"If It Makes You Happy"

Corran Rex
Ella Grey

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Corran's Quarters
--------------------

Corran could feel his back pop slightly as he rolled back to his side of the bed, the euphoric afterglow just beginning to feed. Gods, if he could just lay there for .. well, ever.. that'd be just fine.

She hadn't been one to cling in the past but as they were in officially in a relationship, which was still a new concept for her to work her head around, Ella rolled with him and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt content, almost at peace. Sleepy.

"You know, I don't see new tricks often," he said lazily, the contented smile still decorating his features. "But that thing with your legs was.. "

"I know, " Ella said with a smirk, her eyes closed. "You can say it, I'm a sex goddess."

"I won't disagree." he said, giving her a squeeze with the arm that was wrapped around her already. "So, you having fun running Engineering?"

"Mmmmm," She replied with a yawn. "I get to boss everyone around, get everyone to call me Chief, it's great."

"Any indications of sabotage yet?" the Trill asked. It was something a lot of people were speculating on, ever since word about O'Shea had spread around the ship.

She opened an eye. "Not yet, although its pretty likely. And I was just getting used to the idea of the ship without the Quick virus. Who knows what we'll have to deal with from an intentional attack."

Ella closed her eye again. "Never a dull moment."

"Wouldn't be the Galaxy if there was." he replied, before remembering something else. without preamble, he stood from the bed, reaching down to pull on the pants of his pajamas. "Hey, come over here to my terminal - I want to show you something I've been working on."

Ella grumbled good naturedly but wrapped the sheet around her and came over to the terminal.

Corran sat down at the messy desk, which was decorated with several plates he had yet to return to the replicator, a few cups, and various assorted knick-knacks, including an open jumble of isolinear chips and various other components.

He turned to none of that, however, instead activating his main terminal. Within seconds he had a directory listing open and activated a file. "I've been combing through samples of some of your recordings, the ones the ship had on file anyways, from before your.. incident."

"There's a lot of them here, but it hasn't been quite enough to construct the program I want. So I've got some more being transmitted from the Starfleet archives, but it's able to put a few sentences together."

His finger hovered over the play button for a moment, but he wasn't looking at Ella's face, so he didn't see her reaction.

"What?" Ella finally found the voice to interrupt, sharply, before he could hit the button that would activate the program

Corran's finger stopped midair as she interjected. "It's a new voice matrix for your vocoder. I was going to do a simple reprogram job on it, make you sound like the ship's computer, but then I thought, there has to be enough recordings of your real voice to be able to reconstruct it - "

"Don't do that!" Ella said in a shrill voice made shriller by the implant or perhaps the way her throat seemed to want to close in on itself.

Corran jerked back slightly at her tone, and a look of confusion spread across his face. "Uh..." he started, clearly not understanding why she was upset. "Ella, why the hell not?"

"Uh, because I don't want you to?" Ella snapped, pulling the sheet tightly around her. "Christ, Corran, doesn't the fact that I use the implant in the first place sort of suggest that I don't want anyone to hear my real voice?"

"You said it was because your voice had atrophied." he replied back, pointing a finger at her. "I thought you'd want to hear your own voice again. How'm I supposed to know?"

"I said the doctors were worried about it." She said, running a hand through her hair. "I told you also why I stopped speaking in the first place."

He didn't say anything in response - hell, the fighter pilot didn't know what *to* say.

Ella sighed, forcing her heartbeat to slow down or at least to a rhythm that didn't mimic a jackhammer. "How long have you been working on this?"

"A couple of weeks." he replied honestly. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be - . I thought you'd be happy."

"You did this for me." Ella stated, her lip pouting out slightly as she tried to smile. It was really kind of sweet if you thought about it. Rex couldn't have known he'd have had more luck with a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates.

"Well, yeah." he replied. He'd kind of thought that was obvious. His tone clearly conveyed such a sentiment.

"To make me happy."

"Right."

Wordlessly, she moved to frame his face with her hands. She was unused to the idea of a boyfriend trying to make her happy, Thomas certainly had never put any real thought into it, and felt absurdly touched by it. Ella kissed him softly.

There'd been enough flip-flops in Ella's attitudes in the last ten minutes to give the Trill whiplash, but, as ever, he was willing to go along for the ride. (So to speak.) So he settled for returning her kiss, and wrapped his arms around her midsection.

"Thank you." she said quietly.

"Can't say I understand any of the last five minutes," he shrugged, "But then, I can be bribed to forget."

"I'll see what I can do." she grinned wickedly.

"Enemy Mine"

Ensign Kio
Medical Officer
& Ensign Kiel
Apprentice Counselor

Location: Sickbay, USS Galaxy (after the Great Purge)

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

Sitting on a biobed toward the back corner of the Galaxy's sickbay, Kiel shifted the small Jem'Hadar child from one side of his lap to the other, having found that his right thigh was beginning to numb from the boy's weight having settled there. If he'd even entertained a thought about leaving the toddler he'd uncovered from the colony then it had been dashed when the boy had screamed at Kiel letting him go. The child had latched himself so firmly to the preadolescent counsellor that the small Jem'Hadar's fingernails had left scratches through the El Aurian's shirt. At the very least, it appeared that the El Aurian had made a new friend out of the whole experience. One that was starting to get fussy and irritable at the unfamiliar environment they were sitting around waiting in.

Of course, Kiel still had no idea what the Galaxy was supposed to do with the Jem'Hadar toddler. There were temporary shelters being set- up for their guests, of which there seemed a good number aboard. All the children orphaned it seemed. Homeless. Adrift in space. It all sounded rather hauntingly familiar to him. If only it had been the Borg that had driven them off their planet, he might have even called the resemblance... uncanny.

Holding the child in his lap quietly, the young El Aurian counsellor rocked the child slowly as he waited for someone to take a look at the boy. He still hadn't had a chance to stop or catch his breath since the return to the ship. Or change clothes for that matter. His black trousers and shirt were tattered and stained with mud and dirt. Not exactly the reserved demeanour Kiel usually managed, but getting shot at tended to do that to you.

It had been a busy day in sick-bay but this was a good thing from Ensign Kio’s perspective as it negated the need for her non-Vulcan colleagues to indulge in small-talk. As the flow of people who needed attention dangerously subsided she cast about her for something to do and spotted an El Aurian sitting on a biobed with a Jem'Hadar child upon his lap. The young ones arms were firmly wrapped about his neck with a look of resolution upon its young face which only a Jem'Hadar could muster. They made a curious pair, the El Aurian a Starfleet officer with an adults experience in years, belied by his appearance which caused him and his charge to look like two grubby children newly plucked from a warzone.

Intrigued, Kio made her way over to them, noting that the El Aurian sported several nasty looking lacerations that would need attention, although nothing which appeared life threatening.

“Ensign Kio.” She introduced her-self abruptly. “Are you being seen to or may I be of service?”

"Counselor Kiel, if you'll believe it," the El Aurian youth replied weakly, knowing he hardly looked like a Starfleet officer in his dirtied civilian clothes and holding up the Jem'Hadar toddler as he spoke. "He won't tell me a name, but maybe he'll be more cooperative with you."

Upon glancing up at the Vulcan, the small child immediately gave a shout and began squirming violently, finally working out of Kiel's hands and ducking around so that the boy was hiding behind the El Aurian. "Or not," Kiel deadpanned, obviously exhausted. "But no," he stated, glancing up at the doctor. "We haven't been seen. I was down on the planet when things started blowing up and found him hiding in a locker. I wasn't sure if he'd been injured at all or not."

Reaching around behind his back, Kiel gently patted the side of the Jem'Hadar who was clinging tightly against him, and giving Kio dark looks as he snuck glances at the Vulcan from behind Kiel's shoulder.

Kio had absolutely no skill in communicating with infants. It had been difficult enough to bring her-self to communicate with “emotional” species on leaving Vulcan but their offspring was a whole new experience yet again. At least logic was an understood, if not universally practiced, medium with most humanoids. Very young children seemed to have little or no grasp of it at all. And then there was the fear, quite illogical. She might not smile and pander to their needs (after all what were they but poorly formed versions of their adult selves?) but there really was no need for the Jem’Hadar child to hide from her.

“What is your name child?” She asked. Predictably there was no answer.

She raised one eyebrow and bent in the middle until her face was almost level with the child’s and coolly regarded his small mistrustful face with her dark eyes. “He does not appear to be hurt but I must scan him properly.” She said. “If you might persuade him to lie down on the biobed I will do so and then I will see to your own injuries.”

Laughing weakly, Kiel smiled up at the doctor. "You don't ask for much, do you doc," the youth asked rhetorically. He imagined fighting the Jem'Hadar soldiers would be easier than the task of getting the child to lay down; though, if he was picking or choosing his battles, then neither were ones he would have chosen. Leaning over, Kiel stretched out onto the bio bed himself, glancing over at the Jem'Hadar boy in the hopes that maybe he would mimic Kiel's behaviour.

Blinking his large eyes several times, the gray-skinned toddler just seemed confused as to what had happened to his hiding spot, glancing between the relaxed El Aurian and the Vulcan doctor for a moment. Instead of copying the counsellor’s behaviour, though, the little Jem'Hadar simply scooted over to seat himself atop Kiel's torso and placed the thumb of his right hand in his mouth, sucking on it quietly.

"How about we compromise and I lay down... he just sits quietly while you scan," Kiel offered, hopeful the doctor would go with it. Reaching up with one hand, Kiel rubbed the child's back reassuringly.

Kio nodded and picked up the scanner from the table before holding it out to begin checking the child’s vital signs. What was a routine and fairly innocuous procedure clearly threatened immanent death to the Jem’Hadar child. Rather than trying to hide behind his friend however he felt that the best course of action was to seize the instrument and throw it as violently as possible at Kio’s head.

He had a pretty good aim for a four year old but then Kio had pretty good reflexes, even for a Vulcan, and she plucked the scanner from the air even as it seemed inevitable it would strike her between the eyes. This demonstration of precision catching seemed to stun the child to silence and then as Kio calmly began the scan again he remained still, gazing up at her with wide eyes.

“He appears to be a spirited and very healthy child.” She concluded after a moment or so. "You will no doubt have your hands full with his care."

"What," the El Aurian youth blurted out, leaning up as best he could with the toddler seated on his stomach. Glancing from the child to the doctor several times, Kiel held the palms of his hands up as he shook his head. "Don't you have medics or something taking care of these orphans? I can't take care of him... I'm a kid myself," he proclaimed firmly.

The sudden outburst had caused the child to twist around to face the El Aurian. The two exchanging a long look between them before Kiel said, "You are -so- not in my job description."

In response, the young Jem'Hadar took his thumb out of his mouth and threw both arms around Kiel's neck. Shoulders sagging in resignation, Kiel just looked up at the Vulcan as he muttered, "Good grief."

"Abandoned? Part 1"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
And Atole Tekri

Location, USS Galaxy

Tekri had the supernatural ability to bring out of Corgan his kindness and decency.

Despite the pitfalls staring glaringly obvious at him.

A veteran of the second borg invasion and the Dominion War, decorated and celebrated as a security veteran after the war, with countless hostile actions under his belt and a near encyclopedic knowledge of the ways of death from his years of practice that he had passed on well to nearly every security deputy under his tutelage, a survivor and now institution on the Galaxy, the protector and shepard of sheep when he was once the mental case that people ignored unless they wanted a horde of aliens permanently dead. Yes, Corgan was that much of a man.

The years were not kind to his psyche, but kind to his skills. Even kind to his looks, a blend of wiseness and intelligence with a spark of energy in his gray/blue eyes, a serious sullen face that could turn beautifully benevolent in a given moment and give a more honest smile than any beauty, boyish good looks and white skin now filling out with more cragginess and edge as he entered his early 30's and expanding with more muscle to give his whipcord frame a more taunt, coil like readiness. Even scars spared him, save for a nearly invisible one across the eye by a poisoned Hirogen hunting sickle, but that caused him to wear glasses that gave him a more intellectual air (or coolness when he activated the tints). The only scars on him were hidden under uniform, or covered by tattoos from wilder days.

Corgan had all that going for him, and the attitude of a knight. Fight fairly, apprehend in the name of justice, never let anyone down, and always pay respect to those around him. And women were not women, they were ladies, and his kindness towards them was a given.

Which was why James was here. With the viper called Tekri, despite his better judgement.

Their encounters on the galaxy have been brief during her pregnancy, an occasional hello, how do you do, and a check on the status of the gestating Nuhir Tekri. Though it wasn't his fault, and the dangers were very appearant, James still considered Nuhir to be his child, even if in DNA only. He owed it to Nuhir, not Atole, to show concern for their child.

But was it going too far to help her in lamaze class?

He certainly thought so, and he suspected Tekri requested his attendance so that she had another chance to steal him away from his current girlfriend.

But how could James say no? It wasn't in his nature to deny a person in need of help.

Though sometimes he wished for a little selfishness.

~"No."~ James chided himself mentally. Selfishness was the reason he was tied up to Tekri. Selfishness led to their lovemaking; the undeniable desire for each other at the time that told him to ignore everything and do it anyways. Selfishness got his commission nearly destroyed. Selfishness caused him to be blacklisted by Starfleet Command's command school. Selfishness killed the implaccable trust of the ship in their security chief, and that was hard to redeem no matter how many hostile aliens he killed.

This time he wanted to be the good man that was there for everyone, and it wasn't easy. He had to sacrifice another date with the local schoolteacher, Mika, for this class. Any more, and Mika was warned him that more excuses would not work. Next time or no time, were her exact words.

Sullenly, James sighed. Being the knight and protector gave him some moral redemption, but weighed like duranium ingots on his shoulders.

He looked at Tekri, gave a faint if exhausted smile; more to brighten her mood than express his. She was beautiful in her pregnancy, her skin aglow like only pregnant women did; and for a Romulan it was a healthy yellow with green undertones from her copper based blood. Pregnancy ripened her like an apple; ample parts of her female form that were more than generous before were slightly larger, her stomach swelled in its last term as their baby was created cell by cell, and her face warmed when she thought of the child, her fingers petting her bulging stomach with precision and care.

"James," Tekri greeted him with the customary Rihannusu bow of the head, before breaking into a smile. "I am so glad you could make it. I'd rather not do this alone."

~"You're the only one."~ James groused, "I know. It can't be easy, with nobody else on the ship to turn to. Must not be easy to come to me since i've been less than cordial these past few months. But I did promise to do what I can for Nuhir, and this is a start, so i'll be as civil as I can."

"That is all I can ask of you, James, so thank you," Tekri replied.

"So..." James' curiousity softly asked, "How's Nuhir?"

"The doctors say she's in excellent health."

To make small talk and ask further about the baby, James asked, "I bet she's kicking like crazy."

"Yes," Tekri smiled again and rubbed her stomach. "She's got the strongest right foot I've ever felt."

James chuckled. He let Tekri's story loosen him up. "I can already tell she is going to be just like I used to be. So wound up and energetic. She'll want to climb trees, chase animals, and say no by the time she's one and a half. That's how I used to be as a kid. Be careful."

"Trust me, James," Tekri said. "I will be. But whatever happens, I'll at least make sure she doesn't make the mistake of going into our lines of work. Hopefully she'll be a doctor, lawyer or politician - just not a security agent."

"I'm hoping for engineer." James grinned. "Smart and practical."

Around the room, there were several Starfleet medical staff talking to a number of very pregnant-looking women. One of the younger doctors noticed Tekri and Corgan, and approached them.

"Hi!" he said, a reassuring grin plastered on his face, which Tekri found quite irritating. "Welcome to lamaze class. Here, you'll find that childbirth is not painful at all, but more like an adventure." He shook Tekri's hand and then turned to Corgan, recognising the security chief for the first time.

"Commander Corgan," he said, surprised. "I didn't know you were a father-to-be. I thought those stories were only rumours, but apparently not... anyway, let's get started, shall we?"

The irritating whine of his voice was enough to set Corgan off, but the outright pussyfooting about his 'rumours' was enough to warrant a cuff to the back of the head. James held back the urge, but quipped back, "I see you are concerned about rumours, Lieutenant. You should talk with me sometime. Rumours are my job. Perhaps if you let some of these rumours off on me, you can go back to your job teaching us the grand, painless adventure of childbirth. Deal?"

Vance's stare turned hard and his eyebrows creased. "Yes... sir." He replied acidly.

When they were at a safe distance, Corgan and Tekri collected an exercise mat and laid it out on the floor. "That'll teach the little punkass to mess with the mother of my child." Corgan sniggered, lowering Tekri down on the mat.

Lieutenant Vance started off the exercises. "Alright, we are going to start with a few breathing exercises. With me... one... and.. "He droned off into his routine, trying alien breathing techniques to relax the body. All couples, Tekri and James included, had to join in, and it made James feel like an idiot (though the effects of slow breathing were well documented by multiple cultures for having a relaxing effect, which he was feeling, but not acknowledging).

In the middle of one exercise, James dared to ask, "We need to talk about Nuhir's future. And I mean talk seriously about her future. Can I see you at Ten Forward after lamaze?"

Not even giving Tekri the chance to utter a reply, Lieutenant Vance rang out, "I will need a volunteer for the audience. Lets see... Atole Tekri? May I use you as an assistant?"

James jested, "Better be careful. I think he's getting fresh with you."

"I know," Tekri growled. "I find him... repulsive."

Shrugging his shoulders, James replied, "If he goes too far, you can always garotte him, or execute him Tal'Shiar style. I'll even help you stash his body in the photon torpedo tube."

"Is that standard Starfleet policy?" Tekri quipped back with a hint of a smile.

"Hey, my personal policy." James sarcastically remarked, "Everyone gets one."

The odd discussion was drawing an astonished crowd, including Lieutenant Vance.

"Oh!" James blushed, "I'm sorry. Tekri and I were talking about something important. Sorry. Go ahead. Carry on."

From the moment the class began, it was obvious to Tekri that this doctor (who introduced himself as Lieutenant Vance) was strongly attracted to her. As Tekri lay on the floor, moving into various positions, Vance used every opportunity to breath down her neck and touch her, under the pretence of adjusting her body into the correct position.

He was also constantly grinning wolfishly at her, and he would immediately interrupt any conversation between her and James. She found his obnoxious manners incredibly infuriating, though he evidently did not realise her disinterest. She wondered if James was equally perturbed.

If Tekri was disturbed, James was livid. ~"Oh for f**k sakes, this is worse than our sexual harrassment videos. I need to get her out of there quick... without causing a scene. Think James... think."~

He looked around at his neighbors. Mostly of human ilk, young couples with their child, James started to look for the people without their significant others. He saw only one, and it was something he didn't want to unload on Lieutenant Vance.

There was no choice, and a woman's dignity was at stake.

=/\="Hey... lady... whoever you are."=/\= James hissed a brief message in Klingon to the woman behind him. =/\="I need your help. You are Litza, daughter of M'kor, right? A woman's honour is at stake. Will you aide me, warrior."=/\=

James meekly smiled at his neighbors as the class rolled on. He then heard the husky, snarly voice of his neighbor from behind. =/\="That Romulan p'tak!? Never. Let her tribble violated womb be defiled by that stick man doctor."=/\=

Sighing, James tried again, =/\="Would you like that little 'stick man' groping you like that? Romulan or now, she is a woman, and as far as I know women don't like to be treated like squeeze toys when the man's uninvited. Tell me, do you want this to keep going on or would you rather break his arm off and feed it up his ass?"=/\=

=/\="What do you think?"=/\= Litza growled softly near his ear.

James continued in crude Klingon, =/\="You don't need to break off any appendages and shove them up any holes in his body. Just... take Tekri's place."=/\=

Litza swore something in Klingon. James didn't know the word, but presumed it was best left to the sailor lexicon.

=/\="He won't get fresh with you. You scare the hell out of him."=/\= James reassured, =/\="If you do, i'll forget that incident where your husband soiled the plasma conduits during last week's bachelor party..."=/\=

Litza shot up from her mat. An imposing seven feet of pure Klingon muscle and spirit, she boomed as if officiating a challenge at a royal court, "I, Litza, daughter of M'Kor, demand that I take the place of that Romulan p'tak! I demand personal tutelage, now!"

"Better do it man." James warned, watching Lieutenant Vance turn ghost white, "Klingon women get awefully pissy."

"Yeah... uh, sure," Vance reluctantly moved away from Tekri and towards the Klingon, whilst firing an icy glare at James.

As Tekri came back to her mat beside James, he said softly to her, "Heh. Poor bastard."

While the young lieutenant struggled with the feisty Klingon, Tekri enjoyed a moment of peace with James. She enjoyed his touch as he adjusted her into the correct position, and felt reassured that he would be there during the pregnancy.

Suddenly she looked into James' eyes with a look of fear. "There's something, I need to tell you," she said, and her bottom lip trembled.

~"About time."~ James thought privately. He wanted to raise some important issues too, but not during lamaze class. But if it was her doing the issue raising, it took some pressure off him, "Sure, you can tell me. What is it?"

"My mother... she passed away during childbirth. And now its my turn, and I'm terrified - partly because I'm afraid that I'll die like she did, and partly because I don't want to bring a motherless child into the world like I was."

"I see." James looked downcast. The last few months he had tried to drive Tekri out of his life, and it was hard to imagine that she had doubts and fears. Speaking openly of them made him feel guilty, partly for not being there, and partly because he couldn't. ~"She choose to stay here on a foreign vessel and even hijacked my dna to make this child, just to get me back. She has failed on both accounts and now she's lonelier than ever. Adding her story, no wonder she's thinking such black thoughts..."~

"Don't worry Atole." James reassured her, "You'll be fine. Nothing is going to go wrong. You're a strong woman, and we have some of the best doctors in Starfleet right here on this ship. With all that, what could happen? Nuhir will be fine."

Tekri's long silence told him nothing but bad news. "If you're still worried, you know i'll do what I can for the baby." James soothed, "In fact, that's what I wanted to talk about. I want to talk about my role in all this. But I want to talk about this after class. I fear it will be a long talk."

Litza boomed from the front of the glass, turning the first three rows and the instructor into jelly, "I don't recall this being a mating ritual! End this lesson, now!"

People were starting to get up and leave the class; not even ornery females bearing children could outclass a pregnant Klingon. "Oh look." James looked around the departing class, "It's over. Ten Forward?"

"That sounds good," Tekri smiled with relief. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Abandoned? Part 2"

Five minutes later, they were sitting at a table in Ten-Forward - Tekri sipping an orange juice (she would have liked something alcoholic after the stressful class, but sadly it was out of the question) and James was drinking his coffee.

James was rather strict about no alcohol, for humans had a sensitivity to it that was less than medicinal. On a human baby it meant Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. On a Romulan/Human artificially created hybrid it could mean disaster of unseen proportions.

Not all of his hangups about alcohol had to do with his genetic daughter in Tekri's belly, though it did add weight to his fears. During their first liason, James first introduced Tekri to Absinthe, an alcoholic spirit considered edgy even by human standards. Since then he had given up its ritualistic preparation and the air of intellectualism associated with the drink. Van Gogh cut off his ear due to the stuff. Tekri got drunk and fell hopelessly in love. James had to deal with the reprocusions. Absinthe, and in some way alcohol, was the devil to him that brought trouble to him as it did so many others in the past.

~"Feh!"~ James dismissed the thought, ~"If only it were so easy to explain."~ That much truth did sink in. The issue between him and Tekri, between their rocky relationship, the conflicts, the racial distrust and the animalistic lust for each other, it was hard to tell exactly what kept that wedge between them.

"So..." Tekri said, asking a question she'd been wanting to pose for a while. "I want to look after this child full-time, but it is imperative for it to have a father figure. I know you have important duties aboard this starship, but how often would you be able to visit us on Romulus? If at all?" She looked at him nervously.

To that, James nearly dropped his coffee. "Well, that depends. Even these days, Romulus isn't exactly the friendliest place for a Starfleet Security Officer to be. The fact that i've deflowered a Tal'Shiar agent doesn't help much either. The added fact that I have a girlfriend that hates you exasperates it further." James nodded to Tekri sheepishly, but then came back to the question, "I don't know. It might be yearly, maybe less depending on assignments, but I will try. I do want to visit as much as I can. I owe you and Nuhir that much, and it won't be enough."

~"What I really owe you..."~ James thought, ~"...is to give Nuhir a proper set of parents and a good life, not this separation and heartbreak that'll leave her family broken."~

James switched to some cheerier news, "I did want to talk about Nuhir's future, and us in it. I want her to have as good of a life as she can. What parent wouldn't want that for their child? But it's hard... our relationship is over and that leaves her without a proper set of parents... depending on who raises her." He leaned on the table, his heart heavy with guilt, his eyes a gray slate to show, if rarely, how beaten his conscience was about their predicament, "I keep thinking about when we were at sickbay, and how shocked everyone was when I said the baby should stay with you on Romulus. They thought I was just going to abandon you and the kid. Problem is, no matter what I do, they're right. We can't be together and it is more important that she stays with you until she gets older, and even though it tears me up, there's nothing else we can do. She should stay with you."

Then he added, "But give me the word, and i'll raise Nuhir myself. I'll do it without a second thought."

Tekri looked up at him with a mixture of fear and shock, before breaking into a gentle smile. "That's very generous of you, James, but there is no way I will ever allow myself to be separated from my baby for months at a time, I'm afraid."

A pang of regret twinging his heart, James solemnly let Tekri talk. He couldn't put to words what he felt, a feat unheard of for a former musician unless even they felt they couldn't do it justice. There was no way he could avoid it either; it sunk in and never let go. He was not going to be an integral part of his child's future, even if he begged and cajoled, unless it involved Tekri.

But even now, James fondly remembered how they came to be. She was a spy, and he himself sent to stop her, but somewhere in the game they played neither expected each other to fall for the other. Wrong as it was, in retrospect, James knew his feelings were genuine.

So too was his hurt when Tekri wouldn't stop her mission. And even now when there was warmth and honesty, he could feel the sting of her betrayal, and the guilt of not having the willingness to sacrifice his interests for their own.

Their relationship died because of a lack of trust, and so it would stay dead, even when now, dull and poisoned as it was, did James still ache for her.

~"I loved her, not the spy, and since she'll never quit being the spy, I will have to quit her."~ James thought mournfully, ~"Even if it hurts my daughter. And poor Mika. How am I supposed to start anew with her when this ghost will always be with me?"~

He had one conclusion, and it was not at all palatable, ~"This is my irresponsibility. The only thing I can do is dig in and hope to ride out the conflicts that arise. There is no way to make everyone happy, only ways to make everyone I love miserable. Poor Mika. Poor Tekri. Poor Nuhir. Poor me."~

"I know you'd like to be with me to help, James, but you've moved on..." Tekri continued, gently placing her hand on Corgan's to reassure him. "But my parents will help me to raise the baby - I won't be alone, and we'll proudly bring her up as a member of the Tekri house."

He looked up at Tekri, radiant, happy, bearing new life, speaking not as the spy but the mother and the woman he loved before. He gathered her hands into his, and looked down, his hair obscuring his face and his head shaking as if to hide, and he said, "I know you will. I'm glad she'll have a good home. I'm glad she'll have a family that will love and care for her. Take care of her, please. And when she gets older, tell her i'm sorry. For you and for her."

Letting go her her hands, James silently slipped out of the table. He exited Ten Forward without a word, stepping aside a happy couple, envying them for that moment, leaning against the wall to support the weight he carried. Anguish rippled through him, and without the means to express it he settled for slamming the back of his head against he wall. He hissed as frustrated with himself as he was with circumstances, and he said to the void, "All this and all i'm doing is setting up visitation rights and a trust fund? I'm such a fucking skunk..."

{{OOC: Warning – this series of posts contains some violence and explicit content. If you prefer a summary of what happens here, contact me privately.}}

"Inverted Helix - Adenine"

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

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

Saul tightened the rag tied around Chava's eyes, and made sure that she was firmly held in place by the improvised shackles. He positioned her on a table, which was probably used by some Hydran or native technician to analyze biological specimens in the past. Now, it will be used for tasks that were much more sinister than industrial Bioengineering.

He tested his glove – it was shaped like a Hydran's hand; It took Saul and Miramon about fifteen minutes to improvise it from the materials left around the factory. The Bajoran was smart enough not to ask what Saul intended to do with it.

Saul reckoned he probably knew.

There were no more excuses to delay the beginning of the interrogation. Saul reluctantly attached a hypospray to Chava's neck, for the fifth time this day. Only this time it was not a sedative.

* * *

When Chava regained consciousness, her universe was black.

She tested her limbs, one by one. First, trying to move the left arm, then the right. She could feel the muscles responding, but there was resistance; She could not move.

She was captured.

But by whom?

Back home, her employer did warn her that this might happen. A Human on a triad world was an easy target. But they cooperated with government officials, and the service they provided was essential and profitable enough for both sides to guarantee her safety. The Hydrans, she was told, were interested in continuing this beneficial relationship, and this was the best life insurance she could ask for on Vaden.

The facts told her otherwise.

Some time later – she didn't know how long it took – a voice boomed. It was clear that the voice came through a universe translator, so she had no way of knowing who was the speaker.

"What's your name?", It demanded.

Chava decided to play dead.

The question repeated several times, so when the unnamed interrogator's patience was exhausted, the kick to her ribs wasn't unexpected. She gasped anyway, pain blurring her mind momentarily.

"Ack is not a name. What's your name?"

Chava muttered something not very pleasant in Dutch.

To her total surprise, the voice in the universal translator switched to Dutch as well. "Eve, there is no point in silence. This is merely a verification of facts, and I see no point in you being hurt in the process. We know everything about you. We just need to ascertain a few points. Now-"

It sounded calm, cold. It knew her name. Chava's mind raced. Who could capture her? The Hydrans? Why would they do that? Her employer's competitors? Vaden natives? Perhaps-

The blow to her head DID take her by surprise. Her left cheek burnt. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see if she can somehow move the blindfold and discover who was her new enemy. It didn't help, and only earned her another blow.

It wasn't the first time she was beaten up. No the tenth times, either. Back home, no one gave street girls special treatment. If anything, they were treated more roughly.

The first that hit her… it resembled a Hydran hand in form, but there was something strange about it, and it was definitely gloved. No hint in that, she realized.

"Who are you?", She demanded.

"I am the one who asks you questions which you answer, Eve. You don't need to know anything else."

Again that calm, annoying, artificial tone. Eve shortly gave the voice a description of his mother and grandmother's past profession and lovers.

"Who sent you to Vaden?", was the only response.

"I am a merchant on legitimate business trip.". She was allowed to tell that much, she knew.

"Legitimate, yes, everything you do is legit, isn't it your employers' motto?"

Behind the blindfold, Chava's pupils widened. No one, except for a handful of Hydran government and customs officials, knew what was the organization beyond the fake company Chava allegedly belonged to.

"Who are you?", She asked again.

The voice tried to persuade her to say more, but she held her tongue. She knew that if she told anything, she wouldn't have a home to come back to. Her employer was known as a ruthless man, despite his relatively young age. That's why she gave him her services; Because he was ruthless enough to keep her safe, and well paid. On the street, you quickly learn that being part of a large gang prevents members of smaller gangs to pick on you, and that's how life worked as an adult as well.

"No one could help you now, not even the Bentals.", The voice said, as though reading her mind. "You're alone, isolated, and if won't start talking you'll lose your most prized possessions."

"So that's what it's about? Possessions? Be a good voice and release me, and you'll be well rewarded."

"Not THAT kind of possessions.", It said, and then something heavy stepped on her fingers. It took all of her will not to scream, but her blindfold turned moist. It hurt.

"We know all about you, Eve. You are one of the most talented pickpockets on Napoli. But even the best pickpocket can't work fingers"

"You wouldn't dare.", She blurted, and immediately recognized her mistake.

"It isn't necessary. Just answer me – who sent you?"

"Fingers can be regrown.", She didn't know from where she gathered the courage to say those words.

"But that delicate coordination will never be the same."

The heavy foot stomped on her fingers several times. Chava's mind registered the pain, and the sharp bursts were probably bones breaking. Whoever it was, it systematically turned her hand into a bloody pulp. And it hurt, oh, it hurt so much.

She snapped, trying to release her hands, trying to kick with her legs, but it didn't help. She was still tied. And then, as she paused for breath, she felt it.

The point of something sharp pinched her index finger, just beneath her second joint.

Her body shuddered as she realized what her tormentor's next step was.

But no, she could not say anything.

He did it quickly and only once. She screamed, of course. Who wouldn't? She wasn't sure if the finger was still connected or not, but trying to move it proved fatal. Even it wasn't severed, her index finger was now useless.

She prepared herself for the next finger.

But the sharp pain didn't return. The throbbing pain turned dull as the knife – or other sharp object – was removed.

"Fingers can heal or be regrowned in a lab.", The voice told her, "but other things can not."

"Hope"

Lt. Cmdr Brianna O'Shea Chief Engineer / S.C.E. Liaison

:: Planet on the fringe of Hell :: lol

In the stillness of night there were a great many frightening things. Hounds that had been birthed from hell and cries that scorched the ears. This night was no different, the game was still being played. Only sitting there listening to cries off into the night, Anna, figured there was less players. She didn't react, she didn't care at all. Her broken sprit turned within and turned away from those calling for help. She had one goal. To find the man that brought her here and to get off this rock. Those were her only objectives. Anything or anyone that got between her and her objective was dealt with in calculating way.

Really was amazing what circumstances makes a person do. Most people can ask, what would it take for you to compromise your standards, to forget about moral principles instilled into you by parents, to cast off any discipline taught you in school...

Anna knew the answer, it was the physical assault on her body, it was the food they forced her to eat, the pain they give her pushed her compassion away and only left the ability to adapt and survive. She didn't have time to sit and cry, no, they were here... Slowly they were searching for her. That's when Anna began to fight back. The nights had been long, the days even longer..

"No.." She told herself, pushing her makeshift tools away and standing up. ~You can't... don't go there, bitch.~ She told herself. She couldn't let her pain get to her, not now, not when she w as so close damn it! Looking down into her hands which were covered in dirt and grease from where she had stripped parts off some down ships. The dirt was mixed with blood from her and those she'd killed along the way. "Power source.." She told herself, again, refocusing her thoughts. ~That's right... focus on it, focus on killing them all...bitch.... focus!~ she told herself. Moving over she picked up her leather pouch and pulled out a small power coil.

Anna had no idea if it would even work, but it had enough power to at least get one message sent off. Who could she sent it to? At this point, she was trusting no one. "Baile." She whispered, he'd come...

~No he won't... no one will come... they haven't came yet. No one cares your gone.. give up, child, just give up.~ A voice told her inside her head, it was the voice of her father.

"no." Anna said softly. "Baile will come.... he would not leave me." Anna stated, saying it outloud, needing to hear it herself.

Moving once again back to her work area. Anna sat down and started to work once more. The pain of using her hands never registered on her face. Her looks where one of some kind of inner battle, her ability as a engineer was what was driving her hands. ~Good... were almost done... your doing good.~ She told herself as she tried not to let her hand shake as they worked. After several minutes, she leaned back and just looked at the crude transmitter. She knew she'd have to leave the cave once she sent the message, just incase the Hydrans picked it up. The problem was for her at this point was remembering the databox signal where the message would end up, with a little hope would one of the Crows would get it to Baile.

Remembering the signal, she keyed it in, then keyed in the spanse of words that looked like nothing to anyone. If anyone saw it looked like something a crazy person would send out. In reality, it was a complex code of words Baile had shown her when they were working on the jungle planet. Once Anna had keyed them in, she hit the transmit button and watched as the machine lit up and then burnt up. Her hope was that the transmission got to the databox, but now she would have to find another place to hide out. Forcing herself to stand, she grabbed her things, and the transmitter, so the Hydrans didn't have it and left the cave...

{{OOC: Warning – this series of posts contains some violence and explicit content. If you prefer a summary of what happens here, contact me privately.}}

"Inverted Helix - Thymine"

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

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

"Fingers can heal, or be regrown in a lab.", The voice told her, "but other things can not."

The knife moved sharply, slicing through her pants from belt to shoe. Something pulled them sharply, and all of the sudden her body from the hip below was exposed to the cool air. She shuddered violently, and not just because of the chill.

"What are you doing??", She demanded. "This is pointless. I'm a merchant on a legitimate business trip, and, and…"

"Who sent you?"

Chava just growled with frustration. Didn't it understand?

"Who do you think?", She shouted back.

"It doesn't matter. Who sent you?"

"No one you should worry about!"

The blade returned to her body. It pressed against her inner thigh, just above the knee. It didn't hurt at first, but then it began to travel upward, slowly but steadily. The blade left a trail of red blood and searing pain behind it.

"Eve, we know everything about you, start speaking. Who sent you?"

Silence.

"We also know how rare Bolian – Human hybrids are. The cross-breeding wasn't thought possible at first, was it?"

"Never learnt biology. In fact, I never graduated from Junior High.", She murmured, forcing her body to calm and resist both the pain for the blade and the chilly gusts of air brushing against her most private parts, now exposed to…

To it.

The blade was already half way up her thigh.

"Even modern medicine doesn't know how to handle you. There aren't many living Bolian-Human hybrids, and not much medical research is done to answer the problems and side-effects such an exotic combination raises."

"What you're doing isn't research."

"No.", The voice admitted. "It's torture."

She began to swear once more when the voice spoke again. "I know for a fact that if we cut here, there is not a single doctor in the Galaxy who will know how to heal it properly. You'll never have children."

And as though there was any doubt about what 'here' was, the gloved hand touched her lower lips.

She was never raped before.

Most of the other girls she knew on the streets were raped. Some learnt to accept it, others pretended that they did it willingly, others just toughened themselves so that it won't happen again, and others were reduced to an insane mockery of a Human or a Tellarite.

Unlike them, she was able to avoid being violated.

Until now.

She tried to think of something funny, like 'You just ran out of luck', but she couldn't. The knife now slid into the small depression between her thigh and the edge of her public hair.

"You wouldn't dare!". Her throat was dry, and so were her… lower parts. She could feel the panic building up inside her. Don't let it see… don't let HIM see. Another female would never dare… never even think of such atrocity… it couldn't happen. It doesn't happen.

"Who sent you?", the voice demanded. The knife pressed harder against the depression.

She was never so helpless her entire life. She wished she could just die. Right here, right now.

"Who needs children anyway, in a universe with fucked up alien perverts life you! Get your fucking hands of me you sick bastard!"

"We know everything about you, Eve. We know you want to be a mother. Even in a sick world like this. This is not necessary. Just say who sent you."

The knife began to move again, ever so slowly, heading toward the center of her crotch.

And the voice… the cursed, insane, sick, inhuman, murderous voice was right.

"No!!!!", She couldn't contain her wrath, "Who sent YOU?! What do you WANT?! The Hydrans wouldn't… ah, you can't do this!!! I have a friend in Starfleet and he will make you sorry for the day you spawned from the mucus pond that was your cursed MOTHER!"

"A friend in Starfleet?", The blade slowed even more, if it were possible. "Tell me."

It was a mistake to tell the voice about Saul, Chava knew, but she no longer care. "When he hears of what you did, he'll come and take you a part piece by frigging piece."

"No, he wouldn't.", The voice said, and sounded almost as though he regretted not being taken apart piece by frigging piece. "Who sent you?"

"Who sent YOU?!", Chava yelled back. "You can't be Hydran, they don't interrogate like this. They use DRUGS!". How could she have forgotten? And if it wasn't the Hydrans…

"Who sent you?"

"I know who sent YOU…", She hissed, quivering. "It's Janny, isn't it? The blue-skinned bitch. Ah, she knows all about hybrids! Or is it Arieh, that self righteous preacher? I bet he thinks it's OK with god to rape an infidel whore! Or an old-guard? No, they wouldn't have the guts; they're so feeble none of them can even MASTURBATE anymore! So WHO – SENT – YOU? Either way, you're gonna LOSE you-"

In her tantrum, Chava didn't even notice that the knife was removed. She didn't even feel the metallic chill against her neck right before the sedative made all of the fears fade away.

* * *

'I'm the lowest of the low.', he thought.

Saul tried to recall if he ever did anything worse in his life.

He didn't.

He sat on the bare floor, head in hands, the Hydran curved Tetrablade thrown on the floor next to him with a rag wrapped around the blade. His eyes were closed, but shut eyelids couldn't prevent him from looking inside.

He didn't know who to hate more.

Himself – oh, he deserved loathing. So much for the exemplary, idealistic Starfleet officer. He knew that other covert operatives did worse things during missions .He had no doubt that Baile and even Captain Henderson would consider what happened here a child's game. He could even imagine Baile mumbling something about virgins or fleeters.

So what? He was still a sick bastard, just like Chava said. She wasn't an enemy. He did all this to a friend.

No, not a friend. Not anymore. Saul was seconds from giving in and admitting failure when Chava revealed to him who sent her. In her anger, she named all of the major players in the REDISTRIBUTION as her potential tormentors, but one.

His cousin Devoss, 'The Fox'.

Finding out that Chava worked for Devoss hurt almost like being stabbed with a Hydran Tetrablade. He knew he had no right to feel betrayed after what he just did and after leaving Utrecht III nearly a decade ago, but the anger still boiled inside his bowels.

This very anger strengthened his resolution to proceed with his plan. Backing off now would be disastrous to both him and the blue-skinned woman lying half naked on the table.

It would be fatal.

"Suffer the Little Children" -- pt. 8

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

Without the aid of daylight, a chronometer or contact from anyone who'd been outside (anyone who would speak to him, anyway), Brian found he'd lost all sense of time. Many things were starting to blur together actually, and whether it was due to stress, hunger or exhaustion no longer mattered. He just wanted out of here.

He wasn't even sure how long it had been since he'd gone silent after basically shouting himself hoarse, which, for all the good it did, had proven an exercise in futility of the first magnitude. At some point, Kaffa's telepathic screaming stopped, followed by an impenetrable silence. No words from the girl or the guard; no door slam or latch sounds; no shuffling of feet. Nothing.

For all he knew, Kaffa was dead. For that matter, the guard could have been dead, though as pleasant as the thought was, he knew it wasn't the more likely scenario.

No, at some point it all just stopped, and head in hand, Brian just slid to the floor of his cell and surrendered to the silence.

A hypospray later, he'd involuntarily surrendered to darkness as well.

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

Sometime later -- another indeterminate amount of time with the continued lack of a point of reference -- Elessidil's eyes fluttered open. As the chemically-induced fog dissipated from his senses, he soon realized he was in a somewhat familiar place.

"How nice of you to join me," the man in white welcomed in his insincere and saccharin tone. He was standing only a foot or two in front of Brian, who'd been deposited in a large chair.

"How'd I get here?" the counselor asked, the lingering effects of the sedative and his hoarseness from yelling, reducing his tone to little more than a raspy whisper.

"I had you brought here," the man replied, turning back toward his desk now that his "guest" had awakened. "I thought we should have a chat; it seems that you've been something of a trouble-maker," he continued, sitting back in his chair and looking at Brian as if he were lecturing an unruly child. "I'm very disappointed."

"The guard....he attacked Kaffa....what hap-...?" the counselor attempted to demand with all the force his whispery voice could muster.

The man in white cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand. "That's really not important, though if you must know, that man has been....punished."

Brian glared up at the man, still feeling a little light-headed. "And Kaffa?"

"As I explained the last time we spoke, I protect my property," was all he offered.

"She's not prop-...."

"That debate ended hours ago," the man interrupted again. "She was my property . . . as are you now, for all intents an purposes."

For the first time in his life, Brian felt the urge to kill another person based solely on his facial expression.

"What do you mean 'was'?"

"Is, was, it's all the same. I can replace her at any time -- with an exact duplicate, if I wished," he said, throwing the Betazoid a bone that was meant solely as a form of emotional torture.

With a little more effort than would have been necessary under normal circumstances, Brian slid himself forward as if preparing to stand. The cavalier attitude toward another sentient being, especially a child, was infuriating.

"Don't trouble yourself," the man in white said with an insidious smirk. "It will be awhile before the sedative in your bloodstream wears off."

As much as it sickened him to admit it, the counselor had to agree. He was still simply too light-headed to stand. "I want to know about Kaffa," he insisted, slouching back in his chair resignedly.

"I want to know about you," the man in white parried.

Had he come by himself, Brian would have told him, but even the slightest possibility that revealing the truth could jeopardize the rest of the team -- if they were even still on Vaden -- made it out of the question. But the man in white didn't know that, so if he could use it to his advantage . . . .

"I'm not telling you anything until you tell me what's going on with you and Kaffa...and the rest of the children." His voice may have been weak, but Brian's resolve remained strong.

If his prisoner's lack of cooperation angered him, the man in white didn't show the slightest sign. In fact, he seemed almost pleased by Elessidil's response.

"Maybe those aren't such bad terms after all," he said, slowing getting out of his chair and walking around the side of his desk. He may not have been able to make any further advance in their telepathic battle of wills, but the man knew full well that Brian had no intention of telling him anything. A mild inconvenience really -- especially compared to the emotional agony *he* could inflict by telling all.

"So you want to know about my business?" he asked with malice in his understated but steely voice. He bent down on one knee so he could whisper in Brian's ear. "They're my business . . . I'm a breeder, shall we say? From the same pool of genetic material II create them to be obedient and silent servants...and I sell them to whoever will buy."

If Brian could have seen the diabolical smile on the man's face, he would have done anything to make sure he never smiled again. As it was, however, he was too stunned by the horror of the revelation to make any kind of response. As the man in white pulled away, Brian simply stared at him in something between shock and disgust as if he weren't real.

"Now you know," the man purred. "Now tell me who you are."

Brian only glared up at him defiantly, still wrestling with what he now knew.

The response came as no surprise to his captor. "No? Perhaps you simply need more time." He walked over to his desk and pressed a button.

"Who are you?" Brian finally managed in complete disgust, his voice little more than a hiss now as the door behind him opened and two guards entered to return him to the cell.

"Oh, did I fail to mention that?" The man in white smirked triumphantly. "The name's Prett...Radu Prett."

"The Story of a Grumpy Engineer and a Nosy Pilot"

Lt (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Pilot Paulo "Hawkeye" DiMillo, Intelligence Liaison to Vanguard Squadron

*****

Paulo walked along the corridor heading to no where in particular. Things hadn't been the same, for him at least, since the last mission. His sister was being called a traitor by Starfleet and if they did ever find her, he would most likely never be able to speak with her. He had started doing some side investigation into the whole situation. Talking with a few crew here and there, where he thought he could get away with it. He wasn't authorized to do an investigation (not only cause she was his sister, but as his status of being attached to SFFC), so he hadn't been getting far.

He stopped and looked up at the name plat on the door. This was Nara's quarters. He remembered her somewhat. She was the key in an investigation, as far as he could tell, though never proven. He knew his sister and she had their differences, maybe she noticed something. With that in mind he hit the chime hopping someone was home.

Nara was lying on the bed in "her" bedroom. Since she only slept while Saia and Bran were away, she could lay on the bed now. The lights were on and she was in her uniform, and music was playing. Not so loud she didn't hear a distant chime in the vagueness of a dream. It was enough to stir her. She sat up and reminded herself that it was still "day" aboard the ship. Though she couldn't imagine who would be calling at this time.

He stood outside. 'Maybe she's in the shower,' he told himself as he hit the chime again.

She stopped by the mirror and ran her fingers through her curls and her face looked alright. She tested her voice and it did sound a bit raspy from sleep. She cleared it and shrugged as she called out, "Enter."

She hoped it wasn't too obvious she'd been sleeping. To anyone who knew her duty shift she would either be thought as sleeping a lot more than needed or simply strange. The latter wasn't too bad, but she didn't want to be seen as lazy. Even though O'shea had been marked as traitor and everything she ever said to Nara was now hypocritical, Nara still felt paranoid and felt the need to prove herself.

Paulo walked in and looked around. "I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" He asked her getting a little bit of emotion from her. He hadn't worked to develop his empathy, but instead block it. Though he was sure it could help him in Intelligence, he didn't like the idea of leaving his own mind.

Nara looked at him. "Why would it be?"

"Looks and sounds like you where asleep," he admitted.

"There's a such thing as too observant..." She then realized she had no idea who this man was. "Who are you, by the way?"

"Pilot Paulo DiMillo, Intelligence Liaison to Vanguard," he told her, "and brother to Anna."

She doesn't look any less confused, "And what does Vanguard and or this Anna have to do with me?"

"Commander O'Shea, and Vanguard is the fighter squadron," Paulo replied, stumped at how she could know two really simple details. Maybe his sister was right after all.

Her face hardened. "I know what Vanguard IS. I just don't know what I have to do with it. And don't be surprised if O'Shea and I didn't call each other by our shorter monikers."

He could already feel the... hatred? Yes, that was the best word, coming from her. "I am not here to get into a fight," he said, "I just wanted to ask some questions about Anna."

She could tell something about him. Something in his eyes. Something of an understanding. Like her mother. She narrowed her eyes, "You're telepathic?"

"More or less," he told her. "Something about the Dithparu that activated that part of my brain, or something. I can pick up emotions, so I am closer to an empath then anything.

"Unfortunately, my walls are not as strong as I thought." She then tries to strengthen them and nodded to him. "I could barely stand her and she hated me. I THOUGHT we had warmed up to each other in the horse riding program, but it seems to had been part of the ploy." She picked a PADD off the couch and tossed it into her quarters forcefully. The EEH project wasn't common knowledge. Not top secret, but she wouldn't share that project with anyone but Dhani. Well, considering it was Dhani's to begin with.

Paulo thought about that for a second. "That doesn’t sound like her," he finally said. "No offence, but she didn't like you enough."

She looked at him, "What's that supposed to mean? Because I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted."

"Um...," he said. "It's just that she didn't really speak highly of you, and her and you starting to warm up together just doesn’t make any sense."

"It wasn't so much that as I felt we were starting to respect each other."

"Yeah," Paulo replied. "Something doesn’t add up," he said plopping down on a chair. He pulled out a padd and started to look over a few things. "What would you say her behavior overall has been the last few months?"

"I really had been focusing on my job rather than her behavior. I realized I been too preoccupied with what she thought of me and just doing my job would likely finally make that bitch know that I wasn't what she thought."

Paulo nodded. "Hmmm," he said as he looked over a few notes. "She doesn’t seem like one to just go traitor," he said. "I am missing something here."

She looked at the PADD. She'd seen her share of reporters and investigators. On Sakaria and on the Starbase when there was a big woopdedo and her parents had a part in it. "Sorry if I don't share your concern." She spoke it sarcastically.

"I am sure you are," he replied, "but you would be more concerned if she where your sister."

"My family would never be traitors." She spat back.

Paulo looked up at her, "You better be darned happy you're a woman. I have never hit a woman in my life and I am not going to start now." He then stopped, "and I am not going to even go into what happened between you and Saul on Trill."

She stepped closer to him, "I'm also a warrior and fought with men twice your size. And what happened on Trill was me trying not to be killed."

Paulo stood up to look at her. "You don't want to know what we've found out about him."

She still looked at him angrily, "You're right. But only because it's for him to tell me. Not you."

Paulo smiled. "Well, I am sure it will all come out one of these days," he said.

"When he's ready for it to." ~Annoying little wretch he is!~ She thought to herself, quite confident he couldn't hear the thought.

"I am sure he will," he finally said. "Now, back to Anna. Anything else you can think of that can help?"

"Help what? What in hell are you going to do? Go grab her and lecture her on the error of her ways? She's the devil, and she doesn't give a Targ's waste pile about you." He didn't reply. "You may hate my sister, but I still love her," he told her. "Something isn't right. She wouldn't suddenly become a traitor over nothing. Anything that has changed about her could help. Of course, this is all off the record."

"I knew that. I don't spout off like this when on duty or when on record. There's a LOT of things I didn't say to O'Shea I really wanted to. She was just O'Shea, the bitchy robot, ok? I didn't really see her outside of that. Except on that horse racing thing. Saw a tiny bit of humanity there."

That caught Paulo. "Explain," he said in his best Vulcan voice.

She let out a deep sigh as she sat down. "She played. We raced and there seemed to be something about her. It seemed out of place on her, but it was humanity."

Paulo stared at her with his evil eye. "Funny," he said. "She's human as much as you and I are," he replied. "And she was very human around me. When was this event?"

"She seemed to act out of a script. I mean we all learn in sociology we all react in a social script, but she seemed so strict about it."

Paulo nodded. "Interesting. That is definitely not her."

She shook her head, "We act different when we work than in private or with our friends. That's why I'm not the best source for whatever it is you're trying to figure out."

"Actually, you are. The... hatred between you two will let you see the flaws in each other more easily. So you are also more susceptible to changes."

She shrugged, "What changes?"

Paulo sighed. "I think I am done here," he told her.

She had looked down a moment and looked back at him, "Look, I don't have siblings. I really don't know what you're going through. I am sorry for you." She was genuine now.

He nodded in return. "Thanks," he said. "It's been hard, but I am moving through it," he told her.

"Have you ever considered she planned this all along? She just played us ever since she came aboard? Maybe there was nothing to change."

"Yes," he simply said, "but you can't plan on being someone's older sister. That part was at least true," he said. "Who knows, maybe we have been living with a clone for the past few months," he said with a small laugh.

"People are never who we want them to be." She laughed at the strange words. Obviously something her mother must had said to her or something.

Paulo nodded. "True," he said. "Thanks for your time."

She stood, "By the way, be careful around Victor Krieghoff since you're empathic."

"I've heard," he said with a smile. "Something about your mind entering a black hole or something," he said. "And I try to keep myself in my own mind. It's crazy enough in here."

She smiled, "I can warn you of a few minds. My curiosity is my own undoing."

He smiled at that. "Thanks," he said.

She smiled back, nodding, "Anytime."

Paulo smiled once more, turned and left.

Nara watched the door close and increased the volume of the music and plopped back down on the bed, willing thoughts of evil traitors and suspicious boyfriends from her mind.

These events take place just after "Reverse Angle" and before arrival at the Gem'Hadar planet.

"First Impressions"

Ensign Keldan, Operations Officer
Lieutenant J.G. Dhanishta Eshe, Engineering Officer

Location: Engineering Substation, Deck 10

His first day aboard the Galaxy had barely begun, and already his temper was getting the best of him.

Keldan walked the corridors, mumbling under his breath. How hard exactly, should it be to find an engineer to help him program a few damned recipes into a damned replicator? He'd do it himself if he'd had the security clearance, but since he'd only been on board the Galaxy a couple hours, he considered himself fortunate that at least he could turn the lights on and off in his quarters and lock the door. He was due in a few minutes for the customary 'welcome to the ship' orientation speech. He hoped this one would be something a bit more stimulating than what they gave ensigns fresh out of the Academy.

He tried to clear his thoughts. He wasn't one to meditate. He much preferred intense physical activity and he hadn't had a chance to do that since his layover at Deep Space 4. When he'd vowed to himself to rise to meet every challenge the day had to offer, this wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Of course, learning to manage the operational needs aboard a starship as large and prestigious as the Galaxy was going to be a far cry from learning those of a Steamrunner class ship like the Ulysses Grant. Still, he had the advantage of having already served with a battle-hardened crew and knew what would be required of him. And after reading through some of the ship logs while enroute from Deep Space 4, that was something he would most definitely need to be.

He pulled at the collar of his uniform. It was a bit tight and itched something fierce. He had gotten too comfortable in his civilian clothes, with barely any time aboard the Ulysses Grant to be comfortable in a uniform after the accident.

He pushed that thought out of his mind and focused instead on the gold uniforms passing in front of him, waiting several moments watching engineers walk by, and knowing his time was getting short before his duties required him to be elsewhere. He could feel his stress level tick higher and higher.

Keldan placed his considerable height directly in the path of an oncoming engineering assistant, a busybody, a runty little fellow who had to crane his neck upward to look him directly in the eye.

"Excuse me, but could I get some assistance here?"

The fearful look of the ensign he'd spoken to immediately told him he had been a bit too forceful with his request.

"Ensign," he said walking closer, a little less antagonism in his voice. "Who can I speak to about a work order for replicator programming?"

The Ensign didn't look any less petrified, but did manage to poke a stubby finger across the engineering station and blubbering something that sounded like 'Lieutenant?'

Keldan walked up to the individual indicated by the ensign, a female engineering officer whose attention seemed occupied intently on the display console before her.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant. I was wondering if you could assist me with something. Or, if you can’t do it, at least point me toward someone who actually can." He knew his words would probably get a rise out of the woman. But at least some action would come of it.

It was true that the Lieutenant was indeed engrossed in what she was doing. Concentrating hard on the data stream running across the screen before her, she made no attempt to reply. In fact she made no attempt to answer him at all.

When Keldan didn't get any response, his muscles tensed. "Hrrmph. I'm very sorry to bother you, Lieutenant. I know you must be very busy, but I'm new on board and I don't think it's too much to ask to be able to sit down at the end of my shift and eat some palatable Talarian cuisine."

The woman didn't move, except for leaning closer towards the screen, "All personal requests for upgrades and personal requirements for replicators, quarters etcetera, etcetera," she began in a monotone, slightly slurred by the bruise she was still sporting on her left cheekbone, "must be made in writing and sent to the Chief of Engineering. Unless this is a life or death matter, Ensign," she said rather poignantly, "you must follow procedure." She smiled slightly out of politeness, but it didn't come across in her voice, and seeing as she didn't turn around it didn't have the desired effect on the person standing behind her. "Besides I don't think there is such a thing as palatable Talarian cuisine." She added factiously.

"Well, if something isn't done about it soon, I'm afraid a mild case of gastroenteritis will certainly turn into something more terminal. Besides, I'd say Talarian cuisine is a far cry better than the refuse it put out this morning. I don't know if I can stand to have every food selection covered in Cardassian Yamok sauce and only Kanar to drink. Perhaps if your people had done the job right in..." He trailed off, clenching his teeth, realizing that his temper was really getting the better of him now.

"I will, of course, go through the proper procedure...again...if that is the only way I can get some assistance. I would be extremely grateful, however, if you could aid me in any way, however small. Lieutenant."

Her smile grew as he continued his tale of woe. "*Everything* covered in Yamok sauce?" She repeated, "Are you sure you are using the replicator correctly?" she turned around now to face him, the smile left behind; she now wore a completely serious expression, frowning slightly, with her head cocked to one side.

"Yes. Everything. It's disgusting. I..." There was something very familiar about her, and he started to say so, but stopped. He focused on her eyes. He was used to people looking at him oddly, since Talarians weren't exactly a common sight in the Federation, let alone as a Starfleet officer. But it was obvious she wasn't intimidated or fearful of him in the least. He knew her. He was certain of it. He knew those eyes.

"Nish? I...I can't believe it. Nish, is that you?" It couldn't possibly be her, but it was. The Dhanishta Eshe he last remembered seeing was a strong, vibrant woman. While the aura this woman seemed to project was no less forceful, it was different. More worn, perhaps? She was more wiry, more gaunt, more hollowed out. More fragile, perhaps? No, not Nish. That wasn't the Dhanishta Eshe he remembered. But it was. There could be no mistaking those eyes.

Her expression changed as if a light bulb had blow out. The fake expression of concern was replaced with one of slight anger. Was this another fabrication in her mind? No one except her sister, and Chang called her Nish. For a second a smile almost danced across her lips, but as soon as it breathed life it was gone and something else emerged. Her features darkened. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed on his from.

A whip-like crack rebounded off the walls and panels of the engineering station. It took a moment before he realized that she'd even reached out and tagged him in the jaw. Had she slapped him or hit him? Judging by the way she was shaking her hand in pain, hit him. She gave him a venomous glance.

Rubbing his jaw slightly, Keldan suddenly became acutely aware of the silence and that every other soul in the engineering station had frozen, motionless at having observed the exchange and wondering what was to transpire next. He didn't understand the spiteful look in the eyes of the woman he thought he had once known. Confusion, anger and a sudden resentment washed over him and put his self-discipline to the test. He forced the feelings down. Now was not the time to continue this.

Without averting his eyes he took a deep breath and slowly stepped back out of the engineering station.

She glared at him as he backed away, her mind was racing. ~How dare he?~ she questioned, ~after all this time.?~

She watched as he reached the door and walked out, all the while staring at him.

~No,~ she decided, she wasn't about to leave it this way. She ran across the engineering station and stumbled out of the door. Checking both directions she spotted him at the other end of the hall, he sure walked fast!

"Kel!" she shouted running down the corridor.

But the Talarian had already reached the turbolift and if he had heard her, he made no attempt to stop the doors as they slid shut, blocking out the view of the corridor.

"The Youngest of Enemies"

LT (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
And some nameless NPCs

*****Cargo Bay*****

Nara was still paying her dues running inventory in a cargo bay. Even when O'shea was gone--and been declared a traitor at that--Nara still had to pay for what the woman thought of her. Nara couldn't help but feel utterly stupid and gullible for starting to like the traitor.

But compared to the other skeletons in her closet, it didn't faze her too much. She scanned the last tag and closed a crate, moving on to another.

As she was opening it, she turned toward the door swooshing open. A young security ensign was walking in; rattling about to the five or so adolescent Jem'Hadar he had with him. She couldn't help give a cold glare toward them, before she turned back to her work, inwardly wishing them gone.

Which is why it wasn't too pleasurable when walked up to her, "What is that there?"

She quickly shut the lid and looked at him wearily a moment, "Engineering parts. Really not on the tour."

A frown came to the face of the young boy...girl? Nara found it hard to tell. Most likely a boy. Before he could turn and walk away, the others had come, along with the smiling ensign. ~Obviously clueless that these will grow up and try to kill us.~ She held her hand on the lid and pushed a little hand away as she looked at him, "Why did you bring them in here, Ensign?"

He looked at her, a glint in his eyes and slight blush in his cheeks. "Sorry, Lt. The Security department volunteered to give tours." The smile faded as he looked confused, "Well, some of us anyway."

"Likely the youngest ones." She flatly suggested.

He nodded, "Yea. Everyone else seemed weary about it. We're not stupid. We studied about the Jem'Hadar in the Academy. But these are children."

She snapped the lid closed, almost before a child could remove his hand. At the snap and proximity to his hand, he screamed and started to cry. Nara seemed unfazed as she retorted to the ensign, "Children grow up." She looked at the crying child, "Victory is life, right?"

The ensign bent to take the crying one in his arms, looking angrily at Nara, "You cold woman!"

Nara watched him soothe the child, who after a few moments, sniffled and hushed. She felt her muscles loosen as she was reminded of the nights she held a crying Saia. She sighed as she bent down, looking at him, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

The child just stared at her. The ensign smiled at her and nodded. Nara stood and spoke firmly, "Show them about quickly, but don't tell them what or where anything is that they don't need to know about." As she turned to get back to her job, she added, "And don't let them meet Sam. Last thing we need is a Jem'Hadar influenced by Samantha Wildenstein."

"Just A Little Crush"

*Professor* Artim
Saia (APC)

*****School Suite*****

Saia watched the speaker intently. He was talking about the plants which the small lecture room of the school was full of. It was like the arboretum. With desks.

He was talking about plants, but Saia couldn't have told you that. She watched his lips. The sound waves made it to her ears, but her eyes had taken over the brain and she just sat there staring at him.

Artim hadn't given a real lecture in years but he couldn't say no when the school staff asked him to give a talk about rare plants since they'd just came across some real interesting ones. Artim had brought some plants from the botany lab to show the kids as well as some others from his personal collection. He knew a lot of the kids weren't paying attention as he spoke, but having been a college professor for years that was hardly new.

Coming to the end of his speech, Artim looked up at the children and asked, "Any questions?"

One child raised his hand and before Artim could call him on him, asked loudly, "Why do you look so young?"

A teacher's aide stepped up, "Now, Peaty, we're talking about plants today."

"It’s OK, but I don't really think I can answer that with this audience. It’s a long story, I'd suggest you ask your teacher about that, she could probably explain better. Anything else?"

Other than that, no one else had questions. Saia had barely been aware it was question asking time or would have asked something like how his eyes got so pretty.

"Well then I guess we're done." Artim said to the assembled kids. "I'll be around for a bit if there's anything else."

The aide stepped up, "Refreshments at the back of the room. Help yourself and school is dismissed for the day."

At that announcement about half the room cleared and several other children were begging parents who had come if they could go.

The more studious, or rather, hungrier, students stayed and stormed the buffet table full of cookies and fruit drink. Saia stayed where she was, staring at the guy in uniform. She knew he was well over her in age, but darned if he weren't so cute!

The aide just suppressed a giggle as she walked over to talk to a parent.

"Saia is it?" Artim said looking at her as she appeared to be...uniquely interested in him, “Was there something you wanted to ask or are you just admiring the plants."

Her eyes shot wide as her cheeks got redder than normal. She swore her spots even tingled as she squeaked rather than spoke.

Artim knew what this was, and he was both a little disturbed and a little interested. She had a crush on him. He didn't know why, he didn't know what to do about it, but eh, it was healthy. "Well then, is there something...else you wanted?"

Another squeak before she finally found her voice, unaware of the parents silently giggling at them. It wasn't mean giggling. It was that oh-how-cute kind of giggling. When her voice was able to do more than make a short high pitch noise, she said, "I...I wanted to...Nara. Did you know she was back?"

Actually Nara had been back, left again and been back a second time since Artim had come looking for her that one time.

"Yeah, I did...we managed to get that little thing sorted out." Artim replied, remembering where they had met the first time. "Did you enjoy the lecture?" He was trying to get the subject away from...him before the young Trill embarrassed herself. She probably was already getting teased for this.

She blushed remembering she hadn't listened to a word of it. But she could honestly say, "Yes. Very much."

"The speech or speaker, Miss Saia?" Artim giggled a bit too now, his 10 year old body taking over from his 400 year old mind. As much as he tried to ignore it, he was a kid after all.

She looked down as a small giggle left her lips, giving the obvious answer.

"Its OK Miss Saia, though I don't think this is something to discuss here. Perhaps some other time."

She frowned looking at him, "But...well...When?"

"Well, I'm kinda busy with all the Jem'Hadar on board. I'll let you know when I get some time."

Saia's expression changed as her mind went to the new thing he brought to her attention, "Are they really as bad as they say?"

"Not really, these ones are nice. I...have to go Miss Saia; I'm on duty in a few minutes." Artim turned for the exit and tried to get away before this got any more...uncomfortable.

Saia sighed as he walked away, but soon a dreamy look returned to her face as her eyes stared into nothing but her own imagination. Dreaming the dreams of one infatuated.

"Terror, thy name is Kol"

*takes place directly after Klingon Charm*

Lt. Ella Grey
Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter

Approximately six minutes after Kol had left the main science lab, 8-ball managed to shake herself out of the rooted terror she had found herself in. That is to say that she could move and make occasional vowel sounds to anybody who asked what was wrong with her. Another six minutes later she was up to full sentences, mostly filled with swear words and prayers to God. Yet another six minutes, and she was running her ass out the door to Main Engineering.

Ella was standing almost directly in front of the warp core. She was talking about something that was probably related to engineering to a nearby ensign who was probably an engineer. 8-ball ran up to them and interrupted without bothering to wait. "I need you," 8-ball said to Ella. "Emergency Girl Situation. Seriously important here." Then, briefly to the other likely-engineer, 8-ball said, "Hi."

Ella smirked as 8-ball practically pulled her into the office. "Okay, spill."

"Okay," 8-ball said, taking a breath. "Okay. You know Kol, Klingon commander Kol, First Officer of the ship and all that? He came down to sciences to tell me all my reports were late (like I didn't know) and you know what he did? HE ASKED ME OUT! Actually, strike that. He didn't ask anything. He DEMANDED that I went out with him. I'm supposed to meet him in Ten-Forward after my shift. What the HELL am I going to do? For the love of God, Ella, help me. Kol is randy, and I'm TERRIFIED."

The engineer tried to picture it, finding it difficult. Klingons were usually so uptight about sex with humans, claiming that the humans were easily damaged. "Well, good for Kol."

"What! WHAT?! THAT'S ALL YOU CAN SAY!!! GOOD FOR KOL!!!!"

She laughed at 8-ball's irritation. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to help, you once-a-mute bitchmonkey! I'm supposed to have dinner. . .and probably a great deal more. . .with Kol, Scourge of the Klingon Dead. Do you know how many teeth that man has? I don't want his teeth, or anything else, near me, thank you very much." Then, without changing breath, 8-ball said, "Well, I mean, it's not that I'm not intrigued. I mean, I've never slept with a Klingon before, and I enjoy novelties. There are so few of them, at least, in the matters of the bedroom. But what if he doesn't like me? What if I'm not as good as a warrior killer Klingon woman? What if his penis comes with it's own miniature bat'leth, and I get murdered before the night is out."

Ella laughed harder. It sounded like a computer with the hiccups.

"STOP that. It sounds demented, and it's totally uncalled for. I'm going to be brutally slaughtered tonight, and you're laughing like a freaking mechanical hyena. Some friend you are."

"Oh, common, I doubt Kol would murder you for not being Xena, warrior woman." Ella replied.

"And why the hell not? Freakier things have happened! WE'RE ON THE GALAXY! Everything weird happens here." She collapsed to a sitting position on the floor and put her head in her hands. "What am I going to do?"

"I suggest you lay things on the table from the get go." The engineer suggested. "Say you're interested but are afraid death awaits you with nasty big pointy teeth."

"I'm sure that will go over wonderfully," 8-ball said dryly and got to her feet. "I have to go. I'm supposed to be working or leading or something. And I have a dozen reports to conjure from nowhere before my date with the gigantic Klingon."

"And his bat'leth." Ella added helpfully.

"Fuck you, my friend. May you spontaneously grow fuzzy purple boils on your ASS."

The engineer blew her a kiss.

“Abandoned? Part 3”

”This is the journal of Mikaiu z'Aknafein sh'Son'ra. Stardate 50511.13. Record.”

Ten Forward wasn't very busy on a Wednesday evening, catering to late night workers or those with the day off, but not much more. There was a smattering of people; the bartender, the waiters and waitresses (most spouses of Starfleet personnel with nothing better to do), a teenage couple drinking rootbeers and watching the stars, a Lieutenant working on a report, an ensign and a noncom laughing over synthale about the shift they just left, and Mika, the most unassuming and quiet of them all even in recording her journal, was left to watch the stars outside Ten Forward's viewing ports.

The months on the Galaxy, and the obscurity lent to her by life on a distant outpost of Federation civilization, had changed her. She was no longer the graceful wallflower that graced alien courts. She kept a commoner's touch these days, working as a schoolteacher on the Galaxy. She didn't possess the flare of fashion that was demanded in the company of powerful men and women; her kimono's, robes, dresses and jewelry were in storage somewhere on earth. She now preferred clothing that was more rustic and practical; sweaters, pants, shirts and shoes like everyone else. She secretly preferred dresses for their comfort and ease of movement. Right now she was in a purple sweater and a black synthdress that came up top like overalls without buttons, then tapered down to calf length (it would have been a racy affair without the sweater!). Her hair was different. She liked short cuts, boyish cuts were popular on her planet during her teen years, and her hair was always done by the b est; now she had mid length hair that tried to go straight but waved as if crimped, the hair midlength but still only going down to the top of her neck, giving the illusion of great volume and life. What was extraordinary and charismatic was subdued to simple, clean, and darling. This was her new life.

Whether it was the one she wanted was still up in the air, as mentioned in the next entries of her journal.

“Dear Journal.” She squeaked, keeping her voice down as a waiter passed by. She still held a southern Andorian accent, which always tended to be a bit softer than their brethren from the frozen north, but even that had flecks of human intonation inside. Years of using Federation standard refined her voice as clear and intelligible, while her educated accent gave it a cute edge that was hard to take serious until she backed it up with a harsh edge. She continued to speak when the waiter was at a respectable distance, “This is my first entry on this new life. I am sorry I have neglected you, but I have gone through hard times, and I did not want to speak to myself about what happened. I told myself that if life became better, I would record again. Now is my chance. I shall tell you, and only you, what is on my mind right now.”

“I am thrust into a foreign life, Journal. I was once able to advise great leaders. At my age, it is an impossibility, but from as early as childhood I have learned that I have a talent for the impossible. The glacial swan of my home planet start out as awkward, gray gosling's. So did I when I was young, and I still am in some ways. I am not a perfect beauty, but I have ways to turn into the charming glacial swan. When I was young, I was told my intelligence and willfulness were not ideal for my station, and therefore left my marriage prospects bleak. When I was told women have no place in men's affairs, I became even more of a woman and still shared their occupation of interplanetary affairs. I have done the impossible. Before it was taken away, I would have searched for what the humans call 'God' so that I may give him my thanks. Humans note that their God has an odd sense of humor, overladed with irony. Not a hard theory to believe, I assure you dear journal. But it is ha rder to show patience while enduring his practical jokes.”

She squeaked as the waiter surprised her. He presented the beverage, for which she thanked with her usual trained warmth. As soon as the waiter left, she took on a more melancholy tone, as if having to admit to herself that there her good humor was not from her or for her. “I am unsure how to carry myself here. For one, though I do enjoy my occupation as a schoolmistress, I am painfully aware that I once managed interplanetary affairs of state. I was an ambassador, and before that the pained assistant of a bumbling oaf. After my years working with Ordos, dissatisfied to be left under his gargantuan shadow and near resigned to be a glorified clerk, I was given a chance to be something more. And that chance still has not left its hold on me. I still hunger to do something more, and I have. How can I go back to being a common schoolteacher? I know the shame of my dismissal still stings me, but how I crave to matter again. Why can I not be this?”

She sighed heavily, “I took consolation in my mate at first. I had lost everything, but I was able to bring the one part of that old life I could keep. He is a wonderful man, that James, and I love him deeply. How much so? I cannot put to word, and he cannot understand how fully I want to give myself to him. But even when I am plain and frank, he is as evasive as quicksilver? I cannot tell at times if he is in love with me, or if I am a passing fancy. I do not want to be a convenience to him, even if at times I feel that I use him as such. After all, did I not corner him, demand him to be with me, at a time when my prospects were so bleak? What is that to say about me?”

“No! I love him. I know this more than anything. He may have been my shelter from the storm, but what good is a shelter if you can take no comfort in being inside? That is how I feel about James. But how does a shelter feel about an interloper? Do they want to secretly turn them away to let someone else in? That is what I feel from James.”

“I think this because I know about his romantic past. I know of Atole Tekri, that hated woman, and that their parting was bitter. That is all I know, his previous love, the fact that he fought the Dominion War, the fact that when around others including myself that he tries to be beautiful and kind, but hides his stormclouds... sometimes not too well. It is a gloom that comes from hard earned guilt and shame, but over what, and why? It is his past, I think. He still loves, and humans want to love completely for one person only. He loves me, but his ghosts still cling to him, beg for his attention. One of them is Atole Tekri. Who knows what the others are.”

“Why will he not tell me? James, I am your mate. Tell me.”

The reflection on the man she loved wounded her. She gave a sad look to the stars outside, but they held no answers even if inspiration from them was abundant. It had been months, but for her she had learned nothing new about James. He was still James, the enigma, the man who didn't discuss his past.

Humans and Andorians alike had that commonality. None wanted to admit shame.

“I know he is feeling shameful over something, and I hate how he shelters me from it. I want him to share with me, or else I will not share other things with him. But if I cannot, what good are we together if we keep our barriers erect? How will trust be fostered? If we cannot do this, what is my purpose here? It is hardly to be a schoolteacher. A means to an end, as they say in the human tongue.” She sounded it out in careful human English instead of relying on her translator, “It was wrong of me to be a schoolteacher for my mate, for all I get is a stone wall and a wish to climb over it. I was wrong.”

She depressingly looked down at her drink. It had been minutes already, and it had cooled long ago. She felt sorry for the forlorn, neglected beverage out of sympathy.

“He does not speak to me about himself because he does not want to upset me. Then he does not spend time with me because of duty. I love him, but if he does not change this, we will have nothing together. I cannot be patient forever. I have to have him sometime. Why does he not want the same from me?”

“Then it is decided.” She said with finality, “I will conclude our relationship. It will be strengthened... or sundered. As I have started before, I will finish with an ultimatum. End journal.”

~”There!”~ Mika slipped the PADD in her pocket in favour of the stars again. Mika was to get her man... or nothing at all. So it was decided. So it would be. Mika's law.

But she needed a plan. What exactly?

For what she knew, James was a charming young man (he was younger than Mika by a few years, not that the 24th century minded these obsolete taboos, and in her defense didn't look like she was too old for him), but was a stumbling idiot when it came to women. He was hard pressed to admit loving others. That was the case with T'lan, and to a lesser extent Mika herself. He was a gentleman of the old school, opening doors for her, setting up the dates and even playing music (but not quite to her taste, though his effort was pleasing enough). But those were just activities; they proved nothing unless it was said outright. James was a romantic in every way but where it counted. And the bedroom? What bedroom? James had the courage to face down a Breen battalion for his last girlfriend, but always found a way to squirm Mika off his lap. What good was love when they couldn't properly express it.

Humans were an exasperating lot, Mika concluded. It could have been that he was intimidated by her, for her forwardness when she showed before passivity uncharacteristic of her race. Was she becoming too... Andorian for him? Was he just afraid to meet her fire with his?

No, the answer had to be something else.

Old attachments were better to explain it. She had to dig into his past.

And realized the proverbial warp core activated in her head.

~”I was an Ambassador, and Admiral Proctor reactivated my clearance code.”~ Mika grinned for the first time that evening. While under captivity of T'lan/Mistress (James seemed more concerned about T'lan's safety than Mika's, another black mark!), they had used the little known loophole to unlock the ship's security lockouts. Admiral Proctor was assassinated but lived, T'lan/Mistress was defeated, and all was well.

And if Admiral Proctor was as shortsighted as she thought, the Admiral wouldn't have deactivated her access.

From there, a chief of security's personal files would be easy to gain access to.

~”Yes...”~ Mika clasped her hands together. ~”Then I will see if this mundane life I bear for you is worth it all.”~

About to leave, Mika slid her chair back and walked.

Unnoticed, she saw something that made her blue blood boil over with rage.

On the other side of the restaurant, she saw her beloved James with another one of his ghosts. Her name was Atole Tekri, in the last term of her pregnancy, the devil's own Romulan spy, cavorting with her man.

She was not impressed with the way her pregnancy made her glow, with how she fawned over James while pretending to be neutral, how she tried to bring herself closer. How they talked, James being so serious and noble to a woman that should have been a stranger, and how she tried to keep businesslike while still falling for him.

As part of a polygamous race, Mika thought she should not have felt so enraged, but to see her mate with another woman whom she reserved the coldest of wraith from the darkest stars, it repeatedly corkscrewed into her heart and threated to rip it out.

Was James going to notice her already? He did not. His attention was on Tekri, even though Mika was well within view.

His hand went to Tekri's, and they held together. Mika watched Tekri turn green.

“Idiot!” She condemned in her native tongue and native accent, storming off with peasant's anger brewing in her. But as she left Ten Forward, her rage was the only thing keeping the tears from falling.

"Remember my child, without innocence, the cross is only iron, hope is only an illusion, and ocean souls nothing but a name. The child, bless thee, and keep thee forever."

Nightwish, "Bless The Child"

"Herding Stray Agents"

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

With various NPCs written by Brian Henry

Ashes and dust filled Saul Bental's mouth with bitter taste. Another wave of polluted smog descended upon the spaceport, painting the alleys, launching pads and spires in hues of yellow and gray.

It was a reflection of the Tactical Chief's mood.

The team has been compromised, there was no doubt. The little fiasco at the chamber of commerce, for instance, will eventually lead the local law forces to him and Miramon. And that's without mentioning the not-so-clandestine endeavours of the other teammembers. Common sense would demand that they scramble as soon as possible, and run for their lives.

And they would, if not for counsellor Brian's disappearance.

"All right.", Saul began, taking a deep ash-filled breath. "Cadence gave us three hours. I don't think we can find him in three months if he got lost in THIS.", He made a broad gesture toward the many alleys that ended in the street where the small group of undercover starfleet officers were now standing. "But I agree that leaving him behind is very risky. Now, Cadence suggested that he may have visited some public meeting places in this quarter, so I think we should visit as many of them as possible in the next couple of hours and see if we can pick up any hint. Otherwise..."

He shrugged. He wished they were more coordinated. He wished they were more trained. He wished this mission didn't turn out to be such a mess, a failure barely worthy of the important intelligence he and Miramon gathered. He wished he didn't have to abandon Chava on the Backbroken's Reward and pray that she won't wake up until he returns.

He wished Brian was alive.

Against his better judgment, they went searching alone instead of in pairs. It meant that they could cover twice as much ground in the given time, but on the other hand alone they were more vulnerable. Saul knew that he could mingle into the crowd better on his own, but some of the others may as well carry a big flashing roadsign saying 'Suspicious Alien'.

* * *

Eighty minutes and three wrong leads later, Saul finally stumbled upon something. The establishment he entered was dimly-lit, and a cloud of pink smoke hovered near the ceiling. Just like before, Saul approached some of the more... conscious... patrons, and demanded if they've seen a man which looked like this and that, called Radu Prett. He acted it like he wasn't a member of the police, but rather one very irritated debt collector.

So far, the best thing he got was a prostitute offering to disguise herself as this 'Radu Prett' and let him punish her given the right price. The search was hopeless, Saul reckoned. They might as well search for an altruistic person in Ferenginar...

"This is not Radu Prett."

Saul narrowed his eyes. "He's probably not the only Radu Prett in the universe, just the only Radu Prett which will regret being born once I lay my hands on him."

"You?", the man snorted. "You and what fleet? This is not the Radu Prett."

Saul raised a brow. "'The' Prett? The man I'm looking for doesn't deserve a 'the'."

The look on the man's face seemed to suggest that he didn't totally disagree, but he knew better than to say so.

"Few people do." He squinted and cocked his head slightly, a lock of unkempt hair falling loose from the shift. His voice, like his stature (both physically and otherwise) was rough and low. "Why do you want him, anyway?"

"Business.", Saul said simply, and then in order to persuade the man to talk further, he added "My shuttle captain needs to have a few words with him before we go off planet. Guess she has her reasons."

The man considered Saul's reply for a moment with a mix of interest and doubt. It wasn't unusual for strangers with 'business matters' that involved Prett to show up in these parts. They just usually already knew how to get in contact with him.

"Two buildings over from here," he said, his gaze still fixed on Saul as he subtly pointed in the general direction to his left. "Speak with the gatekeeper." He eyed the stranger for a second or two more, then turned his attention back to his drink.

"Probably not the same Prett, but it's worth a try.", Saul shrugged once more, then signalled toward the bartender. The bartender understood his intentions with ease, and a minute after Saul left the bar, another glass of amber booze replaced the empty glass next to Saul's tipper's hand.

"Herding Stray Agents" -- pt. 2

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

With various NPCs written by Brian Henry

'Two buildings down' was a generous description for the structure that looked like a cross between an adobe hut and a giant grapefruit. It's shape was the only thing unusual about it; otherwise it was just another dirty, dilapidated part of the dirty, dilapidated surroundings. There was a door but absolutely nothing in the way of security or even a latch.

Saul quickly informed Madden of his progress, then decided to take the direct approach. It was unlikely to be a trap, unless the man in the bar was a planted agent. Saul knew little of the Vaden natives, but he was pretty sure that they weren't fond of the Hydran regime. Of course, there were always cooperators.

'Ah hell, no time for this.', Saul reflected, and opened the door.

Beyond the it, the interior was just as grimy as the outside, with no windows, or any other doorway save the one through which Saul passed. Even the floor was nothing more than dirt, and had it not been for what stood before him, he would have thought himself in the wrong place.

He frowned, trying to inspect the surroundings for hidden cameras and sensors. Then, he turned to the wall, and withdrew the 'magic bar'.

He picked the mini-tricorder from it, and scanned for life signs.

The gatekeeper was not, in fact, a person, but a glowing blue orb about the size of a human head. It rested on a silver pedestal, the composition and appearance of which was completely out of place in these surroundings. Then, a few moments after the door closed behind Saul, and with no apparent mechanism for speech or audio transmission, it spoke.

"I am the Gatekeeper."

The voice soothing and melodious, not in the least mechanical or artificial-sounding.

"Good day. I am Raheem al-Hariri, freelance merchant."

The orb simply repeated itself.

"I am the Gatekeeper."

Saul took a deep breath. So this place wasn't abandoned. And if it was privately-owned, then it was owned by someone who had enough resources to waste them on the bloody orb.

He decided to take a less cautious, but faster approach. "I am here to meet Mr. Radu Prett."

This time, it seemed to understand as the blue glowing shifted first to purple, then to a vibrant magenta.

A moment later Saul disappeared in a shimmer of light.

Where exactly he ended up wasn't clear, but it certainly was not on the same dusty street from which he'd come. It was an ante room, medium-sized but with a decidedly open feel, as it was devoid of any furnishings except an exact duplicate of the gatekeeper from before. But the walls were white, as was the ceiling and the floor. In fact, everything was white, and with the soft blue glow of the second gatekeeper, it looked like God's waiting room.

With a tiny click, a door swung out from part of the wall, previously completely concealed with no variation of shape, texture or color from the rest of the surface. A very tall and strikingly handsome man entered and looked at Saul as if his arrival had been anticipated.

"Mister Prett will see you," he intoned, gesturing past the door through which he'd just come into a large and equally white corridor. "Proceed to the end of the hallway."

"Shookran," Saul thanked the man, and followed him. All the while, his brain raced. This was obviously some freakish coincidence. Now, he'd just have to act his way out of this, while he still had some time to look for counselor Brian.

"Herding Stray Agents" -- pt. 3

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

With various NPCs written by Brian Henry

"I understand you have some 'business' to conduct with me," the man in white politely said as he rose from his chair after releasing the button that had opened the door into his spacious and well-decorated office. "Oh, you will forgive my paranoia, but if you were carrying any weapons, they were separated from you and put in a safe location when you were beamed up. They will be returned to you later." The smile on his face was innocuous enough, but something in his eyes clearly indicated he was completely in control here, and he knew it.

If this was the real Radu Prett, Starfleet intel had the look entirely wrong, judging from the jet black hair and long black trench coat Elessidil had been outfitted with before their arrival.

There was no sign of tension on Saul's face as he acknowledge Prett's words. His hand moved to his pocket - the tricorder was gone. "Ahalan veSahalan, Havaja Prett. I AM looking for a Radu Prett, but I was shown a photo of him and he is obviously not you. I am sorry to have wasted your time."

He observed the office. This Prett was a resourceful man indeed. "Although, Havaja Prett, if some of your... wealth... came from trading in Ore or Positronic spare parts, I would most definitely love to do business with you on my next trip to Vaden."

The man in white smiled again. "As you are no doubt aware, Vaden, and this part of the galaxy in general, can be a challenging place in which to conduct business," he said, gesturing for Saul to seat himself in the chair in front of his desk. "One learns various 'techniques' for getting around unmolested. I assure you, I am the only Radu Prett within many, many light years." Seating himself again, Prett looked at Saul for a moment, stealthily beginning his telepathic scan of the other man's mind. "But I'm afraid I don't know who you are," he stated in a polite tone that was clearly laced with something a bit stronger than simple curiosity. "Or why you've come specifically to see me."

Saul remained standing, and alert. The man in white wasn't dumb; there was a reason that he repeated his question. Saul couldn't help but feeling that he's being played with.

The question was, what was the game, and what were the rules.

"I think I answered your question. So if you are the only Radu Prett within many light years, who is HE?"

Saul placed a holophoto on the table. It was a copy of Brian's passport photo.

Prett looked almost amused. "Clearly somebody trying to pass himself off as me... based on rather outdated information." The inquiry only reinforced his conviction that his captive was a spy -- and asking about the spy cast further doubt on this man's stated identity and intentions, which he already knew was a lie, as well.

Looking up at Saul again, he changed the subject. "Ores and positronic spare parts, you said. I dabble in many things, Mister... al-Hariri, was it? ... but ores and spare parts are not among them." Then he got to the point. "Who sent you here?"

Saul didn't get confused. "Cadence Hancock, Captain of the vessel I used to transport my goods from the Gryphon coalition."

"So you came aboard the Backbroken's Reward?" Prett asked with one eyebrow raised. His voice took on an almost nostalgic tone. "I spent some time aboard that ship myself. How is Captain Hancock?"

Saul raised his eyebrows. "So you ARE familiar with the vessel? That's interesting, a little mystery we have here on our hands, Mr. Prett."

Obviously, Saul realized, there were two options left. Either this man WAS the real Radu Prett, and SFI did a horrible work on Brian's cover; Or this man was not the real Radu Prett, and the fact that he knows that Hancock and indeed Prett himself were related to the Backbroken's Reward meant that Saul's cover was blown to shreds.

Come to think of it, if this man WAS the real Radu Prett, chances were he knew the real Raheem al-Hariri. This situation was worse than his final mission on the Special Observation team.

'Amateurs', he mused.

"She seemed quite eager to find the man in the photo.", Saul said out loud. "In fact, she offered to take five percent off the transportation fee. if me and the other passengers locate the man in the picture. If she knows that he isn't you... it may explain her eagerness, I suppose."

"Really? That's interesting...because I had heard she was recently deceased." Prett's face and tone morphed into something much more serious and threatening. He rose from his chair, and at the same time, two of his men, whom he'd surreptitiously summoned while he and Saul "chatted", calmly entered through the door.

Not deceased, Saul thought. Just kidnapped by allies of Starfleet. Just like you were supposed to be.

Audibly, he said "Shit."

"This has been a most interesting two days...I seem to be acquiring all sorts of new friends. Please escort 'Mister al-Hariri' to the holding cell with our other guest," he instructed the guards, all the while his gaze still fixed on Saul. "You really should do a better job at your homework, 'Raheem'," he continued, emphasizing the name to make it clear he knew it was a lie. "I make it my business to stay well-informed about the people and events around me; that and an exceptional talent for disguise are how I've managed to become so successful in a very treacherous part of the galaxy."

The tall guards instantly approached Saul from behind, and each firmly taking hold of one of his arms, led him to the door. He did not struggle - he knew it was pointless. They paused momentarily at the sound of Prett's voice.

"Oh, and 'Mister al-Hariri' . . . I *very* much look forward to chatting with you more."

"How much do you want?", Saul demanded, trying his best to turn his head toward Prett.

Prett just smirked and waved his hand for the guards to take him away.

"Strong Words, Strongly Spoken"

Cmdr. Kol, XO
SCPO. Renora Loret, Tactical Analyst

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

"Again." Renora addressed the holodeck computer. "This time from time index thirty-two."

The holographic patterns swept back to show the tactical crew involved in the simulation that Saul had done a few weeks back. Renora had spent the last three hours trying to break down everything she could.

"Hmm…" She had an overview of the engagement on a tactical console in front of her. Deep in thought as she was, she still turned when she heard the doors of the holodeck hiss open.

Commander Kol strode quickly into the holodeck. His severe features showed no indication that he was surprised at the Chief's presence. "Chief." he said in greeting, stopping to stand next to her, his arms clasped behind his back.

"Commander. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She said while turning back towards the control console.

"Your communication indicated you wished to speak to me about the training scenario." he replied.

"Ah yes, I'm just wanting to get your feedback and any input you may have on the results." A ship exploded on in the reconstruction, she rolled her eyes. "Computer, freeze playback." She turned to look at the commander. "I'm also interested as to why you ended the simulation before it was complete?"

"It served no further purpose." the Klingon shrugged. "It was clear by that point that your Federation sentimentality had turned your tactically superior position into an inferior one."

"My federation mentality?" Renora spoke with a slight edge of sarcasm, given she'd only been observing the exercise.

"Not you specifically, Chief." he corrected with a raised eyebrow. "Everyone participating in the simulation as a whole. Also, there was insufficient communication between all of you - the Tactical crews were doing one thing, the Vanguards another, instead of properly coordinating strikes for maximum effect. Much time was also wasted trying to.. talk.. to the Dreshayans, when battle was already a foregone conclusion."

"Well I won't argue that point with you. I do, however, feel that the simulation should have been allowed to reach it's full conclusion and that, as an observer you should not have intervened."

A bemused expression was beginning to settle across the Klingon's features - not a common occurrence. "And what, Chief, do you believe I did wrong?"

"Well, at a very basic level, you totally undermined the authority of Lieutenant Bental for one, not just in the simulation but in front of other officers and his subordinates."

"Then the Lieutenant should show himself more capable of command in a tactical scenario." he fired back.

"Some leeway would not be unfair though, sir. The lieutenant has had this position thrust upon him and he can't be expected to become tactically excellent overnight."

"I would be remiss, Chief, if I did not point out the Lieutenant's flaws to him. Allowing him to continue to do so would be an.. error. I am not in the habit of making errors."

"I see..." Her tone was sceptical. Renora suspected that maybe she had wounded some of his Klingon pride.

"Very well, Chief. What would you have done, then?"

"With regards to the personnel..." She thought for a moment. "I would have allowed the simulation to finish and then had a round table break down of the activity. Where I think it went wrong, what was good about it et cetera..." She looked up at the screen. "Tell me something Commander. What would you have done had you been in command during this event?" She gestured towards the holographic image of the battle.

"I would have won." Kol replied simply, and turned on his heel to depart the holodeck, signifying that he was quite done with this conversation.

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