better speaker than Teleel had been; which, of course, was why he was one of the leaders of his faction – and why he was the one that had come to speak to Daren. "Such as now?" Daren asked quietly. Even though he thought he knew what the answer would be, like with Teleel, it ought to be said plainly, not hidden behind euphemism and allegory.

"Especially now." the retired Admiral replied with emphasis. "The Breen, T'Kith'Kin and Hyrdans have already committed Acts of War against the Federation. Yet now, we've adopted a pacifying stance with them - one of whom we don't even have diplomatic relations with, another that's in clear violations of every treaty term set on them by the end of the Dominion War, and another we have woefully inadequate Intelligence at all. But we do know this: They're pissed, and they don't like us, Captain, not one bit. And who our so-called allies? The Klingons, who we have to supposedly tolerate their Imperial policy and sentient rights violations for the supposed sake of interstellar diplomacy. The Romulans? They haven't even had a coherent government in the last five years. The Federation is alone, Captain M'Kantu, and the longer we wait to stand up to our enemies, the more we'll be playing by their rules."

And there it was, plain as day for anyone to see if they but looked for it – but that wasn't plain enough, not for this. "You're talking about preemptive strikes to reduce or eliminate their capacity to wage war against the Federation."

"The best defense is a good offense, Captain."

In a different way, this was as appalling as what Admiral Teleel had said. The Federation had never started a war, not deliberately, cold-bloodedly... before now, anyway, if Abrik and his faction had their way. "If you do indeed plan action of that nature," Daren essayed carefully, "don't you think that it might be wise to station a more… battle-tested… commander at DS5?" Perhaps Livia Proctor was just a place-holder, a distraction to focus attention upon. As horrifying as the prospect of the Federation making unprovoked war on someone, anyone – even an acknowledged enemy – was, the idea of Livia Proctor leading the charge was… more than he could envision.

"I'm aware of Livia Proctor's shortcomings." he replied, dismissing Daren's concerns. "But for all that, she's a good officer when it counts. For that matter, I think you are too, Daren. Which is why if you're willing to declare yourself allied with the Hawk faction, I can make your problems with Livia simply go away."

For a moment, Daren considered asking if that was why they'd been brought in the first place, to force him to choose… but then he decided against it. He was afraid of what the answer would be, and he thought it might be nice to retain *some* delusions about what the factions were and were not willing to do in order to get their way. Unlike Teleel, however, Abrik had placed him in the position of having to answer him now. Daren didn't like burning bridges, and he might not have to do it here, but the phantom smell of wood smoke in his mind told him otherwise.

"I've never stinted from doing my duty, sir," he began slowly. "When Starfleet needed an explorer, I picked up my tricorder and explored. When she needed a diplomat, I picked up the olive branch and was a peacemaker. And when she needed a warrior, I picked up the sword and fought for her just as hard as I had made peace and explored. But one thing I haven't done, in all my years in the Fleet, is allow myself to be bribed – or bullied – into doing anything." The smell of smoke grew stronger in his head, but he didn't stop, because he couldn't, it wasn't in him to do it, even if it cost him his career. "A long time ago, a girl I was trying to decide how I felt about summed it nicely. She told me that integrity was like virginity – once it was gone, you could never get it back again. If I let you, Admiral Teleel, or anyone else, buy or bully me into a course of action then I can't get what I've lost back again."

"I'm sorry to hear you feel that way, Captain." Abrik replied with a scowl, and started turning towards the door. He wouldn't waste time arguing with an idealist, after all. "You change your mind, Captain M'Kantu, give me a call. Otherwise.. I'll see you at the hearing."

"Suffer the Little Children" -- pt. 7

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil -- "Radu Prett" Team Psionic and Diplomatic Specialist

Brian spent the next half hour or so after pissing off the guard contemplating his situation. He was locked up in some dungeon-like cell in God-knew-where on a backwater planet in Hydran space without food, water or "facilities" of any kind. He had no means of communicating with anyone outside, his captor was telepathically unreadable, and he was already over half a day late for checking in with the team.

Oh yeah, life was good.

Feeling more challenged than discouraged -- a feeling he was sure would change for the worse after a day or more without real food -- he sat on the straw-strewn floor, his legs straight out in a "v" in front of him and his back against the cold wall that formed two sides of his corner cell. He brainstormed in silence, trying to figure out some way to communicate with someone outside this place -- wherever exactly this place was. It was somewhere underground, that much he was reasonably sure of, but how far underground and underground of what he had no clue. The man in white had said something about the holographic picture in his office being a better alternative to what could be seen otherwise. What was the "real" view? The city? The surrounding desert? Also, the man had been able to beam Brian and Kaffa out of the alleyway behind the inn, so wherever his office was it was within transporter range of the city. Or had been. For all Brian knew the man in white's office and this dungeon complex were part of a large ship or orbiting station.

Crumpling a straw he'd been fidgeting with, Brian sighed in frustration. There had been no sign of a station or ship of those kind of proportions when he and the others arrived on the B. He wondered now if any of the away team members were looking for him, a thought that suggested maybe there was hope for escape from this place after all. Or maybe not. Maybe Madden had decided they couldn't risk staying here any longer and had given the order to leave despite being short one man.

He got up to shake of the coldness that had leeched into his body from sitting against the stone wall and paced to the other side of his cell. Whatever else, thinking hopeless thoughts wasn't going to do anything for his situation, he knew that much. There had to be a way out of this. He was a senior Starfleet officer and a trained counselor, long past his days as a red-shirted ensign; surely he was beyond meaningless death by now.

If they away team *were* searching for him, how might they proceed? It was reasonable to assume they'd attempt some discreet asking around to see if anyone had noticed a tall man in a black leather trenchcoat roaming the streets. For that matter, they may even have asked for him by name -- not Brian Elessidil, of course, but Radu Prett, a name that was known by more than one person in these parts. Unfortunately, neither Radu Prett or a nameless wanderer in a trenchcoat would have been very noticeable or out of place on this rock. It was impossible to think they'd look underground, especially when Brian wasn't sure anyone even knew this place existed. And even if by some miracle they did find out he was here, how would they get to him? There certainly weren't going to be any lighted signs reading "Captured Starfleet Spy This Way", and he had no technological means of communication at his disposal.

His thoughts drifted to Madden for a moment. Elessidil was a strong telepath and Jayce was even stronger -- might they be able to find each other that way? The nanosecond of desperate hope faded out in a flash. Under some circumstances it would have been possible, but he was pretty certain his underground location would prevent it in this case. Besides, with the general distrust of telepaths the man in white had expressed the place could have been surrounded by some sort of telepathy-dampening technology.

Another sigh. Despite repeated reminders to himself not to give in to despair, it was getting increasingly difficult with every thought. Well, he wanted a little variety from the normal routine of counseling, and Fate -- bitch that she was -- had graciously provided.

Suddenly, as if on a common mechanism, the sound of doors latches opening filled the corridors, followed moments later, by the rustle of shuffling feet.

Children's feet.

Quickly, Brian ran up to the bars of his cell hoping to see a line of them pass by as they did the other night. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the first child -- a slender boy, somewhat taller than the others -- appeared, a line of similarly-dressed children with vacant expressions in tow, leading them toward some exit that would take them to whatever "duties" awaited them for the day. Visually and telepathically scanning the line for the girl Kaffa, Brian felt the same stir of concern for her he'd felt the night before when he finally found her.

~Kaffa!~ he telepathically sent.

No reply came back, but unlike during her return to the dungeon in the previous evening's procession, she did offer a quick glance in his direction.

Unfortunately, Brian wasn't the only one that noticed.

"Got yourself a little friend, have you?" the guard from earlier sneered as he suddenly appeared from somewhere up ahead toward where the line of children walked.

Brian looked up in surprise but offered no response.

A diabolical smile crossed the man's rough-shaven mug as he stepped into the line and grabbing Kaffa by the shoulders, extracted her from it. Again, neither she nor any of the other children said or did anything in response. In fact, the other children simply continued on single-file as if she had never been among them at all.

"Let her go!" Brian demanded, fearing for her safety from the intentions he sensed from the guard.

The ass merely smirked all the more wickedly and hastily led her off down the corridor from which she came.

"I said let her go!"

A moment later, there was the sound of a latch and door opening then closing, followed only by the the fading sound of the muffled shuffling as the line of children continued out of sight and hearing.

Then Brian heard Kaffa scream . . . . not vocally, but all the worse, telepathically..

"Let her go!! Let her go you son of a bitch!!" the counselor frantically yelled out, red-faced and straining in vain against the bars of his cell with all his might in an effort to rip them out, bend them aside, squeeze through them -- anything to get to her.

But try as he might, he couldn't help her any more than he could help himself.

"The Medic That Could"

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

Artim had been building up the nerve to do what he was about to do for a very long time. He'd been waiting for the right time to ask Commander Corgan if he'd consider him for the Hazard Team and hence why he sent the Commander a note to that effect. Figuring that he'd just help rescue the commander from the Hydrans in a rather daring raid along with what had taken place on DS5, Artim guessed now was about the best time. There was still one question he knew he'd be asked that he hadn't figured out the answer too, why. He'd better hurry on that.

Taking a deep breath, Artim hit the door chime of the security chief's office and hoped that he wouldn't be laughed right out.

--

"F**king rash..." Corgan muttered to himself, piling on the oozing topical cream on his irritated skin. It cooled his skin down, then warmed it as if there was no rash at all. James breathed a sigh of relief. Another week of that cream, and he would be rid of the last legacy of his incarceration with the Hydrans. He couldn't have known he would be allergic to the gunk inside their containment tanks, and he wished he'd known sooner than later.

When the door chimed to the tunes of 'Smoke on the Water', James rolled his sleeve over his arm, capped the jar of medicine and discreetly hid it away. Since the doctor gave him the same medicine that was also effective at treating Rigellian genital fungus, it was best James tried to retain some semblance of dignity after giving it a thrashing for the past few months.

Then he activated the black tint on his glasses. He liked doing it to make himself look cool and to help give him a better poker face.

"Come in." James beckoned, fortifying himself with a sip from his antique Rolling Stones coffee mug.

Artim entered the office of the rather...ecentric security chief and looked around nervously. He tried not to show it, but inside he was shaking just being in here. It didn't matter if he said no, Artim wouldn't care. But still, he did want this.

"Good day Commander. I see you're recovering well from your...gooey experience. I was wondering if you got the note I sent you about non-medical matters."

James frowned, furrowing his eyebrow as an itch annoyed him at that exact time. From what he gathered of Artim, he was competant enough for the non-medical matters he was talking about... trainingwise. But to look at him face to face, a grown man against a... not so grown man, there was no denying that James was having his doubts. Artim wasn't much of anything, much less a grown man.

He had to answer the man child somehow, so James tried to be as polite as he could. "Please, take a seat, Doctor. We have much to discuss."

Artim nodded and sat down while trying to calm himself and at the same time resisting the urge to snicker a bit.

James was thinking secretly, ~"Oh please god, give me a good reason to say no..."~ God was pleasantly on vacation, ignoring Corgan's divine seeking pleas. He knew very well that Federation discrimination policies were as draconian as old British army dicipline, only there were worse punishments involved and easier ways to fall into those traps. Death by a red tape strangulation wasn't his idea of a good way to go. He had to find Artim's weaknesses, and honestly.

"There are a few things I am worried about, Doctor." James ernestly said to the medic, cautiously as to try not to sound like he wanted this nightmare to end, "There is no doubt that you are a competant medic. However... I can't say this any other way. You have the physiological development of a young boy. Now... I know that it is normal for your species, but that's all I know about your species. I don't know that you'll be able to meet the physical requirements to join the Hazard Team, and I don't say this lightly. They are strict as hell. We're are actually a part of Starfleet's special forces, and getting in is as tough as joining the Starfleet Marines, or the Andorian Rangers, or the Spetznaz. I kid you not. Can you pass those requirements even though you're the physical equivalent of a boy?"

He had to bring this up first. Everyone brought this up first. Just because he had the body of a kid he wasn't fit enough for anything.

"Well sir, you should know that I did get top grades in physical training at the academy. Though I may not be as strong as many, as far as stamina and agility go I'm right up there with some Marines I know. I've tried out a couple of the training simulations and managed without too much difficulty. Besides, I've handled myself in a bar fight with a couple of Nausicaans twice my size. That has to be tough enough, right?

"Actually, no." James Corgan said, "It's one thing to say you can fight a couple of Naussicans, but it is another to say you can handle a 12 hour march through Scottish highlands with a hundred pound backpack? After that, can you be ready to fight? How long can you go without sleep? Can you handle Hell Week? That is just one of the many special forces requirements, and they are all meant to stretch the limits of even the healthiest of us. It took me three tries to get my special forces certification during my time at the Academy, so I can tell you personally that this will be the hardest thing you do. So I say this again... are you sure you can handle this?"

"Sir, I spent 300 years on a planet with no infrastructure scrounging for food with no help. The things I went through just trying to survive would make all that stuff look like a trip to Risa. On more then one occasion I walked 30, 40, or 50 kilometers to find something to eat and generally had to fight off wild animals to do it with only a .25 rifle after not eating for almost two weeks. And I did all that when I had the phyisology of a six year old. Sir, I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure I could handle it."

Unfazed, James said, "I've dealt with hardship as well, Doctor. I have no doubt that you can handle yourself well. I do read records, after all. But I have to know if you can fulfill all the listed requirements in the Starfleet Special Forces Qualification Requirements as listed in section 414 of the Starfleet Security Protocol Handbook. You can be the best survivalist on the field, but it won't do you any good if, for example, you do all that while carrying a hundred pounds of equipment and being able to shoot a coin off a rock from two hundred paces. Yes or no, do you think you can handle it?"

~"Oh dear bleeding god, I just wanted to know if he could handle a hundred pound backpack!"~ James kept mercifully quiet his opinion. Artim looked as if he had alot to prove, and for a person of such advanced age, didn't have alot of patience. ~"I still don't know if he can handle the physical requirements. I know I couldn't do it when I was a pre-teen!"~

"Might have to work up to the 100 pounds, but I've done 90 without a problem. Of course, that was carrying that poor little girl he'd found in the woods back to my house, and she was squirming too. Had to be at least 40 kilometers. As for the shooting part, no sweat."

James took a moment to look over Artim's profile. His paperwork was in order; the little bastard did alot of it himself in anticipation for this day. He had to smile when thinking about Artim's enthusiasm, but dreaded to have to tell the kid no. ~"He's not a kid. He's a 400 year old... something or other. Try to see that, James old boy, even if he was scrawnier than you at that age."~

"So..." James hummed, "When would you like to take the beginner qualification test?"

"How's next tuesday, say 1600?"

Sounds good." James jotted down the date and time, "And mind you, that's just to qualify. You'll still have to go through some upgraded training, be put under a tougher physical regimen than the rest of the crew, and then there's Hell Week... good old Hell Week. You won't get preferential treatment, because we all have to go through it. Clear?"

"Its only a week? Eh, no sweat. Well, probably some sweat, but its not a problem sir."

"Are you sure?" James stood up from his desk, a towering monolith over his prepubescent charge, "Because I don't want anyone to think that this job is... no sweat. This is dead serious. We protect lives and we take them, and we do it in the worse conditions. Anyone that still says its no sweat is either as hard as nails, a Vulcan, a Klingon, or insane. Understood?" He let his point sink; he hoped it was enough grim reality to sober Artim up.

"I know what I'm getting into sir. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. " , Artim didn't wan't say more then that. He'd met some special forces guys before that had fought in the war. Notable in his mind was a tellarite Sargent named Thral, demolitions specialist if he remembered him correctly. They ended up drinking together and ended up matching story for story, his war stories against Artim's stories of survival on Mira. Artim managed to keep pace to the surprise of the grizzled marine.

James looked pensive, but let himself smile. Artim held firm in his belief that he could pass. That alone was worth something. So James shook his hand and said, "1600 it is. I look forward to it.", and added in his head, ~"I hope he is all he says he is."~

"I'll be there sir." ,Artim replied as he turned to leave.

"New Commander, New Trials"

Commander Kol, First Officer
Commander James Corgan, Chief of Security

----------------
Security Office Deck 38
----------------

Commander Kol strode into the Security office quite frankly, like he owned the place. It wasn't a place he'd ever been before, and the result was that one Petty Officer Joseph Montoya, a normally solid member of the security staff, was sufficiently startled by the extremely large Klingon's arrival to reach for his side-arm.

This did not escape Kol's attention, of course, and he raised an eyebrow at the rating's action. "Do you intend to shoot me, Petty Officer?" he asked.

"Uh, no sir. You just suprised me is all."

"Pity. I could have used the entertainment." Kol replied, and headed for the Chief of Security's office.

******

James looked forward to a calm morning.

He had his coffee in his hand, in his antique Rolling Stones coffee mug, and it was strong enough to strip the registry numbers off the Galaxy's hull plating. He was sufficiently awake enough to conquor the day. Little did he know he had a fellow 'conquorer' to deal with.

A ring to his office. Not odd considering the amount of corresondence a security chief had to deal with on a day to day basis.

"Who is it?" James ventured to ask.

He got his answer, but not in a way that put him at ease. "Lieutenant T'lan, sir!" His Vulcan deputy said, every loyal but slightly alarmed, which by Vulcan standards meant red alert. "Commander Kol here to see you."

She could have been overcompensating, due to having her half pip filled with a full one a few days ago, but even her reaction was more than enough. His however, was a red alert all his own. ~"Oh sh*t! It's the new XO!"~ James felt panic well up in his chest. Klingons were notorious for being aggressive, grouchy stick in the muds, and Klingon commanding officers were the grouchiest. He rang the bell himself, and said to the console, "Oh crap! Well, by all means, let him in T'lan."

"Sir..." She paused, about as human as adding an 'ummm', "Commander Kol is with me outside your office, and ready to see you now."

~"F**K ME!"~ James freaked. Not a good way to start his day. He had an out of regulation coffee mug and poster as his office decorum, was heard swearing in front of a superior officer, and he addressed a subordinate by familiarity rather than rank. For a stickler, it was a salvo of photon torpedoes being loaded into the chamber and a firing solution right at Corgan's head!

James had only briefly met the Klingon XO a few times, owing to the fact that he didn't serve a regular bridge shift. It was an event he'd been thankful for.

"Commander," Kol's voice over the comm. "I do not like being kept waiting."

"Of course not. Come in, sir." James sweetly invited, at a tone that was about as much ass as he ever cared to kiss.

"How very kind of you." the Klingon replied, it a tone that was clearly meant to be sarcastic, but came off as vaguely threatening as everything else the deep-voiced Klingon said. It wasn't anything on purpose really - it was just the way the man talked.

James was one of those few who wasn't so easily fazed. He knew his Klingon; if not fluently but close enough to use for conversation. Klingons loved using different shades of aggression in every aspect of their life, from idle conversation to intense lovemaking. James opened the door and led the Commander to his seat, all the while knowing that even he couldn't be sure when a Klingon was being cordial or just being... a Klingon.

"Why do you believe I am here?" Kol asked casually, rather enjoying seeing the security chief squirm. A petty pleasure, perhaps, but an amusing one nonetheless.

~"You caught me off balance before. Not this time."~ James thought, saying to the commander in a tone that would do a naval officer proud, his inflections as sharp as razorblades, "It could be for a number of reasons, sir. And I for one do not want to presume which one you have come for, though I have a half dozen theories. Rather than go through them all, i'd rather cut to the quick. I shall pass the question to you. Why are you here, sir? What can I do to help?"

"Put simply, I am... displeased with the Security record of this ship."

"Oh?" Commander Corgan's eyebrow arched, "And what doesn't satisfy you that has already been under the scrutiny of Captain M'Kantu and Captain Henderson before you?"

"Examining this vessel's record of battle, I have noticed an extremely large number of incidents where this ship has been boarded, invaded, or faced difficulties with it's crew memebrs possessed by strange entities, most noticably the recent episode with the.. Dithparu, I believe they were called." the Klingon said.

Corgan harrumphed, "Yes, that is true. They possessed a number of my officers. It was almost not suppressed."

"This ship has had a number of Security Chiefs. A Lieutenant Commander Albrecht, a Vulcan whose name escapes me, a Lt. Commander Elaithin,and yourself. Both Albrecth and Elaithin hold the rank of Captain now. That suggest that Starfleet has not found fault with their performance. But still, Commander Corgan, throughout the tenures of all those officers, this ship has been boarded an unacceptable number of times."

"Is that a fact, sir?" James didn't like where the inquiry was going, but also found Commander Kol going in directions that had nothing to do with his department. If he was to call Kol on it, he was to jump at it now. "It is noted that in our ships records that this vessel has seen a disproportionate amount of hazardous missions and combat... even before its conversion into a war vessel... and especially during peacetime when the average vessel is out scanning space whale farts. Its the nature of our work. We get in more scraps than anyone in the fleet, conventional or incorporeal. That means our shields get knocked down more just by sheer probability alone, or some creature who claims to be Apollo or a space vampire gets in and beats the sh*t out of us. For that I do not argue or try to spin an excuse for why this happens."

He then added with a stone face that almost scowled, "But I will say that my department is always ready. You will note that during the Galaxy's history that the only time conventional forces took over our ship was with the Hirogen, while under Captain Brhode's command. He may have been an asshole, but I don't fault his leadership. In fact, we had him and the best tactical mind in Starfleet and we still lost... superior numbers and all, and we took it back all the same. Unconventionals, such as the Sanguinarians and the Dithparu, were not able to take over this ship. Close, but not quite. All other attacks we have repelled soundly, and we even gave the elite Breen Terinax Guard an ass kicking during the Battle of Havras when they made the mistake of coming aboard MY turf. And those are just examples."

"When you look over the records, you'll find that security has performed well under fire. The mistakes you're looking for are mostly elsewhere, such as why it took almost a full year to get a proper security sensor grid working on our ship, or why our shields can't keep out disembodied beings and our sensors can't scan ghosts. Ask the engineers or tactical or ops. All I know is that when all that fails and we have boarders, its my department that grabs them by the belt and boots them straight in the balls by any means."

He added as a caveat, "I think we do that job well, and if you don't, let me know and i'll rectify it." ~"And i'll answer to whatever faults I have to, so there!"~

"I appreciate your forthrightness," Kol replied, not batting an eye at the Security officer's long tirade in defense of his people. "But you misunderstand me. I was not faulting you or your predecessors, Commander, I was saying much the same as you just did."

~"What?"~ Was all James could think, sidelined by Kol's statement. He half expected the Klingon to lay the blame on him. To find that Kol was actually reasonable left James speechless. He wasn't used to dealing with reasonable people. "Oh..." James stammered, "Sorry. I should not have assumed otherwise. I apologize."

"Indeed, I agree that your people have acquited themselves admirably..." the unspoken "For Federationers" hung clearly in the air after that part if sentence. "I am of the opinion that you can do better. To that end, I have... revised your training schedule and excercises. I came here today to get your opinion on how best to proceed with them."

"Excuse me?" James spoke up, flabbergasted. ~"Just when I thought we picked a winner..."~

"You are chief of Security of this ship, are you not?"

"Well... yes." James said, "But what the hell is wrong with our training?"

"Nothing in particular." the Klingon shrugged. "It is merely below the levels I would prefer."

"Sir," James explained, "Ever since Captain Brhode brought his marines, we had to keep up step by step. We already revamped and revived our training. We have marine style physical fitness, phaser drills, mental health checks, everything. Not to mention our officers have to keep studying law, humanitarianism and god knows what else to make sure we're doing our jobs right. All on a ship were we have to act like the police, the army, the animal pound, and everything else that requires a strong back. What else can we possibly shoehorn in? If we're gonna make changes, it won't be easy."

"Then this is your "call", as you humans prefer to say." Kol said simply.

James gave the commander's thoughts some consideration. Though gruff (which was Klingon for calm and outright polite), Commander Kol had, from what the chief of security surmised, no ulterior motive. No urge to dress him down or go at his throat, or to make an example of him. Kol was pure neutral.

That moment, James felt somewhat ashamed at his false assumptions. He nodded respectfully, and said, "Ok. Then lets look it over."

"Very well. I would like to start by..."

"Klingon Charm"

Commander Kol, First Officer
Lieutenant T'Pol "8-Ball" Hunter, Chief Science Officer

----------------
Main Science Lab
Deck Whatever
----------------

If there was one thing Kol hated most about serving aboard a Starfleet vessel, it was the never-ending preponderance of reports and paddwork that these humans insisted on. They had reports for everything, and then they analyzed those reports, and came up with even newer reports, which they further analyzed, continuing the process on until infinity.

Nonetheless, as First Officer, it was one of his many responsibilities. Therefore, he would discharge, if with slightly less zeal than he applied to the rest of his duties.

That notion brought him, today, to the ship's primary sciences lab, which was where the computer reported the location of one Lieutenant Hunter, who, for some indecipherable reason, was referred to as "8-Ball" by the rest of the crew.

"8-ball" was attempting to rub a stress headache away from her temples. . .stupid, new transferred ensign who didn't couldn't recognize a Arcturian from a Antedean. . .when she saw the freakishly huge Kol walk into her science lab. 8-ball had heard a great deal about their new First Officer. None of it was happy. In fact, most people seemed to fear him in a "fate worse than death" kind of way. 8-ball herself didn't think Kol was worse than Victor Krieghoff, but she sure as hell didn't want to have to spend any quality time with the massively intimidating Klingon.

Of course, he was heading right at her.

8-ball's headache tripled.

"Lieutenant." he said quietly - as quietly as his deep bass voice allowed.

"Oh, hi. Hi, Commander. Hi. Um, how are you? It's a lovely day, isn't it? Well, you can't really see the day due to the whole, ah, flying through space thing, but I bet if we were on the nearest planet, the atmosphere would be terrific. Did I ask how you were doing?"

Kol simply folded his arms across his chest, and stared at her.

8-ball sighed and shook her head. The whole charming-over-talking-nervous thing obviously didn't work with Klingon commanders. "Nevermind," she said. "What can I do you for?"

He smiled openly at the choice phrasing of those words, displaying a great number of very sharp teeth. The Lieutenant certainly was a woman of ample charms, he admitted to himself. Still, business first. Pleasure late. "Your reports are late, Lieutenant. All of them."

8-ball managed to not recoil from the sudden display of terrifyingly sharp teeth, but it wasn't easy. ~How many teeth can a person possibly have?~ 8-ball wondered in fascination and horror to herself. ~You could bite through a lowly Chief Science Officer's bones with chompers like that~ Then, willing this picture of her bloody and chewed up body away from her mind, 8-ball attempted to smile at the Commander. She imagined her smile was far less horrifying than his.

"Well, I've been a little behind, you know," 8-ball said. "There's kind of a lot of stuff going on, just general Galaxy weirdness and the freaking multitude of stuff happening with the Jem'hadar. . .I mean, seriously that place was just busting with badness. . .but you don't care about that. You don't want excuses, right?. Yeah. Well, I'll get those reports to you as soon as humanly possible. Humanly or Klingonly or. . .anyway, promise. Cross my heart. Don't hope to die, really, cause that doesn't sound like fun at all, but definitely, reports will be there soon. Pronto. On the double. I'm talking a lot again, aren't I?"

"Yes." he confirmed.

8-ball sighed. "I bet Klingons never have this problem. Talking a lot when they're nervous. Then again, when do you meet gabby Klingons? Oh, I'm doing it again. Hold on." 8-ball quickly crossed over to pick up a PADD and worked on it for a couple of seconds, making sure she didn't expose her back to Kol and his freakishly sharp teeth. After another minute, she handed the PADD to Kol. "Here are some of the reports I owe you. The rest I'll get to you really, really quick. Okay? Anything else, Sir?"

"Today will be fine, Lieutenant. Just do not allow it to happen again." he chided in a tone that was, for Kol anyway, almost gentle.

Not knowing Kol all that well, 8-ball didn't pick up on the gentle. She was still stuck on the teeth. "I won't, Sir," she said, and then asked, "Anything else?" while fervently praying that there was nothing else and that he would leave in the next six seconds to go terrify someone else.

"One other thing," he confirmed. "When you get off-shift, meet me in ten forward." It all but sounded like an order.

8-ball blinked. Twice. She racked her brain to try to think of anything that Kol would want with her in ten-forward and failed. Except, possibly to use his grandma-what-big-teeth-you-have canines to munch on her for an early evening snack. "Um, why, Sir?" she asked faintly.

"Because I wish to dine with you, Lieutenant Hunter. I would think that would be obvious."

8-ball stared at him. For awhile. Finally, she blinked, and said, "Um. Okay. Sir," because really, she wasn't sure what to say. No or NO! or Noooooooooo! all came to mind but 'no' was not a word you wanted to say to someone like Kol. Plus, she was too in shock to really do anything else. "I'll, uh, see you then," 8-ball said, her brain still screaming things like 'What are you doing! You're going to get us killed!'.

"Very well." he smiled again. "And if the reports of your prowess are to be believed, then I look forward to an interesting evening."

8-Ball didn't quite know how to respond to that, so instead she just stared, her mouth hanging open, as the Klingon departed.

"Ninety Nine Green Bottles"

*takes place before 'Klingon Charm'*

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas
SFMC, Furies Detachment, USS Galaxy

Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter
Chief Science Officer, USS Galaxy

*****

Ten Forward
Lounge
Deck 10

Pop!

The quiet peace of Ten-Forward was broken by a loud popping noise. An ungodly sound. Like the annoying water tap drip that wakes you in the middle of the night. It shattered the memory he was remembering into hundreds of shards, all too small to catch, as they fell to the floor, only to shatter into even smaller pieces. Noooooooooooo!

Pop!

Annoyed at the interruption, he tried to ignore the sound by concentrating on the liquid within his glass to swirl around as he played with the glass.

Pop!

Looking up from the glass, he spied some punk in uniform sitting several tables away playing with some form of plastic material, that looked like it contained pockets of air. He watched as the man stared intently at one of the pockets as his finger and thumb closed around it, gently squeezing; the look of anger or perhaps hatred on his face.

Pop!

God damn it was annoying. Why oh why would anyone be stupid enough to make such a racket today, of all days. It wasn't called for. It wasn't warranted. And it was definitely not needed. That was for sure.

That damn popping was driving him crazy and if the punk did it again, Steven knew that he'd be thrown in the brig for what he was going to do to the Navy officer. He doubted the man's mother would recognize him. Just one more pop... That's all it was gonna take.

But it didn't come. Some woman appeared and started talking to the young man, and the popping stopped. He'd be happy to go over there and kiss the woman for making the popping sound stop. But that would likely result is a stint in the brig as well. And as much as being in the brig would be fun (at least until the Synthehol wore off) he doubted if Lieutenant London would be appreciative of it.

At least he could go back to his Isobella in peace. This time the memory of their time together on Risa, enjoying the wonders that the Pleasure planet had to offer. They had been on a Three week leave pass and it had been a toss up between there and the Great Temples of Vega. The twosome had spent much of their time at a beach side bach with the sand, surf, sun and gentle breeze to keep them company. "We could have done this in the holodeck" She had said one morning. "Yeah, but it isn't quite the same." I had replied. Little had she known that within a few hours she was going to be surprised by my popping the big question.

Lying in the hammock on the porch looking out to the wonderful lagoon, with Isobella lying next to me, her face resting on my chest, I realized that nothing else mattered in the world except the wonderful woman before me. Everything was perfect. She completed me and I couldn't ask for anything else in the whole world.

Then the memory started fading away, despite Jonas' attempts to hold onto it.

Sighing as the world of Ten Forward came into focus again, Jonas took another gulp from his drink. Damn he missed her.

"You look as miserable as I feel" A voice called out from nearby.

Jonas looked up from the glass and looked for the speaker. At first all he noticed was that the annoying punk of an officer had left the area, but then he saw a young woman looking in his direction. And that she also had a glass of what looked like Synthehol as well.

"I guess I feel as bad as I look then." He replied, a rye smile broadening on his face.

8-ball twirled her drink and smiled at the guy she was looking at. He had that I-hate-my-life-I-hate-my-life-god-I-want-to-get-drunk-I-hate-my-life look on his face and that suited her just fine. 8-ball was depressed. After practically going over the entire ship's manifest for eligible bachelors, she had discovered that she was destined for spinster-hood. . .this had not put her in the best of moods. Therefore, she had a remedy.

Find some guy. Get him drunk. Have sex. Rinse, wash, repeat.

~If you can't get a boyfriend, you can at least get laid~ 8-ball thought dryly to herself and then smiled again at the miserable yet cute-ish looking guy. " She stood up and walked over to the seat next to him. "You mind?"

Steven indicated the open seat. "Not at all."

"Good, because I was going to sit next to you anyway, whether you minded or not," 8-ball said. She sat down next to the guy, watched him for a second, and then said, "So, what's your story? Why are you sitting all alone, drinking something that's not quite as strong as it should be?"

"You really want to know?" Steven asked.

"Sure," 8-ball said, because what was she going to say? No? No, I'm not really interested; I just want to use you for sex. Ya don't mind, do ya?

Instead, she leaned forward a little on the counter and said, "I'd like to know."

"I'll give you the short version. Guy meets girl in the Marines. Guy and girl fall in love. Guy proposes and girl accepts. Guy and girl go on a mission to a shithole planet. Girl gets injured badly. Snot-nosed Navy Comms officer refuses Evac. Girl dies. Guy beats the shit out of Navy Comms Officer. Guy gets time in the Brig and reprimand for beating. Three years later Guy still struggles to get over girl. How is that for the short version?"

"Well done," 8-ball said. "Very brief, to the point, like a marine should be. Gets details out of the way. I'm sorry about your girl. Anything significant about this day, or just felt a little more bluesy than normal?"

Jonas sighed. "It was Four years ago today that I asked her to marry me."

8-ball nodded and drank from her glass. "I'm sorry," she said again, which seemed insignificant and stupid. "I can't say I have nearly good enough reasons."

"Dare I ask why you're hitting the Synth?"

8-ball raised an eyebrow. "I," she said, "am not drinking Synth. I have standards. Which means, I'm a snob, and also a cheat, and sometimes a rebel. If you're drinking to get drunk, synthenol is not the way to go." 8-ball very discreetly pulled out her favorite secret flask. . .she needed to name it something, but hadn't come up with anything fitting yet. . .and poured a little into Jonas's cup and a good deal more into her own. The liquid did not change color at all.

"Tricks of the trade," 8-ball said. " I used to work in a bar. Cheers." 8-ball smiled at Jonas and drank her drink. "Anyway, my reasons for the illegal booze? Mostly, I got dumped awhile ago and I'm single and depressed and lonely and have no one on the ship to play with." ~Also nightmares and flashbacks and weird telepathy things going on, but I don't need to mention any of that~ "Same old story, I guess. Want another nip, or are you good with the mostly straight synthenol?"

Steven offered his glass for a refill. "Not really trying to get drunk, just numb the memories. And I'm sure this'll help." He nodded towards the flask.

Her dark eyes sparkled in the artificial light, making her look even more enticing. It had been so long, but perhaps it was time to let the past go and move on. He smiled cheekily. "Of course, it does depend on what you define 'play' as!".

"Oh, my definiton of play is just about as broad as you can imagine," 8-ball said."I've always been good at finding all kinds of fun. It's just a matter of finding someone equally fun to play with."

"So, what do you want to do about it then?" Jonas asked, almost rhetorically, for the answer seemed pretty obvious.

8-ball completely agreed, so she didn't bother to answer the question. "My quarters or yours?" she asked back, and grinned at him with one hand touching his leg.

"Um... unless you want every enlisted marine to hear us, then I suggest your quarters."

8-ball rose one eyebrow as her mischevious grin grew ever wider. "Well, that could be kind of fun," she said, and then laughed at the marine's expression. "Come on," she said, sliding off the stool. "My quarters it is. Nice bed, no audience, and all the room in the world to play."

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