"Fleet Action: The stinger gets Stung"

RHS Slarrardo

Romulus orbit

"Ventral shields Collapsing my Lord!" honked the Tactical officer through his fat slug-like mouth. "Federation Sloop on attack vector!"

The sparks from damaged display terminals threw strange shadows across the purple methane clouds of the R.H.S. Slarrardo's primary Attack bridge.

Griping his plush Command couch tightly with all three of his hands, Prince Thufi XXXIV gritted his teeth as the hammer-like blows of the USS Sao Paolo's Quantum torpedos struck home.

She may only be a Sloop, but she had teeth aplenty, and a manuverability that exceeded the Hydran Light Cruisers.

"Roll Starboard and invert the Ship." The Prince lispsed, bring point defence to bear and ready primary fusion cannon."

Outside the Defiant class Escourt continued to blaze away as the sleek blue hull of the Slarrardo twisted in space to bring stronger shields to bear.

From the light Cruisers aft quarter, a trio of point defence 'gatling' phasers roared to life in a frenzy of white hot phaser fire. Each bolt was less powerful than a standard phaser, but between the three cannons, they managed to register over a dozen hits on the Sao Paolo in a matter of seconds shaking her badly.

It was like being stabbed with a thousand needles of hot light.

Fortuantely for the Federation ship, the follow-up blast from the Slarrardo's massive fusion cannon missed badly, but even so, its powerful discharge rocked the boat from a kilometer away.

Slarrardo had bigger guns and more of them, but the Sao Paolo was much quicker.....that and the fact that the USS Galaxy was still in the area, and quite angry convinced Prince Thufi that it was time to make a brief tactical withdrawal.......for the moment.

Burping out orders to his flight officers he wheeled his ship about concealing it behind a tornado of gatling phaser fire.

As Sao Paolo turned to pursue, a trio of Hydran fighters swarmed into view peppering the Defiant class ship with harrasing fire.

As manuverable as it was, the Sao Paolo couldnt out-turn the tiny craft.......it was like having its own game played against

it.

Still......as one of the three fighters exploded under the Federation ships own point defence it was clear that the battle was far from over.....

"Recall fighters...." Thufi blubbered, "Continue point defence fire and drop static transporter mines.....put some distance between us and

that sloop!"

"Death Sentence"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

Tir'len had been hoping to catch some sleep on this rotation, and after handing out the meals had a nice nap of about forty minutes before he was awoken to find the image of the woman from last night standing there. Well, at least she seemed more relaxed and quiet today. It was time to start collecting the empty trays anyway... he better get to it.

Era had just finished her pasta and was sipping her juice box when the figure of the doctor from before appeared. She smiled at him with something approaching confidence. Now that she could understand what was being said to her, they could actually carry on a conversation.

"Doctor!" she waved him over to her as he began to move along the line, picking up the trays.

Tir'len was caught off guard by the greeting, though he gave a weary smile in her direction. "You look to be doing much better."

"As I keep trying to tell you, I'm fine. Now, can you let me go? I don't have a lot of time to waste."

"The computer database containing all medical records are down, and I can't release you without knowing why you were admitted in the first place." He sat down in a chair next to Era. "It will take some time to get the database up and running, until then..."

"Now look, I've told you I don't belong here. I've told you I'm a Starfleet officer. You've run a scan on me - you must know I'm healthy. You can't keep me prisoner!"

She did seem much more coherent now that she was apparently able to understand them. "I am responsible for the care of everyone in this facility. There is a 'war' outside... even 'if' I had hard evidence that what you were saying is true I couldn't just let you stroll out of here in good conscious... and I don't have any evidence that what you're saying is true. You're not being kept as a prisoner, but your actions have been erratic and irrational... and you pose an ongoing danger to yourself and others if not supervised."

"There's a war going on and I'm supposed to be over there. Up there!

Not stuck in here. I swear to you, I am on 'very' good terms with the commander of a Starfleet vessel and he 'will' have your hide if you keep me here!" Okay, so there was a bit of a white lie in that statement, but it made it sound more impressive.

Tir'len sighed... she was still having delusions wasn't she? "I'm sure your 'Captain' will understand the precautions in place that are designed to protect you."

"Don't take that tone of voice with me," she growled at him.

And exactly what tone was he 'supposed' to take with a mad woman? "I'm sorry, but you simply cannot leave the hospital at this time."

"Just try and stop me," she muttered darkly. "Nobody here is sick. I could get them to all follow me. I'll have this place reported if you don't let me go."

She was 'really' starting to become irritating, and although it wasn't the best move he ever made, he couldn't help but mockingly ask "So you're a psychiatrist on that fancy starship of yours?"

"I'm a scientist. Assistant chief of the department," she responded with equal scorn. She was gaining an intense dislike for this doctor, and all Romulans just for their sheer stupidity in letting him exist and be in charge of people.

"Ahhh." Tir'len nodded. "So do you 'honestly' believe all illnesses are visible?" He blinked for a moment, deciding to prove his point against better judgment. "Bas'an suffers from untreatable delayed neurological development.

Chasa over there..." he pointed to a fairly young Romulan woman. "Suffers from atypical post traumatic stress disorder. That patient is being treated for multiple psychoses."

Era tried to wrap her head around the words. "So they are unstable?

Why don't you kill them?"

Now that left Tir'len completely breathless. "Excuse me?"

"Assist them with their suicide," she explained. She remembered her mother telling her about why Sinara had stopped coming to school when she was five years old. Some people reached 60 faster than others.

She swore up and down she wasn't crazy... yet she was displaying behaviors that one would almost certainly attribute to insanity of some kind. She did seem capable of retaining knowledge however, so maybe talking, socializing, might be beneficial to the healing process. Who knows, maybe she was savable.

"That's not the way we do things here. Being disabled is in no way a death sentence, and they deserve a chance to live as much as anyone."

"But what use are they? You're at war, they're a drain on your resources, aren't they?"

"A war is a unique circumstance. Just because they can't contribute on the battle front doesn't mean they don't contribute to the society as a whole.

Some of our patients occupy themselves with basic jobs. Those that can't no less deserve a chance to try and recover, and enjoy something close to a normal life."

"But they're not 'useful'," Era persisted. "Physical handicap - fine.

People can heal. There are prosthetics. But this neurodamage you're talking about, that's nonsense. Kill it before it spreads." As soon as the words were out, Era jumped to her feet in horror, clapping a hand over her mouth. If the chair hadn't been nailed down, it would've toppled over. "You're going to make me sick, locking me in here with them!"

So much for moments of lucidity. Tir'len jumped to his feet in turn, placing his hands against her arms with the same practiced gentle but firm grasp. He had to try and calm her down in some fashion, even if her words did anger him to no small degree. "Calm yourself. There aren't any contagious conditions among the patients here. You're perfectly fine, and it's perfectly safe, much safer than it is outside. All right?"

Era got a hold of herself. They wouldn't intentionally contaminate others, even if they were Romulans. Slowly, her hand slipped down from her mouth. "You don't need to keep holding me."

Yeah, after the last time where she slugged him? It was a bit of an effort, but finally he pulled away. She did seem to relax somewhat. "Okay... umm...

I'm sorry. Why not try and relax until everything is over, all right?" He noticed she didn't particularly care for the entree. "Is there anything you'd prefer to eat instead?"

Era looked down at the mostly empty plate, a few lifeless strings of spaghetti left wallowing in the runny sauce. "No." In her head, Era opened a book - a manual, really - on how to deal with captors when you found yourself to be the captive. She found the chapter she

wanted: Noncooperation 101.

"As you wish." Tir'len placed her tray on the cart, to be reclaimed later.

"I'll be by to check on you later."

Era didn't answer. She'd try her luck with the nurses next. Maybe one of them would be more sympathetic.

"Life on the Inside"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A mental hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

Erastus Ampete had spent four years living as a part of the Federation, interacting with races and experiencing life styles she had never imagined. But even if she had twice as much multi-cultural time beneath her belt, it is doubtful it would have helped her current predicament.

Era grew up on Kaelon II, a planet known best to the rest of the quadrant as: "Oh, that one - with the dying sun and everyone killing themselves at 60." On a dying world, the ritual suicide of the elderly had a very practical component: preserve the resources and energy for the future, for the productive. What is less well known about Era's homeworld is that the sexagenarians were not the only ones to be a drain. Era had matured in a world devoid of debilitating handicaps. A deaf-mute wasn't just not heard from, but unheard of; not because they weren't born, but because they didn't survive. Quadriplegics, the terminally ill were never seen. It was an accepted part of her universe.

At the Academy, Erastus had undergone severe culture shock. Physical disability did not disqualify people automatically.

Yet there was another disability that Era never saw - mental illness.

Starfleet bred and catered to its own brand of mental instability, such that Era had come to think of people exhibiting the signs as possessing "quirks" and "idiosyncrasies." As a scientist, to whom the universe was largely comprehensible, thoughts of a chaotic mind never disturbed her.

And certainly, her lexicon lacked an entry for "insane asylum."

The new clothes she'd bought had been taken from her. In exchange she had been given, more like forced into, a pair of grey sweatpants and a tshirt. It was her second day "inside" and all the patients had been ushered into a large, airy room for lunch. The architect had certainly read a lot of design theory. A tall, domed ceiling towered above the hunched shoulders. A multitude of small, high windows bathed the hall in natural light without permitting a glimpse of the outside world. The walls had been painted in colours carefully chosen for their emotional neutrality - with the result that they made a prolonged looker nauseated or despairing, or most often: both. Metal tables and chairs had been bolted to the floor, undoubtedly to prevent their use as convenient weapons. The distance between chair and table had been calculated to be the average space the typical person needed. Of course, the tests likely involved someone sitting down for two seconds, long enough to say "Yep, this feels right," before getting on with the more pressing concerns of being anywhere else. Not to mention the oversight involved in considering "average" and "typical"

suitable measures for the intended users.

Much theory had been poured into the hospital, but from a long way away, while sitting in a comfortable orthopedic chair, at a fine wooden desk with ample knee and foot space, and surrounded by eggshell walls accented by paintings of demure young women and sailing vessels, all lit by a sumptuous bay window.

Era had an instant dislike for whomever had sat at that desk.

Outside, the fighting continued. People fought and bled and died.

Somewhere up above, the Miranda fought too. Era's short tenure on board had been enough to teach her the Mir could never stay out of trouble long. It was like an overgrown kid drawn to a mud puddle.

Outside, the world moved.

Inside, time and change were relative concerns, probably because to most of the people within, they were irrelevant. What did it matter if the present world was breaking apart when in your mind you lived three centuries ago?

For Era, whose mind was quite solidly attached to the here and now, the chance to observe the strange creatures who populated the hospital's halls proved fascinating - providing she forgot she was trapped with them - and a ready-made distraction from the growing frustration she felt at being cut off from her ship in a time of war.

At lunch, Era had made what at first turned out to be a very good and productive trade: her dessert for another patient's UT. When the majority of your companions are muttering their own variety of gibberish - no matter how well-articulated in some cases - the device did little good, however. As for the nurses, they tried to have as few conversations with the patients as possible. On all three occasions Era had tried, she had been given, in order, a colouring book, wooden blocks, and a pair of dolls. When Era had attempted to ram a doll's head down an orderly's throat, she had been restrained and medicated.

Life on the inside was getting to her.

The drugs made her brain feel fuzzy, and each thought took an eon to arrive, as though a glacier had slid over her mind and now synapses were being terraformed back into shape. Yet the slowed cogitation put her in an excellent position to observe.

***

There is a woman over to my left. I have been watching her for...for...a while. There is no clock in this room. There is no sense of time, sense of.. of.. sense in this room. But where was I? The woman. She is very large. Fat. Obese. Like most everyone here, she is Romulan. Her head, her hair, has been shaved, but that's not why I watch her. She has rolled up her shirt, revealing everything. She wears no bra and her pendulous breasts... the aureoles are discoloured. They're the size of my fist. Her breasts sit on top of her enormous belly. The nipples are distended. They mark the separation between rolls of stomach and mammary glands. Her pudgy fingers are kneading the fat of her abdomen. She squishes it together from the side, creating an even larger bulge, then pushes down with her shoulders and, how does she do it? she pushes with her breasts.

Mine can't do that. Is that a Romulan trick? She does this several times, making "Ooh"ing noises, then stops and pulls back the waistband of her pants. She doesn't care if anyone is watching. I am watching.

I can't look away. One hand reaches in and she begins groping. The look of fevered expectation on her face dwindles to disappointment.

"It won't come out" I hear her say. Moan. Cry. I can't register volume. My ears don't work. But the UT does. It translates for me. It translates stupid things, but it won't tell me how to get out. The nurses don't mind her when she goes back to pounding her insides.

It is so hard not to stare, even if everyone stares in this place. A young man is standing in a corner, staring. Another man, his tongue gripped tightly between his teeth, spins him round. The first man continues to stare. I wonder if he blinks when his back is to me.

Nothing here makes sense.

My mouth tastes funny. Why does it taste funny? I don't remember eating. Food. There's something important about food. It's making my mouth water. I had dessert. That's one of those funny words. So close to "desert." Why make them the same? Who decided that? How do we make words? Words words words. I'm so sick of words... Wasn't that from a song? Hmm hmm hmmmm... I can't remember the...the.. thingie. Harmony?

Something like that. It has eighths in it.

My head hurts.

“Ungrounded”

Ensign Keldan, Operations Officer, USS Galaxy

Crew Quarters, Deck 14

Keldan stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair and beard were frizzy and with the dark circles under his eyes, he looked like a Talarian *vjornas*. He'd have to make an appointment with the ship's barber to try to get his mane under control. It had taken five sonic showers and three aquatic ones, but at least he'd finally been able to get the smell of Romulan blood out of his hair.

There were, of course, more important things to be worrying about, like the fact that there was a good chance that the Galaxy would come out less than unscathed from the battle about to erupt between the Hydran and Federation fleets. But he rarely worried about such things, since the ‘big picture' was so often out of his hands. All he need do was focus on doing his own small part quickly, quietly, and efficiently. If everyone else did the same, then the Galaxy and all aboard her would survive the day.

He looked at the chronometer next to the wash basin. The order should come any minute now. He was going mad here, confined to his quarters, with nothing else to do but wait. The light exercise routine he had just completed left his muscles pliant and ready. The cold shower had left his mind equally alert.

When would the order would come? Not that he had any particular death wish; it simply was he couldn't stand being confined. ‘Restricted duty?'

Might as well have thrown him in the brig; he'd have gone equally stir crazy.

McDowell had not suffered the same fate, which was good. Of course, McDowell hadn't killed a Romulan in what at first glance appeared to be in cold blood. And of course, the engineering specialist had not insinuated that the lieutenant commander from Temporal Affairs who was debriefing them via subspace over the whole assassination incident was an idiot. But the man *was* an idiot. Even Keldan knew more about temporal mechanics than this fool who kept trying to needle them about information with which they might some how incriminate themselves in some way. Keldan wondered if everyone in the Temporal Affairs division of Starfleet was as equally high-brow and stiff-collared. Before the debriefing, the Talarian had assumed the man would be possessed of some scientific expertise and provide some explanations for everything that McDowell and he had experienced. As it turned out, the redshirt was no more than another tight-assed legal semantics whore.

Still, asking if personnel from temporal mechanics actually had any actual knowledge in the field had bordered on insubordination. Actually, it erased the border completely, but given the seriousness of the events that had led up to their interview, some leeway and flexibility could be expected. Keldan had skirted that border numerous times and he quietly wondered how many times his mouth had gotten in the way of a promotion.

He walked back and sat on the edge of his bed, his toes twitching. The rest of his duty uniform already in place, he pulled on his socks and boots, carefully and methodically tightening each lace. Finishing, he sat back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

=/\= All hands to battle stations, all non-combatants to the battle shelters. I'ts time to take up the sword.” =/\-

Captain M'Kantu's voice came over the comm loud and clear and the red alert klaxon began to wail. Keldan stood, heading for the door. It was crazy, he knew, to be looking forward to a battle where the lives of millions hung in the balance. But he also knew from bitter experience that among the moments in life that you feel the most alive are the ones where you dangle precariously between life and death.

Keldan took one last deep breath, left his quarters and turned down the corridor, heading for Operations.

"Running away…" Part One

(Set directly after "The things that go unsaid between blood", half an hour before contact with the Hydran.)

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief of Engineering

Sara-Jayne Agathon, Civilian

***Location: USS Galaxy, crew quarters***

"I never understood why you wear the skirt as part of the uniform anyway!" Sara queried, "I mean, almost no one else does!"

"Well I do!" Kimberly retorted, tossing clothes out of the closet onto the bed randomly, "It's not like I have to worry too much about hand to hand aboard ship, and it's my choice anyway." Cursing slightly she muttered dark thoughts until she spied what she was looking for at the back of the closet on the floor. Pulling the trousers out with a small exclamation of triumph she slipped them on as Sara stood in the doorway, a strange look on her face.

"What?" she asked as she got ready for the impending chaos.

"Are you scared?" Sara-Jayne asked, a trace of something in her voice.

"I'm always scared when a fight starts, its part of being human." Kimberly muttered as she sat down to pull on her boots.

"Is that why you don't fight then? You're scared?"

Pausing with her second boot only half on Kimberly looked up at the face of the teenager, there was no anger or reproach in her tone, only curiosity, "No, that's not why," she said calmly as she finished pulling her other boot on, "I choose not to fight because it's what I believe and because it's part of the oath I took as a physician."

"But, as an officer…" Sara started to object mildly, looking a little confused now.

"As an officer," Kimberly interrupted as she stood, "I have an obligation to obey the oaths I have sworn and chief amongst them is 'First do no harm!', you can't get much clearer that that," she said simply, "now you have to get to the shelter, there's trouble heading our way and I need to know you're safe. Clear."

Nodding Sara turned to go, picking up a small bag as she passed through the main room she paused and looked back to Kimberly with a worried look, "What if..?" She started only to be interrupted again.

"Then do as the shelter leader says, or hit your comm and beam to the KittyKat, don't worry about me," she instructed, knowing what was on the mind of the teenager, not wanting to worry her unduly, "but it won't come to that! Now scoot!" she ordered.

Watching the young girl leave she sighed and ran her hands through her hair, thinking for a moment she headed out and to the nearest turbolift, "Engineering," Kimberly called as she got on. Cocking her head she listened as the Captains voice came from the speakers on the lift. Listening to his words she found her mind fixing on one portion of his speech, 'In times of peace we are explorers, in times like this we are the sword and the shield, the defenders..' Letting the words float around her head she recalled an event not to distant in the past where even she had…

Shaking her head that the thought she felt her stomach heave a little at the memory, still fresh after this time, "Dren!" she muttered as the lift stopped, walking down to Engineering she entered and looked around amidst the scurrying engineers for Dhanishta.

****Deck 36, Main Engineering***

Her head rested in the crook of her elbow upon the desk. The fingers of her right hand continued to trace lines in the static on the screen. She had sat there listening to the sounds of Main Engineering beyond the door, tears silently rolling down her cheeks, for the last five minuets.

War was fast approaching. She knew it. For what else could it be? The Hydran had assaulted them before, and now they were coming for Romulus, and anything that stood in the way. And as usual the Federation had to be the big brother for the Quadrant standing up to the bully.

Though the question that played upon her mind was 'where were the Romulans during the beginning of the Dominion War'? Had they not sat back and waited until the Dominion had crossed them? All the while letting the Jem'Hadar through their space so that they could pound upon the citizens of the Federation?

And if it hadn't been for the simple fact that the Jem'Hadar had killed one of their senators, they would never have joined the war.

So why the hell were the Federation jumping into the fray so soon? Why were they putting themselves on the line, the lives of good people; people that only wanted to make a life for themselves, people that didn't deserve to die so soon, so young. Why were they the ones that had to put their families at risk, their home in the firing line - literally?

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

"Computer, save recording." Dhanishta mumbled into her sleeve, "File under 'letters home'. Instructions; to be opened upon the death of Dhanishta Eshe, by immediate family only. Please record the next of kin as one Tanson Eshe, Kerenza Eshe of unknown location and one Chandrakala Lakishmi Eshe serving on the Klingon Bird of Prey 'T'Kengra'."

Tugging the cuffs of her sleeve down she promptly wiped her eyes, although it seemed that her cuffs alone weren't going to hold up to that job. Pushing herself away from the desk she got up and entered the rest room. Sighing heavily with each step she took.

It was the waiting that killed you. That took everything you had, all the strength and patience, made it crumble away like dried mud on a hot day. Made you feel hollow and drained of energy.

There were things to do, last system checks, the tests on the new shield grid and the pulse cannon, but she knew that everyone was on top of it. There was nothing she could do out there now except fret and worry. And that was best done in here, away from them. They were all stressed out enough as it was, they didn't need her flapping as well.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her blood shot eyes were a dead give away. ~wonder if the Doc has anything to clear that up~ Dhani mused to herself as she splashed cold water on to her reddening cheeks.

Nodding politely to a few passing engineers Kimberly stepped this way and that to avoid the scurrying techs, who all looked like a team of ants frantically performing the bidding of their Queen and mistress, ~I wonder if Dhani would appreciate that analogy? ~ she wondered as she stepped into the small office in engineering, "Dhani?" she called out softly, "you in here?"

Dhani jumped, she hadn't expected anyone to call for her, well not until after the klaxons started. "Yeah." she called out as she patted her face dry, "be out in a sec."

A frantic moment ensued as Dhani did her best to cover up the fact that she had been crying. Using the palms of her hands to smooth down her hair, wipe the bits off her uniform, tug it down into position, once more smooth her hair, and for a few seconds stare at herself in the mirror, checking from all angles that she looked presentable.

Shrugging at her image she turned from the mirror and stepped out of the rest room. "Hey," she smiled pleasantly, "what can I do for you?" she questioned as she returned to hover by the desk, torn between hugging Burton and hiding the fact that she was a wimp.

Perching on the desk near Dhani Kimberly looked out into engineering for a moment, "You all ready down here then?" she asked in a tone that managed to somehow convey disinterest and curiosity at the same time.

Dhani's gaze followed Burtons out into the hub of the Galaxy's core. She smiled slightly as she watched them, the heart of the ship. Those people out there made this thing work, kept her home afloat, patched her up when she needed and so on. Her stomach turned to think that not all of them would see tomorrow.

"We are as ready as we are ever going to be." she replied as positively as she could.

"Are you scared?" Kimberly asked, echoing Sara's earlier question.

"Slap Happy"

Ensign Faylin McAlister USS Galaxy-A Security/JAG

Pilot Paulo DiMillo, Vanguard Intelligence Liaison/AWACS Pilot, USS Galaxy-A ________________________________________________________________

Slowly waking, Faylin waved her hand back and forth. "Grim reaper and death...you have some bad morning breath. Um...where's your hand Paulo?"

Paulo yawned as he was broken out of his sleep. "My what?" He asked sleepily.

"Uh, your hand."

He squeezed it and felt a flesh substance. Felt nice, wasn't to firm, not to soft. He opened his eyes and looked where his hand was.

Planted and squeezing one of her breasts. "Oh Shit!" He said as he pulled his hand away. "Sorry about that."

Faylin arched a single eyebrow, rolling over and standing. Grabbing her rifle, McAlister tossed her tasseled hair back. The picture of a Marine pin up girl if ever there was one. Using the butt end of the rifle, she scratched her shoulder as she peeked out from behind the viney entrance. Eyes popping wide open, she turned. "We've got company....and Sohre's dead."

Paulo stood up in alarm and took a peak around and quickly pulled his head back. "Fuck," he said quietly. "You think they know we are here?"

"Uh. Yes?" Raising her rifle, she began to fire.

They were surrounded by Hydrans. Faylin, steadied her gaze as she dug into her pocked, extracting a small, yet sharp knife. Bringing her index finger up as she was backing up, she drew a thin line across the padd of her finger. No pain, just warm fluid dripped freely from the deep cut. Still backing up, she said nothing as she stole a glance at Paulo. Curiosity bit at her, why hadn't they killed them yet? There weapons were drawn, however, the Hydrans were acting strangely. Either way, she continued to back up until the back of her hand hit the wall corridor. Bringing her bleeding finger up, she wrote three small letters on the wall with her blood. It would give a hint to anyone that happened along the scene, what exactly had taken place. POW.

This wasn't good for them. The Hydrans never took POWs unless they wanted a guinnie pigs. He watched as Faylin wrote up POW on the wall though wondered if it was going to help them any, or just get them killed if the calvary tried to run in and save them. "This isn't like them, at least as far as I have seen."

'They want something from us.' Reaching into her pocket one more time, she dropped her id. Just something that would help identify who was here. It was something, Faylin thought. As she was ordered to turn around, some sort of binder was placed on her wrists. Moving just slightly, she winced as a small shock was felt shooting up both of her arms. Fear glossed over her features as Faylin took in the smells and autosphere around them. If someone came, would they be able to locate the hints that would lead them to where they were being taken? Glancing to the left, she located the black sear marks that were made by the phasers. Out side of the cave, a dead person lie, with Starfleet markings on his outfit, they were sure to know that he was supposed to be gaurding the people inside the cave.

Just inside, there would be their personal belongings that rested on the right side of the cave wall. The blanket, the backpack....hints thrown all over the place. Where she stood, the id rested, as well as the dripping POW letters on the wall. Glancing over to the side, she was forced forward by something being pointed at her back.

Paulo felt the restraints go on a weapon barrel in the lower part of his back. "Hey," Paulo yelled. "I don't do it that rough on the first date!"

Faylin quickly glanced back at the wall, then shot Paulo another look of disdain as she was poked from behind yet again.

They exited the cave and headed south or their current location.

Turning over slightly, Faylin stole the blanket yet again, causing her companion to groan.

"Paulo?"

He just groaned as he stayed mostly asleep.

"You would not believe the dream I just had......."

"What dream?" He asked groggily. "Nothing to worry about, go back to sleep."

"Get your hand off of my.........." The next noise was crisp, flesh on flesh as it echoed through the cavern. A smack for retribution for a male touching her without permission gave Faylin some sort of twisted satisfaction.

Now he woke up. "What!?" He yelled as he looked down where his hand was and removed it. "Sorry about that," he told her as he sat up a little. "What dream?"

"You need a girlfriend....badly." Faylin paused. "I had a dream we were captured by the Hydrans."

"I do... kinda," he said. "And share, its cold!"

"Your supposed to be a man, stop complaining about the blanket Paulo, and let's get out of here."

"Fine," he said getting up. "Lead on."

"En Garde"

Principal Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu

Lt. Commander Tarin Iniara

Lt. Commander MacKenzie Todd

Lieutenant Michael Jameson

Lieutenant 8-Ball Hunter

Lieutenant Raven Darkstar

Lieutenant Ella Grey

Lieutenant Valieria zh'Thane, Communications

****

USS Galaxy

Deck 1

Bridge

The decision to fight his ship wasn't a difficult one for Daren - if his oath required him to be a warrior, then that's what he would be - but the decision of where he should fight his ship *from* had been difficult. There were clear advantages to fighting the battle from the Galaxy's Battle Bridge, he'd done it at the Battle of Havras for many of those reasons, but this time... this time it hadn't felt right, and he'd decided to listen to that feeling. This time, he would fight his ship from the Main Bridge.

Captains that never learned to listen to their inner voice weren't the ones that the history books wrote about, for good or ill. That didn't make them wrong in some way, but it was the inner voice, the ability to take a hunch or a gut feeling and follow it, even in the face of reason, that marked the line between the good captains and the great ones. Daren didn't think of himself as great, that was too much hubris for him to allow himself, but he believed in hunches - and this was where his hunch said that he had to be.

"Time to first engagement?" he asked Tactical without looking around.

"Approximately four minutes to firing range and counting sir,"

MacKenzie Todd said from the tactical station.

"Are they still ignoring us?"

"They're fully powered, and making a show of it," she said, "but it looks like their attention is focused on our Romulan companions. The Hydrans don't seem to be taking us too seriously."

"They do expect us to run, then," Daren nodded. "Or they're expecting their pet to screen us off. Keep your subspace scans running, Ms.

Hunter, I want as much warning as possible when they decide to call their little friend in."

8-Ball nodded in reply, and stared at her screen. What was she doing here again? It was just like Havras, where people were all talking about fighting and maybe dying in the grasp of a giant monster's freaking tentacles so calmly, like they were discussing having a drink after work - and not even a real drink followed by alcohol-induced flirting and a night full of steamy sex, but a quiet, sip-it-slowly drink followed by going home alone to do paperwork.

She wanted a drink, a real one, followed by sex so good it left her unable to walk the next day, not this calm conversation. They might die, she might die, and there were so many things she hadn't done, so many drinks to have, so many men - and the occasional woman - to make love to. A smile slipped onto her face then as she realized that she could still have those drinks, could still know all those men and women - all she had to do was make certain that the Hydrans and their monster died first. She wasn't sure about the whole 'right thing to do' speech, but for that, for wine, men, and sex. she could kill the Hydrans for that. "I'm on it, sir," she said crisply.

Daren was silent for a minute, studying the approaching fleet as the glimmerings of an idea danced in the back of his mind. "Mr. Darkstar, how is your manual piloting certification - up-to-date? Ms. Todd, what's your manual firing certification like?"

"Top notch and current, Captain," she said, "I wouldn't keep it any other way."

"I am ready," Darkstar said from the Navigation Dome in the Nav offices. He tightened the straps on his gyroscope like control chair and keyed in control of the ships helm to his control console.

Dobryin and Walker would be at their stations on both the main bridge and Battle Bridge in moments. Until then, the Indian preferred to guide the ship.

The room's holographic emitters projected the dizzying view of space around the ship. Off in the distance, he could see the Hydran armada closing in on their position.

"What're you thinking, Sir?"

"If I were the Hydrans," Daren explained, "I'd have put some effort into finding a way to knock out computer-assisted flight control and fire control systems. They're better than anything the Hydrans have - much better - and they know it after Havras. I'm thinking that they'll assume that's why they lost, and discount the individuals actually doing the flying and the shooting. Let's be ready for them if they have found that way, shall we?"

The Indian simply nodded and with a deft flick of his wrist, the Galaxy slowly changed her position.

A thousand cliches regarding her knack for being ready ran through MacKenzie's mind. "Two minutes, sir."

"Communications," Daren said leaning forward. "Give me a channel to Miranda as soon as Chris is through trying to talk the Hydrans out of this, and get me Lieutenant Grey in Engineering while we wait."

"Aye, Captain." the prim-looking Andorian woman - zhen, really - replied. She and two of her bondmates were in Starfleet. Her ch'te, Morva served in Security. Her sh'za, Duna, she served in the sciences.

Their th'za, Gallen, he had remained with the children on Deep Space Five. It was not an auspicious beginning to their new assignment, but posts for all three of them aboard a ship like Galaxy had been hard to come by. Hopefully they would all return home - she feared for Gallen if three-quarters of their bondgroup never returned to him.

"Grey here, Sir." The mechanical voice of the engineer came over the line.

"Lieutenant," Daren said, still trying to get all of the idea to fully form. "I expect that the Hydrans will try and knock out ship's systems

- particularly the computerized portions of Flight Control and Fire Control. Be on the lookout for some kind of electromagnetic or subspace interference attacks aimed at that."

"Yes, Captain."

Daren frowned, struck by the realization that he didn't know why his Chief Engineer chose to speak with a voice that was less human than the one the ship's computer used. "All right, Lieutenant. If you need the shield modulation changed to assist in defeating that, contact Commander Todd at Tactical."

"Understood. Grey out."

"Number One," Daren turned to his XO. "Would you take command of the Battle Bridge, please? I'll be fighting the Galaxy from here today."

"Sir?" Iniara turned, giving M'Kantu an inquisitive look. She was about to question his decision to command from the Main Bridge-there was a reason they called it the Battle Bridge, after all. But the look in his eyes, coupled with his surface thoughts, gave her all the answer she needed.

Daren M'Kantu had a plan.

Iniara set her jaw, inwardly reminding herself that Daren M'Kantu always had a plan. She only hoped that she would be able to follow along. "Shall I prepare for saucer separation?"

"We did that last time we fought the Hydrans, Number One," Daren smiled. "I expect that they'll be looking for it this time, probably planning to try and isolate the Saucer section and destroy it since it will carry lighter shields and less firepower than the Secondary Hull does. so let's surprise them and not do it unless there's a real reason to."

He looked at the oncoming fleet for a moment, and then continued.

"This is going to be a knife fight, Number One. I know that you and Mr. Darkstar know what that means, but for the e benefit of the rest of you it means that we're going to go in close to the Hydran fleet - very close. So close that when they bring their little friend out of subspace to play with us, they'll be hampered by the fact that it won't be able to tell us apart. Getting in that close means, like a knife fight, that we're going to get cut - it's a forgone conclusion, one that you have to accept walking into a fight like that."

"The trick here, is that once we get in that close, even if they don't have a gimmick to interfere with our flight control and fire control systems, there's going to be too much going on for one person to keep track of, even with computer assist; we'll be in danger of getting overwhelmed and stabbed in the back." He turned and looked at Iniara.

"But if, say, we had a second pair of hands wielding a second knife and watching our back. then that wouldn't happen, now would it?"

"No sir, it wouldn't. But that would mean we'd both be..." She trailed off, visualizing the setup.

"That's right, Number One: we're *both* going to fight the ship. I'll take the forward 180 degree arc, and you'll take the aft 180 degree arc, splitting the zone amidships. If there's a question of whose arc an opponent is in, then we both take it, just to be safe. And if fire control goes down, then we'll already be set up to handle that." He nodded towards the Hydrans on the screen. "They don't think like that, you know, not based on what we know of them. They're all about centralized command and control, top-down leadership, and the like. A parallel command track, two minds fighting them simultaneously instead of one? It's the last thing they'll be looking for - so that's what we're going to give them."

"And give it to them we shall," Iniara replied, a slight grin passing over her features. Oh, to hear the Hydrans' thoughts when they figured out what was going on...

"Monitoring a communication from the Miranda to the Hydran flagship, Captain. They've answered Miranda's hail, and ignored the Romulans'"

zh'Thane reported. "The Hydrans have declined to retreat."

"What did they say, exactly?"

"They said "no."" the Andorian replied.

"Looks like Captain Summers didn't take that too well." someone on the bridge observed as the view screen shifted, showing the Miranda's phaser cannon lancing out at a Hydran carrier, and launching the first salvo of the Battle of Romulus.

"Get a move on, Commander."

"Yes sir." Iniara gave the Captain a respectful nod before heading for the emergency turbolift that would take her directly to the Battle Bridge. She was quickly making a mental list of officers she felt would operate best in this situation. By the time the turbolift doors closed she was already making calls, issuing orders.

"Delusional"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A mental hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

"No, no, no!" a rather aggravated, exhausted, and honestly terrified orderly shouted at Bas'an. He was obviously scared of him, and crying over the abuse that was heading his way. The orderly had hit him, not just dusting like one might scorn a child, but the same kind of punching and kicking one would expect to find at a bar brawl. Bas'an was on the ground, practically pleading as the boot struck him once more in the stomach.

Era had been rather listlessly using finger paints. Normally, she enjoyed painting, and happened to think herself to be rather good at it. But she always preferred the paint to be on the end of a brush, not her hands. When the yelling began, it didn't take much to pull her away from her "me-time activity." It took her less than a second to locate the source of the trouble. What kind of hospital was this that helped by hurting?

On her feet, Era hurdled over the tables and patients that separated her from the orderly. "Stop it!" she ordered firmly.

Bas'an lay on the floor rather badly injured, the orderly on the other hand, rather than getting ahold of himself, attacked Era next, taking a swing at her face.

Era ducked easily, bringing her fist solidly into his gut. "Fucking Rommie, I said stop!"

The commotion stirred Tir'len once more... he was never going to get sleep at this rate. Forcing himself onto his unsteady legs, the doctor walked down the corridor, to find Era standing over an orderly and a patient.

"I need help!" He called out towards the other employees, before pulling over a med cart and looking for a hypo.

Era dropped to a knee. That knee landed on the orderly's shoulder. One hand balled into a fist, she gripped his collar with the other, hauling him up to look at her even as she pinned him. "What the 'hell'

were you doing?"

The orderly cursed, obviously in pain, shouting back to the doctor, "She's attacking!"

Tir'len could see that, and had jumped to that conclusion himself.

God damnit, he just wanted to sleep, now because they were out of even the most basic freakin' medications it seemed he was going to have to get involved in a fight? He was hating this job at the moment. "Let him go!"

"Not until he answers me," Era snarled. Years of cultural understanding disappeared in that minute. It was her against the world

- and that world was full of Romulans. Her fist tightened.

Tir'len went to grab her, trying at the same time not to hurt her, but to handle her with enough force to pry her away. "This 'isn't' the way to settle arguments, let him go!"

Era ignored him, lowering her face to right in front of the orderly's.

"Why'd you kick him?" She didn't really know Bas'an, but he was her roommate after a fashion and they'd made a fair trade the other day.

It was strange how bonds could form over the smallest things.

Wait, that didn't make any sense. Tir'len pulled back, finally getting her off of him, the pair falling back against the ground, though the Romulan buffeted the Kaelian's impact. "Stop it, please!"

"You're crazy!" The orderly accused, getting up.

Era struggled. "Lemme go. I swear I'll impale you all on Gal Gath'thong's spires!"

"Calm yourself!" Tir'len squeezed harder, there wasn't anything like a sense of self-preservation to make one hold on for dear life. "What is going on here?!"

"She attacked this patient, and then me when I intervened!"

Bas'an was still crying, unable really to reply coherently.

"Liar!" Era snarled, thrashing out with a foot in an attempt to kick the bastard. Her roving, maddened eyes fell on the nurses who were helping the orderly to his feet. "Why don't you assholes help the damn patient? What kind of doctors are you?"

Tir'len was still holding on, pretty sure she'd kill someone if he let go.

One of the nurses went to Bas'an's side. "Doctor, we have to get him to the medical bay, he has a cracked rib."

"I have my hands full, would you handle it, 'please'?" There was no mistaking the question for an order.

Era had stopped her struggling to watch as they lifted Bas'an onto an antigrav stretcher. She seemed to deflate once she saw that he was being treated with care and consideration.

Tir'len let her go... in stages really. He didn't know what happened, but she 'had' an aggressive past. "There, it's over now. Let's get you back to your room."

"What about him?" she nodded to the orderly, who'd wisely edged out of her swing radius.

"What about him?" Tir'len repeated the question, getting to his feet before offering her a hand. "You can't blame your actions on others if you're going to make any progress."

"They weren't my actions," she answered, slapping his hand away, the anger rising again. She'd never thought of herself as having a short fuse, but apparently it had been clipped upon walking through the hospital's doors. "I stopped him from kicking that patient."

"She's obviously delusional." The orderly, who had access to Tir'len's own reports, tried reinforcing the Romulan's own pre-conceived notions.

It worked apparently. Tir'len helped Era to her feet. "Come on."

"Pointy eared bastard, why don't you listen for once?" she resisted every step of the way.

Now it was time for Tir'len to snap. "Why?! You really want to 'know' why?! You've proven time and time again that you 'can't' be listened to! You're delusional! A Starfleet officer without a uniform or insignia, constantly making wild gestures, your botched escape attempt through 'creative' means, your assault on the orderly, not to mention how many times you've gone after me! Exactly 'why'

should I listen to you, eh?!"

"Because I'm telling the truth!"

"Everyone says they're telling the truth! Where's the evidence? If you really 'were' from a ship, why didn't they pull you out before the war started, eh? Now are you going back to your room, or do I have to have you drugged?" He didn't have the drugs to pull it off, but hopefully she didn't know.

Era glared at him, but she knew any threat she made would only be proven empty. "I'll go." She tried to ignore the nagging concerns his astute questions raised.

"The ChuWaWa's Play On"

Vaebn (NPC)

RNI Operative

****

Ra'tleihfi

ch'Rihan

****

Pausing to let his azure eyes adapt to the lack of any decent amount of light, he withdrew the disruptor and scanned his immediate perimeter. He stood in a small antechamber, a set of winding stairs on the right lead down into the establishment, while a small viewing platform overlooked the main dance floor. Walking over there, he took a look and balked. There were more bodies, all looking like they had been killed the same way, scattered on the dance floor. The corpse of a barmaid lay over the lip of the bar, her long dark locks mostly blowing in the gentle breeze afforded by an open fridge as a small section of hair lay spattered against the bar, covered in what looked, from a distance, to be her own blood.. It was surreal, to say the least.

Taking the steps slowly, Vaebn descended into the chaos that was the bar he had often frequented in the past. The smell inside wasn't as bad as outside, though Vaebn attributed that to the heat of the sun baking the two bouncers' corpses. Walking over to the bar, he looked over it, attempting to see if anyone had been hiding behind the large wooden benchtop. Broken bottles and a dead barman could be seen. He turned to the macabre scene of dead Rihanna patrons, and the occasional off-worlder that lay scattered on the dance floor, their blood having mixed into a cacophony of purple hued colors, as he tried to locate his friend, the owner.

Nothing.

His eyes turned next to the band, the ChuWaWa's. A tear formed at the corner of his left eye, which he promptly wiped off, as he remembered that he had been to see these guys in concert not six months before, when they had last been here visiting. And now they were dead. His eyes fell on the large Klingon that lay at the front, the obviously fatal damage to his chest visible. His voice had been an amazing thing to experience, with such a range and the skills of a pro vocalist, and Vaebn had to pause to reflect on the amazing voice he had had.

The two Andorians, one, the Bass Guitarist, a thaan and the drummer, a zhen, were the most skilled musicians that Vaebn had ever heard. He had had every album they had ever released at one point at home, but that had all been lost in the fire that had taken his family. The last member was the lead guitarist, a Klingon named K'regic who dazzled audiences with his solo performances at every chance he got. They were all there, the five of them, all dead. Vaebn shook his head. There had never been five members of the band. Only ever four. Looking over at the other guitarist, Vaebn shook his head at the Rihanna that lay, blue blood covering his chest, guitar in hand. For such a smart business man, his friend was pretty stupid.

"You do realize that you're covered in *blue* blood, Branak?" He called out to his old mate.

"Old friend," He called back as he got up from next to the body of K'regic. "I heard someone coming and did what I had to." Wiping as much of the blood off as he could, which just smeared his shirt even more, he took a few steps over to Vaebn. "It's been too long, Vaebn. How are you?"

"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances." Vaebn replied, not wanting to give away too much of what he'd been doing for the past couple of months. "Was this the Hydrans? What happened here?" he waved his hand around, indicating the dead Rihanna.

Branak nodded. "Sadly yes. And it's a long story."

"Healing Hand"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton

Chief Medical Officer,

USS Galaxy

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas

CO - Second Platoon,

Furies 188th Detachment, USS Galaxy

(Occurs just prior to the Hydran attack)

****

Main Sickbay

USS Galaxy

****

Steven entered the sickbay with a steadfast determination. The Hydrans were less than an hour away and this was his last chance to get down to the planet. He hoped, seeing him in full armor might prove to them that he was ready for action and grant him leave to head down. It was going to be a long shot. Looking around, he spotted Kimberly chatting to one of her nurses, so he made his way over to her.

He saw the nurse give the slightest of nods in his direction, no doubt notifying Dr Burton to his presence. "Hi." Steven said as she turned in his direction.

Turning to face the Lieutenant, Kimberly smiled, "Lieutenant, what can we do for you?" she asked, her mind on a dozen things at once.

"I wanted to let you know that I'm ready for duty. See!" He held his arms up, showing that he was fine. He felt anything but fine, but that wasn't the point.

"Mind if I be the judge of that?" she asked with a smile, "job security and all that," she quipped as she indicated a nearby biobed, "hop up and take off your shell if you would."

"I don't see why I need to do this." Steven said as he took off the armor as she had directed. He jumped up onto the biobed, careful not to show the sudden sharp pain he experienced when he did so.

"Because how would it look if I let you go out half healed, I'd get accused of sloppy work," offering the small joke with a smile she raised a tricorder and scanned his torso with a few quick passes of the scanner. Frowning she ran the scanner over him again, "Raise your arms if you would please?" she asked politely, watching his face and the tricorder as best she could to gauge the reaction on both.

Steven clenched his teeth together as he raised his arms, hoping to get through the feeling of pain he knew he'd get when he raised his arms above his chest.

"Any discomfort? Pain?" she asked, not entirely accepting his stoicism.

"Not at all. I feel fine." He replied, a forced smile appearing on his face.

"Really?" she asked, gently pressing a part of his back and watching him jump slightly with a small measure of triumph, "and that is?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, okay. I admit it. It does hurt a little. But I can handle it. I've had worse before. I just really want to go down to ch'Rihan." He said, admitting defeat.

Checking her tricorder Kimberly shook her head, "Lieutenant, in your condition I shouldn't be letting you on 'duty', let alone down into a combat zone," she admitted softly.

"There are people down there that need me. I can't, I will not, let them down. I owe them that." Perhaps appealing to her compassionate side might get him a pass. Though somehow, Steven doubted that it would happen.

"I have no doubt that they need you, however, in your condition will you be helping them? Or adding to their burdens as a someone they'll have to keep an eye on because he can't keep up?" she offered bluntly, "No Lieutenant, here you stay this time I'm afraid."

His shoulders slumped at the news, as he felt his heart skip a beat. "There's no way to change your mind?"

Shaking her head she slipped her tricorder into a pocket and contemplated the Lieutenant before her, "I am sorry," she offered, "but I can't recommend you go planet side, your spine is still healing from the damage you took a little while back, any undue stress could cause permanent impairment either now or later in life. Might I suggest you log in with the duty security officer, see if perhaps you can assist with ship board operations since you're going to be aboard? Something not physically taxing," she suggested.

Steven nodded. "I guess I can do that. Got anything for the pain?"

Nodding she tapped the bed controls, "I can give you a very mild pain killer, something to take the edge of the pain but i don't want to take the pain entirely. You need to know right now when you are over taxing yourself, plus, a strong pain killer will dull your reflexes slightly, something I'm sure you don't want," picking a phial from the small transporter dispenser by the bed she offered it to him, "This'll fit in the medkit in your shell," indicating the armor by the bed, "but try to use it sparingly okay, there's only a couple of doses in here."

Steven nodded. "Thanks."

"When this is all done, make an appointment to see me, we'll run you through some regen therapy and try and get you back on duty as quickly as we can," she offered.

"Sounds like fun." Steven replied, half smiling. He wasn't sure if Kimberly knew of his dislike of sickbays, but either way, the thought of spending more time in one just didn't appeal to Steven.

"Oh, and when you talk to the duty security officer," she asked as she watched him dress, "ask him to send the guards I asked for, I've heard Hydrans like to be different, so I'd rather not share the ward with any rampaging Hydrans if I can help it."

"I can do that. Though I don't know if they have anyone to spare. Some were sent down to the planet to assist the Marines and Hazard teams."

"I know," ~ Goddess protect them! ~ she thought to herself, "let's just hope we don't need anyone here."

"When this is all over, we should get another poker night going. I need to win back all those chips you took from me last time." He grinned.

"That sounds like a plan," she agreed with a small grin, "once things get settled you're more than welcome to try, you'd better get down to security, things'll be starting soon I imagine."

"I would prefer to be able to head down, but thanks for this." He tapped his hand over where the medkit was resting in his armor.

"Just be careful, no heavy lifting if you can so use an antigrav" she cautioned him sternly, "and if you have to go running around, something I have to admit is possible just watch yourself, if your back aches too much think about what you're doing. Okay."

"Thanks." He smiled, and jumped off the biobed and headed for the door. "Take care." He called out as he turned back to Dr. Burton. They were all going to need some luck to stay alive with what it seemed was about to occur.

"Stretching"

Lieutenant Savant, USS Galaxy Fleet Logistics Officer

Klaxons wailed and lights dimmed as the red alert was sounded, and the Captain's tone came across the intercom system. Savant smiled lightly to herself in her office as the cool blue was dominated by red. It had been awhile since she'd been in such a situation, and for some reason she always enjoyed it. She took after the beliefs of several warrior cultures - the moment before death was always the brightest. Skirting the line that demarcated eternity always woke up something within her.

Nothing primal - Savant had no primal instinct to speak of. It was something else, something deeply philosophical and transcendent.

She sat back in the chair and let the logistics work around her fall aside - no need to concern herself with the movement of cargo when the fleet itself was in jeopardy. She herself was perfectly safe - the majority of her processes were running on Deep Space Five. It freed her to embrace the danger and the death fully. She hoped that if death did come, she'd have time to send off one last burst to the Station, so that she could perhaps skirt a little bit closer to knowing what lay within the last moments of life.

Logistics ground to a halt as her crew made their way to emergency shelters. Her office wasn't one, but she didn't need an emergency shelter - she was immune to the hazards of vacuum and temperature. This only made her smile more. She would be able to stretch a little, reach out. It was difficult being stuck in this office as she was; Savant was more used to being within a command and control centre, at the hub of the situation where her network could be put to best use. She was a master of co-ordination and, at least with Coronado, Savant had always been an invaluable tool in ensuring that fleet engagements went off without a problem. Here that ability was brushed aside.

That didn't absolve her of her duties, however. Savant felt bound to aide the Federation, and by extension this Fleet and the ships of which it was composed. There were things she could do. After all, she processed upon the rumbling sheathed core of the Galaxy's computer system, along with dozens of other subprocessing stations. It wasn't much of a stretch to reach a little further.

Savant sat up straight and removed her double-breasted uniform jacket in a calm, formalized manner as she thought. The slow and machinelike motions were less from any amount of care as they were from absent-mindedness. She gave the android a few commands and set her mind to other things while it did its work. It was an important task, for beneath the uniform was no regulation tunic. It had an appropriate collar and was made of the proper material, but was entirely backless - she hadn't gotten any trouble for the lack of protocol, and she hoped that no one would notice.

A back upon her tunic would get in the way, you see. With a silent urging, the androids' back split open upon hidden seams, revealing gleaming antennae and porcelain-white receivers. The splay of flesh tone that made up the slivers of her back formed a pinwheel behind her while the spars stretched upwards, their tips beginning to glow a subtle blue.

Savant sat back in her chair again, the smile still on her face. It was nice to stretch a little bit and use something closer to her full abilities. She had a surprising amount of processing power at her disposal, and it would be nice to use some of it.

It didn't take much effort to stretch into Galaxy's sensor arrays - Savant wanted to see outside. She was a passive observer, watching the battle unfold from an abstracted position. On the other ships that she operated upon, the same happened - changing a few threads was all it took, something trivial for a lifeform which lived and breathed them.

That would allow her to watch and maybe push the battle this way or that in what direction she thought best. Biont reaction time often left much to be desired. If something needed a quicker reaction, she would be ready to pick up the slack. Until then, she settled in place and contented herself to watch the fleet do its brutal work.

"Common Ground"

ooc: follows immediately upon "Delusional"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A mental hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

"Everyone says they're telling the truth! Where's the evidence? If you really 'were' from a ship, why didn't they pull you out before the war started, eh? Now are you going back to your room, or do I have to have you drugged?" He didn't have the drugs to pull it off, but hopefully she didn't know.

Era glared at him, but she knew any threat she made would only be proven empty. "I'll go." She tried to ignore the nagging concerns his astute questions raised.

It was enough to get him to calm down. "Thank you. I'll walk with you." He turned back to the orderly. "Go to the medical bay. The doctor there will see to you." Without paying him a second regard he began escorting the strange woman who seemed to jump from passive to aggressive at the drop of a hat. "Are you injured in any way?"

"No." Era ran a hand through her hair, trying to regain some composure. She was more than a little surprised at herself and how erratic her behaviour had become under the conditions. "Are you?"

He almost stopped in his tracks... patients didn't typically ask that kind of question. When one had the kind of mental deficiencies they were here to treat, the perspective of the patient was simply how things influenced them, their world shrunk to a 'me' mentality...

me-ntality if you would. "No, no I'm fine. Do you know... I mean do you recall, what it was you were diagnosed with?"

"I haven't been diagnosed with anything. Nothing's wrong with me."

They'd arrived at Era's cell and she stepped inside, sitting heavily on her bed. She was glad to see the nurses hadn't simply dumped Bas'an back on his bunk - his side of the room was still empty.

Tir'len stepped inside, taking a seat on the chair. Something was bothering him. "How can that 'be'?" For a moment, he allowed himself to believe she was logical, normal. "Where is the evidence of everything you say?"

Era stretched out full-length on the bed. Her feet stuck out over the edge. "I told you. I left my bag in the cemetery. It has my comm badge. If you'd just gone out to look, you would have found it."

And there she went with the crazy talk again. "Who the hell hangs out in a cemetery?! And how do you expect me to go out there with a war raging? You think if I asked nicely the phaser beams would ignore me?"

Era decided it wasn't in her best interests to say she was particularly curious about death in different cultures. "Look, I was never admitted to this hospital. I just walked in the front door, with a wounded boy."

Tir'len bit his lip... that was at least something which they should be able to verify with the medical ward. "What was the boy's name?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know." He sighed, rubbing his face in frustrated exhaustion. "Okay, what 'day' did you come in with him?"

Era shut her eyes, her lips moving silently as she counted backward.

Time worked funnily inside these walls. "Three days ago? Four? It was when the fighting started. The night I met you was the same one I brought him in. I think." How long had she slept, after all?

"Crap... what day was that." She was obviously not the only one having difficulty recalling things. "What did he look like? Do you remember that?"

"He was heavy. Maybe nine or ten years old." Era opened her eyes, rolling over on her side to look at him. It was occurring to her that he wasn't dismissing what she was saying. She had to struggle to reign in the excitement in her voice. "He'd been beaten really badly."

"Okay." It was a very rough description at best, but one that he could at least check up on... if he was so moved to. God damnit, he was so tired, and so damned, well, there wasn't a word to explain it really, that he didn't want to chase ghosts.

"When was the last time you got some sleep?"

"It's been a while." Why was she caring? "Before the fight broke out I'd just knocked off. It's kind of difficult to sleep with shots ringing out everywhere and people demanding help... and with the computer and automated systems still off line it's just that much worse." He'd said enough, and offered a polite smile. "Are you on any distinguishing medication?"

"You'd have fewer people in need of help if your nurses didn't beat them."

"The man was an orderly." Tir'len shied away, for the first time having to consider one of his staff as suspect for maltreatment. It wasn't anything he'd handled before.

"He was in a position of power and he abused it. How is that supposed to help people? You tell me that they are still of worth - well I ask you," she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, "where's 'your' evidence?"

"'If' your allegations are true, and I'm not saying they are, what he did certainly isn't allowed, and he'll be dealt with for it."

Stifling a yawn, he folded his hands together in his lap. "You were the one, if your story is true, that saved that patient's life. If he weren't worth it, why did you?"

Era opened her mouth, then shut it again. She didn't have an answer to that question. A look of intense confusion settled over her features.

"What is it?"

"I.. He was hurting him."

"He was hurting him... one person, hurting another. Now, if you consider him a person, and you consider killing people wrong, then how could you in good conscience propose killing people off simply because they have different needs than yours?"

Era shook her head, slowly. "No, it's not about needs of the individual. It's what they contribute to society." There was doubt in her voice, as though she were reciting by rote.

"All these people here are someone's brother or sister, or loved one in some capacity. Here, they typically find security and comfort in the knowledge that their loved ones will be cared for as well as possible. Don't you think that increases their ability to contribute to society, not having to worry about the fate of their family?"

Tir'len's eyes were growing heavier, he probably shouldn't be sitting.

Era, lost in her own thoughts, missed the signs of exhaustion on his face. "But wouldn't they -" She shook her head once, emphatically.

"No. I left that." Her hands gripped her temples as she tried to make sense of a universe that had just become a lot more complicated.

It didn't take a doctor to see she was troubled by something. "Why don't I let you get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Era nodded. "All right. Get some rest yourself."

He laughed. "Sure, I'll try. Sleep well." He forced himself up and closed the door behind him. There were a couple of things he wanted to check before trying to get another nap.

“Blackhawk Down!”

With Ensign Soval, Interrogations Specialist USS MIRANDA and “Captain” Leo Streely, USS GALAXY.

Location: The Miranda shuttle BLACKHAWK

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

Previously: Shortly after the Star Fleet battle group rendezvoused with the USS GALAXY, currently orbiting Romulus, Leo Streely sent word to the MIRANDA that he wanted to come aboard and settle an old score with a competitor, Lt. Janos Kett. Captain Summers ordered Ensign Soval to escort the little man over in the runabout BLACKHAWK. The runabout suffered mechanical failures and crashed on the surface of Romulus.

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

“I haven't had…my world rocked like that…. since that four hundred pound …Bolian woman Price introduced me to at his…. welcome home party.” Leo said, spitting blood.

He had bitten the side of his tongue when the runabout - BLACKHAWK - lost power and spun wildly out of control, smashing through buildings and living quarters in the rural area of C'chon, one of the principal cities on Romulus, before finally coming to rest on it's side in the middle of town square.

“That was…. THE last time…I did him a favor, I tell you that.”

Leo inhaled and thick, acrid smoke filled his lungs. He coughed and glanced around the shuttle and screamed like a schoolgirl when he saw flames leaping from one of the consoles to his left, catching a fiery foothold on his pant leg.

“HHHEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP!!!” he cried out, flapping his arms like a newborn bird trying to take flight for the first time.

Suddenly giant white foam covered his legs. Leaning against a bulkhead, Soval dropped the now lifeless fire extinguisher to the floor. He could feel bruising and what could possibly be a cracked rib or two from the seat belt constricting as the shuttle crashed, but for the most part, the Vulcan Security officer was functional.

“MY BOYS!!! MY BOYS!!! CHECK AND SEE IF THEY ARE ALL RIGHT!!!” Streely bellowed in a clear panic.

Soval however was the picture of disinterested tranquility.

“I have no way of knowing if your offspring are safe at this point in time. Assuming they are not stowed away in this ship's glove compartment, I am inclined to believe they are in no immediate danger.”

“IM TALKING ABOUT MY NUTS!!! CHECK MY NUTS!!!”

“I do not have access to your refrigeration unit to see if you have nuts. Replicators would be able to assist you should you need a snack, although this is a very illogical time to be contemplating snacking notions.”

Leo shook his head in frustration, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. “MY BALLS!!!! CHECK MY BALLS!!!”

“Very well. In which compartment do you have your gym equipment?” Soval asked.

“YOU DUMB ASSED, GREEN BLOODED, LOGIC HOUND!!!! I AM ORDERING YOU TO CHECK MY TESTICALS!!!!”

The Vulcan looked around and removed a scalpel from the first aid kit.

He moved towards Streely whose eyes were now round with terror and with a quick flip of the wrist, he expertly sliced open the crotch of Leo's trousers. Using the tip of the instrument, he pulled aside the fabric and looked inside.

“Your testicals appear to be unmolested.”

“YOU ALMOST CUT MY COIN PURSE CLEAN OFF!!!!?”

“I missed your scrotum by at least 3/8ths of an inch. Assuming your wallet was in your back pocket, I missed your back pocket by 9 inches. Your panic is illogical. Right now you have more pressing issues to worry about.”

“YOU TRY TO MAKE ANY CREEPY MOVES ON ME AND MY PAL RAVEN WILL TURN YOU INSIDE OUT!!!” Leo said cupping his nether region.

“I assure you there is a zero percent chance that I will press unwanted sexual advances upon you. Or wanted sexual advances for that matter.” the Vulcan said. “When I say that you have more pressing issues to worry about, I am referring to that.”

He pointed out of the windshield where Romulan rioters could be seen advancing on the shuttle. They were screaming in their native tongue. Some were waving homemade weapons while others brandished phasers.

“Look, I know that you have this age old feud between you Vulcans and the Romulans, but can you at least try not to think with your underdeveloped, prejudiced addled frontal lobe? God, your narrow mind limits your sex life, pal. Some of the best ass I ever had wasn't even human. Now did it ever occur to you that maybe they are here to help us?”

“The probabilities of that are .5645965.” Soval calculated.

At that point the Romulans began to pelt the shuttle with rocks and debris.

“I revise my projection to 0.00” the Vulcan said matter of factly.

“NOW WHAT DO WE DO?!?! WAIT!!! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!?!?”

“What you don't do is panic.” Soval said, prying open one of the runabout's side storage panels.

“I don't panic?!?! Don't you mean we don't panic?!” Leo asked.

“I am incapable of panic. I am Romulan. Do you know how to use this adequately?” he asked, tossing a phaser rifle in the little man's lap.

“WHAT YOU THING WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT OUR WAY OUT?!?!” Leo asked, looking at the weapon in his lap.

Then Romulan phaser fire assaulted the runabout.

"Signed in the Book of Life"

Lieutenant Saul Bental

Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

"That's right, Number One: we're *both* going to fight the ship. I'll take the forward 180 degree arc, and you'll take the aft 180 degree arc, splitting the zone amidships.", said Captain M'Kantu.

On the sidelines of the Galaxy's bridge, the man occupying the often vacant intelligence post smiled solemnly to himself. Two years ago, at Havras, Commander Henderson made the same request from a newcomer called Saul Bental.

Saul was quite startled to be given such a responsibility, especially since he wasn't a Tactical Officer. Henderson must've thought that the Dutchman had a knack for phasers, since a year and so later he handed him the Chief Tactical Officer position.

Normally someone who preferred to take his fate in his own hands, Saul was relived that he wasn't asked to man the weapons for this battle. He was a man who was aware of his strengths and weaknesses, and after his term in Tactical he could say for sure that there were at least a dozen officers on board more skilled to do the job than him.

Instead, he sat at the intelligence post.

The main role of the intelligence officer during battle was this: Staying out of the way.

The exact job description was to coordinate intelligence coming from the fleet and the Galaxy's own CIC, and relaying it to relevant officers on the bridge without delay. Short circuits, in the professional jargon. However, since the said officers were busy fighting for their lives – and Saul's – he knew that he should disturb them only if it was absolutely necessary.

Saul winced slightly as the Captain's words about knife brawls rang in his ears.

Did the Captain ever actually SEE a knife fight? Ever got involved in one?

Saul could answer both questions for himself. The answers were:

A – Plenty of times.

B – Zero.

Saul thought knife fights were a foolish ordeal. Even those who were talented with a knife could make the wrong move, and find a blade buried in their lung or kidney. On Utrecht III, medical help wasn't available like it probably was on the core worlds. There were no emergency beam-ups to nice sterile infirmaries, and the local police force would arrive only after you bled to death, if they would arrive at all.

Chava, that slender fiend, didn't share his opinion. Oh well. The girl was playing with fire, and she was very close to burning on Vaden. If Saul had any hopes that she would take the reasonable route, they vanished after Cheron.

However, Saul did think that given the Starbeast, the Captain's tactic was probably the second best course.

The best course of action was, much like in a knife brawl, not being there in the first place.

Despite the Captain's speech, Saul maintained his opinion. The fleet was placed on the altar of righteousness for nothing. The battle WILL be lost, if to judge from what is known of the various Galaes' defeats. The question as far as Saul was concerned was whether Starfleet will still have over a dozen of its foremost starships to use another day or not.

Saul doubted that.

And since he didn't consider himself expandable, his survivor instinct kicked in. The same instinct that drew him all those years ago to leave Utrecht III, the same instinct that saved him and risked that final mission on the Special Observations program.

As Victor Krieghoff would probably put it, Saul was a sheep he didn't go with the herd.

So what he did after leaving Veronica Nila's quarters the other day, was to plan an escape route.

He calculated the fastest way from the bridge to the shuttle bay, where an unused shuttle pod was marked 'for intelligence usage' for the duration of the week. He considered several scenarios and alternative based on possible damage to the turbolift system, the shuttle bay, or the various sections he had to go through during his escape.

He also determined what kind of damage level would be bad enough for him to bail, but still left him enough time to flee. A small rectangle on the top-left corner of his display currently showed the damage levels as seen on the Operations panel across the bridge. At the moment it was all green, but Saul already knew at which level he was going to fake an injury and get himself off the bridge and to his escape route.

Saul Bental was committed to his ship, as much as he was committed to anything. But if the Galaxy went down, he did not intend to die like poor Audris Schneider. His life, his survival, was still his top priority.

'What a messed up Rosh Hashana'. He thought.

Grand space battles always happened to take place near Jewish holidays, it seemed. The battle of Havras for example took place slightly before or after Yom Kippur. The ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur were the days

According to the Jewish tradition, during those ten days god calculated the good and bad deeds of each person, ultimately determining whether that person's name will be written in the book of life, and will see the next year through.

Saul, being an atheist, was always amused by the downgrading of the all mighty to a simple accountant. As the battle of ch'Rihan was about to commence, however, Saul sure hoped that if indeed god existed, he didn't forget to write the name 'Saul Bental' on the right book.

"Home Movies"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen

Rihannsu Ambassador

= dohhae Ahalaen =

= Romulus =

"You are, without question, the most arrogant and incorrigible idiot on the planet."

There were only a handful of individuals in the universe who had the license to speak to tr'Ahalaen in that manner in his own home.

khre'Arrain Mnheia t'Aieme of the Tal Shiar was one of them. It was not her position that earned her Aerv's indulgence and affection though

- it was her blood.

"Only the planet? Really, cousin, the fact that you underestimate me so cuts me to the quick."

t'Aieme sighed dramatically but walked up to embrace him...then stopped, realizing that he was covered in blood, still fresh from the battle outside the gates. Instead, she simply nodded and said, "Jolan Tru, Aerv."

"Jolan Tru," the Ambassador replied with a wearly smile.

"You look horrid."

Aerv gave Mnheia - one of the few childhood friends he was allowed to have - a sly glance. His obsession with appearances had always irritated t'Aieme to no end, probably because she was rather plain at best. "Enjoy it while you can, khre'Arrain. It may never happen again."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not badly," tr'Ahalaen answered, "Though perhaps with a little help from the Tal Shiar, I might not have been hurt at all."

"Against those odds...that was an incredibly stupid fight."

"So you were there."

"The Tal Shiar is always there."

Aerv shook his head as a servant walked up to him with a drink. "That much I have never had reason to doubt."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Neither cousin was willing to broach that topic again. As much as t'Aieme believed in, indeed worshipped the Tal Shiar, the agency had tr'Ahalaen's contempt. That had been a bone of contention between them for many years. In fact, Aerv had rather disappointed his cousin when he had decided to go first to the Galae, and then into diplomacy, when the Tal Shiar was an option. She considered it a waste, and Aerv only pointed out that it was, at the very least, a beautiful waste.

Mnheia disapproved of Aerv almost entirely - his habits, his tastes, his beliefs...and despite all that, she managed to love him. As is always the case with unconditional love though, it was best not to think about it too much. The mind always asked for reasons that the heart was unable to give....

"You could have died."

Aerv shrugged, "Of course. And you could have fought."

"That would have served no purpose."

"Is that so?"

Mnheia sighed, "I have no time for this...I am here as an agent of the Tal Shiar."

"Even so, you are welcome. Tell me what I can do for you?"

"Come with me."

tr'Ahalaen raised an eyebrow in a classically Vulcan gesture that always irritated Mnheia to no end. She, unlike him, had never quite gotten used to stigma of the subdued foreheads of their family, or the taunts of having weaker or hybrid blood. Then again, in her line of work, such accusations could be particularly dangerous. "Where?"

"We recorded this battle."

"The Tal Shiar lets you spend your time making home movies?"

t'Aieme ignored the comment. "It is broadcasting on all channels - on every network that is still working. Things are going badly, Aerv...especially in the capital. What you and your farmers did out there - that was huge. The Rihannsu need to know that victories such as those are possible, that we are still a chosen people...that there is hope."

"I thought you said it was a stupid fight."

"It may have been a stupid fight...but it was a glorious victory. Come with me to the capital. Do what you do best, Aerv - be a symbol. And join the battle...be a warrior again."

"And who will stand here, khre'Arrain, outside the walls of my home?"

"The Tal Shiar."

"Is that supposed to inspire confidence?"

"Careful, damn you. Men have died for saying less, Aerv."

"You know as well as I do, my dear, that I will not abandon my belief in my own immortality until after I am presented with hard evidence to the contrary." He paused, "Very well...I will leave my home, but only upon your word that it will be protected."

t'Aieme nodded. "I will die, tr'Ahalaen, if these walls should fall."

"Yes," Aerv agreed softly, his voice weary and sad, "You will."

= End Log =

"Appearances"

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Rihannsu Ambassador

Ensign Faylin McAlister
Security Galaxy

= Romulus =

The road less traveled. Actually, it was more like a small path through a dense forest that coincided with the city that she was attempting to locate. Faylin's attempt at arriving at some sort of civilized place on this planet of turmoil was not occurring. It was causing much frustration within her. This whole situation was so, unbecoming of one side of McAlister. She longed for a warm bath, opera streaming through her quarters, a glass of chilled wine, and a willing, yet experienced lover. Looking over at her right, she thought she saw something moving. Curiosity urged her to raise her weapon as she focused with a hawk like intensity. Squinting her eyes, attempting to sharpen her vision, it was only then that a familiar form made himself known to her.

"Ensign McAlister," Aerv tr'Ahalaen declared, probably for the benefit of the three Tal Shiar agents accompanying him, who had their weapons trained on her, "It is good to see you. You look...adequate." Somehow he appeared to have survived the war unscathed, looking weary but still quite stylish. He had obviously arrived in the capital recently.

Without waiting for a response from her, he turned to his companions, "You may lower your weapons. She is harmless - well, more or less.

Actually, she's an attorney from the USS Galaxy."

One of the women with tr'Ahalaen stepped forward and eyed McAlister with distrust. "They're going to try to bore the Hydrans off the planet?"

"Ensign," Aerv said with a small smile, "May I introduce khre'Arrain Mnheia t'Aieme, Tal Shiar."

Faylin lowered her weapon, eyeing the woman suspiciously. She sequestered her comments for the time being as she turned her gaze to Aerv for a quick moment. Turning back to the woman, she nodded.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." That was it, that was all she said. No curt or rude comments, no threatening with her rifle, nothing. She felt somewhat bothered by the fact that Aerv, for the most part, looked more than adequate. They were fighting a damn war, for his home planet none the less, and he just looked like he stepped out of a hot shower. "Aerv, I am elated to find you well." Somewhere, from deep inside, Faylin found her manners. For what reason, she did not know. However, viewing Aerv for the first time since her world went into a tail spin, gave her some comfort.

tr'Ahalaen nodded slightly, "Yes...well, I was never in any danger, being immortal and all," he paused long enough to let Mnheia roll her eyes, "It is good to see that you are in one piece as well. Are you with a landing party?"

"Thank you. I am alone. Fortune has not smiled upon me recently.

However, I will not bore you with the details until a later time. May I ask, where are you and your 'party' headed?" Bringing her hand up, she attempted to wipe away some of the dirt that had found a home on her forehead. She, looked like the epitome of the war she was a part of. An outsider, Faylin felt like it, and looked like it among the lavishly dressed others. What were they going to fight the war with, their statements of fashion? Knitting her eyebrows, she was not sure of what to say. 'Hey....I'll accompany you? But, beware, with my luck you'll be dead by sunset.' Uh, no.

khre'Arrain t'Aieme stepped forward and scowled, obviously indicating that she believed that this was her party, not tr'Ahalaen's. "Out latest intelligence indicates that the situation in the capital is grim. We are escorting the Ambassador to join the main force."

"You should join us, Ensign," tr'Ahalaen offered, "It will be safer than traveling alone."

t'Aieme gave the Ambassador a withering stare, but nodded at Faylin.

"You may join us...if you wish."

McAlister leaned back a tad, swallowing yet another comment that would have sent the woman to her knees. Knowing full well that Aerv could see right through her flakiness, Faylin nodded. "Thank you." She watched as the others went ahead, leaving her and Aerv to follow them.

Arrogant woman! Faylin thought. It took all she had not to introduce the end of her phaser rifle to the woman's forehead. Yet, that would not be exhibiting the mannerisms that a proper lady would execute. Her eyes followed the hemline of Aerv's clothing, finally settling on the side of his face. "Are you okay? Really?"

tr'Ahalaen looked at her for a long moment and then nodded, giving her a small smile. Despite his own personal ego, he was very much Rihannsu, very much a part of this world. "Yes...and even if I were not, what does it matter now?"

Those eyes got her every time. Their intensity, the loyalty that was captured in the dark color drew her in against her will. Remembering how she looked, she recoiled somewhat. He likely found her rather repulsive at this meeting. Scratches, bruises, and lacerations littered her face and arms, making her feel vastly in superior to her female counterparts.

"At least you are well - there is some solace in that."

Her eyes misted slightly as the pain of the question went barreling through her with the strength of a photon torpedo. Closing her eyes for a second, she opened them to reveal to Aerv just a hint of the turmoil she was facing. "Your attempt at protecting me did not work, as much as it was welcomed. My judgment was clouded at the time Aerv.

It was shrouded with anger and frustration, and I owe you an apology for that. I am sorry."

"That was an unfortuante business all around," tr'Ahalaen replied carefully, raising an eyebrow at her formality but too absorbed in the turmoil of his own world, and the exhaustion from his last battle, to explore her reaction further. "Many of the mistakes were mine."

"May I suggest, *Ambassador*," t'Aieme interrupted, "That we concentrate on battling the invasion of our world."

"Of course, Mnheia," Aerv responded mildly, apparently quite bemused.

Snap, that did it. All form of manners flew out the window as Faylin sharply turned to the 'snot' of a woman. "Yes, let's concentrate on battling the invasion of your world for a moment. What in the hell do you think I've been doing on this god forsaken planet? Polishing my toe nails? While you were finishing that nasty excuse for a hair style, I was phasering two Hydrans. While you were putting on your lipstick, I was pulling a phaser rifle from the cold, dead hands of my commrade who was fighting for your people. As you were drinking wine, I was crawling out from underneath a heap of rubble from a building that was bombed by your opposition. As you were walking along, contemplating the meaning of life, I was getting plastered with weapons fire, stuck in a god damn cave protecting a pilot that had his shuttle blown up by, yet again, your enemy. I have had a mild concussion, a compound fracture of my arm, a broken rib, a bruised rib, and a torn ligament in my neck. So, back off bitch! If I want to talk to the 'ambassador', I will do it!"

Mnheia ignored Faylin completely and turned instead to tr'Ahalaen.

"Are all humans this explosive and wilfull, cousin?"

"Some are better than others," Aerv deadpanned.

"Well then it is no wonder you like them," the Tal Shiar agent said as she began to walk away, "I'll let you speak with this...female further.... Let me know when you are ready to resume the war."

"As you wish," tr'Ahalaen replied with a straight-face, before turning to Faylin, "You will have to forgive Mnheia. She rather disapproves of me."

"I see." She turned to look at him yet again. Faylin sighed, wanting to up date him on her situation that was back on the Galaxy. With all this death and destruction, what's one more death? "Olivia's dead Aerv. She was poisoned."

"I'm so sorry, Faylin," Aerv whispered, the rare break in his proper speech conveying his shock. For a man obsessed with forms, the simple use of a contraction spoke volumes. He touched her arm lightly, "I grieve with thee."

"It's as if a part of me was ripped out. So, again I apology for my brashness. It's how I deal with the pain of the situation."

"Please think nothing of it - I imagine Mnheia is quite used to it....

But what are you doing here? You should really be aboard the Galaxy."

"I switched departments to help out with the war." Her eyes searched his for some sort of recognition. "It's been like putting a bull in a china shop I'm afraid. I long for the protection and comfort of home.

If this was Earth, and I was experiencing my home being torn apart, I would be beside myself. Your resolve and calmness says quite a lot about you Aerv. It is to be commended."

tr'Ahalaen laughed softly, "I have built my life around appearances. I am fortunate that they have not deserted me...and yet never before have I been aware that things are not always what they seem."

"Well, when all this is over, would you like to get together for a glass of Hauterive Dufouleur?" She whispered, knowing that the 'cousin' would be listening in. Yes, she knew that it was not the most appropriate time to ask Aerv for some time, but, maybe it would give her something to focus on other than Hydrans for a second.

Aerv smiled at the optimism inherent in the question. It assumed that this conflict would end favorably for them. "It would be my pleasure, I am sure."

"Good." A light smile crossed her mouth. "Anything that pleasures you, pleasures me as well." Her eyes grew wide as she silently chastized herself. Flirting with him, again. Shaking her head, she bit her inner lip from chuckling at herself.

It appeared that that particular line had pushed t'Aieme's patience too far. "tr'Ahalaen?"

Aerv turned from Faylin and regarded the younger woman fondly, "Yes, khre'Arrain?"

"If you are done with your conversation, may we continue with this war?"

tr'Ahalaen smiled and nodded towards Faylin, "At your leisure, Ensign."

"Thank you Ambassador." Raising her head slightly, she caught his gaze, winking before she focused on the task now at hand.

= End Log =

"Full Court Press"

Captain Christopher Summers

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom

Lt. Colonel Alex McKeon

Lt. Colonel Rae Weber

Lt. Commander Erigone Aello

Lt. Commander Cernu K'rn

Lieutenant John Ramirez

Lieutenant Shiarrael t'Khnialmnae

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

Bridge, Deck One,

USS Miranda

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

"Do not go gentle into that good night, rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light." Christopher Summers whispered quietly as the ship shook from the latest blast of a patented Hydran Hellbore cannon.

"Murdock, with a motto like that, I'm damn glad you built this ship to take a hit."

"Those things do pack a punch, don't they?" Alex McKeon replied from the Strategic Ops station, where he was assisting with Fleet Coordination while Rae managed the Intelligence station.

"Yes they do, Mr. McKeon." The Captain replied. "Mr. K'rn, any sign of that Starbeast on scanners anywhere?" he asked, addressing the alien at the sciences station.

~Negative~ Cernu's telepathic voice murmured ~Interestingly, something that large…~

"Is it cloaked?" The Captain asked again, gripping the sides of his seat as the ship was fired upon, and Lieutenant t'Khianalmae returned fire from behind him.

~It seems likely~ Cernu replied, scrutinizing the sensor readings as the pure math scrolled past. It had discovered in the two years since it had served on a Starfleet vessel, that converting the readouts to mathematical data-strings, it could interpret them easier. It also changed the contact labels to Q'lrn hieroglyphs and viola, as humans said, it works.

"Well, keep at it. We're doing this damned suicidal offense to save ourselves from that Star Beast of theirs. It's pretty stupid if the things not going to show," he ordered and returned view to his Tactical plot.

~I believe you will not be disappointed sir~ he advised and after a brief pause added ~I have added Vr'lu's sensor net as well. Since it is based on organic principles and is designed to detect cloaked bodies, we may have a slight edge~

"Guns," he said, using the old off-hand slang term for a Tac officer.

"Keep targeting the carriers. We take out their fighter support and that'll give our flyboys a big advantage." The ship rocked again, and Chris had to repeat his order to make sure it was heard. Shia acknowledged and he addressed the Helm even as he turned towards Jaxom. "Ramirez. Bring us in a tight loop over that lead carrier and take us around to their backside. Signal the D'Decius and the D'rexia to assist," he ordered, naming the two closest warbirds.

"Tight loop, Aye" Ramirez replied, repeating the Captains order. Johns hands seemingly danced over the console, as he carried out his orders, the engines powering the Massive Starship forward. Dipping the Miranda, before bringing her up, above and over the Carrier in question. At the apex of the loop, John brought the Pathfinder Class starship back through, putting them exactly where Miranda should be.

"Galaxy's matching maneuver's as well." Aello reported.

That would put the Miranda in position to open fire on three different carriers. And with Galaxy and the two warbirds, they could catch them in a crossfire. The ship rattled from fire again, and a crewman back at the Engineering station was knocked down by an exploding terminal.

"And get a medic up here!" he ordered someone. "Mr. Jaxom."

"Captain?" replied while still keeping a close eye on his own display and the ship's progress as the battle raged on.

"Get on the horn with CIC. I need real-time analysis and projection of how this battle's going. Let's try to know if we're doing something stupid before we do it."

"Aye sir." Jaal keyed the ship's intercom so everyone on the bridge could hear. "Mister K'aa, Captain Summers wants a real-time analysis and projection of how things are going."

Admittedly, Jaal wanted to see it also. Things seemed to be going almost too easy at this point and the Trill was highly suspicious that something was being missed somewhere. It made his stomach twist.

[K'aa here Commander], a basso voice crackled over the intercom. [The information is being routed to your workstation now on three displaysss - the firssst the hilighting capital ship activity, the sssecond all fighter and sssmall-craft activity, the third a register of tac ssscanner readingsss for organic matierial in the sssystem; ssso far, the only biolgical readingsss are coming from the biosssphere of ch'Rihan. We're alssso monitoring the major troop activity on the planet for when you and the Captain have more time to persssue it.]

"Excellent work. Thank you." Jaal replied as he and Captain Summers started reviewing the information.

"Good work, Lieutenant." Summers replied almost absently as his attention was diverted to the new material. He shunted aside the fighter data - he couldn't possibly hope to manage the battle on that scale, and CIC would be handling the grunt work for that anyway. It was a combination fighter control and tactical analysis center, after all.

[We'll do our bessst], the reptile hissed. [K'aa out.]

"This is going almost too easy," Jaal mentioned out loud to Chris.

Three Hellbore blasts - and a couple of those gattling phasers, too, it felt like - rocked the Miranda then. Chris noted Aello giving Jaxom one hell of a dirty look just as lights began to flicker and panels exploded as the ship shook rather violently. Chris narrowly avoided being tossed to the deck, though several of the crew weren't so lucky.

"Aello, damage report." Summers called out, coughing through the smoke. The bridge's fire-suppression system seemed to be offline. "And someone put out that fire!"

Jaal grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the small blaze efficiently. The whole time he was thinking, 'Me and my big mouth.

That should teach me.' Once the fire was out he double checked the automated fire suppression control on the bridge. The display showed it was operating normally even though it hadn't. Then the diagnostic showed short in the system. He bent over and popped open an access panel in an attempt to fix the small problem. "I got it Captain," the Trill called.

"Remember that Festival of Lights?" Aello's hands smacked across the board. "It's smoking now. I'm reporting widespread power outages across the ship. Fires reported in the engineering levels and throughout decks seven through nineteen. Damage control teams are reporting success fighting the fires they can get to, but they can't be everywhere. Dispatching. . ."

She jumped back from her board as electricity arced away from the panel.

"And my board just blew," she added with no little irony. "Switching to library station," she stated calmly as she smoothly switched chairs. "Dispatching secondary teams now, Captain."

"Great." the Captain replied, muttering a curse. "Lieutenant t'Khianalmae, let's let the bastards who just hit us know exactly what we think of that, shall we?"

"With pleasure," Shiarrael replied, picking herself up from the deck.

Thankfully she'd be suffering from little more than a few bruises. So far. "All weapons free?"

"All weapons free." The Captain confirmed. "Quantum torpedoes, full spread. Use the pulse phasers, too. Full court press." Summers said, starting to slip into his sports analogies - a habit he'd thought he'd broken thirty years ago.

"Aye Boss: Alpha Strike." It took an agonizing few seconds for everything to sync up and come to full loads, during which yet another helbore blasted into their shields. Thus far Summers had declined to order the Ablaitive Armor Matrix engaged. When her consol indicated that all was ready, Shiarrael initiated the salvo. "Weapons away."

Five quantum torpedoes shot out in rapid succession from the turret slung underneath the Miranda's saucer, speeding towards the object of her crew's wrath. Successive bursts from the pulse phasers led the way for them, traveling at a faster speed. To many individuals, the scant seconds of flight appeared obscured, such a paltry offering considering what had been handed out. Shiarrael had precision in mind when she had set up this firing order: As soon as the launcher indicated it had recycled and carried another full load, they blasted out again, and at approximately the same time, a number of other events occurred, in approximately the following sequence.

The first two torpedoes of the initial quantum salvo impacted.

The type XX phaser cannon fired, striking at the same point and time as the third quantum torpedo.

The dorsal and ventral phaser arrays fired, impacting with the fourth and fifth quantum torpedoes, respectively.

Seconds later, the second volley of quantum torpedoes slammed home into the unshielded hull of the Hydran vessel, punching deep bleeding scars into the hull. Miranda's phaser cannon fired once again, and the enemy's fate was sealed.

Retaliation from the Hydrans wasn't far in coming.

"War is Hell"

Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas

CO - Second Platoon,

Furies 188th Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

Hallway

Deck 11

USS Galaxy

****

The ship shook violently as another blast hit it. The third blast in as many minutes. Steven picked himself off the floor, having just been knocked down by the concussion blast of the nearby hit. He wondered just how many shots like that the ship could take before it keeled over. He hoped that the number was fairly large, but wasn't going to hedge any bets on that.

Steven could feel the engines strain at the extra workload they were being placed under as the ship ducked and weaved, as best a huge Galaxy class ship could, trying to avoid the enemy fire. Already in the short time since the space battle had been joined, he had seen several Engineers running past his patrolling feet, bound for some unknown objective to repair something.

That had been a few minutes ago and Steven had seen hide nor hair of them since. Not that he was worried. There were a great number of places on the deck he was currently on where they could be working. Still, he was going to keep his ears pricked for any sign of them. They might need help, though Steven couldn't fathom what he could do to help.

He was outside Science Lab Seven, - at least he assumed that it was based on the designation on the door - when he heard a noise coming from within.

With his rifle at the ready, he approached the door, letting it slide open before him as he reached it's sensor proximity. Having been in only one Science Lab, and briefly at that, since joining the crew of the Galaxy, Steven didn't know what to expect. So it was quite a surprise when the door opened to reveal a scene very similar to the Science paper he had taken as an optional during is Marine Academy days.

Benches, and pieces of equipment, flasks of strange liquids, and all sorts of fascinating, at least to Science geeks anyway, bits and pieces lay scattered throughout the room. And over in one corner, a Vulcan male stood peering into a microscope or some such device that Steven didn't know.

"Excuse me." Steven called out to gain the Vulcan's attention.

The Vulcan turned, and Steven could swear that the Vulcan's face held some anger towards the interruption, though it was gone so fast that he couldn't be sure.

"Can I help you... Lieutenant?" He asked with a voice that was the epitome of calmness that his species was known for.

"Who are you and what do you think you are doing here?" Steven asked, noting that his rank was that of an Ensign.

"I am Ensign Strom and what I am doing does not concern you."

Typical Vulcan... Thinking he was better than everyone else. "Excuse me? You do realize that we are in the middle of a battle with a large Hydran fleet?"

"I am well aware of that, soldier," he replied, noticing the uniform Steven was wearing, "But I am in the middle of an important experiment and can not be disturbed."

Steven shook his head in frustration. "Does Lieutenant Hunter know you are here, now, working on this project of yours?"

"Lieutenant Hunter assigned this project to me."

"Yes, I realize that, but you didn't answer my question. Does Lieutenant Hunter know that you are working on this project right now, even as we are fighting for our lives?"

He nodded, but remained stoic. "No, she does not. However, once I started the experiment, I can not abandon it for anything. It is a time critical experiment to determine the correlation between the use of Phosphorus Nitrate and Heavy Water with regards to the Rigellian Dung Beetle. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do!" His voice raised slightly but hardly enough for Steven to notice.

Steven nodded. "I should report this to Lieutenant Hunter, but she is likely on the bridge and disturbing her isn't something I want to do right now. I do have one question for you though."

"Oh... And what, pray tell, is that?" He replied, raising an eyebrow?

Steven rubbed the back of his neck. "The Hydrans are a Methane breathing species right?"

"That is affirmative." He replied.

"Is there anything that we could, say, beam over to their ship, that might neutralize the Methane or turn it into something else, like Oxygen?"

The Vulcan scratched at his chin for a moment, deep in thought. "There is one possible option, but it depends on whether they have a different form of Methane that is common on Terra. If we..."

At that point the ship shook again and an almighty explosion hit the hull right next to the Science Lab, sending debris flying. Pieces of the hull ripped off and floated away as the oxygen in the room was sucked out into space, along with anything not screwed down. And that included the Vulcan and Steven.

Holding on for dear life to the edge of a work bench, for what seem like ages, but was infact a fraction of a second, his fingers slowly loosened their grip, despite his determination to hold on and he tumbled towards the vast vacuum of space outside.

"Oaths"

Elaithin Jii
K. Jordan Elaithin
Kerec
The unconscious body of Johnathan Keller

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

Unidentified Safehouse

Ki Baratan, Romulus

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

"Shit." Elaithin Jii muttered under his breath, looking out the fourth-floor window. In the dawn's early light, Romulus was falling.

As far as he could see across Ki Baratan - Captiol of ch'Rihan, Jewel of the Empire - fires burned and energy weapons flashed. He saw distinct tones of red, green, and purple in the weaponry, identifying Starfleet, Romulan, and Hydran forces.

There was a lot more purple than anything else.

He laid a comforting hand on Kerec's tense shoulders, who silently brushed it off. The Romulan man was quiet - stoic. Jii didn't know that there was any other way the man could handle what he was seeing.

"There's nothing we can do," Jordan's soft voice said from the place in the corner of the room, where she'd been sitting for the past forty five minutes or so, more or less unmoving. Johnathan Keller's interrogation had not gone well thus far. He'd gotten violent.

Jordan had gotten angry and a little more... violent than Jii had ever seen her. Keller had been out for almost an hour. "Nothing we're meant to."

"Don't have much choice, if we want to get off this planet and do anything about the information we got from Keller." Jii said darkly.

Damon would have already bugged out - Jii had explicitly (and

repeatedly) told him to get the hell out of dodge if things got too hairy.

And this.. well, this was the very definition of hairy.

Still, Keller's information.. the idea that there was another player on the field, with everything else that was going on..

Well, frankly, it wasn't surprising. This was Romulus, after all.

Wheels within wheels.

A part of Jii, in the back of his mind, knew he should have a problem with the way they'd extracted the information from Keller, in this apartment "safehouse" (Like anywhere on this planet was safe?). But then, a much larger part remembered that the death and destruction going on outside could be laid squarely at the feet of the traitor and his masters - those men and women who'd wanted a short, victorious war.

Fools, all of them.

As he stared out at the carnage, Elaithin Jii made a decision. Jordan could see it in the way his body language changed, in the look he gave her before turning to Kerec. The spy was gone. The soldier - the Captain - had returned. "Kerec. I need you to put me in touch with the resistance."

"There is no resistance!" Kerec exploded. "My world is falling, Bajoran, for the first time in it's history!"

"Yes," Jii said quietly. "There is. The Unificationists. They're already set up in the right structure. Now we just need to expand on it. And if there's not a resistance yet, then by the Prophets, there will be one soon."

"Jii," Jordan said, shaking her head softly, resting her elbow on her knee, her fingers scratched through her hair as it fell over her shoulders. She looked tired, pale. "We should stay out of it, as it is. This is not our place."

"Our place is where we make it." he replied quietly, meeting her eyes.

"And I'm not standing by while these people die. I won't do it. I can't. These people have no idea how to fight a resistance. They're already conquered - whether they know it or not. You can help me, Jordan, or don't. But I'm doing this."

"I know," she whispered, glancing at the traitor laying on the floor against the wall. "Kerec. Do what you want with him." She pushed herself up and moved toward the door. "We're not getting anything else. I don't care." The door opened and she slipped out into the hall, the door closing behind her. She closed her eyes a moment and listened to the noise outside.

Kerec faced the unconscious Keller. It was tempting.. so very tempting.. to avenge his people on the man. But he'd heard what the traitor had said, as well. They needed him alive, if his masters were to pay for what they'd done.

Then there was the Bajoran's request - demand, really. And so he came to a decision, as well. If these people were going to fight to free his home, how could he not? "Gather him." he finally replied, and Jii lifted the smaller human over his shoulder. It'd be slow going, carrying him, but it'd have to be that way. "And I will help."

"All right then." Jii said firmly, his mind already turning to the best ways to organize this. Seeing Jordan standing outside the room, Jii laid Keller back down, and motioned to Kerec to go on ahead, in order to give him a moment with his wife. Then he patiently put an arm around her, and spoke quietly. "You all right?"

She looked at him. "No," she stated flatly.

"We don't help them, Jordan, we don't get off this planet, either." he reminded her. "And you heard Keller. We have to find those men, and they're here. You know the stakes."

"I know," she whispered, her eyes tilting up to look at him, exhausted and knowing. "There are many other people participating. What can we do that the millions of others who are fighting this can't?"

He shrugged. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."

"Jii..." she said. "You need to listen to me. We don't know the consequences."

"Then that makes us just like everyone else, doesn't it?" he asked. "I know one thing. We don't help, and we will both regret it the rest of our lives. I know you're not ready for this kind of thing, Jordan. And I wish to the Prophets that we could have stayed on Bajor and worked through everything. But we can't. "

"And I can't walk away. I did that, once, when you died. I don't like the person I became, then. My crew's up there fighting this thing. I don't know how many are down here. Even if I could turn my back on the Romulans, I can't turn my back on them. Not again."

A tear dropped down her cheek. "It... it isn't like everyone else.

You... you know... you have to know." She looked down, her forehead resting against his chest. "Jii... they don't know you're down here.

We're... three people against thousands. And." Her jaw tightened.

She looked back up at him, silent for a long beat. "I'm sorry."

His arms wrapped tightly, and he was made once again aware of just how fragile his wife's mental state was. She was different since her..

return. Before, she'd have been right there with him (making him question every step, of course, but that was what she was good at.) She was doing it now, too.. but there was something else behind it, something he couldn't identify. "Shh." he said, pressing her against him. "I'd know. We'd know. And you wouldn't be any happier with yourself if we somehow left."

"I wish I could explain," she said, "but it won't let me. Yet."

Well, that was even more confusing. "So for now?"

"We need to leave," she said, "here is no longer safe."

"So for now, we fight?"

She nodded.

"Works for me." Jii replied, and lifted Keller over his shoulder once more. "Kerec!" he called out, louder, getting the Romulan man's attention. "Take me to your leader!"

Dr Gwen Parri

Dr Anjoli D'Bari

****USS Miranda Main Sickbay****

Anjoli stood ready in her scarlet surgical scrubs, just waiting for the first casualties to hit the door. The deck shifted subtly under their feet, indicating the Miranda was manuevering at high speeds.

She looked about the main sickbay, where she saw her other thoughts reflected on a dozen faces. The ship shuddered, and the sound of distant alarms could be heard.

Anjoli wanted to reassure her team, but what could you say?

"Steady....we're ready...."

The emerald doctor's eyes fell upon her partner Gwen , and she gave her a all-too-human wink.

Gwen was nervous but she was very hard trying not to show it. It was not what people needed to see right now. And she didn't want Joli to see her fears either. So she bravely smiled back and gave another prayer that they would all make it through the coming hours.

Dr Tymm, the large Tyrolenan doctor, stood across from Gwen .

"All will be well, Dr Parri . But I do hope you're more prepared for physician duties this time...."

Was that a twinkle in the bony alien's eyes?

“Yeah….” Gwen decided to play the game. “you still need to come in for counseling you know, you big oaf.” But she smiled.

"Perhaps once I we're finished here, I can make an appointment. I would enjoy nothing more than critiquing your counseling skills. You *must* be good at something...."

“Ooooohhhhhoooooo a challenge!” Gwen grinned wider. “Bring it all on, big guy.” She could feel the staff chuckling all around her and that was exactly what she wanted right now.

Tymm's rumbled laugh joined the others.

"You are impertinent, Doctor Parri . It's part of the... charm of which you humans boast so much. We can discuss this at length at a later date....."

“Would love too, dear.” Gwen now winked at Joli. Her people were about ready for anything now.

Anjoli's mind wandered momentarily to the last quiet moment between Gwen and herself for possibly quite some time. The unspoken thought was it could be their last ever should the battle not go well.....

In the hours before battle, Anjoli had told everyone to go and rest. All the preparation had been done well in advance, and the only thing left to do was wait.

Anjoli sat on the floor of her shared quarters looking out into space. She had recorded her messages and updated her final wishes. She was ready for the end, should it come. Save, perhaps, for one lovely loose end....

Gwen came in and saw Joli on the ground. She knew that for some reason her friend was very apprehensive of things to come. So she went over and gently just put her arms around her.

Anjoli smiled as Gwen wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"You are a blessing to me, my scarlet-tressed angel...."

“I worry about you, love. You seem down. Want to talk about it?” Gwen murmured.

"I'm fine, khadamia....just preparing myself for what is to come. I've done all that I can do."

She held up an isolinear chip for Gwen to take.

"This is for you...should we be...seperated."

“No… you are scaring me. You have never been like this before. We will not be parted now. I won't have it.' Gwen said firmly.

Anjoli pulled Gwen around so she was in her lap.

" Gwen .....I pray that we shall be safe and sound after the next few days. But we cannot take that for granted. I won't take *you* for granted."

The emerald woman kissed Gwen softly on the hand next to her new ring of crimson gold.

"I know how you feel about me, and I hope you know how much I value you. In that chip is my wishes should I be injured beyond saving--my living will. I give you all rights as power of attorney to execute my wishes."

“Oh love.” Gwen held her close. “I guess I should do the same, but…. I find this so hard.” She held her friend close.

"It's more than hard, it's horrible. But I'm too much of a realist not to do this. I've seen too many people with lifelong regrets because they didn't take this simple step."

She nodded towards the chip.

"That has a personal message for you. I hope you never have to play it."

Gwen just held on to her not wanting to hear it. Anjoli wasn't about to try to change her mind. She simply kissed her and held her for the longest time.

“I will stay close to you in sickbay.” Gwen finally whispered. “So we share everything.”

With a smirk, Anjoli gently traced Gwen 's throat with her fingertips.

"Since I'm restricted to the Miranda....I can't go very far."

“Awwwww. I will keep you safe.” The redhead whispered. “from everything.”

"Enough talk...." Anjoli murmured, claiming Gwen 's lips.

‘Yeah, lets it will be a long time before we can be intimate again, if you don't want to go bunnies in sickbay.”

"Go bunnies? What an odd term....mmm...!"

The Welshwoman smiled. “I just made it up, love.”

"I love a woman who can improvise....what would you do if I did...this?"

Gwendolyn squeaked. “Not fair. You know I'm extremely ticklish.”

"Then I'll just kiss it and make it all better...."

“Right here.” The redhead offered her cheek.

Anjol chuckled softly.

"You think I can kiss that from here? I may be flexible, but I'm not pliable."

Pause.

"How about I kiss this instead...."

“Hmmmmm.” Gwen said. “Now you have to be creative.”

"My love....I am an artist...and you are my greatest canvas. To create with you is bliss itself."

Anjoli stopped herself and gently cradled Gwen against her.

"Yyou know...under all the games and foolishness....that I do love you."

“I know. Lately you do tell me often enough.” She grinned and kissed back. “You are almost behaving like a silly human.”

"What a terrible time to be insulting...." Anjoli groused good naturedly.

“Awwww, you would be more like me, love.”

Anjoli shook her head with a smile.

"I would look terrible with pale pink skin, not to mention crimson hair.. I'm just fine just the way I am."

Gwendolyn looked at her critically. "I suppose you are right. Pale would not suit you. But do you have anything against my hair colour?" She smiled evilly.

"Khadamia....your hair is what attracted me to you in the first place. It's so bold and unique to my tastes. You are typically so cool and collected...but your hair betrays the fire in your spirit."

She laughed. “You don't mean that it changes with my moods I hope, do you?”

Anjoli frowned in confusion.

"Does human hair do that?"

“No love.” Gwen grinned and kissed her again. “It doesn't, I am teasing you.”

"I was concerned. Natives of Dworkin Seven do have hair that changes with their emotional state...but I hadn't seen that with Terrans."

Anjoli wound a finger through Gwen 's crimson curls in question.

"But I learn something new about Terrans..and you, in particular, every day."

“Good. We don't want you to get bored with me.” She gave her friend a kiss.

"Not likely....what about you? You know what they say--behind every beautiful woman is a significant other that has grown tired of her."

“Never. You will never cease to amaze me.”

Bliss took Gwen 's hand and examined the bloodgold ring.

"Never is an terribly long time....." she said softly.

“I know.” Gwen said quietly.

Anjoli looked into Gwen 's eyes, then kissed her partner. Their embrace was not one of urgent passion craving release, but more of _expression of feelings both clear and unspoken.

The rocking of the ship along with a new and urgent alarm awoke Anjoli from her moment of happiness.

"Stand by to receive casualties....." she called out.

War had come to the Miranda once more.

"The Little Guys" pt I

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

Major Corran Rex, CAG, USS Galaxy / Vanguard Leader

Major Rena Starburst, Rebel Leader, USS Miranda

Major Kol Saber Leader, USS Galaxy

Flight Officer Kalin zh'Annuria Rogue Six, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Rex "Duelist" Hall Rebel Squadron XO, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Jacob "Gryphon" Striker Renegade 11, USS Miranda

Pilot Taev "Stubbs" Saber Two, USS Galaxy

Pilot Paulo "Hawkeye" DiMillo Vanguard AWACS, USS Galaxy

Major Véronique "Deuce" St. Melisande Renegade Leader, USS Miranda

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

Vanguard One

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

Major Corran Rex was growing tired of waiting. But, in his four thousand joined years, he'd certainly acquired plenty of practice at it.

Still, the view from inside the wings of a warbird sure as hell couldn't be beat. The massive green hull swooped above him and the rest of the Vanguards and Sabers, from their waiting perch inside the wings of the D'Althaia. All except Orphan and Kiddo, who were doing little more than keeping a watch on the other side of Romulus. Three squadrons of Romulan Scorpions were waiting with them.

Operational command went to Colonel Voltansk, the Concorde's CAG -Firestar Leader, the only other full-bird in-system other than Mitchell, who was helping supervise planetary defense against whatever promised to get past the orbital defenders.

Idea was, Hydrans wouldn't pick up the fleet's fighters already launched. The Warbird's energy signatures would hide those of the smaller fighters, and they'd be able to pick off Hydrans with impunity in the opening salvo. Surprise was a powerful element.

But like he'd said to Eve, it wasn't going to be enough.

But by the Ancestors, he hoped he was wrong.

---------------Rebel One -------------

Rena Starburst kept a firm eye on her board, watching as the Rebels and the Rogues, and their trio of Romulan Squadrons, watched from their hiding place under the wings of the Warbird Valdore, Admiral Donatra's flagship.

The Rebels had been in the air longest, having been on active CAP with the Renegades almost an hour ago when the Renegades had spotted the Hydran Fleet out on the edge of the system. Toggling her comm as she watched the countdown, she addressed her squad. ["Okay folks. I know we're down a third fuel already, so fight smart. When you're out, head back to Miranda. Can't fight if you can't move. Leader out."]

Before anyone else could reply, Mia's voice came over the comm.

["Rogue Leader to all fighters. Look alive - the Hydrans are here."]

-----------Saber One -----------

Kol grinned wide under his helmet. ["Finally."] he breathed out over his comm channel. This was to be his first engagement after transferring to Starfleet's fighter corps, though he had substantial experience flying Klingon fighter craft.

["My brothers will regret missing this battle."] the Klingon commented openly to his squadron as Hydran craft approached, their massive cloud of fighters leading the way. ["All Sabers, attack! Fly without fear, warriors, for it is A GOOD DAY TO DIE!"]

-----------Saber Two -----------

Not for the first time Galaxy's Ferengi pilot thought that his flight leader would have made an excellent auditor for the Ferengi Trade Commission. Kol had the just the right amount of bloodthirstiness, but it was unfortunately tinged with an unhealthy streak of self-sacrifice - something that just wouldn't contribute to life's balance sheet at the end of the day.

~Especially not this day~ he said, reflecting on the readouts of his tactical display.

Taev also had the misfortune of drawing assignment as Kol's wingman, and as the large Klingon's fighter arced towards the mass of Hydran fighter craft the Ferengi, he cursed the warrior for his reckless move. "Only fools pay retail!!" he screamed his own battlecry over the com as he targeted an enemy fighter that had broken off to pursue the Klingon.

-----------Rogue Six -----------

By the Whole, Kalin was actually starting to miss Cowboy. Not for any sentimental reasons--the relative silence on most of the radio channels was a major point in favor of his not being around--but there were an awful lot of Hydrans out there, and without her wingman, who could Kalin rely on to get in the way of the enemy's guns while she tried to do her job?

She supposed that she would just have to rely on herself, like she had to back before that annoying son of a bitch first showed his ugly face.

~Well, it's not really *that* ugly,~ she reasoned, her antennae curling thoughtfully. ~For a pinkskin, anyway.~

She didn't have time to continue that line of thought, however, as she suddenly heard Spider's voice crackling over the comm. Steeling herself, Kalin prepared to dive into the fray, and as her hand hovered over the throttle control, one last thought passed through her mind.

Cowboy was going to be *pissed* when he found out that he missed this.

----------Rebel 5 ----------

As Rex sat in his Valkyrie mark 2, he quietly flexed his hands inside of his flight gauntlets. "Greetings, Starfighter. You have been recruited by the Starfleet to defend the frontier against Xur and the Hydran armada" he muttered to himself before he switched on his line.

"So, when do we get to give the hydrans their christmas presents, Spitfire?" he asked with a wicked smile as he gripped the control yokes for his fighter.

-----------Renegade 11 -----------

Jacob sat calmly in the cockpit of his fighter with his eyes closed as he always did while waiting for the battle to begin. For a moment, a stray thought went towards Rayna and he silently prayed that she, Nikki and the twins would be alright. He opened his eyes and went through a full systems check from weapons to fuel to everything else.

Having completed that, Jacob sent one last thought toward Rayna and the kids before putting all of his focus on the coming battle which he allowed himself a grim smile. "This is Renegade eleven, ready for combat." he said, reporting in.

-----------Vanguard AWACS -----------

Hawkeye sat there in his Runabout with his eyes closed. Visualizing everything he would need to do. He would stay outside the combat radius, stay alive, and not get shot down. Sounded easier then it really was. He knew the Hydrans would be gunning for him. Something about a large amount of communications coming from his small craft.

"Okay people," he started to say to the few others in the cockpit as he opened his eyes. "We all know the drill. Don't keep any information a second longer then you need to. We are not only passing along communications, but also sensor readings." He paused to take a look around. "Just do your jobs and we will get through this."

-------------Renegade One -------------

Deuce listened in the smatter of chatter that was starting to fill the Renegade's channel. Moving her thumb over the small menu control stick on the throttle, she adjusted the HUD. The indicators and illuminators filled the air around her. Unlike in a combat, with real-time update from the Miranda, here the HUD was being jerky, relying passive sensors. She watched as some of the stealth levels of the Renegade's Corsairs were starting to get that little high. The EM transmissions, though tight and squirted, still left a little bit of EM for an enemy's ESM to detect.

Most were next to some of the planetary debris, but some of the Renegades were in the middle of empty space, relying on the Corsair's ability to hide to ambush the Hydrans.

"Hold down the chatter, Renegades. Keep it to a minimum. Keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. Some of you are beginning to look like candles."

Deuce understood the chatter, hiding with the Federation Visual and Subspace ECM systems that the Romulans had allowed, blind with only passive sensors and eyes to tell you what was happening here in deep space. Waiting for a huge Hydran fleet, that would probably break warp only a few thousand klicks away and your job was to sneak up on them and be the 'unseen kidney punch,' try and deal with some of the support vessels and spread the enemy's defences - it would leave anyone feeling vulnerable.

"Wait for the AWACS - they know their job. When they get us in close, that is when we do ours. So let's us make sure that all the Hydrans see is a blank. That is until the first torp impacts. Then I want you to make all the noise you want."

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

Vanguard One

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

Corran winced as his wingman nailed a Hydran fighter just a little too close to him. It hadn't taken long for the massive furball to dissolve down from coordinated Squadron efforts down to wing pairs. "That was too close." he muttered under his breath, and yanked the yoke to port.

Vandguard One barrel-rolled away from an oncoming trio of Hydran fighters - seemed like the methane-breathers did everyhting in threes

- and Anna "Natural" Lewis stuck with him.

Unfortunately, his wingman cut her spiral too tight - and barrelled straight into a Hydran light cruiser as she tried to avoid yet another trio of Hydran craft. With a brilliant fireball that disable the Hydran ship's nacelle, Vanguard Two was gone.

"Dammit." Corran muttered under his breath as Anna's light winked out on his status board. A moment later, so did another Vanguard - but he didn't get to see who it was.

"The Aid Station"

PFC Norma Jean Riley (NPC)

Maintenance Technician

Furies 188th Detachment, USS Galaxy

****

Temporary Aid Station

Ra'tleihfi

ch'Rihan

****

She glanced around at the people that filled the aid station, and felt a pang of guilt. Here they all were, either injured or tending to the injured and yet she had no real reason for being here. She was unharmed and had no medical training, and yet she was sitting here, watching them work.

She shivered, though not from the cold. It was unfavorably warm in the dark cave. Telling herself that it was because she was frightened, she breathed a small sigh of relief. They had all left her; Boomer was dead, the el-tee was injured and possibly also dead. Even Lia had gone, having hooked up with a makeshift unit off to fight the Hydrans. And what had she done, but stumble her way to shelter, fearful of facing the Hydrans.

She was a coward!

She admitted it to herself. Repeating it over and over in her mind. She was a stinking coward; a weak-as wussy; a useless marine; a coward.

And she hated herself all the more for it.

Sitting with her head between her legs, she rocked back and forth slightly, as the words echoed in her mind. There was nothing she could say or do that was going to change the fact that she felt she was a coward.

The sound of an explosion up on the surface echoed in the chamber, sending a spray of dirt down from the roof, coating everything with the fine brown powder. Patients cringed, while medics tried valiantly to cover their charges from the dirt as it fell.

She started whimpering in fear as the sounds reverberated in her mind, getting louder and louder as the seconds drew on.

Shaking the thoughts and sounds from her head she started wishing that she was back on on Earth, working in her parent's Bakery. Tears started rolling down her cheeks as she suddenly remembered that they were both death, having been involved in a robbery on their shop that had gone wrong, not four months previously.

There was nothing left for her. No real friends or family; no lover to come home to; she was alone, trapped on a world far from anywhere that she would call 'civilized' as a huge army swept at them, killing and pillaging, leaving nothing but ruin and heartache in their wake, stormed through the city like none before it.

There was nothing left, but for the Marines, and even they didn't treat her like each other. She was a mechanic and not a soldier. They all had bonds forged in combat and she didn't. They all had friendships, even if it didn't seem that they were friends sometimes, and she didn't. They got to spend time having lots of fun together and, being stuck fixing their crap when they screwed around with it, meant that she didn't.

Life held no meaning anymore.

Absentmindedly fingering the rifle that sat on the ground before her, only one course of action came to her, though she doubted that anyone would understand. Still, it wouldn't matter to her once completed.

Picking the rifle up, she switched the setting from stun to a more permanent setting and turned the rifle so it's end stopped short of her throat, aiming up through her head towards the ceiling behind her. Closing her eyes, she gave a prayer out to the Marines that were fighting and dieing for the Romulan homeworld before gently squeezing the trigger.

It took her a second or two to realize that she was not infact dead. Opening her eyes she was a young Romulan woman crouching directly in front of her, her hand having pushed the end of the rifle away from her throat at the last minute.

"That is not the answer, young woman" She stated calmly and with authority. "That is never the answer to one's problems."

"Mission Squared"

Lt. Cmdr. Spa'an

Chief Science Officer

USS Miranda

Ki Baratan, Romulus

To many, Time was an enemy -- often THE enemy -- relentlessly pursuing everything and everyone without regard to station, wealth, physical beauty, intellect; eventually, all succumbed to its ravages. It was the greatest of all equalizers.

But Time could also be a protector, an insulator. Sometimes it intervened on behalf of the unsuspecting, preventing certain disaster or interstellar incident. Call it Fate, Divine Intervention, or any number of other cultural sobriquets, it was in this form a reminder that "There for the Grace of God...."

So it was that on the eve of battle -- an "eve" measured in minutes -- that Time spared yet another unsuspecting life, while it simultaneously prepared to wipe out thousands.

Had Spa'an delayed even a few seconds more, he would never have made it off the ship. He would be there now, on the bridge, lending his expertise in battle against a formidable enemy. But at the moment the Miranda's chief science officer chose to go in search of two of his most capable scientists -- a rationale that was no more than mostly true -- the enemy had not yet arrived. So availing himself of an extra seat on the last cargo transport to leave for the surface, he set off, mere minutes before the arrival of the Hydran fleet.

Bringing with him such basic tools as a small tricorder and a phaser, Spa'an divested himself of his Starfleet uniform, choosing instead to don the common long cloak of the Romulan citizenry. He wanted to blend in, unencumbered in his search for both his officers and...others.

But it was the invasion of the Hydran landing force that proved to be the real encumbrance.

No matter. Vulcans were clever. Vulcans were resilient. Vulcans were determined. Spa'an would call upon his strength of mind and body to use the chaos to his advantage, to slip through and around the milieu, engaging in the surrounding battle only when it was necessary to remove an obstruction, whatever form it took. He would find at least one of the things he came here for.

For one of those things, namely finding Ensign T'Ashaya and Lieutenant Ampete, he had little to go on. He knew they were here; he knew what they were supposed to be doing. But their precise location, or even if they were still alive at this point, was not going to be easy to determine.

That was where the second thing conveniently came in.

True to his background as a scientist, Spa'an had thoroughly researched and prepared for his personal reasons for being here. He had names, positions, locations, everything he needed to reach those he sought to find. Contacting them first could be useful in his efforts to find his officers. It was a mission shrouded in a mission, an unofficial purpose within the pretext of an official one.

The unexpected presence of the Hydrans would stop neither.

Ensign T'Jaden "TJ" Tagra, Engineering Officer, USS Miranda

Deck 40, Main Engineering

The floor met TJ's side faster than he'd have thought possible. Thankfully he was a bit prepared, but it did nothing to quell the pain. When he got up, he saw a few small fires over by a work table. An NCO and Ensign where already busy putting them out when the ship felt like it took another hit.

He got himself up with a bit of a wince, knowing he was going to have on hell of a bruise on his arm in the morning. He held onto the bulkhead as an idea hit him, though with less force than the floor. He tried to interface with the Tactical Computer, but it seemed to be either locked to access, or there was a connection down somewhere. "Damn."

Another hit jarred him from his distraction, then another much more violent one, threw him from the station. He flew sideways and hit a bulkhead, hearing a crack when he did. He landed with a loud thud and another crack.

He didn't yelp or scream, he just laid there for a second. When he finally moved, it was beyond pain. It felt like someone had just stuck an ice knife into his side. An Engineer's Mate came over to help him up, which he gladly accepted.

He didn't recognize the Mate, but thanked him as he helped TJ sit at the nearest empty station. The gent walked away for just a minute only to come back with a tricorder. Running the thing over his side, the Mate said, "Sir, you've got three broken ribs and at least four cracked ones. I'm not a Medic, but I'd suggest you try not to move."

TJ just smiled, "Thanks. But trust me, moving around is not something that feels good." He paused as the ship felt like it just made a sharp turn, which made his side remind him of his ribs, "Look go do what you need to do, I'll be fine." The Mate nodded and walked off. TJ turned, slowly, towards the screen to try and at least contribute.

He at least still had 'Plan B' strapped to his back, so if the Hydrans boarded, he'd at least get a few before he had to move for cover or evac. He turned and saw that he was about 5 meters from his station, which had one or two more little toys hidden there.

Now if he could just walk over there, or wait for the next big bang to throw him over there, but that might break the ribs on his other side.

Until he could come up with a better idea for moving, or get assistance, he'd stay where he is and figure out what he could work on while being stationary.

He fell back on his recent idea. Instead of the Tac Computer, he accessed the Sensor Grid. The Hellbore Cannon of the Hydrans is what surrounded this little scheme. IF he could just get its frequency, or frequencies, then maybe he could find a way to modulate the shields to absorb it or somehow send it back to its source. His hands started to flow over the console, picking up speed as he immersed himself into his work.

How he'd love to see the Hydrans' faces if he could pull this one off.

"Into the Hornets' Nest"

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Acting Chief Counselor
USS Exeter

Cpt. Margarethe Vogler
CO
USS Exeter

Various Exeter officers

The entire bridge crew of the starship Exeter listened intently to Captain Summers' exchange with the Hydran commander as it was broadcast to the fleet.

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

If you turn your fleet around and leave now, no harm will come to your ships."

Captain Vogler turned to her First Officer, her expression stern.

Marc Reardon had learned how to read every look in the old gal's facial arsenal -- this particular one meant she couldn't believe what she was hearing. The Hydran response, however, was much more believable.

"No."

"I coulda told him that," Maggie muttered. A "what you give is what you get" kind of person, she knew the Hydrans had no respect for them, so she saw no reason to bother showing any in return. She would have shot first and asked questions later...which was probably why Chris Summers was in command of this fleet instead of her.

A moment later she got her wish.

"All ships, arm all weapons. On for attack plan Alpha. Go."

"That's more like it. Mister Nguyen, get us in there," she instructed her chief helmsman. "Ensign Brockman, the Miranda's focusing their firepower on the Hydran carriers. Start picking off the fighters that make it out."

"Aye, Ma'am."

"Engineering, give me everything you can on our shields. Those slimy devils aren't going to be giving us love taps."

Smaller than the bigger ships like Miranda or Galaxy, the Ambassador-class Exeter could be nimble, the corresponding advantage to its disadvantage of being perhaps a little less durable. But that didn't mean it was weak.

Neither was its captain.

Already being buffeted by enemy fire, the Exeter plied ahead into the fray, letting the heavier hitters of the fleet take on the Hydran warships while Vogler focused her fury on the fighters. So far, her young crew was responding well, a fact that gave her no small amount of pride, even if she didn't show it.

It didn't take long for the Hydran fighters to realize they were the object of the Exeter's ire after several of their number burst into puffs of light and debris like fireworks. Like angry hornets, many of them went on the offensive, releasing bright arrows of fire from their plasma-driven stingers. Each hit was enough to jar the starship and put localized strain on the shields and threaten potential "Achilles'

heals"; individually, the Exeter could handle their fire, but it was the cumulative effect that Vogler was most concerned about.

"Shields holding overall, Captain," Lieutenant Mullen called out from Ops, "but there's some concentrated weakening along our port nacelle."

"Damn gnats," she cursed under her breath as the bridge shook yet again. "Divert all power from unnecessary systems to patch the weak spots, Mister Mullen."

As the battle wore on, Brian could sense the strong emotions emanating from the crew. Keeping their focus, the bridge officers in particular exhibited a certain excitement brought on from the heat of what was for most of them their first battle. But there was a second layer beneath that would likely have gone undetected by a non-empath: they were scared. The counselor knew it was a natural reaction, one that by its absence would have indicated a much more dangerous naivete.

Still, he kept tabs on it just in case it threatened to swell to panic.

Eventually, what had begun as a few concentrated attacks from the fighters organized itself into a tighter offensive, something the captain had hoped a steady reduction in their numbers would dissipate before it had a chance to become a serious threat. But the fighters just kept coming, replacing their fallen brethren in larger and larger swarms. The Miranda and the other ships had their own problems to deal with as Vogler saw the awe-inspiring visual effects of the Hydrans' hellbore fire blanket the Galaxy. It was staggering to imagine how much energy was required to cover a ship that large, and she silently hoped they wouldn't be similarly targeting the Exeter any time soon.

There was another shudder, followed by a brief dimming of the bridge lights.

"What the hell was that?!"

"They're targeting engineering. Some of their fire managed to penetrate our shields near one of our primary power relays," came the answer from Ops.

"Mister Barrett, get those shields back up!" she ordered her chief engineer.

::I'm working on it, Captain, but that relay took some damage. We're compensating with secondary relays as best we can. It would be easier if I had more people down here."

"Dammit, I told them I needed a full crew," Vogler muttered again.

"Keep on it! Mister Nguyen try to keep our tender spots as far away from the larger fighter groups as possible." She knew it was like an elephant trying to hide its ass from a swarm of mosquitoes.

A moment later, another shock wave shook the bridge, the lights flickering once again. The Hydran fighters, in seemingly inexhaustible numbers, had found a chink in the Exeter's armor and were hell-bent on exploiting it.

"Consolidation" Part Two

Lieutenant Colonel For'kel Arvelion- Miranda SFMC
Major Peter Shaw- Miranda SFMC
Second Lieutenant Branwen London- Galaxy SFMC
Ensign Savannah McAlister- Miranda MAA
Lieutenant Cole Slaton - Miranda Hazard XO
Lieutenant Man'darr Maivia - Miranda Chief Ops/ Hazard Operative
Lieutenant Jg. Thyago Carneiro - Miranda A. Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Jg. John Morris - Galaxy Security (Stuart)
Private Amy VanDuren - Galaxy SFMC (Stuart)
Lieutenant Templar - Miranda SFMC Chaplain (Eric)

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

(Town Center- Romulan Capitol)

For'kel continued on with whomever had volunteered, the various groups making their way through the city. Juna, upon realizing that her world needed all the help it could get, was rather forthcoming with a secret way into one building For'kel presumed, and Juna substantiated, was a vacant district military HQ where automated defenses were run from.

His plan was rather simple... if the building was destroyed, the automated defenses would go into 'secure' mode, and continue to fire according to their last directions... in this case at Hydrans. If the Hydrans got there first and deactivated them, the singularly greatest advantage they had at the moment would be lost.

He really was starting to hate races.

Thral rather liked the idea the colonel had as it involved blowing something up. Well, that's not the only reason but he'd also probably do the same thing.

His shoulder still looked like hell and fealt just as bad but he didn't make any outward appearance he was in pain. That's what a good NCO was supposed to do.

A group of movement caught For'kel's eye. They were Marines, Starfleet Marines, and even through his bleary eyes one of them looked damn familiar. Tapping his combadge, he whispered. "Pete, that you we're looking at?"

Pete looked up, "yeah, its me," Pete motioned for the people he had collected to fall out and assuming covering positions.

A short, disheveled figure under a rumpled canvas hat parted from the main group of troopers and made a beeline for the Marine CO.

"Evenin' Guv'nor! Are ye th' Robin Hood o' this band o' Merry Men?"

Under the battered civvies, For'kel could make out the single pip of a Starfleet ensign over a workshirt of medical blue.

They were just bumping into everyone who managed to survive being stranded it seemed. This time For'kel couldn't help but smile, the man's peculiar accent reminding him a tad bit of Fleet Admiral Murdock's. "If I'm recalling my Terran literature correctly, I guess that's one way of putting it. For'kel Arvelion, hundred-and-first."

Narrowing her eyes, Savannah kept her guard up. Smirking somewhat as the men made their greetings, she sat, polishing her phaser rifle.

The woman, at times, was just not right in the head when it came to her weapons. Glancing over to her left, she kept a mental note on the inventory they had with them. Nodding in acknowledgement of her presence by the others, her pony tail whipped as she turned her head violently back to the work at hand. "Savannah McAlister, master at arms." She muttered to anyone interested. Fork's voice caught her attention. "Fork.....have you had a chance to meet the other McAlister? Faylin?"

"I have as a matter of fact." For'kel nodded, doing his best to make sure the 'coast' was clear. "Sister?"

"Cousin. Uppity witch." Arching an eyebrow, she stood with her full height of a mere five foot eight inches.

"I'm Bob Mathieson - Phd from th' Galaxy", the short man rumbled in a tired, crackling voice. "Been 'ere mindin' some o' the survivin'

colonists from Cheron, but I'm thinkin' ye might be havin' more use fer me 'ere. If ye can point me in th' direction o' yer medical unit, I'll unpack me kit an' get t'work."

The Stagnorian licked his lips... the soot and dust accumulated on his face making it a rather bitter experience, damn he needed a shower. Well, actually, right now they needed a doctor far more, though why a Ph. D was beyond him. "Tollis, Kearns, front and center." He called two rather tough looking Marines over. "Take Doctor Mathieson here back to the CCP, and help him set up. Let Lieutenant Londen know she's officially relieved. Damn glad to see you, Doc."

Thral looked at the doctor and looked at his injured shoulder and then shrugged. Not like he'd actually ask for help but he usually didn't have to. Darn doctors just assumed they were needed.

"Such strength and valor is to be comended Doctor," came a deep bass voice from behind Mathieson and the others as a huge, nearly 8 foot tall marine lumbered into view. Lieutenant Sanguinus Ephrial Templar, the Miranda's Chaplain, clapped For'kel on the shoulder. "It is good to see you still alive, Brother. The Last Chancers have been smashed as was expected, and probably intended. Delta Company held their own untill just shortly before the order to disperse. I would have men with me, but the Hydrans are damned efficient at making sure what goes down, stays down." He placed a hand over an armored box built into his right thigh, within which were the ID tags of several troopers from various starfleet assignments. All dead.

"So I've noticed." For'kel gave a nod. "You're welcomed to stay with us for now, father." For'kel, for his part, had no idea the religious specificity of the statement, or much about Terran religions at all. He'd simply saw it in a movie used to address members of the clergy and figured it apt to toss the term out. "Right now, we've got to get moving."

"Chaplain or Brother," Templar replied, though he silently chastized himself. He had spent enough time on the Miranda since coming aboard, and yet he had neglected to spend any amount of time beyond what the duties of a Marine required with his Commanding officer. " 'For he who sheds blood with me shall be my Brother,' " he said, quoting from the Liber Scriptorum, one of the Ultimar texts. "Our sisters are not forgotten either," he added without a pause, "but the saying has not been changed simply to apeas the politically correct masses."

Amy had been the first to volunteer for the Colonel's mission. It meant more fighting and Amy was eager for more fighting. At least once she had dropped off Moody to be looked at by the medical people, or at least what currently stood for the medical staff, at the small aid station.

Having reloaded on ammo at the station, - dead marines didn't have a need for the ammo anymore, she reasoned - she was more than ready for combat again. Watching as the ragtag group formed, she was amazed at the sheer size of the latest addition. Taller by a head than anyone else present, the man looked like he could knock a building over all on his own. Amy briefly wondered if one particular part of his anatomy was built in the same proportions, before reminding herself that she was in a war zone and that sort of thinking usually got oneself killed. Shaking it off, she prepared to climb a small mound of debris and scout around.

"Don't go getting yourself shot now girly." A voice said from off to the side.

Turning, she spied the owner of the voice, a close friend from the Galaxy. "You still alive down here, old man?" She asked in jest.

Climbing back down the two steps she had taken she walked up to John Morris, one of the very few non marine friends she had on the tub called the Galaxy, and hugged him. "Good to see you John."

"You too, sunshine." He replied, hugging her back just as roughly.

Letting him go for a moment, she steped back and looked him up and down. "I don't see any scratch marks. You seen any action around these parts?"

"I've held my own. You?"

Amy smiled at John Morris. "You'll be pleased. I left a trail of bodies as my small team tried to hook up with this lot." She threw a thumb in the direction of Colonel For'kel. "And that new rifle you gave me has been a blessing. It's so much easier to take those Hydran bastards out with it."

Savannah rolled her eyes, bragging was so not needed in this situation. It was a 'I shot more than you did comment with my handy dandy new phaser rifle.' Glancing over to the smaller Marine, she shot a look of dislike. A thought of friendly fire bounced into her head, but she shoved it right back out.

"One of the perks of being the owner of a multi billion credit technology company. I get to keep lots of cool gadgets. We're just waiting for the trial with the Oddesy's 132nd Detachment to finish and these will likely replace most of the old version of the rifle all the Marines are carrying."

"Amen to that." She replied. "I'm just gonna go up here and take a look for any Hydrans to kill." She smiled. Catch ya later old man."

"Have fun, Amy!" He replied before turning to see if there was anyone else he knew in the ragtag unit.

"That was sweet." For'kel smirked sarcastically. "But taking a break from the 'love fest', we need to find that headquarters building. Keep your eyes and ears open, the Hydrans are certainly about."

Straightening her posture a little, she caught Fork's comment, winked and nodded his direction.

Man'darr had just arrived after scouting around the immediate area--it was clear for now, but he was sure that would change as he moved over to a wounded Marine being carried away, and found that no TR-116 Magazines were left--which left him with two. He grabbed a few energy cells and a Type 4 Pulse Rifle from the Marine and slinging it across his back and he then approached Colonel Arvelion. "Colonel, is there anything you need of me?"

"Every body is welcome." The Stagnorian gave a nod. "You look like you can shoot, take point. Keep your eyes open for any patrols. There's an underground passage from a nearby restraunt that leads to the building." Romulans, as they were, seemed to have a preference for never being trapped in one place.

Something he could relate to... secret passages and the like, it was as if he was a kid... except people were trying to kill him. "It's about a kilometer away. Let's go."

Pete took up a position in the middle of the group with For'kel. "How bad is it?" Pete asked.

"Pretty bad. The invasion force was supposed to be in the 'millions'. By now the Battalion should be broken up, it's a matter of softening them up and keeping them off balance long enough so as to prevent them launching an offensive from Romulus at what remains of the empire. If we do that, then we can give the fleet a fighting chance. That job would be a lot easier if whatever automated defenses are left were on our side." For'kel gave the wave, a sign to disperse. The last thing he wanted was too many falling to one well placed shot.

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

(At the CCP/Aid Station)

Thyago had never liked hospitals or doctors, although he had been to them so often in his life, hospitals were like a summer home. Had it not been for modern medicine, he would have been dead a dozen times over or so. But there was still something about them that always irked him. He was never quite sure why. Perhaps it was the parental relationship all doctors seemed to have with thier patients - not the loving, soothing huggy type of parent, the annoyed, disciplinarian parents that made you feel bad for the mistakes you made. Or at least, that was always the relationship Thyago had with doctors. Everytime he went to see one, it was usually because he had done something stupid and broken a bone or pulled a tendon or something, and his doctor would fix it and complain and admonish Thyago for acting so recklessly. They were especially upset when he would be back in to see them a second time in the same week.

Of course, hospitals were places of human suffering, that may have also been why he didn't like them. They were full of people who were sick and injured and dying, a gathering place for all the ills and sins still left in the world.

Hospitals made you feel guilty for being healthy.

Those were normal hospitals. Where Thyago had been left was not a normal hospital. It wasn't even much of a hospital. It was a morgue. And Thyago was beginning to feel bad for simply being alive.

He was sitting on the top of an empty barrel, since all of the few beds they had managed to gather were full, over half by dead bodies. Part of him thought that he could take one of those, since the dead no longer required it, but he never did. Partly because he didn't have the strength to move a body by himself, but mostly because other instinctual resistance. Instead, he simply sat and waited, patiently waiting for the one of the three medics to approach him. He knew most of what was wrong with him. He broke his ankle after sliding down the side of the building, and it was beginning to swell, a large ball at the end of his leg, as big as a melon. If he was really still, the pain wasn't outrageously debilitating, but merely throbbed as a wrenching ache. There was another pain up the same leg, and it was beginning to look like he had a third knee, just below his real one. A simple fracture of the proximal tibia, most likely. On his left foot, his large toe was broken, possibly his first and second metatarsals, but certainly all the tendons holding the digit in place were torn to pieces. It hurt to put any weight on it, it hurt tremendously, but there was much less pain there than putting any weight on the broken angle. He had hobbled here on it, and on two mops he had used for crutches, by far the most agonizing hike he had ever taken.

Besides the bones, both legs were completely bruised from the shock of landing after sliding a couple dozen stories down the side of building. There were little fragments of glass stuck underneath his skin. His right arm was still bleeding steadily, and he was beginning to feel faint, even after getting one of the Starfleet marines to nearly slice off his arm at the bicep with tourniquet, he had tied it so tight. His eyes were burning from the dust and smoke of the collapsing building, crying steadily in an effort to clean themselves.

His lungs didn't burn, but he was wheezing and coughing periodically, the phlegm ejectant as black as space.

As bad as all that was, he had certainly been in worse states. As a kid, while he was out winging, he had been smashed into the side of a cliff face and fell over a hundred meters. It broke almost every bone on the left side of his torso. But, after a few bone-knitting splint implants, some autosutures and a dermal regenerater, he was up and flying again in less than a week. That was all he needed here, too. Unfortunately, it was unlikely they had ankle bone specific knitter-splints, if they had any knitter-splits at all. If he was lucky, they would at least have an osteostimulator. That, and an old fashioned external splint, would allow him to walk around on crutches at more than parapalegic's pace - that is, if they had a vascular regenerator to reduce all the bruising in his lower limbs.

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

(The Romulan District Military Headquarters)

The halls were vacant, or at least that's the way they seemed. For'kel had modified his tricorder to emit a particle scattering field, trying to mask their movements from any Hydran sensors, sattelites, or orbiting vessels that might be around. A sound tactical decision, it none the less left his tricorder useless for anything else... they'd have to make their way to the control center using the senses the Prophets gave them.

"All right listen up. Thral, you start setting up the charges to blow the hell out of this place. Amy and Man'darr here will cover you. 'Nothing' can be left functioning, understood?"

"I can definately arrange that sir." Thral said as he was already setting down his pack and looking around for the best places to place the charges

"Good. I'm going to handle transfering autonomy to the remaining defense systems, should make things more 'interesting' for our Hydran friends. Pete, Savannah you're with me. Let's go."

Once he'd gotten a tricorder scan of the facility Thral started devising his plan. He looked to his Vulcan corporal and said. "

Corporal, big one on the main reactor down the hall and the computer core over there. PFC, keep him alive."

"Of course sarge." the young human marine said as he rushed off with the vulcan. In the mean time Thral started setting his charges around the control room. There was one particular spot he couldn't reach, a power transfer node on the cealing. He looked to the Marines that were with him and said,

"Could someone give me a boost here?"

Templar slung his rifle as he stepped forward. It was obvious that there was no one better quallified for "giving boosts."

"Thanks, right there, I'm trying to get to that node." Thral said looking up at the power node

Grasping thrall at his hips, templar simply lifted the marine as if he were a dead weight, projecting him straight up to his target. "Just let me know when you are finished, brother. Take your time, I've plenty of strength to spare."

Despite what the man said, Thral tried to work as quickly as he could.

After about fifteen seconds in the air he had the charge fitted to the power node and indicated that he should be lowered. Tapping his combadge he said,

"Thral to Fork, control room is wired. The others are fitting the big charges to the reactor and computer core. Should be ready to push the button shortly.

"Acknowledged." The Stagnorian murmured a response, his own hands busy rerouting various pathways to gain access to key systems. It was a simple set of final commands they needed to input, made easier by the information Thyago's 'friend' had provided to institute local autonomy and system isolation. The problem was, it would take on the order of ten minutes.

Man'darr was busy scanning the surrounding area with the TR-116 , as the sights soon locked onto an unidentified life forms approaching and the sights adjusted, "peering through" several buildings as it locked onto the lifeforms. "We've got Hydran forces inbound...looks like a scout team, consisting of four." Man'darr pressed the trigger rapidly four times, sending four TR-116 rounds out. The four soldiers seemed to drop almost instantly as the rounds rematerialized and ripped into their bodies. "Scout team neutralized," Man'darr said calmly as he continued to scan the area. "I suggest we hurry."

And he had to go and 'shoot' them? Rather then simply let them continue on their way, 'probably' report back they found nothing, and thus ruling out this area as a search zone, he had to shoot them and clue the Hydrans in on their location?! For'kel sighed, if they made it back to the Miranda he was going to have to talk Slaton into teaching his team some damned prudence. "You heard the man, get ready to get back to the base in a hurry. Thral, as soon as everyone is out, blow this place to hell and back." His eyes fell on McAlister. "Have anything like a hairpin I can borrow?"

"The Little Guys" pt II

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

Major Corran Rex, CAG, USS Galaxy / Vanguard Leader

Major Rena Starburst, Rebel Leader, USS Miranda

Major Kol, Saber Leader, USS Galaxy

Flight Officer Angelienia, Vanguard Eleven, USS Galaxy

Ensign Eve, USS Galaxy (Vanguard One IO)

Major Lance "Grumpy" Moody, USS Typhon / CERBERUS Group Leader

Major Amuramia mel Thora, Rogue Leader, USS Miranda

Pilot Paulo "Hawkeye" DiMillo, Vanguard AWACS, USS Galaxy

Major Veronique "Deuce" St. Melisande, Renegade Leader, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Jacob "Gryphon" Striker, Renegade 11, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Rex "Duelist" Hall, Rebel 5/Rebel XO, USS Miranda

Pilot Gelkar "Leopard", Renegade 12, USS Miranda

Pilot Vlatnnia "Scavenger", Rebel 6, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Kalin zh'Annuria, Rogue Six, USS Miranda

---------

Saber One

---------

If truth was to be told, Kol should have stayed a bridge officer.

However, when he'd selected Lieutenant Commander Tarin as his permanent replacement, the Klingon officer had, strangely, found that he did not want to leave the Starship Galaxy.

It was an odd notion, but he was being forced to reconsider the notion that non-Klingons were all inferior species - only worthy of being jegh'pwui.

Not that he would admit it to any of them.

So he'd pushed for transfer to the fighter unit. He was a qualified, though not exceptionally skilled pilot, and had done time piloting Klingon fighters in his career.

Kol flew his best that day, in the skies above Romulus. In twelve minutes, he downed five Hydran fighters - and "Warrior" became an instant Ace in the annals of Starfleet Starfighter Corps.

But this battle demanded the very best of all the pilots involved.

There were literally thousands of fighter craft - and three Hydran fighters to every one of Starfleets. Six of them ganged up on Saber One, and Kol bared his teeth as he saw the damage piling up. And though he flew HIS best... it just wasn't good enough.

The warp core of his craft was dangerously unstable. His shields were down, and both his weapons arrays had been shot off.

Kol gritted his teeth openly as he laid his course in for the damaged Hydran carrier that was being fired upon by one of the Federation starship. "Brothers in the Black Fleet, I will see you soon." he prayed, his grin still wild. "Sto'vo'kor will have a new warrior tonight!"

Two hundred and thirty eight meters from the damaged carrier, Kol engaged his small ship's warp drive, and it slammed into the enemy ship at several hundred times the speed of light.

In the ensuing explosion, there wasn't a particle of the Hydran carrier larger than a molecule left.

---------

Saber Two

---------

~By the hairy lobes of the Exchequer! The profitless bastard did it!~ Taev's shielded eyes looked into the massive ball of white-hot fusion that marked the death of Kol, son of the House of Kor.

~He killed himself!~

The Ferengi, in efforts to keep his suicidal wingman alive, had kept up with the Klingon's merciless attacks, albeit in a more strategically prudent way - Taev lacked his superior's dour, fatalistic outlook on life - but seeing Saber One torpedo into the Hydran carrier shook Galaxy's newest pilot to his interest-bearing core.

~He killed himself! By the Nagus!~

Taev's reverie was shattered by the neon-green flash of Hydran gatling phasers narrowly raking his right wing. ~Slig for brains! Do you want to end up like the Klingon!!~

Allelerating his starfighter and banking hard to his left flank, Taev executed an Immelman split-s: a half roll, half loop at maximum gee.

In atmosphere, the force of gravity exerted incredible stress and friction on a fighter performing such a maneuver, in space there were no such pressures.

Using thrusters, the Ferengi's modified Immelman took less than a second. Larger humanoids would have blacked out from the stress, but Taev's compact frame prevented too much blood from leaving his head and going to his feet - his own phaser fire lanced the pursuer through the cockpit, sending the Hydran to his own version of the afterlife.

Breathing hard, Taev slected his next target while plotting a relative course back to the nearest Federation wing.

~Sweet shiny latinum! He...bastard... killed himself!!~

----------

Rebel One

----------

Major Rena "Spitfire" Starburst narrowly avoided the destruction of the Hydran carrier, though it did eliminate the three Hydran fighters on her tail. She'd already lost her wingmate, Dr. octopus - or Flight Officer Cihl'Bar as he'd been officially known. He might still be alive, she thought she'd seen him bug out.. but chances of a successful S&R in THIS furball were damn slim.

["CIC to Spitfire."] came the orders from Lieutenant Lenaris in CIC.

["Regroup the Rebels. There's a Hydran attack cruiser making mincemeat out of the D'Calyx. You can nail it if you come up on the Ventral side."]

"Got it." Starburst replied. "All Rebels on me, I've got the target painted. All weapons free."

Even as her squad acknowledged, Rena peeled Rebel One towards the designated ship, and opened fire.

Rena Starburst flew her best on that day, too. But unlike the late Major Kol, Rena was possibly the single best starfighter pilot in Starfleet service.

Her best was more than good enough.

It just wasn't good enough to keep her wingmate alive. Not in this.

----------

Vanguard Eleven

----------

"Dammit," Angelienia cried out in frustration as a Hydran carrier flared up and vanished, her attempts to get to her shipmate Kol and provide covering fire to let him withdraw having gone to dust with just like the Hydran ship thanks to a trio of Hydran fighters. She'd long since lost contact with anyone but her wingman; the other pilots in her flight were still alive

-

she thought they were, anyway - but had been separated an eternity ago when a flight of Hydrans had split the group up before being wiped out by a sweep of disruptor fire from a Romulan vessel that looked like it should have been battling James T. Kirk instead of the Hydrans.

She banked right to cover her wingman and cursed again as a flash of light and a spray of debris replaced the sleek form of the fighter she was turning to assist. "Victor, love," she whispered as she jerked back on the stick and cut left to avoid a slicing burst of fusion beams from the fighters on her tail. "I believe in you; if you say you won't let me die, then I won't die -but I'm not so sure about the Hydrans and what they believe."

She spun her ship again as a shot scored on her port weapons array and red lights started to flash on her console.

=/\="All Vanguard fighters - hell, anybody on my side - Vanguard Eleven needs a hand,"=/\= she spat out as she rolled and fired off her last microtorp point blank into one of the Hydrans, cracking the alien fighter open like an eggshell. =/\="Coordinates Seventeen-Delta by Fifty-Six Epsilon."=/\=

----------

Vanguard One

----------

Meanwhile, in the backseat of Vanguard One, Eve got a front row seat to the chaos and havoc that is a fighter in a fleet-wide battle. The young ensign understood that this was not her place, even though her special sensors and an extra set of eyes doing nothing but watching screens had actually helped several of the pilots out of otherwise deadly engagements. Unfortunately, the numbers inevitably added up, and one by one, pilots dropped out of the network as their craft were disable or (more often than not) destroyed. As the battle progressed, Eve began to feel more and more helpless and useless. Sure, she could lend assistance in the form of information, but wasn't her primary purpose to actively engage the enemy? She didn't care that the original intent was to fight the Borg, she had been purpose built to FIGHT! And here she was, sitting in the backseat of a fighter working the sensors and her intelligence network.

She didn't begrudge her job, far from it: her contribution was important, both to this fight as well as to future engagements. They had collected hoards of information on the Hydrans, all of which was being funneled straight to the Galaxy, and hopefully disseminated from there to the remainder of the fleet to more effectively combat their opponents. As yet they had seen naught of the Starbeast and Eve wondered if something had happened in one of the last battles to prevent it's use here. She didn't have much more time to think as her console bleeped. "Three bogies on our tail Sir," she called out as the Hydran fighter they had been chasing exploded under the deft touch of Rex's skills.

"I know." the Major replied, sending the fighter through a series of evasive maneuvers. "Believe me, I know." he muttered under his breath.

["Need some help?"] An unfamiliar voice crackled over the ship-to-ship line as three federation fighters swung in behind the hydrans, blasting them to scrap. Though Valkyries, the craft the formed up behind Vanguard One bore certain features different from the Mark II design the Galaxy and the rest of the fleet sported, earning them the Valkyrie Mark II-A designator.

Corran didn't recognize the designator on the board, so his natural response was to ask.

["Grumpy. Cerberus Group Leader, USS Typhon."] Grunpy and Pirate, his IO, chuckled The nickname "Grumpy" had stuck even though there was no real basis in fact. ["Looks like you need a wing. Question is, do you want one?"]

"Mister, you've got yourself a sale." The Trill replied as the two Valk-IIAs slipped into formation with him.

Sufficiently reinforced, Corran started hunting for a new target.

Didn't take long to find one.

"The Little Guys" pt III

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

Major Corran Rex, CAG, USS Galaxy / Vanguard Leader

Major Rena Starburst, Rebel Leader, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Angelienia, Vanguard Eleven, USS Galaxy

Ensign Eve, USS Galaxy (Vanguard One IO)

Major Lance "Grumpy" Moody, USS Typhon / CERBERUS Group Leader

Major Amuramia mel Thora, Rogue Leader, USS Miranda

Pilot Paulo "Hawkeye" DiMillo, Vanguard AWACS, USS Galaxy

Major Veronique "Deuce" St. Melisande, Renegade Leader, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Jacob "Gryphon" Striker, Renegade 11, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Rex "Duelist" Hall, Rebel 5/Rebel XO, USS Miranda

Pilot Gelkar "Leopard", Renegade 12, USS Miranda

Pilot Vlatnnia "Scavenger", Rebel 6, USS Miranda

Flight Officer Kalin zh'Annuria, Rogue Six, USS Miranda

----------

Rogue One

----------

Hydran fighters swarmed all around them, the blue-purple shine of their hulls forming a blur before Mia mel Thora's eyes. Even with all the sensor data being streamed in from the AWACS, it was still too many craft to keep track of. It was a bit early in the battle to be flying purely on instinct, but that was the only way she could keep her nose from being bloodied in this mess.

Coming about for another run, she saw that several of the Hydrans were suddenly breaking off, turning their attentions to another target.

One of the Defiant-class ships-- she couldn't make out which one-- screamed by, with at least a dozen other Hydran fighters on its tail.

The unnamed vessel was definitely holding her own, knocking out enemy craft with amazing precision, but Mia knew it wouldn't last. Sooner or later the fighters would overwhelm the ship, like ice bores on an unsuspecting child, burning their way through everything until there was nothing recognizable left.

"Leader to all Rogues, form up on me. Let's give our big brother a hand," she announced to the remaining members of her squadron. And then she was tearing off, fighting her way through the swarm once more.

Mia barely noticed when, mere seconds later, one more light on her status board clicked from green to red. There was no time. All they could do now was to keep fighting and hope that the Hydrans ran out of fighters before they did.

-----------

Rogue Three

----------

"On it, Leader." the steady voice of Rogue Three - Lieutenant "Veteran" Solranth replied. Like Rena Starburst, he'd been serving in Rogue Squadron - Starfleet's premier fighter unit - since it's inception fourteen years ago.

He was also the only one of the original pilots not dead, transferred, or retired. He had absolutely no ability for command, though, for the Damiani pilot was good at just one thing: he was a damn good fighter pilot.

And a lot of Hydran pilots learned that that day. Including several that were on the tail of that Defiant.

-----------

Rogue Six

-----------

"Copy that, Lead," replied Kalin as she maneuvered her moderately damaged fighter to join her CO. Just as she started settling on Rogue Leader's wing, however, an explosion on her other side rocked Kalin's fighter and blinded her for a fraction of a second. When she looked over, she saw that her temporary wingman--Cowboy's replacement--had just been vaped.

The zhen swore and eased her fighter away from the explosion, doing a quick check of her systems display as she and the rest of the Rogues screamed in after the Defiant-class vessel and its uninvited groupies.

As soon as they were close enough, Bluejay got a lock on the closest Hydran and let loose a flurry of phasers, smiling in grim satisfaction as she watched the bandit die a fiery death that was far shorter than it deserved.

One down, and about ten thousand more to go. Things were starting to look up.

-----------

Vanguard AWACS

-----------

["Break right Hawkeye,"] Paulo heard over the comm and he did just that. Somehow he had gotten the attention of a couple of Hydran fighters and they thought it would be fun to take on the small runabout. Most of the squadron didn't like him due to his past, but out here he was the one that kept them alive and acted as middle man between Actual and the CAG.

He really wasn't looking froward to being shot down and he and his fighter support was trying their damnedest to make sure that didn't happen, but he had already taken a couple of hits and his shields where almost down, not to mention he had one dead comm chief.

["Now break left and bring those assholes right to us."]

He again did what he was told, but this time they got a shot off which blew out his shields. "Shields are down and my port nacelle has taken a direct hit. Trying to compensate." He tried his damnedest, but to no avail. They had been playing to close to the planet's gravity field and he was getting pulled in. "EVA!" Paulo yelled through the cabin as they all activated their own air supply. "This is Hawkeye, I am going down!"

He wasn't dead yet. He was going to see if he could try and take those two fighters with him. He turned the runabout right towards the planet. He was going in balls first and hopefully the Hydrans would follow. "Prepare for emergency beam out."

"We don't have the power!" Yelled one of the techs.

"Shut down everything then, I don't care at this point. We are not going to live unless we can beam down to the planet." Just as he said that everything went dark. "Ah, this is nothing... kind of like piloting a brick."

He paused and thought about that statement. That would have not been something he would of said just weeks before. Looking at death really does change a ran, especially when the reaper is here and he's collecting many many souls.

"Okay, everyone lets get out of here. This thing should break up over what I think is some Hydran forces on the ground, and hopefully take those two fighters with it. Now lets get to the Surface and meet up with the Marines."

No one said anything. They all just got onto the transporter platform and started to beam off. Paulo was the last one. Just as he activated the transporter the runabout was hit again, this time causing a breach of the cockpit. "Oh shit!" He said just as the transporter activated.

***Someplace on the Romulan Surface***

Paulo materialized about 2 meters in the air, and hit the ground hard.

He just lay there, not moving in the forest. He could see as the runabout broke up as it reentered causing pieces to fall out of the sky like meteors.

He saw two other explosions as he presumed the two Hydran fighters that had taken him out where destroyed. "That is wh...." he quickly passed out.

---------

Renegade One

---------

"The whole board is clean, it's fraking clean...FRAK!" Deuce yelled over the comm as her cockpit filled with blue.

Only seconds before, the whole of space where the Renegades were station was clear, and she had been arguing with the CIC on the Miranda. Sometimes even the spooks got it right. The rest of the fighters had encountered the Hydrans and Renegade had been clear, until now.

As space distances go, the three Hydran capital ships had broken warp right on top of her and Renegade, the blue of Cherenkov radiation filled the darkness of space. They didn't even need navigational data from the AWACs, they could use the MK ONE eyeball to find the ships.

Sending a simple two clicks over the comms, she ordered Renegade to move in.

She watched as a squadron of fighters launched from the cruiser and started to streak towards the main battle. It had sort of worked, the main fleet warped in on the nadir side of the planet, no where close where the spooks had said, but a flanking group had come in on the original location and Renegade was there to greet them.

Her indicators on the HUD flared as multiple launch detections came from her fighters as a number of pilots reported a 'FOX Three' launch.

Twelve full size cap-ship torpedoes on active were screaming towards the rear destroyer and the mini-carrier. All twelve were going to hit the rear shields.

A blaze of defensive fire came from the two ships and three of the torps had been taken out, but that left enough as the two ships took multiple impacts. Gouts of flame came from the destroyer as it fell dead in space and as all weapons fire ceased from it. The mini-carrier took the brunt and was still moving, it was slowly turning, to bring it's unaffected shields towards the unexpected attack.

The central cruiser and it's squadron farther forward were already responding, turning and long range phaser fire was already reaching out towards Renegade as they moved in. "Renegade Leader to Renegade:

Break and take out the mini-carrier."

Even before she could get a single response, she felt her fighter get jolted as a anti-figher torp reached out from a Hydran fighter and exploded below her. The shields took the hit, and that was it, but they Hydrans knew where they were.

Spinning her fighter, changing it's attitude to stop any phaser fire walking across the same shields, she depressed the firing stud on her stick and her second and final torp was launched.

The Hydrans must have thought that they weren't going to be noticed or far enough away for a full scramble, because even as the second set of torps were flying to the mini-carrier, fighters were still being launched from it. Sloppy; and Renegade were going to take out a lot of fighters because of it.

"Renegade to Home Plate: Renegade is engaged. Tally on three cap-ships. Splashed a Destroyer. Mini-Carrier heavily damaged.

Renegade is winchester, repeat winchester. Going with guns against the bandits. We could do with a hand against the cruiser"

With the two full sized torpedos launched, Renegade was now relying on guns. The original plan was that Renegade would provide an ambush and that the other Federation forces would be responding in support. But this was just a flanking maneuver and not the main thrust, Renegade would be lucky if there was a ship to help.

As she locked onto a Hydran fighter, there was a flashing block of red on her HUD and the indicator slowly faded, the first of the casualties of Renegade had just gone down.

She hoped some support came, before another one of her people went down.

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

Renegades 11 and 12

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

=^=By the Great Maker, Saber One has just gave up his own life to take out a heavy carrier analog!=^= came Gelkar's voice followed as the two fighters raked the mini-carrier with their pulse phasers as they cleared the hydran ship's central ventral axis.

"Gelkar, focus on the matter at hand!!" Jacob roared as he lit two micro-torps after a Hydran fighter which was about to bullseye his friend and wingman. The torps took out the enemy fighter as it fired both of it's hellbores which slammed into the G'Karnan's fighter.

Jacob checked his sensors and saw that Gelkar's fighter had it's shields knocked off line for the moment. "Damn it, keep your eyes and mind center forward!" Jacob said in a slightly pissed off tone.

=^=Erm, righto=^= was the only thing that the other being said as they started their attack run on the cruiser that Deuce had just started attacking against.

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

Rebel 5

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

Rex was making his attack run on the ventral side of the hydran ship along with the other members of his squadron, following at the tail end as he sent his last batch of micro-torps into the now weakened shields of the enemy ship as the squadron flew past. He regrouped with Rebel Six his wingman and smirked inside of his helmet. "Six, what is your status?" Rex said in a professional tone.

=^=Six is okay, just a little toasty that's all.=^= the ferengi woman said but before she could respond, Rex then heard a tone and he checked his sensors which was broken off as two anti-fighter torps hit Rex's fighter, the first one knocking his shields offline and the other exploded in the blacklash of the first which sent the federation fighter out of control for a few seconds as it's stabilizer was minor hit. =^=Six to Five, Duelist are you okay?!=^= came the other pilot's cry through the channel as Rex fought to correct his fighter.

"Uhh, I'm fine. Just a little bit dizzy from having one of my stabilizers hit." Rex said as he finally righted his fighter and swung it back towards his wingman. Rex saw some spots before his eyes and shook his head which cleared them. He took one hand off of the weapon's control long enough to check his right side because he thought that he felt a sharp pain there but he quickly dismissed the thought as he quickly grabbed the weapon's control and let a stream of phaser blasts slam into a Hydran bomber analog that crossed his sights which he flew through the remains of the bomber and with Rebel Six regrouped with the rest of their squadron.

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

Vanguard One

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

["Miranda's in trouble!"] one of Corran's pilots called over the the squad frequency.

Corran checked the board quickly, one eye on that, they other keeping an eye on his immediate space. "We're too far to help, Nine." he observed. "Don't worry about it - they're getting assistance from the Concorde and the Hood.."

And then the Starships Concorde and Hood blew up.

"All Good Things..."

Captain Christopher Summers

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom

Lt. Colonel Alex McKeon

Lt. Colonel Rae Weber

Commander Dakota Harris

Lt. Commander Erigone Aello

Lt. Commander Cernu K'rn

Lieutenant John Ramirez

Lieutenant Shiarriel tr'Khianalmae

Lt. Commander Anjoli D'Bari

Lieutenant Th'kiss K'aa

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

Bridge, Deck One,

USS Miranda

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

The Hydran response to the destruction of two of their carriers hurt like hell.

Four heavy cruisers had approached from below. Concentrated fire destroyed one of the Miranda's escorting warbirds - and then turned their fire on Miranda itself. "Report!" Summers yelled over the blaring alarms and shaking of the ship.

"We're taking a hell of a pounding. The damage control crews aren't able to keep up with the damage. Fires are spreading. Shielding systems are showing damage." Aello shouted to be heard. "Damn the tactical advantage, Chris, if it gets us killed. Recommend we put up ablative armor immediately, sir, before we take another hit."

"Shields at 57%," the Rihannsu yelled over the blarings of the damage indicators. "Aft phaser arrays inoperative. Photon stored completely depleted, and we're down to our last 12 quantums."

Commander Harris had her hand pressed to her ear as she reported in.

"Concorde and Hood signal that they're coming to assist, Captain."

"Good." Summers replied, waving off the medtech even as he coughed smoke out once more. On the screen, the carrier and the excelsior-class starship came up along side. "Return fire, Lieutenant

- catch 'em in a crossfire. Mr. Ramirez, optimum firing position, then resume evasive maneuver."

Shiarrael neglected to respond, though the reports from her console told the captain she was hard at work tendering to her chosen trade.

As the Concorde and Hood maneuvered about in response to relayed information from herself, K'aa, and Ramirez, The Miranda's weapons batteries continued to hammer away. Phaser arrays lanced out at any and all targets of opportunity. Quantum torpedoes, 4 of the remaining magazine, lanced out in rapid succession as the main cannon belched it's awesome energies. Amidst all of this the vessels amicable selection of pulse phasers also spoke in their own turns, spitting beads of coherent energy that raked the Miranda's aggressors in angry retribution for the harm heretofore inflicted.

"Got it, sir." the pilot acknowledged, typically keeping his responses to a minimum.

[K'aa to the Captain! Emergency situation to port!], the Gorn's strong voice overpowered the klaxons even over the intercom. [The Concorde isss being outflanked by targetsss Gamma Four through Ten!

Hydran targersss approaching on vector one-eight-nine to the Concorde's fore-port ssshielding - Fusssion Beamss are charging...]

Unfortunately, the Miranda wasn't the only people who could catch someone in a crossfire. Equally unfortunate, Mr. K'aa's warning was too late. As the Concorde was launched volleys into the cruisers who'd attacked the Miranda, a half a dozen Hydran destroyers approached from it's opposite side, hammering the ship's wakened shields until finally, they fell. Escape pods peppered away as someone read off the ship's status until finally, she blew.

Moments later, the Hood suffered the same fate.

"Godspeed." Chris whispered. "Lieutenant, they bought us time. Make sure it isn't wasted.

Once more the Miranda's weapons spoke; this time for their fallen comrades. Shiarrael wasted nothing, guarding her remaining torpedoes for when her prey's shields were down: maximum damage potential. She worked furiously with Ramirez, trading coordinating reports back and forth across the bridge to produce a raging furry the likes of which the Hydrans had never seen before, and quite possibly anyone else.

Miranda had become the incarnate avatar of the Elements, spouting forth her wrath and issuing her harsh judgment at every turn.

Lieutenant K'aa was far from finished in providing dire information.

[More from the Fleet, Captain - the Sao Paulo hasss engaged target Delta Three to protect the Glaxaly'ssss port and inflicted heavy damage to the targer, but ssshe's being ssswarmed by fighersss.

Approaching usss on attach vector one-one-nine are two more destroyersss - targetsss Epsilon Three and Four - ETA until we are within Fusssion Beam range, one-hundred and thirty sssecondsss.]

"Cernu." Jaal said, half-turning to face the sciences station.

"Anything on that Star Beast yet?"

~Nothing ye-..~ he paused as Vr'lu signalled a change, something had registered, a neurogenic field he couldn't yet scan with the Miranda's sensors and was ill-defined ~perhaps, sir...~

"It'd be good of you to make up your mind, Mr. K'rn." Summers replied, and fought to maintain his seating as the ship was struck yet again.

"Shield generators have failed. Shields offline." Aello reported, sounding just a bit hoarse. "If there was ever a time for the ablative armor, this is it."

"Raise the ablative armor," Jaal ordered. It was about damn time. In Jaal's mind it should have been brought up much sooner. Still, the stuff was damned energy intensive to activate, so he understood the Captain's order to wait until the shields were falling.

"Ablaitive armor online!" Shia's console reported that the generators were all still fully functional - a miracle considering the amount of damage Mir had sustained up to this point. The ablative armor matrix - illegal technology until the Borg had broken the Galaxy Treaty six weeks ago - deployed across the Miranda's hull just in time. The protective hull layer - far stronger and more stable than typical shielding expanded it's protective embrace around the Miranda just as the two-ton gorilla in this fight - the Hydran's heretofore absent Starbeast - appeared.

~Captain!~ the Q'lrn science officer broadcasted telepathically.

~Something massive sliding into realspace - it must be the creature!~

"I see it." The Captain replied. "Commander Harris, all ships, this is Captain Summers. Tactical Plan Delta - focus all firepower on the Starbeast!"

And that was the last order Christopher Summers gave before the Starbeast hit its first target - the Federation Starship USS Miranda.

A horrible wrenching sound spread through the hull - along with all breach klaxons, alert sirens, anything you could possibly think of.

Across the ship, crewmen everywhere were thrown from their posts as the ship was - literally - sent spinning.

John Ramirez was one of the only people to stay at his own post - and he was working furiously to stabilize the ship. He didn't have time to report verbally.

Jaal had rolled across the deck to the port wall. Fortunately for him he only suffered some bruises and a small cut on his forehead. He stood once things stabilized. "Everyone all right? Gimme a status report!"

Shia picked herself up and winced. In the process of being flung about she had instinctively grabbed onto the edges of the tactical

rail: the wooden paneling had shattered under the grip of her artificial right hand, which had also dented the duranium paneling just underneath the decorative overlay. That grip had jarred her shoulder, nearly pulling it out of the socket. Otherwise she was alright. Once she looked at her console, however, she let out a string of Rihannsu expletives. Almost her entire board was red or black save for the ablative armor. It was holding and still formed a completely protective envelope from incoming fire, though several sections were showing severe damage.

Alex and Rae had both been thrown from the Intelligence stations to the walkway between them and the command pit. Alex had caught his erstwhile paramour, however, sparing her the worst of the impact. All it had cost him was one damned painful throbbing wrist. Still, he pushed through it back to the engineering station, where Ensign Lanzo had been knocked down. He didn't have to check him - the angle of him neck indicated his fate very well.

"Damn near everything's down!" the Intelligence officer reported to the Commander. "The ablative armor's dented in on the saucer - we've got hull breached across six decks that're still covered by the armor.

Engines and armor are about the only things operational. Life support's running off of emergency power - and you can forget about weapons any time soon, Commander."

That was when Commander Jaxom noticed - the Captain wasn't among those standing up. The first officer tapped his commbadge anxiously.

"Emergency transport! Beam Doctor D'bari to the bridge!" Once the CMO appeared she was led to where Captain Summers lay.

Alex ducked back from the Engineering station as it sparked, cradling his broken wrist. "That's it. Transporters are offline."

Captain Summers lay on the deck, having been thrown across a third of the bridge. An unhealthy amount of blood was pooled on the deck near his head.

Aello pulled herself to her feet. The library station wasn't nearly as secure as main Ops on the bridge. She'd flown a good distance and landed badly, knocking the wind out of her. She might have broken a rib or two. She couldn't tell. Either way it hurt as she gasped for air.

Still, she looked for the captain before her own safety. He lay on the floor, barely breathing. There was blood, too much blood. She scrambled over to him. "Captain?"

No response.

She gently cradled his head. "Chris?" Her hands fumbled, trying to staunch the bleeding. "Damn it, Chris. Focus. You've got a ship to command here. Come on. Focus."

Chris opened his eyes - but truthfully, he couldn't really focus on anything. He'd heard someone yelling for a Doctor - and a transporter?

He wasn't sure.

Too hard to focus. On anything.

D'Bari was furiously scanning over the Captain, trying to determine if he could be moved - or healed here, if necessary.

The prognosis, judging by the look on her face, was not good.

"Jaal." he coughed weakly even as D'Bari tried furiously to fix the head wound. He heard McKeon reporting massive losses among the Romulan ships - at least twenty warbirds destroyed in the last few minutes alone. Copious amount of blood came up with the cough, signifying heavy internal bleeding.

"You relax a bit. Anj'll fix you right up," the Trill told his captain.

"All ships.. retreat." the Captain ordered unmistakably, though he could barely be heard. He didn't acknowledged Jaal's assurances - he knew what was happening. "Pass..." he coughed. "Pass the order, Commander."

It was happening again. It happened at Havras when Brex had been injured, now it was happening again. Jaal knew he was about to take the reins of the Miranda again. This time there would be no retreating to the ready room. No getting sick. A million things were rushing through the Trill's mind now that Summers had given the order to retreat. Would there be time? Would the Hydran forces follow? What about the marines and others trapped on Romulus? What about Era? He gritted his teeth as he told Dakota Harris to pass the order to the rest of the fleet.

It made sense after a bit of rational thinking. They couldn't come back to rescue the others if the ship was destroyed.

"I need to get him to sickbay.." Anjoli breathed softly, and moved to her hand to her commbadge. It was stopped by Aello's own.

"Transporters are down," Aello repeated softly. She knew what was coming now, but she wasn't ready to accept it yet.

Anjoli's gaze darted between Jaxom and Aello, and Chris himself.

"The.. damage is too severe, Captain. I.. I can't do anything here.

I'm sorry."

Chris gave a small snort, though it hurt like hell to do it. As pain-fogged as his mind was, he was having a moment of clarity. He reached up to Aello's face, laying a rough hand on her cheek, remember the silken feeling of her skin - had it only been that morning? So far ago, no. "Allison was right. You were both right."

"I'm not right," Aello lied. "Don't you give up. Fight, damn it."

"I had a.. good run." he finished, and his eyes lolled back, ever so slightly. Captain Christopher Summers, master of the Starship Miranda, called a legend by some.. was dead.

Aello held the Captain a moment longer as his last breath rattled out of him. She should get up and go back to work. She knew that, but of all the people on this cursed boat, Chris had been her captain the longest. Anything beyond that, was unimportant. He was her Captain.

They had been together on Starbase 12. They'd come aboard together.

Hell, she knew he'd secretly had her tapped to follow wherever he got posted, be it the Anchorage, the Miranda, or the gates of Hades itself. Given the way things were going, she might be following him there soon.

A large lump formed in Jaal's throat. In all the battles he'd been in during the Dominion War and afterwards he'd never had a captain die on the bridge. The Trill steadied himself as he bent over and closed Christopher Summer's eyes. At that moment Commander Jaxom vowed silently to avenge his captain's death. He gave Aello a short squeeze on the shoulder before getting up and asking "What've we got left?" in a hoarse voice.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, but she stood. The Centauran woman looked unsteady as she limped over to the library station. She wiped a bloody hand across her brow as she assessed the situation.

[Bridge! Targetsss Epsilon Three and Four nearing Fussion Beam range

- ETA isss currently twelve sssecondssss. Targetsss] K'aa's intercomm from the CIC had the white noise of the tactical department's alarms and monitors in the background, something normally unnoticeable in communicating with the bridge. [Targetsss Gamma Four through Ten now changing courssse to intercept - Hellbore range in twenty-two sssecondsss.]

"Life support at 53%. Power reserves at 35%. The ablative armor is taking a pounding, Jax," she reported, her breathing still ragged.

Pain gripped her voice. "We need space for repairs. We need get clear and regroup. "

"Ramirez, get us outta here," Jaal ordered with his voice back to normal again.

"On it, sir." the Lieutenant replied. "We're getting clear of the engagement zone. Most of fleet's with us."

"We've got acknowledgements coming from all over, Commander." Dakota reported quietly. "What's left of the fleet is pulling out."

"Set course for the Delta rendezvous point, best speed," His eyes caught the tactical disply briefly. 32 starships and warbirds, out of the seventy-six that had been defending Romulus. That was all that was leaving. Jaal stood in front of the captain's chair only slightly reluctant to sit. He didn't feel it would be right to do so until Summers body was removed.

And maybe not even then, he concluded as the stars turned to lines, and the Miranda - and the Fleet - escaped the Hell that Romulus had become.

Prologue:

Jaal Jaxom gave the order. The Miranda's engines balked slightly. Aello could hear it in the harmonics resonating through the decks, but somehow, the stars turned to streaks and they warped away from the debris field left by the Concord and the Hood.

They weren't out of the woods yet. Aello wiped at the sweat on her brow, ignoring the pain in her ribs.

There were some who'd never seen devistation like this before, but Erigone Aello had. Once. It had been a long time since she'd thought about it though.

. . .

Children of the Yamaguchi

by

Cmdr. Jerri Wolfson

Supervisor 369, Aegis Agent

Director of Atlantis R&D - detatched duty (On extended leave of absence)

& Erigone Aello

Future Asst. Director Atlantis R&D

Someone, probably from one of the comic books that Roberta had always fancied, had said that with great power comes great responsibility. In some ways, that was absolutely correct. She could travel in time, she had the power to change it, but she wouldn't. She knew how the smallest thing could change the future. However, that didn't mean she wouldn't meddle from time to time.

Well, to be honest, she meddled a lot. Alien invasion? She was there to thwart it (provided, of course, that it wasn't supposed to happen and she happened to be there at the time). Megalomaniac with the penchant for global or universal domination? She still fancied that someday she'd find one with a tank full of sharks (or whatever the equivalent on that planet was) that actually had laser beams (well, advanced weaponry) attached to their heads. Giving things a gentle nudge (or a good kick in the shins) to go in a certain direction so a certain someone would be right where they needed to be when she needed it? That was easy. Simple, even. All it took was a word, a note, and a specific message implanted in the Starfleet computer system in the past.

Then, et voila, not only did she have a position once again but she also had an assistant. Perhaps she should be concerned with how easily the system was manipulated to her own ends. Perhaps not. At least she knew that she had no desire to give herself infinite wealth and great power. The wealth portion was easy. She had enough to get by - indeed, she had to sometimes invest in failing ventures in the hopes to avoid notice as one of the wealthiest people in the galaxy. Not to mention her need to avoid treading in her own timeline - having two Jerri Wolfsons about was never a good idea. And, if she met herself, well, she had no desire to be any part of the resulting paradox.

But, before she could actually have her assistant and return to the Miranda, there was something she had to do first.

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

Wolf 359

USS Yamaguchi

Evacuee Shuttle

12 'relative' years ago

"The monsters are coming." That's how Erigone Hypolite Aello explained things to small Bolian boy in her arms. He cried as she ran down the corridor with him to the Evacuee Shuttle. "The monsters are coming and your mommy and daddy have to fight them. That's why I'm taking you somewhere safe."

His name was Nial. He was four years old. Erigone babysat him once or twice a month so his parents could have 'grown-up time,' as they called it, since her own mother, Lysistrata, was transferred to the Yamaguchi .

"I want my mommy, Eri," the Bolian boy slurred. The way his accent was thickening, Eri figured he was going to start wailing in his native language any moment now. She had to stay fresh.

She had six more children to find after she deposited this one in the shuttle bay. Six more panicked children lay in hiding in the ship. The teachers had been recruited to help repel the Borg, should it come to that.

Eri was one of two teenagers the children of the Yamaguchi, and the younger of the two by almost six months. Carlos Olivara, at eighteen, was the older. He was the boy genius, already studying pre-medicine at Harvard most of the year for the four years past now, but home aboard the Yamaguchi for his last time before entering Medical School. He was already loaded into the shuttle, waiting for Eri to bring the children there. Most of the children didn't know Carlos like they knew Eri. They didn't trust him to come out of hiding for him, but they would stay with Carlos, if Eri told them to do it.

She had to find the last six. She had to keep the Bolian boy focused. She had to keep him from fighting her. She couldn't waste energy on keeping him under control.

"Remember your mommy told you you were going to go hide, Nial?"

"Yes." He sniffled. A blob of Bolian snot landed on her shoulder. She didn't have time to notice.

"Your mommy has to help your daddy. She has to know that you're hiding, like she told you to, so she doesn't have to worry about you, too. It's just like when I come over to play with you. You like it when I come to play, right?"

Nial nodded weakly. "It's the same thing. That's why you've got my bear, Mr. Fletcher. We're going to play a game and we get to go on a field trip."

Eri hated lying to Nial. If he sensed the lie, he didn't protest. This wasn't a game at all. There was a very good chance they were all going to die. They had no shuttle pilot, even if Eri did manage to round up the rest of the children.

One problem at a time, Eri, she reminded herself. First the children, then the shuttle.

---

The instant that the blue smoke released Jerri into reality, she felt the ship jolt beneath her feet and she had to brace herself to prevent a rather undignified collapse to the floor. She would have to land herself in the midst of a battle 'accidentally on purpose'. However, such were the needs of history - and, of course, of her soon to be assistant.

She glanced at the markings on the wall and congratulated herself on a perfect landing. She was almost at the shuttle bay. And, once there, she could see about putting the timeline on the right path. Tugging on the hem of her uniform - once again, she silently thanked her array o temporally accurate clothing back at her base - she hurried to the shuttle bay.

The cavernous room was half-full of smoke and sparks from the damage that had already been dealt to the ship. She could make out the various shuttlecraft and one that looked the most likely to house the refugees. History dictated that the Yamaguchi would explode just as it dictated that a group of survivors - children mostly - would escape the destruction. And, judging by the various sounds rumbling beneath the decks, she could tell that an overload was starting to build.

Good. She always loved a deadline.

She made a beeline for the shuttlecraft, half-jogging in her haste. When she slipped inside, she grinned at the astonished expressions on the faces of the children. "Hello!" she greeted, counting the number of youths on board. Her smile dropped when she realized that not everyone was there. "I'm Jerri Wolfson," she told the teenager already aboard. "The Captain ordered me to take you lot out of here. Where're the others? There should be at least eight more of you."

She didn't mention that the specific youth she was looking for wasn't here, yet. Mentally, she started calculating the odds of finding the children before the overload reached critical. Of course, they weren't good.

"Eri gonna find," piped up a little human girl in pigtails. "Eri find good." She was holding a teddy bear almost as big as she.

A tall youth in the back eyed the commander with the cynical suspicion common to young humans. He couldn't be more than nineteen at the most. His accent placed him as Centauran, Nova Spartan if she didn't miss her guess. "Aello went after the stragglers. Some of the other children are hiding. Aello said Richardson was going to be piloting us."

She knew this particular young man, if only from the holos. Son of the CMO, if she didn't miss her guess - and she rarely did. "Carlos, isn't it?" Without waiting for a confirmation, she continued, "Richardson was pulled into another duty. I'm the only one that could be spared."

"Carlos Olivara," he confirmed. "I wanted to go after the stragglers myself, but Aello knows them better and the Yamaguchi better than I do. I'm only aboard a couple weeks a year, if Yamaguchi's close when University holidays come up."

It sounded like bravado and excuses. It sounded like guilt and cowardice. The young man was just as scared as the younger children and now he felt guilty because Aello was searching for the missing ones while he sat in the shuttle.

She nodded. "Nice to meet you, Carlos. Now, do you know when Aello left?" She eyed the chronometer on her wrist and fought back the urge to sigh. Time was running out. She listened to his reply as she began the pre-flight sequence for the shuttlecraft. Once that was complete, all she'd have to do was pilot the shuttle out of the shuttlebay. Easy. Simple. And she refused to even think the words that would bring Murphy down upon her back.

"She hasn't been here yet" he replied. "She told me to bring these kids here. She said she'd be along soon, but I haven't seen her yet. I was just thinking of going looking for her."

She shook her head. "Don't. You need to stay here. If anything, I'll go look for her."

Aello skidded into the open shuttle bay. "Run for the shuttle, Nial." The small blue boy ran as fast as his legs would carry him. She was already turning. "Stay with Carlos. I'm going for the Thompson twins favorite hiding spot. With any luck the Hanson brothers will be there, too."

"Stay here," Jerri told Carlos once she spotted the girl. "Watch the kids. I've started the pre-flight sequence. As soon as I get back, we can get out of here." Without bothering to wait for a reply, she ran after Aello.

The teenager ran at the best sprint she could maintain, which was not her top speed, but neither was it her marathon pace, either. It made the seventeen year old hard catch, especially considering the girl wasn't trying to keep anyone with her. Like most children, like Jerri herself aboard the Chisholm, the Centauran girl knew the ship better than most of the engineering crew aboard the ship knew it. She turned down a corridor that the specifications said should terminate in a dead end. By the time Jerri rounded the corner, the girl had disappeared. The only sign of her location was an access panel into the Jeffries tube system tossed carelessly to one side.

At least crawling through the tubes would slow the girl down, assuming she was going any considerable distance. If she used the tubes to access the ventilation system or the access ways, Jerri knew she'd have a hard time tracking the girl. Aello had the advantage: she knew where she was going.

A moment of indecision gripped her. She could follow, and likely find herself either a) lost (though she'd never admit to such a fact) or b) dealing with an overly anxious, distressed, and over-eager teenager who wouldn't exactly be regarding her in the best light. Or c) she could stay here, trust that the girl would find her way back to this access way and from here to the shuttle bay.

The subtle change in pitch of the engines decided her. History dictated that eight more children must be on that shuttlecraft. She glanced at her chrono. And she had exactly fifteen minutes left to make certain that that happened.

"Love deadlines," she muttered to herself as she pulled out the servo. All it would take would be a little bit of MacGyvering and a whole lot of jiggery-pokery to get this to work...

Aello made her way through the tubes and dropped back into the main hallways near the arboretum. The Thompson twins penchant for games of knights and outlaws often brought them down here, where there were real trees. The holodeck was nice, but all the grown-ups got their time first, leaving very little time left over for unchaperoned children.

The ship lurched and rattled. Aello could hear an unfamiliar sound in the background. It told her something wasn't right. It told her time was running out more quickly than she'd hoped.

When she opened the door to the arboretum, nothing looked right. Lights flickered sporadically. The rows of neatly potted plants had been upheaved in the pounding the Yorktown was taking from the Borg.

"Gregory? Geoffrey?" She moved foward, picking her way through the tangled plants. "Ollie ollie oxen free," she called out.

She heard a hum and a hiss. She saw a blinding bright light. She blinked, and then there were monsters.

"Resistance is futile."

. . .

A beep, a flash, and it was done. It might mean a swift crawl through access tunnels, but she was an old pro at that sort of thing. Crawl through one tunnel, crawl through them all. There wasn't much difference save for less advanced technology in evidence everywhere. And who on earth used a isolinear chip for pow- er, right. She had a job to do. Critiquing the local technology could wait.

Thankfully, the access hatch was still open on the other side. Meant she had a bit less to deal with when she got there, plus it meant that finding Aello should be a matter of just slipping through, looking through the foliage, and...oh.

Jerri grimaced as she spotted the bulky forms of the Borg making their way toward Aello. Damnit. Never rained, but it certainly poured cats and dogs and other furry creatures.

She twisted the servo into a new configuration. Good thing she knew these bastards far too well for her own comfort. "Resistance is futile? Honestly, who trained you guys? Ever heard of colloquialisms? Even something to liven it up a bit? Resistance is useless has a bit of a ring to it, don't you think? No?" Jerri asked as she stepped out of the covering and gestured for Aello to get behind her. "Honestly, Borg these days. They never learn."

Aello didn't move. She had heard the Borg had tricks. "Who are you?" She hefted the youngest of the Hanson brothers more firmly only her slender hip."

She shot the girl a wide grin. "Hello, Aello. I'm Jerri. Nice to meet you. When I say run, run, 'kay?" Jerri returned her attention to the Borg. "So, where were we?"

"You will be assimilated," the drone told her. "Your uniqueness will become our own. You-"

"Will become like you, blah, blah, blah. Same old routine. Gets a bit tiring that." Her grin widened as she aimed activated the servo, pointing it toward them. "Say goodnight, Rita."

"Goodnight, Rita?" Aello parroted, sounding altogether uncertain of both the phrase and the woman who spoke it.

The drones emitted a groan-like sound and stopped moving, frozen in place. Oh, how she loved her servo! "Brilliant!" Jerri exclaimed, gesturing toward the door. "They won't stay like that for long, so we'd best get moving. Tricky thing with freezing Borg drones – they have this nasty habit of shaking off the programming."

Aello kicked the closest one. Sure it was down, but it didn't hurt to try to make sure. "What's that thing?" She indicated the small electronic device in Wolfson's hands. "Doesn't look like any phaser I've seen. I made a study of the history of the phaser for my last history report."

"That? Oh, that's a little something I picked up at Arcadia. Wonderful people, Arcadians. You'd like them, provided to can survive the smell," she confided.

"The Arcadians have that?" Aello wondered if they could possibly be the same Arcadians that the Federation had just contacted, because they sure didn't seem to have that level of technology according to the reports her mother made her read to keep up on "current events." "They're sure not sharing, then."

She hefted the twins, one in each arm. Fortunately, they were small for their age. The rest fell into line with her. The engines pitched up again. Aello qualified as a boomer in that she'd spent far more of her 17 years aboard ships than dirtside. She knew the sounds of the engines as well as she knew her own breathing. "I don't like the sound of that," she edged nervously toward Wolfson.

One of the drones moved one of its servos and she bit back a curse. "Right, party's over. Remember when I told you to run, Aello?"

"Of course."

"RUN!" Jerri commanded.

Aello took off, still carrying the Thompson twins. For once she was glad for the "pack training" provided by Lucius Vorenus. How do you know you won't ever have to run carrying an extra hundred pounds? he had asked as she lapped the track. You don't. Now suck it up and pick up the pace, girl. No one's ever going to hand you anything in your life, ever, girl, not even your life. Especially not your life. You want to save it, you save it yourself.

Aello went for the most direct route to the shuttle at the top speed she could manage, which was still much faster than Wolfson would have given the wiry teenager credit for being able to manage with such a load. Behind her, she could hear the Hansons, struggling to keep up.

Katie, the 11 year old, was dragging her three brothers along. Wolfson had the rear, making sure there were no stragglers because there was no time to go back if they lost someone. Thankfully the gods - or whatever passed as the controllers of fate - were smiling upon them. They reached the shuttle bay without incident - provided the increased trembling in the deck and the high-pitched whine that almost transcended human hearing didn't count. Jerri ushered the children inside the shuttlecraft and slapped her palm against the button that raised the shuttle's access hatch. "Strap 'em in," she instructed and moved to the front of the craft, slipping her servo - which she'd kept at hand - into her pocket.

Her pre-flight checks had held, it was only a matter of hitting the metaphorical ignition and leaving the shuttle bay. Without bothering to warn her passengers, she activated the controls, lifting the shuttle onto its antigravs. Another press of a button and the bay doors began to open, the shimmer of the force field that maintained pressure flickering as the power surged and ebbed with the overload.

Power failed for a moment, sending the bay into darkness that was punctuated by the flash of phaser fire from the firefight outside. When power returned, the bay doors began to slide shut and she bit back another curse. "Hold on back there," she instructed tersely, slapping her hand against the safety override switch.

This would be tricky.

She increased the power of the impulse engines, sending them rocketing toward the narrowing exit. With a loud scraping noise, the shuttle escaped the dying starship and rocketed into the midst of the battle.

"See? Easy," Jerri muttered.

The Yamaguchi exploded. The shuttle hurtled forward, bouncing along in the leading edge of the shock wave. Erigone Hypolite Aello wasn't listening. The Yamaguchi was her world. It had held her whole life. Her whole life was gone in the wink of an eye. She touched the window.

"Lysistrata," she whispered. "Mother."

The little pig-tailed girl handed Aello a teddy bear. "Eri needs her teddy back," the girl sniffled. The little girl stroked Aello's shoulder, in the perfect imitation of an adult. "It be okay, Eri. It be okay."

Epilogue:

. . .

No one had come to remove the Captain yet. No one had time to lay him in state. There were too many other things to do. The dead would wait for the living. They could wait for the machines the living needed to stay alive. The dead did not complain.

Aello thought Summers almost looked peaceful laying there, waiting for his turn for attention.

She glanced over at Jaal. Aello was sure he'd told her things would be okay. She nodded numbly. "Things are stable," she reported, "but it's going to be a long time before they're anywhere near 'okay.'"

"The Declared"

By

Commander Taloras

Commanding Officer

I.R.W. Mahak

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

"Commander?"

Taloras looked up. "Yes?"

"The Hydran fleet is dropping out of warp and preparing to engage."

The ops officer announced quietly. "Our defense fleet and the Starfleet ships are lining up to challenge."

"On-screen."

The I.R.W. Mahak's (or R.I.S., or R.S.C., or R.S.E., depending which Federation xenoanthropologist or cranky Navy admiral one spoke with and depending what day of the week it was) primary viewscreen brightened, displaying a strategic display of the twin home-worlds, which was surrounded by a halo of blue and green tactical markers.

A swarm of angry red points suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The blue and green points surged forward to meet them, but Taloras noted in despair that they were badly outnumbered.

"Commander, we have audiovisual uplink from one of the Starfleet vessels."

"Patch in." Sub-commander S'anra said from the chair at her side.

The screen lit up with the bright flash of a torpedo explosion, making everyone on the bridge flinch.

=/\=Fighters inbound! Scramble interceptors and ready all defensive disruptor banks-=/\=

=/\=Lexington to Akira, one of the larger Hydran cruisers is engaging in a strafing maneuver with fusion cannons, repeat-=/\=

=/\=Aft shields down! Bring us about and stand by with the dorsal phasers-=/\=

=/\=Reading variable instability in target gamma's supralight generator, prepare a full volley of plasma torpedoes-=/\=

=/\=Hellbore, incoming! Brace!=/\=

Space lit up briefly with the glow of a thousand suns, forcing Taloras to shield her eyes. "By the gods..." the tactical officer mumbled, but she didn't have the heart to silence him.

She heard a scoff from behind her, and turned around slowly in her seat.

"They will not succeed." The smirking centurion at the weapons station announced.

"And why not, centurion?" S'anra asked.

His smirk broadened. "We are Rihannsu. That is reason enough."

In one smooth motion, Taloras stepped out of her chair, strode across the bridge, and backhanded the weapons officer across the jaw.

"Fool!" She shrieked. She jabbed a finger at the viewscreen, just as two D'deridex warbirds were blown to glitters. "Look at that! We are being exterminated by an enemy that vastly outnumbers and out-guns us."

The centurion rubbed his jaw and winced. "But-"

"But what? It's people like you that parrot on about mnhei'sahe even while your ship is being blown out from under your feet. We are being exterminated, and all you can talk about is Rihannsu valour and superiority."

She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him closer. "Tell me, what use is mnhei'sahe if you are dead?"

The centurion collapsed in to a quivering pile at her feet.

"Get off my bridge." Taloras growled.

She turned to face the viewscreen again, watching as another warbird silently consigned itself to the void.

"Audio off." she ordered.

"But-"

"Off." she repeated.

"Yes, commander."

She returned to the center chair and sat down with a sigh. "Switch channels."

A number of beeps from the ops console answered her. "Now displaying audiovisual uplink 314."

The view on the main screen abruptly shifted, showing a panoramic view of Ki Baratan.

"No..."

A thick pall of black smoke came from the financial district, where a downed Hydran troop transport had drilled a messy hole through a number of buildings. Though the uplink wasn't of high quality, Taloras could still make out the shapes of figures moving in the water around a blown-up bridge near the administrative district. Grimly, she noted that there were far more motionless figures than moving ones.

"Scans?"

The science officer hunched over her console. "Forwarded data shows that the troop transports were launched from a smaller second fleet that bypassed the defense ships and is in low orbit of ch'Rihan. The Hydrans have breached several defensive perimeters, but our troops and Starfleet marines are making their advance...difficult."

What seemed like a solid wall of plasma torpedoes and disruptor beams erupted from one of the defense structures. A bracket of Hydran transports and fighters tried desperately to evade, but the mass of plasma and nadion particles moving at .5 cee had other ideas.

"Ah...some planetary defenses would appear to remain operational." She added. Her eyes moved downwards, following the progress of the smoking duranium hulks as they fell in to the river.

Taloras nodded, while next to her S'anra let out a sigh of relief. "At least something's going right today..."

Silently, they watched the scene play out before them, until...

"Commander, sensor uplink indicates a strong subspace disturbance at the site of the engagement."

"Display."

The main viewer re-focused on the fleet, just in time to show a huge-

"Ahlhvnau ch'Stelam-a..." Taloras breathed.

The thing lashed out immediately, and Taloras winced as an appendage smashed the Miranda across the side and sent it spinning away like a top. Other limbs lashed out, neatly cleaving a trio of warbirds and a Starfleet cruiser in two.

The ops officer paled visibly. "Commander, a general retreat order has been issued. Approximately half the fleet is in condition to respond."

"Half?"

"Yes, commander."

Taloras sighed.

One of the creature's tentacles shot out towards the camera, and the screen filled with static.

"Commander?"

She turned to the young subcenturion at the auxiliary engineering console. "Subcenturion..."

"What happens now?"

Oh, Shaav-Taloras thought-I hope you're alright. "Now, we wait."

"Wait for what?"

She looked around the bridge, at all the worried faces of her subordinates, and suddenly felt very tired.

"Destiny."

OOC: For those who need a visual, t'Kalderak is portrayed by Anjelica Huston and tr'Vrentath is portrayed by Jeremy Irons. I leave the remaining three to your imagination.

"Mess With the Beast..."

Riov Khellera t'Kalderak, Commanding Officer
erei'Riov Colius tr'Vrentath, Executive Officer
Arrain Dhael t'Tei, Helm
Arrain Nuhir t'Rehu, Ops
erei'Arrain Khoal tr'Lhoell, Sensors

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

Main Bridge

IRV D'Decius

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

"Helm, bring us about." The voice of Riov t'Kalderak, smooth as always, cut through the chaos of battle.

The young woman at the Helm station nodded sharply, her fingers making crisp tapping sounds against the surface of her console. The D'Decius' massive bulk tore through space with a speed rarely exhibited by D'deridex class vessels, easily evading ships much smaller in size.

t'Kalderak smiled to herself. Her bird might be old, but it could soar like no other. Two decades in the center chair, two decades making custom modifications, two decades grooming her crew...Khellera had had more than enough time to truly make this ship and its crew her own.

Sitting across from the helmsman, the ship's XO continued his methodic crippling and disposal of all Hydran craft that got in their way. Ordinarily tr'Vrentath would have been seated at his commander's side, but he had elected instead to man the primary weapons console. He had been a weapons officer in the past, and there were very few aboard who knew the D'Decius' weapons systems as well as he. He was prepared to lay his life down for the Empire, but he was not prepared to allow some unexperienced upstart to make theirs a premature end.

"Six more Hydran cruisers crippled or destroyed," tr'Vrentath reported without looking away from his console. "Targeting the next group."

"Adjusting course to one six zero," Arrain t'Tei, the helmsman, added, turning the nose of the ship directly towards their targets.

"Shield status."

"Shields at sixty percent and holding, sir." Arrain t'Rehu, the woman at Ops, turned to face the Riov. Although well into middle age, t'Rehu was a very striking woman and could have almost been considered beautiful...if it hadn't been for the scar tissue covering most of the left side of her face. Khellera t'Kalderak still couldn't understand why the woman hadn't committed suicide after losing half her face in the war against the Dominion. A Rihannsu woman's sexuality was as powerful a weapon as any, after all. Khellera couldn't stand looking at the woman; if it hadn't been for her skill in Operations, t'Rehu would have been transferred to a less desirable assignment long ago.

"Good," Khellera replied simply, without turning to face t'Rehu. "tr'Vre--"

"Sir! The Hydrans' pet has appeared!"

t'Kalderak shot a withering look towards the junior officer manning the sensors; both for interrupting her and for failing to immediately silence the cacophony of beeps and screeches now emanating from his console. "Cease that noise," she commanded quietly, then turned back to regarding the main viewer. "On screen."

The view clicked over immediately, showing a section of space somewhere off their starboard side. The massive Star Beast had just finished decloaking, and seemed to be wasting no time in joining the melee. Tentacles as thick as one of the smaller Starfleet vessels began lashing out, knocking erratically into Hydran, Federation, and Rihannsu ships alike.

"By the Elements..." she heard someone breathe. Probably t'Rehu, she thought, the idea twisting her upper lip subconsciously into a sneer. The woman had never had the courage to face death head-on.

"Intercept course. Take us in," the Riov called out, her sneer turning into a sadistic grin. "It is time for us to take our place in the annals of history, as the ship that destroyed this despicable creature. For the Empire!"

"The Empire!"

Unfortunately for Riov t'Kalderak and the four hundred and thirty seven members of her skeleton crew, that moment would not come. Less than ten seconds after it had appeared, the Star Beast had decided that its nearby blue-purple companions were a bit too close for comfort. Sweeping a massive tentacle outward it knocked aside two Hydran heavy cruisers, smashing them into the D'Decius like marbles. The trio of ships exploded almost simultaneously, sending a massive shockwave outward...and back towards the Star Beast.

And unfortunately for the remaining ships, the blast did little more than anger the Beast.

It was going to be a tough battle.

"An Never Ending Fight."

by Dr. Kisha Ventar

People seemed to be pouring into Sickbay after the big jolt that tossed everyone about. There were many injured from it with a few requiring the expertise of dr. Kisha Ventar. The operating room was running on emergency power which made it difficult but not impossible.

"Dr. Ventar, the patient is sedated and prepped. Shall I assist?"

"Yes, please." Kisha smiled half-heartedly. She picked up the laser scalpel and opened up his stomach. "Hmmm, there is so much blood. Hand me the thrombic modulator." Kisha suctioned out most of the blood but his blood wasn't coagulating.

After using it, she was able to stop the bleeding and proceed to fix up the injury. Using the microsuture, she managed to fuse back the liver that had been almost torn in half. She couldn't save his kidney but it was not a problem. She gave him some medication which would regrow his much needed kidney.

"Close him up and bring in the next one." She patched up the second one but the third was much trickier. He had broken every single rib on his right side. Two ribs had pierced through his lung, his collar bone was crushed and he had multiple internal injuries. There was nothing she could do. She'd repair one bleed and another would begin. Alarms went off.

"Doctor, his blood pressure is dropping." Kisha barked out some orders. The assistant was very quick but even quickness wouldn't save this patient, "Doctor, his heart has stopped."

"Cardio stimulator." she tried to jolt the heart but after five tries, it was too late. If only they could have gotten to him sooner. With the transporters out, the jeffries tubes were their only hope.

Kishe covered him up with a blanket and was transferred to the morgue. Kisha left the operation room to assist sickbay. It was the only thing she could do to keep her mind off the ones whom she couldn't save.

"Succession"

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Acting Chief Counselor
USS Exeter

Cpt. Margarethe Vogler
CO
USS Exeter

Various officers

"Report, Mister Mullen!" Maggie Vogler's strong military voice sliced through the alert klaxons and other sounds of a ship under fire. The Hydran fighters' assault had continued unabated and was starting to take a toll on both the ship's power grid and the crew's nerves.

"We have random power outages ship-wide, Captain. However, sensors, propulsion and all other critical systems appear to operating normally."

"Engineering! Do whatever you have to to stabilize the power grid but make sure engines, defensive systems and life support remain operational."

=/\=We're still working on it, Captain,=/\= came the Chief Engineer's clearly frustrated response. The Hydran fighters' strategically concentrated efforts were taking their toll on the starship.

=/\=They've nailed several of our primary relays now and we're trying to cover with secondaries. It's a lot of strain on them but I'm doing my best to make sure critical systems don't go down.=/\=

"They know just where to hit us," Commander Reardon commented to the captain.

"And they're not lettin' up," Vogler added. "For every one we take out, two more take its place. The little bastards might not be able to destroy us outright, but they're making it damn hard for us to function. Mister Nguyen, keep trying to shake 'em. Mister Brockman, keep blastin' the hell out of them."

From the secondary Ops station, Brian Elessidil had been monitoring fleet-wide communications, and the news wasn't pretty.

"Captain!" The counselor paused his alert to be sure he'd heard correctly. "We've lost the Concorde and the Hood."

"God dammit," Vogler cursed in response.

"Life support failures on decks six through nine, sections A-20 through H-14," Lt. Mullen chimed in.

"Have all personnel evacuate those sections immediately, Lieutenant,"

the first officer ordered as the ship shuddered from yet another series of concentrated fighter fire.

"Engineering!" Maggie snapped.

=/\=All primary relays are out, Captain. I don't understand, it's like they--=/\=

"-- knew just where to hit us," Vogler completed for him impatiently.

"Apparently they did, Lieutenant."

=/\=I'm doing everything I can to keep our critical systems going, but between weapons and the beating the shields are taking, we're using a lot of power and the secondary relays just weren't designed to handle all that on their own.=/\=

"I'm sure the structural integrity fields are working overtime too where the fighters have been concentrating their fire," Commander Reardon added.

=/\=It's not helping the situation,=/\= Lt. Barrett agreed.

"And we're the lucky ones so far," the captain added. "Those fighters are a pain in my ass, but at least the at least we're not staring down the barrel of a Hellbore cannon . . . yet."

Then the situation got even worse.

=/\=All ships, this is Captain Summers. Tactical Plan Delta - focus all firepower on the Starbeast!=/\=

Captain Vogler immediately stood. "On screen!" she ordered. A second later, the view had switched from the swarm of fighters surrounding the Exeter to the huge form that now filled the battle zone. Even the battle-hardened CO looked on in horror as gasps emanated from around the bridge. "Ensign Brockman, lock all weapons on that thing and fire at will!"

From every part of the fleet -- what remained of it -- torpedoes and phaser and disruptor fire blasted out at the beast in a vain attempt to break off its attack, one way or another. But the beast seemed only to grow irritated. Lashing its tentacles like giant whips it indiscriminately destroyed whatever ships got in its way, Federation, Romulan and Hydran alike.

Meanwhile, the fighters continued their relentless strategic assault on the Exeter unfettered as the ship's weapons trained on the starbeast.

"Aft shields failing," Lt. Mullen announced.

=/\=I can't do anything about it, Captain,=/\= Lieutenant Barret spoke up from Engineering, knowing Vogler was going to call for him to report anyway. =/\=It's the aft shields or the weapons, I can't give you both. Secondary power relays are strained to the limit.=/\=

"Keep firing, Mr. Brockman!" the Captain ordered. If they didn't destroy that thing out there aft shields weren't going to do them any good anyway.

A moment later, a huge dark mass blotted out the stars and the rest of the fleet on the Exeter's view screen as one of the starbeast's tentacles found the beleaguered ship. The appendage impacted squarely at the bridge, throwing the crew from their chairs and bringing down a large structural beam in a shower of sparks and debris. Lights and consoles flickered on and off as the ship hurtled downward. Elessidil could feel the surge of terror and surprise from the entire crew come at him like a tsunami, a force that impacted him almost as strongly as the swat from the beast.

When the ship's tumbling finally stopped, the soft red glow of emergency lighting filled the bridge. Some of the bodies that had been scattered slowly got up. Some did not.

Picking himself up after being slammed against the turbolift doors along with a rather tall and sturdy-looking female ensign, Brian helped her up in turn. "Are you alright?" he inquired, his voice sounding loudly in his hears in contrast to the relative quiet that filled the space, save for the pop and fizzle of a few control panels and consoles. At least the hit from the starbeast had thrown them away from the fighters, many of which had been swept away at the same time.

"Yes, I - I think so," she answered.

The next thing the counselor saw was the bloodied figure of Captain Vogler, her lower half pinned under the fallen beam.

"Captain!" he called out, moving quickly toward her while ignoring his own cuts and bruises. "Captain Vogler, can you hear me?" He instinctively felt for a pulse, although his native empathic sense told him she was still alive -- barely. Several feet behind where Brian now knelt next to the fallen beam, Lt. Mullen and a couple others carefully got to their feet, assessing the condition of their fellow crewmates.

"Commander Reardon's dead," the tall female ensign Brian had helped up before solemnly announced. She knelt next to the former first officer's body, his blood still on her fingers from where she'd felt for some definitive sign of life.

A moment later, the whir of some of the bridge's systems resumed.

Someone must have still been alive in Engineering. Lt. Mullen made his way to helm, unsure where Ensign Nguyen had ended up or even if he was alive.

"We have navigation." The man's voice clearly expressed everyone's shared feeling that they were witnessing a miracle. "Bridge to Engineering," he called out, tapping his combadge.

There was a cough followed by the crackle of some sparking, and . . .

the dull thrum of Exeter's warp engines. =/\=Barrett here.=/\=

"What's the situation down there, Lieutenant?" Mullen demanded.

=/\=Tossed around, some minor power overloads . . . what was that?"

"Hydran starbeast. Can we get out of here?"

=/\=Yeah . . . yeah, I think so," Barrett replied with a little uncertainty. "Warp engines are still online; we were on the right side of ship," he said, referring to the beast's attack striking the bridge.

"The Miranda's giving the order to retreat," the tall ensign announced from Ops after investigating if communications systems were still operative.

"Do...it," came a light, raspy voice. It was Captain Vogler.

From his seat at the helm, Lieutenant Mullen immediately set about executing his CO's second to last order.

Her punctured lungs barely able to supply enough air to speak, she weakly moved her hand into contact with Counselor Elessidil's wrist.

"Yo--" her voice cut off in a light huffing sound that normally would have been a cough. "You're...in command...'Commander," she said without even opening her eyes. "Go..." Her final order given, her lips parted as she exhaled her last breath.

A second later, Maggie Vogler was dead and Brian Elessidil was in command of the starship Exeter.

listen to the sound of the ocean inside

Kit Jordan Elaithin

with unauthorized appearances of:

Elaithin Jii

Kerec

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

Occasionally, there are events in history during which time seems to pause, at least for a moment, in order to allow the greater cosmos to appreciate what is taking place. Just a reality, one plain and simple, one that expanded to every civilization in the known universe and, more than likely, beyond it. And those moment, those events, were those that would restructure the Shape of Things. More often than not, they could be identified in a heartbeat.

The Clash of Titans, of Civilizations, that was taking place above their heads was just such an instant. Those on the planet couldn't hear it; sound didn't travel in space, not really, that which one 'heard' was just the perception of sound. Aside from the occasional whine of plasma weaponry searing into the planet's atmosphere, they watched the lights in the darkening dusk sky in silence with breath baited. Romulan, human alike. The screams of fear from the civilians had all but ceased as they appreciated the enormity of the situation.

They all watched but one, the only one amongst them all that knew one-hundred-percent for-certain whether or not there was that indefinable "something more" after the mortal coil was shrugged away.

Jordan Elaithin's body settled down into the dust against the foot of a building that formed one of the Romulan city's famous squares. Civilians of all sizes were gathered there, watching, and she watched as well, though from a very different point of view. Her head rested against knees tucked up toward her chest, her eyes vacantly staring across the square while images played through her mind like a dream or an old movie. In that manner, she watched blissfully detached as the Hydrans confronted the Romulan and Starfleet coalition, the very same whose lights were being watched by the populace that surrounded her.

She had seen this chaos already, had felt it before it happened here, had done so earlier, as it tore across the systems to get to this last stand. But the brutality of it was no less beautiful now than it had been before; it was no less perfect.

Inside the ships saw nothing different: indiscriminant and beautifully ugly, merciless death. The popping of consoles, the burning of the internal atmospheres as explosions burst through the hulls, ripped through the corridors, taking men and women and otherwise with the children and the humans and the Vulcans and the Bajorans and every other species with abandon. The infernos spread, feeding, sweeping out until they became nothing but a beautiful burst of raw energy rupturing into the Black and, thus spent, they tapered out, having consumed all in that space. The thousands of souls that cried out in agony barely amounted to a whisper within The Greater Whole.

And then there was a dark and sickening silence as that beast emerged, a sparkling colossus surfacing within the battered and bruised remainders of the broken Fleet, the very fabric of the universe itself pushing the creature through. The Starbeast's inky tentacles flailed in an unpredictable but wholly methodical manner, achieving exactly as it meant

to: destruction and death, dealing such things amongst the vessels, the crews of which had no worldly idea how to fight this creature. Its consciousness could not be assessed, its actions could not be predetermined, its tactics went beyond those the computers could understand or that the crews had been trained to anticipate. It operated instinctually. There was no logic other than that.

It took but a couple of seconds, enough time for it to wind up and fling a giant tentacle to the side. The result was, perhaps, catastrophic as a great ship went freewheeling, helpless, through space, tumbling above the planet, spinning.

Blood.

Death.

Pain.

Emotional, physical, spiritual.

Destructive. Ruinous.

"Jaal hates the Captain's chair," she whispered.

"Jordan?"

She blinked slowly for a moment, her focus coming back.

She was laying on a cot somewhere dark. It took her a moment to realize they were back in the underground passageways. There were voices in another area, not too far removed. The ambiance was sad and dark, almost as dark as the physical place itself. Jii was crouched next to her, his real hand on her forehead, his other rested gently on her stomach. Kerec stood in a makeshift doorway; dividers had been propped up, likely far before the Hydran incursion. It was as civilized as it could be, a safe house of some sort, likely for the resistance.

"What?" she murmured, confused for a moment, before pushing herself up, through Jii's protests.

"You-- went into a state," Jii said. "We met up with the resistance. What did you mean by that?"

"By what?" she questioned, looking at him. "How long was I out?"

"Nearly fourteen hours," Kerec said, voice low.

"The Hydrans are now concentrating on the planet," Jii informed her. "The battle--" He stopped speaking.

"Why did you not inform us that you were unwell?" Kerec asked.

She looked at the Romulan wordlessly before looking back at her husband. "What is it we need to do, now?"

"Jordan--"

"I'm fine Jii. It's fine. What do we need to do?"

"We're attempting to regroup all the Starfleet and Romulan military personnel still on the planet. There've been reports of a single officer in the outskirts."

"Let's go," she said, standing, grabbing the jacket from the end of the cot.

"Jordan."

"I don't ask you, Jii," she said, looking back at him. "I'm fine. Let's find our people."

"Chilling News"

Lieutenant Erastus Ampete

Assistant Chief of Science - USS Miranda

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

A mental hospital, somewhere outside Ra'tleihfi, Romulus

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

Era had slept soundly through the night. It was the first time since she'd come in to the hospital that she'd achieved a restful sleep.

When she awoke, she discovered why. Bas'an still hadn't returned. As she stared pensively at his empty, unmade bed, she felt a strange sensation of loneliness. Not that she hadn't already felt lonely in the hospital's confines. She missed Jaal. She missed For'kel and Bery and even Spa'an's calm oversight. She missed the Mir. She really missed Jaal. She never thought she'd miss having a roommate - particularly not one as 'unique' as Bas'an.

When an orderly arrived around mid-morning to bring her out to the activity hall, Era refused. Her mind had shut down over the course of the night, but now it was back in full gear, trying to define what "mental illness" was and how she could show she didn't have it.

"Miss, the activity session is mandatory." Well, it was mandatory for a specific reason, it was the only place with functioning replicators where they could feed the patients. "I'd rather not have to bring you there, please come willingly."

Era had a moment's difficulty. Her training told her that she should be as non-cooperative as reasonably possible. Her definition-in-progress of mental illness told her she should not do anything that could be interpreted as a) aggressive, b) unreasonable,

c) futile, d) bloody stupid. And she was hungry. The scent of eggs wafted in through the open door. "Alright," she agreed, sliding her feet into the fuzzy slippers before standing up. "I don't suppose you have any non-popup books I could read?"

The orderly gave a small smile. "I'll do my best to find you something, ma'am." It would have been much easier if the computer was operational, granted... then it would be a matter of simply downloading a selected text. However that option was out... hopefully there was something satisfactory downloaded already or written in actual text.

It was the first time anyone on the inside had addressed her so politely, without condescension. It brought a genuine smile to Era's face and she raised her chin higher.

When the door opened, other patients had already been assembled, and a breakfast of eggs, some sort of Romulan derivative of either sausage or bacon, and a glass of an exotic fruit juice were being served. Tir'len had seen to something of a change in the menu... it was obvious the last dish didn't go over well with a good number of patients, and hopefully something more 'universal'

might be appealing. Breakfast was the last thing on his mind however... his sleep had been troubled. He'd found the child of which Era had been speaking...

sure enough the medic that had treated him described a woman fitting Era's description. On the one hand he didn't want to believe it... that such a mistake had been made. On the other, he couldn't continue making the same mistake over and over again out of his own personal guilt... could he?

Era sat down at one of the open spots along the line. Over the half week she'd spent here, she'd come to notice the habitual seating arrangement of the patients. It was not unlike a school classroom.

There were no assigned seats, yet everyone had their favourite spot and became upset if someone else usurped it. At the far end sat the louder patients - those who talked incessantly to each other. Just down from them were the mutterers - they too talked incessantly, but their interlocutor was wedged firmly between their own ears. It proceeded in a continuum, down to the silent, distrustful paranoids at the very end.

Era found her home somewhere in the middle. She lifted the spork with a helping of eggs, then looked over at Tir'len. She didn't know if he still believed her, as he had yesterday, but she figured giving him a nod of acknowledgement wouldn't hurt. She hoped, at any rate. It seemed safe enough. The second-guessing caused the nod to be rather abrupt.

All he could do was return her nod with an unsure smile... who the hell would forgive a mistake of this magnitude from having been made? That was of course presuming it was indeed a mistake. There was still a small, increasingly minute chance that he was right after all, that she was an admitted patient, and possibly escaped only to return with the child. Damnit, how the hell could he rationally explain her escaping when the hospital's security was at it's tightest only to return?

Well, there was no need to bother her now. She deserved a chance to eat.

Once she was done however, he made his way over, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Why don't we go to the office and talk?"

Era controlled the urge to pull away from his touch. Leaving the empty dish behind for the orderlies to buss, she followed him quietly down the hall and into his office. Behind her back, her fists rhythmically clenched and unclenched. "Yes?" she asked once the door was closed.

There was hesitation in the question, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Tir'len may not have had much experience, but he knew when someone was repulsed. It was rather clear she didn't like him in any respect.. exactly who would following being interned in a mental hospital wrongly? He went behind his desk, collapsing tiredly into the chair, leaving Era to take her choice of seat on the opposite side. "All right... let's suppose for a moment you're 'not'

crazy... and let's suppose a mistake 'has' been made. What would you intend on doing now? You can't very well walk outside... they'll shoot you on sight."

A succession of options flitted across Era's mind, more than one of which involved her hands around his neck. "It would be better than remaining in here."

"How do you figure that?" Tir'len raised an eyebrow. "Here you're at least safe. If you go out there, they'll probably shoot you on sight... and we have no way of getting a message to any Starfleet ship, our communications assembly was destroyed in the fighting."

"Then I would find someone else whose communications had 'not' been knocked out. Or I would find my bag, unless you have done so and are withholding it from me. Is that why you are now entertaining my innocence?" Era had remained standing, her hands gripped together behind her back, her feet spaced shoulder width apart in the intergalactic "I'm military and I'll be damned if you're going to tell me otherwise" attitude.

He slammed his fist on his desk, jumping to his feet. "Exactly 'who' the hell do you think I am that you would even consider such a thing?!"

"I think you're a small little man who has had too much responsibility placed on his shoulders too quickly and the only way he knows how to manage the fact his world is falling apart is by being as petty and vindictive as possible." Era had decided that 'nice' did not win you mental health points. After all, the nicest people she'd met so far were the patients. "So no, of course you're not considering it. Was that all you had to say to me?"

"You are one ignorant, arrogant bitch, has anyone ever told you that?!"

Tir'len fumed, before forcing himself to calm down. This wasn't getting them anywhere. "I found the child you said you brought in... and the medic who treated him gave me a description fitting you. So 'yes', before you start answering the questions you ask 'for' me, I 'am' considering the possibility. Next time it might 'behoove' you to think before you speak, as you military types supposedly pride yourselves on. You, who shrieks when faced when the handicapped, who advocates the genocide of those incapable of defending themselves 'dare' to stand in judgment of me?! In case you haven't noticed I 'stayed' where I was supposed to be, even when you people in your uniforms, carrying your weapons, who've been charged with our defense ran like the cowards you are underneath the handsome uniforms and false bravado! Don't you 'dare' talk down to me!"

Era winced at the tirade. Several words jumped out at her that she wanted to argue against: genocide, shrieks, ran like cowards. Her eyes locked on his and she took a step forward, her palms slamming down onto the desk as she leaned forward. He wasn't her superior officer, she reminded herself. She didn't have to take this with a smile. "I have been here almost a week and only 'now' you get off your sorry ass to find out if you're holding me unjustly, and you think that should make me feel charitable to your most recent efforts? I do 'not' shriek in the face of the handicapped. I work beside them every damn day. I do not advocate genocide - on any level. So before you begin bandying accusations, take a look at your own people. Why do you think you have Remans eager to attack you? Why do you think the Federation was even called in here? Because you're too irrationally witless to do anything with an olive branch other than hit the messenger about the face!" Era left out the bit about Starfleet running away. She didn't know what the situation outside was. She was positive that they hadn't run, but without knowing the cards he held, she couldn't bluff without posturing.

"I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you have! And in case you haven't noticed, between your continuous assaults, erratic behavior, and the utter lack of staff at my disposal, I've been doing the best I can!" By now people were looking through the glass partition at the shouting they could hear.

"I've treated you with nothing but respect at every opportunity, and in turn I've been slugged, wrestled with, run ragged, and disparaged in equal measure!

Excuse the hell out of me for believing someone who was sleeping in one of our beds, speaking incoherently, with grand tales of starships that aren't around, and who 'imaginatively' wet a bed sheet to try and escape, who snaps at the slightest things, was mentally unstable! How the 'hell' could I have made such a mistake I wonder?! Then on top of that there was the whole 'why don't you just kill all these drains on society we call patients' talk... 'loved' that one."

The fact she dared say anything bad about the Empire certainly didn't help matters at all. "And now you want to go trudging out unarmed into enemy controlled territory with no destination in mind and no way of being rescued.

Doesn't that just fit in under the heading of well thought out?"

Era took in a very deep breath and took a step back. She took another.

"Have you 'ever' been imprisoned?" she seethed.

"I've been stuck here longer than you have, and not because I 'want' to be here I can tell you that! If I leave this building, I'll probably be shot.

Hell, I've been shot at while 'inside' the damn building, and I've been living here, with my patients, since before the fighting broke out. On top of that, I've been assaulted, insulted, and deprived of anything resembling decent sleep or food! Does 'that' qualify enough as a God damned prison for you?" Tir'len was really loosing his patience with this woman. Perhaps he should just let her go and get killed like the fool she was.

"But you 'can' go! Yes, you'll probably be shot and killed, and I'd shake any man's hand who so much as took aim at you. But the difference between you and me, the very 'important' difference, is that you 'can' leave." Era turned and saw the faces peering in through the window. Then she saw the key sticking out of the lock. It was an old building. New equipment had been installed as money had permitted, but simple things like office doors were, when it came right down to it, a plank of wood with a brass knob and a bolt that turned with help from a little silver key. Era swiftly turned the key in the lock, removed it and lowered the blinds. "Now you'll get the taste of incarceration without that option."

"And you as a cell mate?" Tir'len actually started laughing. When it started, he really couldn't stop it. So wound up with the fighting and all, that this rather comedic gesture highlighted exactly how stupid and childish both of them were being, forcing a lot to the surface. Stopping himself with a great deal of effort, he managed to add "that lock doesn't even work." before laughing all over again.

Era didn't find the situation funny. She'd been trying to prove a point, or teach him a lesson - she'd settle for either - and again he'd succeeded in out-maneuvering her. This time without even doing anything. It was damn annoying. With a groan, she slid down the wall to land sitting on the floor. She tossed the key onto his desk.

He stopped again, the laugh having run it's course. Taking a deep breath, Tir'len figured it best to try and start over, calmly. "Listen... we're both going about this the wrong way. It's obvious you shouldn't leave for your own safety... but you shouldn't be locked up either. Why don't you wait here?

Chances are, given the size of the building and the refugees we're holding, that if anyone returns looking for you, they might try here. You won't have to stay in a room if you choose not to... but quite frankly we can use an extra pair of hands. I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you, but we're all just trying to make the best of a very bad situation. Please, try and understand that much."

"You don't have to speak to me like a child," Era sighed. She still didn't like the man, still didn't trust him, and the fact of the matter was her status had changed very little. "If I should try to leave, would you stop me?"

"I'm not talking to you like a child!" Damn this woman was annoying. "But the answer is no... if you want to go, go. But I'm telling you, it's better if you stay. Here you can take cover, and stay out of the way of phaser fire... at least until your ship returns."

"That is... satisfactory." She'd been looking at her slippers since the moment her butt had hit the floor. Now she looked up at him. "Did you mean what you said? About the Federation withdrawing?"

"I... didn't mean to be so offensive about it, but the fleet did leave." He waved her over to a small screen mounted on a wall, and replayed an emergency news broadcast, the last one dispatched. In it, in addition to the typical cautionary news and statements to remain indoors or inside shelters, there was a mention of the fleet in orbit fleeing. "That's the last we got before the broadcasting network was disabled. If it wasn't for the independent data storage in the screens themselves I'd never have the information to give you. I found it buried."

"I'm sure they had a good reason," Era assured them both, rising to her feet. "It's old data anyway. A lot could have happened since."

"If they'd come back... there would probably be heavier fighting. For the moment, it's best not to assume anything." He didn't want to make her lose hope, but he didn't want to leave her with unfounded hope either. "When they return, we'll definitely know. Umm... we should probably find you something to wear. The replicator should be able to give you at least a uniform... and there's a restroom in there." He nodded to an adjacent doorway. "We can figure out what to do from then."

"Thank you. I'm Erastus, by the way. Lieutenant Erastus Ampete. In the midst of, well, everything, I don't believe I ever properly introduced myself."

"No you didn't." He chuckled, offering his hand. "Not exactly a pleasure... but not exactly a curse either."

Era shook it. She was glad to no longer be a prisoner, or thought mentally unstable, but a new worry had come to dampen what elation she might have had. The Miranda had run, and not returned. Would she be stuck on Romulus for the duration of the war? The thought chilled her.

"Stretching" Part Two

Savant, USS Galaxy Fleet Logistics Officer

The notions of perception and identity were fluid things for those of Savants' peculiar species. Savant had stretched out to occupy those unused spaces within the fleet, and in doing so, had assumed their guise at the same time. She felt the shudder of two dozen antimatter cores as they strained beneath the load of fifty phaser banks, soared along with the graceful spin and swoop of each element within the fleet. She had a thousand eyes and ten thousand fingers, like an ancient goddess, and knew each ones' motion and objective intimately - for they were her own.

Each humanoid hand on each terminal tapped against her, and she responded in synchronous, systematic unity. By spanning across the ships she became a part of each, and became a part of each ones' architecture of tasks.

She - or at least, the android peripheral which so many identified as her - settled back into her chair in Galaxy's logistics office, a spider settled upon its web. "This is my home," the program mused, "This is my natural state." For the moment, Savant did nothing - simply watched and marveled at the complexity and wonder of it all. The battle was fluid and ever-changing, but the outcome seemed determined - the star-beast's arrival heralded a retreat of the Federation and allied fleets. That wasn't what she noticed, though. Sure, it was impressive (Though she bemoaned the creatures resiliency to basic scans), but what caught her attention moreso was the weakening of signal from the fighter group. The craft which flitted about her like dragonflies were a friendly swarm, but they had lost their electronic support shuttle. She knew it immediately - felt it within her more than anything as resistance built within that region of her perception.

The android frowned - more as an affectation which Savant enjoyed than out of any need for expression. They would be in a lot more trouble than what they were in now if they lost their ability to communicate and see.

Vanguard One had some very high end equipment running on it, certainly, but it wasn't a dedicated vehicle.

The frown turned into a grin. She would be recalcitrant if someone out there died because of a loss of electronic support. Couldn't live with herself. The fact that it allowed her to stretch a little further in doing so... well, that was just a perk. Savant gripped tighter, slipping

another command thread into Galaxy's lateral sensors and communication arrays. Galaxy still had plenty of power, she could provide electronic support for those craft - mandated or no.

The sensors and communications equipment came to life of their own accord, nudged awake by Savant's urgings. They blanketed the region of space around Galaxy with soothing clarity, meanwhile compressing the Hydran informational battlefield in destructive cochrane field waves.

Savants' smile broadened as the informational playing field positively glowed with activity.

No. THIS was her natural state.

She stretched out her thousand hands, and subspace rippled beneath them.

~Field Medicine~

Lt. Jg. Thyago Carneiro

Ens. Robert Mathieson

(At the CCP/Aid Station)

Thyago had never liked hospitals or doctors, although he had been to them so often in his life, hospitals were like a summer home. Had it not been for modern medicine, he would have been dead a dozen times over or so.

But, there was still something about them that always irked him. He was never quite sure why. Perhaps it was the parental relationship all doctors seemed to have with thier patients - not the loving, soothing huggy type of parent, the annoyed, disciplinarian parents that made you feel bad for the mistakes you made. Or at least, that was always the relationship Thyago had with doctors. Everytime he went to see one, it was usually because he had done something stupid and broken a bone or pulled a tendon or something, and his doctor would fix it and complain and admonish Thyago for acting so recklessly. They were especially upset when he would be back in to see them a second time in the same week.

Of course, hospitals were places of human suffering, that may have also been why he didn't like them. They were full of people who were sick and injured and dying, a gathering place for all the ills and sins still left in the world. Hospitals made you feel guilty for being healthy.

Those were normal hospitals. Where Thyago had been left was not a normal hospital. It wasn't even much of a hospital. It was a morgue.

And Thyago was beginning to feel bad for simply being alive.

He was sitting on the top of an empty barrel, since all of the few beds they had managed to gather were full, over half by dead bodies.

Part of him thought that he could take one of those, since the dead no longer required it, but he never did. Partly because he didn't have the strength to move a body by himself, but mostly because other instinctual resistance. Instead, he simply sat and waited, patiently waiting for the one of the three medics to approach him. He knew most of what was wrong with him. He broke his ankle after sliding down the side of the building, and it was beginning to swell, a large ball at the end of his leg, as big as a melon. If he was really still, the pain wasn't outrageously debilitating, but merely throbbed as a wrenching ache. There was another pain up the same leg, and it was beginning to look like he had a third knee, just below his real one. A simple fracture of the proximal tibia, most likely. On his left foot, his large toe was broken, possibly his first and second metatarsals, but certainly all the tendons holding the digit in place were torn to pieces. It hurt to put any weight on it, it hurt tremendously, but there was much less pain there than putting any weight on the broken angle. He had hobbled here on it, and on the two mops he had used for crutches, by far the most agonizing hike he had ever taken.

Besides the bones, both legs were completely bruised from the shock of landing after sliding a couple dozen stories down the side of building. There were little fragments of glass stuck underneath his skin. His right arm was still bleeding steadily, and he was beginning to feel faint, even after getting one of the Starfleet marines to nearly slice off his arm at the bicep with tourniquet, he had tied it so tight. His eyes were burning from the dust and smoke of the collapsing building, crying steadily in an effort to clean themselves.

His lungs didn't burn, but he was wheezing and coughing periodically, the phlegm ejectant as black as space.

As bad as all that was, he had certainly been in worse states. As a kid, while he was out winging, he had been smashed into the side of a cliff face and fell over a hundred meters. It broke almost every bone on the left side of his torso. But, after a few bone-knitting splint implants, some autosutures and a dermal regenerater, he was up and flying again in less than a week. That was all he needed here, too.

Unfortunately, it was unlikely they had ankle bone specific knitter-splints, if they had any knitter-splits at all. If he was lucky, they would at least have an osteostimulator. That, and an old fashioned external splint, would allow him to walk around on crutches at more than parapalegic's pace - that is, if they had a vascular regenerator to reduce all the bruising in his lower limbs.

Thyago's shock-induced daydreaming was interrupted by a dark shadow hovering over him, with the glint of a strong light shining from on top of the being's head. The hum of a mediscanner confirmed he was being looked at by a medical professional, but the gibberish that came from it's mouth suggested that the Brazilian was delirious.

"'Allo me old china! 'Aint ye've been in fer a bit of a smrimmage, eh?"

The young engineer blinked, silently staring. He had clearly lost more blood than he had thought. Some part of his mind, some long distant, forgotten part that had had linguistic training told him what he had just heard was like English. It had English syntax and English intonation and there were even recognizable functional words, somehow decipherable under the heavy accent, but there was no meaning to be gleamed from the noise. "Como?" he asked, eventually.

"Sorry lad, ferget me manners. Let's start by givin' ye somethin' fer the aches an' pains". The shadowy being pressed something to the Engineer's neck and after a brief hissing, the agony in Thyago's legs and chest became more bearable. The old man grunted as he looked at the medi-scanner's readouts. "'At's better. Yer readin's were all over th' place. Aside from the obvious, 'ow're ye feelin?"

Thyago's eyes rolled up into thier sockets, his head lolled back on his neck, and he sighed in pleasured relief. "More," he moaned, to the short, round man who was helping him.

"Nothin' doin'" the figure mumbled. "I've got a feelin' this stuff'll be in damn short supply real soon. But I've got somethin' a little different t' numb the leg a bitty - alf' a mo'." A "mo" proved to be longer than the Brazilian would have liked, but another hissing ushered in relief from the intense throbbing. "How're ye feelin now lad?"

"How am I feeling?" Thyago repeated, finally indicating he could say more than one word at a time. "I jumped off the roof of a building.

So, um, you know, not so good."

The figure sharpened to an older, bald man who was nodding as he examined the engineer's fractured leg. "That'll put a knot in yer knickers all right. Yer an engineer, accordin' te me amazin' powers o' observation, so if yer not a structural engineer inpectin' said building - tell me that at least a woman was involved."

"There was a woman," Thyago shrugged. She was not involved in the way the man seemed to think she was. He was probably not assuming that Thyago had dropped her off the building, either.

"At's good. Very good. I'd hate t'think all this pain was fer nothin'. Speakin o' pain, I'll need t' setth; compound fracture in yer leg." The doctor bend down and lowered his voice. "Are ye up to it lad? Or are ye needin t' rest a little?"

Thyago looked down at the doctor, kneeling before him. His mind was clouded with drugs, so he wasn't quite sure what was going on any more. "Rest? What do you mean re--," he began, but cut himself off by releasing a horrific, agonizing scream of such volume that dust fell from aid center ceiling. The doctor jumped up, having just pulled the leg straight and setting the bone, and quickly moved to catch him as Thyago nearly fell off the barrel chair on which he sat.

The Brazilian was crying from the pain, sobbing out repeated curses in his native language.

Eventually, the pain declined enough that it could be overridden by vengeance. He lashed out and grabbed the front of the doctor's collar, rolling his fist underneath the cloth and up into the man's windpipe. Bringing the man's face in close, Thyago spat, "What did you do to me, tu sacana bucha?"

"Had t'be done lad, an' quicklike" Mathieson said quietly to yet another enraged patient. "No ammount o' preparation would make ye more ready fer th' proceedure - ye've been about th' place too long with that break."

"I've broken bones before," Thyago said, still holding on to the man's shirt, his pain apparently feeding his amazing strength, "None have ever been fixed like that."

"I've seen th' scans mate", the old physician answered calmly, "and ye've probably had the best facility around t' mend yer breaks - but look around ye, this is one or two steps up from a complete shytehole, and that Romulan over there's looking sorta constipated. Fer you, th'

problems more serious - ye've been broken up more than once lad, and that complicates things. If we were back on th' Galaxy, I'd patch ye up as right as rain, but the portable protoplaser's limited on what it can regrow - th'more regenerated tissue it replicates, the more chances another regeneration won't work as well, savvy?"

Thyago looked into the man's eyes, considering what he had said.

Slowly, his fingers uncurled and he let the man go. He closed his eyes and breathed loudly, in and out, controlled breaths, trying to block out or channel the pain. "I need you to fix my ankle and my toe," he said. It came out as a bit of a demand, the agressive adrenaline spike still circulating in his system.

The old man's face cracked a lopsided grin. "No problems, lad - I think that's doable. Now, lie back, shut up an rest - all in that order."

He went briefly out of sight and returned with what seemed to be a jury-rigged device that belonged more in a shuttle's engine than a sickbay. "Not much t'look at, but she does the job. Lie still an I'll have this set up in a jiff." A "jiff" seemed like more than a hundred "mo's", but once the contraption was calibrated and finctioning, a warm feeling enveloped the Engineer's swolen ankle, and "pins and needles" heralded the return of bloodflow to his toe.

Mathieson worked to seal the dermal wounds on the foot and ankle, and worked on the other small nicks and abrasions on Thyago's skin.

"'Cor lad! Th' next time ye feel like jumpin' off real-estate, make sure it's got a nice, soft water feature about. I hear some Romulan mansion's 've got moats an' th'like."

"Not in the old downtown commercial district," Thyago said, wincing at the mildly painful makeshift vascular regenerator working on his ankle. "I would have gladly taken the stairs had the building next door not been exploding." The doctor gave a bit of a harumph, and then moved to the large gash on his arm, healing the wound and then removing the tourniquet.

Finally, the doctor jammed another hypospray into the Brazilian's neck. "Antibiotic - jus' to prevent me fine work from gettin ann messed up wi' infection - and we're done, lad."

Thyago moved to stand, but was quickly stopped by the doctor, who placed a large arm in front of him. "What?" he asked.

"Yer out o' yer gourd if ye think yer goin anywhere soon, lad!"

Mathieson growled. "Like this? Ye'll be flat on the ground in less than ten seconds! Yer stayin' put 'till I say so!"

"What? For how long?"

The old man wondered why he always got the patients who liked running about after a major injury - the same luke he had on the racetrack?

"We'll see in the mornin'. If yer no' thrashin' about too much and rest like yer supposed to - yeah, th' mornin' should be long enough."

Thyago sighed, reluctantly resigning himself to a night in the morgue.

"How long until I can walk again?"

"Weeks, or minutes if we can get to the right equipment. This IS Romulus, not some backwater planet" Mathieson observed, seeing the young man's determination to regain his freedom. "But things 're crappin out on th' surface, an' I think the new landlord may not want us playin with his toys."

Thyago looked across the underground chamber, and his eyes landed on a Romulan woman washing away her green blood in a basin of water. Juna had not talked to him since they had arrived here; she was clearly still upset at him for dropping her off a building, even though it saved her life. But, she was still here, and if she was willing to help For'kel by pointing him to the local defense control center, surely she would be willing to help everyone in the aid station, too.

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned here on Romulus," Thyago said, smiling at the doctor, "There is much more to Romulus than what's on the surface. Let's talk to her."

"Unification"

Ensign T'Ashaya

Senator tr'Khnialmnae

Various NPC's

Ch'Rihan

= = =

Several figures darted through the shadows, seemingly ghosts to any who may have taken note. Senator Aehkhifv tr'Khnialmnae and a small selection of the surviving Praetorian Guards from the Senate Building moved through the outskirts of the capitol, looking for signs only the Senator appeared to know about. Centurion s'velt t'Kalinm was puzzled by this: she had grown up in this city and supposedly knew it inside out better than even the Reunificationist faction. However, the Senator had yet to lead her or her squad false and so when he said he knew what he was looking for, she placed her trust in him. Presently there was little else she COULD do. Though it took a considerable amount of time, the small party soon came into the more well-to-do section of the city, and it appeared there was a particular estate Aehkhifv was headed for: the structure farthest from the Senate Building. When they arrived, Aehkhifv displayed a positive demeanor and made to have his presence known to those within. The Praetorians he had sling their weapons, yet keep a constant vigil: the Hydrans could show up to this section of the city at any moment: they must constantly be on their watch.

There was movement within the walls of the estate that much was certain, and more than the general hubbub associated with an estate of this size. Still, it hardly did to ignore the presence of any senator, even one as disgraced as tr'Khnialmnae. The hru'hfe appeared, as bidden. He was a tall male and all angles, with narrow eyes and tight lips that said he could keep the horrible secrets his visage suggested he knew.

"It must be dark days indeed, Deihu tr'Khnialmnae, to bring you to the door of this noble house."

"Indeed hru'hfe Aieme," Aehkhifv said with a nod. "Where is your master? I require words with him."

"He is ill disposed for guests, Deihu tr'Khnialmnae. Word has just reached us that the Hydran forces have overtaken the hospital where my mistress has long resided. Unfortunately, it was destroyed in the ensuing conflict," the hru'hfe warned. "I will make your presence known, however. My master has long been fond of you, despite the ill fortune the elements have laid upon you and yours and against the better judgment of those more wise than he." The words flowed like so much oil, smoothly across the narrow band of his lips and sat soothingly in the ear. A man less wise might actually believe them.

Even a wise man might be tempted to believe half of what had been uttered; Aehkhifv knew better. "Inform him that time is of the essence, regardless of his disposition. The elements are not kind today."

"Indeed, they are not." The hru'hfe disappeared. He did not reappear until some long minutes later.

The door opened. "Yourself, Deihu. What passes for your honor guard alone. No others."

"As your master wishes," Aehkhifv replied as he strode in, the four Praetorian Centurions following him close behind as he followed the hru'hfe. Though the Centurions weapons were slung and holstered, a wary hand was kept near pistol and blade at all times. These were dark times indeed.

They were led inside, not to the formal areas of the house, but directly to the private areas. All around them, the servants worked efficiently, turning the estate from a quite sanctuary at the edge of the city to the fortress that the Aieme ancestors intended when they'd had the massive structure erected stone by stone. Nowhere was there an indolent soul. A fresh, but forgotten corpse in the courtyard attested to the fact that the slaves lives depended on their

efficiency: if they did not make good preparations now, they would not live to die at Hydran hands: they would die at Llaiir Aeime's hands now rather than that indolence cost more lives later.

The force here looked stronger than expected. Just how long had Aeime been gathering backing, anyway, and what had he been planning before the Hydrans stormed the proverbial gates? Elements only knew.

"This way," hru'hfe Aieme directed. "You see we have much left to do and so very little time to do it."

"Indeed," Aehkhifv mused silently as he and the Praetorians followed closely, not wishing to get lost in the maze of corridors and pathways that snaked all over the fortress. "Just how many are employed by your master?" he inquired, not seriously expecting an honest figure.

"I cannot say," hru'hfe Aieme replied in a non-committal tone. "The clan hearkens back to its days of greatness, of course, and my master takes the advice of his more influential kin."

tr'Khnialmnae declined to comment on this particular line, and simply followed in silence for the remainder of the journey.

The hru'hfe deposited them in a modestly receiving room. "Wait here, please. My master will be with you shortly, Deihu." The knife of a man seemed to slither from the room. Likely he would remain close, though out of site.

Llaiir Aieme only made them wait a spare few minutes. A thick centurian accompanied him into the room. "We will continue our discussion after I have greeted my guests," the older man remarked.

The centurion faded to the wall with a guarded glance toward the tr'Khnialmnae contingent.

Aieme smiled an easy smile and walked over to greet the other senator.

"My good friend, Aehkhifv, it is an unexpected and long overdue surprise. Why is it that only dark days bring you to my humble abode?" He looked genuinely pleased to see tr'Khnialmnae, but as practiced a politician as Aeime was, he could likely greet a Ferengi businessman with the same ease. "Have you been brought refreshment?"

Aehkhifv smiled and returned the greetings with just as much practiced ease. "Llaiir, you're looking healthy as ever. I apologize for there will be no refreshment today. Recent events have prevented me from rushing to my estate for one of the Khnialmnae's finest of ales. I'm certain you've heard, of course," he said, making no implications that he had witnessed the labor of the "servants" without, nor the war beyond the walls.

"Then you definitely need refreshment," Aeime responded. He chose two glasses randomly from a nearby cabinet and decanted a tasteful amount of blue liquid into both. He offered them both equally. "Never go to war with a bracer, old friend. It's an old proverb and accurate today as any other."

"Indeed, old friend," Aehkhifv said, taking a glass at random. "Tell me, do you have any hands to spare? I'm heading out and need a few bodies from the lower classes. Live, preferably."

"Now you put stipulations on it," he sighed and took a sip from the remaining glass. "I'm afraid about all that I have left are those locked away for their own good. I can't guarantee any of them, of course. The majority aren't criminal enough for the justice system but are far too dangerous to be left to themselves. I was considering flooding the holding cells rather than spare the manpower to guard them. What's mine is yours, to a point. I've got one or two down there as personal favors, after all, and I couldn't go back on my word and let them out."

Aehkhifv nodded sagely. "Reliability need not be a concern of yours, I will deal with them as they require; myself and my entourage are more than capable in that regard," he said, indicating the four centurions with him. "As I see it, I would be doing you a favor:

they would no longer be a drain on your resources, which could be better put to use in other arenas. I would have my spare bodies and mnhei'sahe will be satisfied."

Aieme straightened slightly at the mention of mnhei'sahe. "I did what I could for you. I could not save her, though. No one could have saved her."

Aehkhifv waved that aside. "It's been long enough that pursuing such subjects is a waste of energy: what's done is done." He set the glass down and continued. "I refer to the here and now: you would no longer have unruly charges to care for, and I would have the extra people I need. All parties will have benefited from this transaction:

mnhei'sahe will be satisfied."

"Consider it done." The elder senator stood and hru'hfe Aieme reappeared. "Take him to the dungeons. Give him what he requests, within reason, of course. We might live through this and I will not have it said that I do not keep my word."

Aehkhifv Donar tr'Khnialmnae nodded in thanks and turned to follow the hfu'hfe, the Praetorians ever present behind him.

They spiraled further into the estate. The passageways narrowed and showed signs of general disuse. The rough hewn stone still fit tightly together, though. Not even the blade of a knife would fit between them. It barely seemed that Aieme's knife of a hru'hfe would fit in the passageway. One of the praetorians grumbled in the back of the group, cursing the elements for such a choke point. Still, the design worked perfectly for its purpose: to contain what lay beneath.

Few prisons held less cheer than that below the Aieme stronghold. The light seemed to retreat from the darkness here, or perhaps just from the sickening sweet smell of decay that lingered in the place.

"You'll find the most able bodies in this area. There are perhaps stronger individuals deeper within the complex, but they still have too much," the hru'hfe searched for a word, "too much fire, I think, for your needs."

Few prisons held less cheer than that below the Aieme stronghold. The light seemed to retreat from the darkness here, or perhaps just from the sickening sweet smell of decay that lingered in the place.

"You'll find the most able bodies in this area. There are perhaps stronger individuals deeper within the complex, but they still have too much," the hru'hfe searched for a word, "too much fire, I think, for your needs."

"I can give you all but one of the three," the hru'hfe replied. "My master has a special fondness for that one. I should not have even showed her to you."

"Then you should not have shown her to me," he remarked. "Then again, it is probably for the best that you did. She apears to be someone who will cause you no end of trouble. She has a fire in her eyes that imprisonment cannot quench."

The hru'hfe considered in silence, his brow knitting as he did. It seemed clear he did not approve of his master's decisions in this matter. "I do not think he is interested in quenching that particular fire, but encouraging it," he replied slowly, still considering.

Finally he nodded. "Take her if you will. If she dies, it is less the risk to him. If she lives and escapes, I am certain my master will take pleasure in hunting her down."

"My thanks, hru'hfe." tr'Khnialmnae indicated that he would wait while the master of servants and his four centurions secured the required individuals. Once properly shackled and in tow, he looked to the hru'hfe. "I believe now is when you show us to the door, and we will all be better off the sooner that happens."

"This way, Deihu, and with haste, if you will," the hru'hfe turned for the door. "Lest my initiative in this matter be discovered before my Master is ready for the news." He hurried them through the estate through the servants' passageways, the better to avoid all prying eyes, especially those belonging to the master of the household. Only one gave any indications of trouble, the blond. Her eyes flashed like the sea in a storm despite the obvious signs of a recent beating her body bore. There was something of discipline about her, though, and she made no overt attempt to fight them, yet.

"Elements go with you, Deihu," the hru'hfe stated, and he turned them back out onto the street outside the compound.

"Follow me, and quickly if you value your lives," he said and led his companions, now numbering 8, through a number of back alleys to a place that was relatively secluded from the main centers of activity.

Once they were "safe" inside a small shop, now deserted, he turned to the four prisoners. "Release them, Centurion." S'velt could not believe her ears and glanced at the Senator, as if his ears had turned round. Still, he had given her an order, and with some reluctance she removed the cuffs from the four. "Now, by law you are my servants; for you three I believe we are beyond such." Indeed, he had chosen them specifically because they were close friends who had 'disapeared'

not too long ago. He turned to the blond. "Now, I need to know who you are before I place my full trust in you."

The tall blond stiffened slightly and held herself aloof from the others. The green silk dress she wore was damp and still smelled of the sea. "It is not important," she stated softly, in the most academically correct words. "I am not important." The accent in her speech was minimal, but unmistakable.

"Your accent gives you away young lady. Perhaps I should remember my manners now, I am Senator Aehkhifv Donar tr'Khnialmnae and you are a Vulcan. Starfleet by your bearing, or at least you once were." He looked about, his ears picking up the sound of movement nearby, though the creature producing it moved off moments later. "How you managed to get stuck in his dungeon is beyond me, but what I want to know is can I trust you?" He held up a disruptor, pointed straight up and not quite offered to her. "If you are indeed Starfleet, then in return for helping me, I'll do what I can to get you back into contact with your fleet, or at the least any ground forces that are still operational. Would that suffice?"

"Ensign T'Ashaya," she stated by way of introduction. Her hand flexed slightly, but stayed at her side and did not raise in greeting. "It is widely known that Vulcans are incapable of either deception or betrayal," the young woman stated. "I am a marine biologist by training. I do not think I will be able to be of much help to you."

He formally proffered the disruptor to her. "Even a Starfleet marine biologist knows how to fire a weapon." He indicated the others, and the centurions armed them with their spare pistols. "Hydrans only.

We are headed for one of the hidden locations that the Reunificationist movement uses, once there we can take a more complete stock of what has happened and who is left."

Black green bruises darkening on her arms shown dramatically against her pale skin as she reached toward him. She took the unfamilliar weapon delicately from him, carefully avoiding touching him as she did. The Vulcan woman examined the disruptor with precisely the icy disdain most would give a common sewer rat. "I am unfamilliar with the operational basics of this weapon. It is not so similar to a phaser as one might imagine." She did, at least, hold it the correct way, pointing the discharge end toward the ground and not toward any of those around her.

He held up his own weapon. "Disruptors rarely have a stun setting.

Yours is already set for maximum power: anything less and the hydrans will only get annoyed. Depress the trigger," he indicated the appropriate stud, "and the weapon discharges." He didn't intend to speak to her as if she were a child, but he felt that if she were unfamiliar enough to say so, he might as well explain the necessary basics. "There is no simple safety, so keep your finger off the trigger and you should be fine. Is there anything you wish to know of me before we set out?"

Her eyes took in the demonstration unblinking and it did not seem she would need anything repeated. T'Ashaya gave the Senator a long, probing look. She could think of a good number of things she wanted to know, but none seemed logical to ask at this juncture. The Vulcan woman gave a slight shake of her head, just enough to indicate the negative answer. "I have no pressing questions."

"As you wish," he said, and indicated for one of the Praetorians to lead the way.

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