"The Pecking Order"

Major Corran Rex, CAG, USS Galaxy
Flight Officer Ember Lansky, Pilot, USS Galaxy

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Flight Deck
Deck 38, USS Galaxy

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Heavy shadows hung under the eyes of Major Corran Rex, the remaining senior pilot of the remaining ships in the Federation task force. It wasn't a distinction the Trill had wanted, but he was taking to it as well as he could.

Specifically, it meant that he wasn't really sleeping much. In the three days since the retreat, he'd grabbed what - six, eight hours here and there? He didn't know.

Now, he was watching with arms folded as eight disparate fighters from the late Concorde were boarding and being assigned berths. Later, he'd have to redraw the rosters for Vanguard and Saber squadrons, which had lost eight of their twenty-four pilots - including his old friend, Kol.

Deck crews moved back and fort, towing the fighters on their racks as various other crewman ran from place to place. The scars of the battle showed even here - a hit to the Galaxy's rear had caved in one of the supply bulkheads, spilling parts that no one had gotten to yet. For a moment, Corran considered ordering a crew on it, but he reconsidered.

The Deck Chief had his own job to do, and Corran had his.

It had been the ex-Executive Officer's first battle as one of the Galaxy's fighter pilots, and like far too many others, he hadn't come back from it. The loss stung - Kol had been a brave, if difficult to get along with, man. And his death left a pretty large hole in Corran's command structure, to boot.

Well, best to tend to that, then. He tapped his commbadge even as he turned away from the flight deck, heading to his office. "Rex to Lansky. Orphan, I need you to meet me in my office."

["Be right there, Sir,"] Ember replied through the commbadge, turning her footsteps away from her quarters and towards the Major's office.

Like everyone else onboard Galaxy, she was pushed to her limits and hadn't had much more than ten hours of uninterrupted rest combined, in the past week. But unlike everyone else, even with the near-death skirmishes and ambushes, she still threw herself into her work with a sort of surprising... zeal that belied her exhaustion. She didn't know when she would eventually tire out, but for now, she was restless, with energy to burn.

That was why she had visited the gym -- hoping to work herself into a fatigued stupor so she could manage a short nap amidst the turbulence.

She was just returning to her quarters when Rex summoned. There was no hint of complaint though. It was likely to mean one thing - more assignments, which she fervently welcomed. Ember had finally found a source of distraction that could drag her out of the funk, and she was hanging on tight.

Stepping to the door of his office, she rang the buzzer.

"It's open." the Trill called out, his face drawing a tight line as he saw the horrific state his small office was in. Brushing a stack of fallen padds off of his chair, he pointed at the one opposite him.

"Clear yourself a spot, Flight Officer."

"Sir," Ember greeted with a nod as she entered and took a seat in front of his table. Her look was a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, but she didn't rush him to explain the reason for her being called here, trusting him to explain it in due time.

Corran rubbed his face a moment to ward off fatigue as he whistled up coffee from a desk replicator. "Want anything?"

The junior pilot shook her head quickly, indicating a negative.

"Allright, I'm getting down to it. I appointed you XO of Saber Squadron because I thought you had leadership potential. To be honest, I expected you'd get a lot more time learning the ropes when it came to command." he dived in. He had no time to dick around on anything.

"So I'm asking you straight - you up to it?"

"Major?" she asked quizzically, not quite believing the direction the conversation was going.

"Major Kol's dead, Lansky. Don't know if you heard, but he went down in the fight. Took a Hydran carrier with him, too - have to admit, it was pretty impressive. So that's why I need to know. The Sabers need a commander, and you're it till you die or I find somebody better. So, are you up for it?"

This time she was completely certain in her reply. "Absolutely, sir."

"Then congratulations, Lieutenant Lansky. Saber Squadron is now your command."

"Dance of Death"

Lt. Colonel Alex McKeon, Co-Intelligence Liason USS Miranda
Lieutenant Saul Bental, CTO USS Exeter
Lieutenant Th'Khiss K'aa, ACTO USS Miranda
Lieutenant jg Chris Daniels, Tactical Officer USS Miranda
Ensign Kelly Marcos, Tactical Officer USS Miranda.

Encrypted Substace Channel 36G517, Phoenicius System

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

"Lieutenant Bental. K'aa here", the Gorn adjusted the monitor's vidcam to accommodate the extra personnel. "With me is Lieutenant Danielsss, and I believe you already know Missster McKeon."

Chris sat up straight in his chair. This was the next in a chain of many war councils the fleet was having before the rest of the force arrived.

The Human on the other side of the channel vanished from the monitor for a moment, then returned. "Yes, Lieutenant. Shalom everyone."

"Saul." Alex nodded informally in greeting.

"Hrsss... our misfortunesss over ch'Rihan hasss not been entirely without benefit, and has left usss with consssiderable hope I think."

K'aa began, downloading the Miranda's tactical sensor readings of the battle to the Exeter's mainframe. "Lieutenant - we've jussst sent you sssome of the more refined scansss from the Miranda'sss sssensssor net

- just before Captain Sssummerss took command, the Miranda wasss outfitted with a new tactical sssensssor array and I believe you'll find sssome data that may not be available with the ssstandard equipment."

"That's excellent." Saul looked downwards, meddling with something outside the image. "I believe the data picked up by the Galaxy's Vanguards and by the London's hazards already made its way to the right hands." He continued without looking directly at the display.

"I'm going to run a cross-simulation and see if it fits a certain model I had in mind. In the mean time... what do you make of it?"

"Where before the battle we had little to no current information on Hydran strengths and capabilities, as K'aa said, our sensor suite confirmed many of our perceived iterations and we can now prepare a complete and ready strategy this time, rather than the generic one that we had to institute for the previous battle to accommodate the uncertainties due to the lack of good intelligence." He looked over at the intel rep, hoping he wouldn't be insulted. Chris wasn't trying to point fingers, just stating fact.

The Gorn nodded. "Yesss… although we entered the battle blind in many waysss, the defeat – while galling, hasss provided volumesss of

ussseful data, our firssst tiessss in with the Miranda'sss lassst

misssssion. We picked up a Hydran fighter in the Delta Quadrant and managed to analyze it enough to pilot a number of otherssss remotely."

K'aa pressed a setting on his PADD and the schematics of a Conquistador-class tactical fighter appeared in all it's cobalt-tinted grace. "While the fighter isss approximately six yearssss behind the mossst recent modelsss scanned over Romulusss, I'm pleassssed to acknowledge that the command-frequency of the fightersss has remain unchanged."

"Sloppy." Alex noted. "Which tells us the Hydrans aren't big on their networks security. That's a pretty big opening for us."

"Don't get too confident." Saul Bental said. "The Hydrans care greatly for their privacy. That's the reason intelligence on the monarchy is lacking."

"That, and we've ignored them for eighty years." McKeon noted in addition.

He glanced at the Lieutenant J.G. from the Miranda. Daniels' comment didn't go unnoticed as it seemed. "So if the Hydrans know you possess a fighter, not altering the command frequency could be a trap - mind you."

"Unlikeley", K'aa offered. "The fighter hasssn't left Miranda'sss shuttlebay until recently. It'sss a posssible boon but I wouldn't place all my eggs in one clutch."

The reptile then pressed another setting, and each display now showed a massive, tentacled figure spawned of the nightmares of the insane.

"Gentlemen, thisss bringsss usss to the second major factor of the battle, and definitely the greatessst. Behold, the Starbeasssst." On each display, a thirty-second clip of the leviathan smashing into the Miranda repeated, showing a rippling speed that seemed impossible for something so massive.

"Impressssive", K'aa observed, awestruck by the sight no matter how often he reviewed the file.

McKeon just winced and rubbed his no-longer-broken wrist. Though the site of Captain Summers body didn't fade as easily as all that. "One of the Vanguards actually may have picked up a blood sample from the Starbeast. A - Lieutenant Kettch - landed his bird on the Miranda and was rushed to sickbay" Alex noted. "So we know the thing can be hurt.

And even accounting for the damage the vacuum of space did to the sample, we've been able to confirm the presence of T'Kith'Kin bionanites in its blood, similar to the ones Section 31 was apprehended using for their sleeper agents last year."

The reptilian tactical officer leaned back in his chair and exposed more fangs than was usually comfortable for most mammals. "That confirmsss my sussspicionsss, and providessss another big opening.

T'Kith'Kin bio-nanitesss are incompatable with their Borg cybernetic counterpartsss - if we can inject nanitessss with our own programming into the creature, it should create a feedback-backlassh enough to incapacitate it - the reaction desssstroyed the cube we encountered."

Another claw pressed a PADD control, and the displays were filled with graceful, flowing calligraphy. "Thissss isss a Gorn text detailing the religiousss factionsss of Hydran society, and the relevence of the Ssstarbeasst cusltsss - I have cross-referenced it with Kzinti, Orion and Federation texts. I am certain that dessstroying the creature will not only provide tactical sssuperiority in the battle, it will go a long way in bringing about a swifter resssolution to the war. The religiouss scissssm that would follow may precipitate a Hydran civil war... if we're fortunate"

Folding his claws together, K'aa leaned forward. "However, we need time. The Ssstarbeasst is huge, and ssscanss have not provided sssufficient detail to sssuggessst where the creatures brain isss - it may take sssome significant time for our nanitesss to be effective.

Idling the Hydran fightersss will buy ussss sssome, but we need to quell the Hellboresss for thisss to work. Any ssssuggesstionsss?

Perssssonally, I'm partial to transssphasic torpedoesss."

"Two things." Saul cleared his throat. "First, about the cybernetic parts - that's not a big surprise. Intelligence incursions revealed that the Hydrans are incorporating cybernetics into their masterplan, and since they favor organic technology it was obvious that they needed outside help. We have a list of cybernetic pieces purchased by a major Hydran R&D installation - I'll distribute it between all of us. Notice that many of these items are designed for usage by Humanoids - or rather, within Humanoids."

"We noticed in their fighter a fair bit of ana-proton shielding around their more sensitive areas." Chris chimed in. "Looks a lot like what we've seen of T'Kith'Kin technology."

"Won't surprise me. Now, regarding Lieutenant Kaa's question", Saul proceeded, "Would it help if we could predict the movement of the beast's tentacles?"

"It would...but the question I have is could we conceivably do it? I mean, we're working on the pretense that the Starbeast is alive, and therefore unpredictable. But..." Chris looked lost in thought.

"But what?"

"But if we could somehow replicate those nanites and get them into the beast, maybe we wouldn't have to worry about it?"

"It's a possibility." Kelly Marcos, the young Hydran pseudo Specialist aboard Miranda, finally piped in, having arrived late. "The Hydran armed forces work on a principle of "controlled independence."

Captains are allowed to do what is necessary, but only within a certain framework. So, if we could make them or any other element of their fighting force run rogue, it would severely disrupt their operations."

Saul frowned. He didn't like to reveal classified information with too many unfamiliar, let alone Miranda faces. However, he trusted McKeon's judgment, as the Lt.Colonel gave him the impression of the more professional half of the Miranda's intelligence leadership.

"Without getting into details, I won't be surprised if intelligence was working hard on doing just that since Havras. The Hydrans ARE more accessible now that their forces are here and not in their own territories, but in this specific case I think we can manage without it."

Marcos' passive look suddenly turned flushed. "'Without getting into details?' So you're going to withhold more information from us? Isn't a lack of it what caused us to get our asses handed to us in the first place? We're the freaking tactical department! Shouldn't we have an idea of what weapons we have to fight with?!?!"

Saul glared at the Ensign reproachfully. "Yes, we should. Me and 'Colonel McKeon here will supply you with any information that you need in order to fight. But how that information is obtained is none of your business, Mrs..."

"MISS Marcos, sir. And I would appreciate it if---" Her green eyes burned with anger at this point.

Chris stuck his arm out, cutting Kelly off. He wasn't going to let this get out of hand. "Even if she's still an Ensign, Mr Bental, Ensign Marcos is one of the more valuable members of my team, and I think we would all appreciate it if you treated her like the professional she is rather than a child. Now please get back to the task at hand before any more insults are traded." He tried to keep an even keel, but a slight hint of anger and fire in his eyes betrayed him.

The Dutchman rolled his eyes. In the back of his mind, he quickly attached names and general impression to the two angered faces on the screen, then moved on.

"And aside from all that," 'Colonel McKeon interrupted, "is that the attempts have been unssuccesful. We got a load of information on them after Section 31's.. implosion last year. It hasn't helped with the research."

"Back to the beast... well it's still a theory." Saul said, "And the details are pretty unusual, but I believe that the starbeast's tentacle movement is influenced by... traditional Deltan dances. The only explanation I can provide for this is that the bionanites or whatever controls the beast is somehow related to Deltans or Deltan psyche."

Saul realized he was putting his reputation on the stake here - his claim was ridiculous. "I ran several statistical comparisons between the tentacle movement as captured during the battle, and the arm and leg movements of traditional Deltan dancers. The match is just too conclusive to ignore."

The Gorn turned his head sideways and narrowed the large, yellow eye facing the monitor. "Deltan dancerssss…ssssss… I won't hazard to asssk how you've become an authority on Deltan choreography Missster Bental, but if you've spent enough time….ah, ssstudying their dancesss to recognize the pattern in a leviathan-like starcreature larger than a ssstarship – then I'm ssserving on the wrong ssship! Seriousssly – if we can determine if the creature'ssss movementsss are basssed on a predetermined pattern and inertia, it would give ussss the time to maneuver sssafely and apply the nanite ssssolution… if it'sss required." The reptilian turned its head so both eyes could look on he monitor. "I don't sssuppossse you know the exact dance on the schedule?"

Now Chris shot a glance at K'aa. He wasn't drinking the kool-aid either. "K'aa, you can't be serious. Basing our strategy and tactics...on a dance?"

"I'll provide you all the materials and you can test it yourself."

Saul shrugged. "As I said, I didn't complete it myself yet - didn't want to call you guys and tell you that a space juggernaut dances like a bald alien that smells good. Definetly won't make me more credible."

~Not that your performance here gave me much hope to begin with.~ Chris kept that to himself. He didn't like this guy from the start...something about the way he carried himself. But he was trying to be objective. "OK, so you told us anyways. Which means you much believe it. I don't. If it's true, what do you propose we do?"

The answer surprisingly, came from K'aa. "We tessst the theory.

Thoroughly. Repeatedly. Immediately. Missster Bental'sss obssservation *doessss* sound incredulous, but if it worksss...

hrrsssssss... the only drawback issss the Ssstarbeasst's initial ssstrike...."

McKeon, meanwhile, had pulled up the data that Bental had flagged, and ran the comparison. "He's right." he said, interrupting the Gorn tactical officer. "That's the mek'le'tal." Alex noted under his breath, referring to a particularly erotic Deltan mating dance... one only usually shown to one who had actually mated with a Deltan.

Alex *didn't* miss the look on Saul's face that suggested he knew that, too.

Kaa shrugged then. "Then, How do we nullify the advantage of the cloak?"

"I was told by a physicist from the Galaxy that concealing a something so big would require more than the regular cloak." Saul contributed.

"I think that Doctor Nila suggested that something with such proportions could be hidden using a fold in subspace or something along those lines. If we want to develop an early warning method, I would recommend talking to her."

"Well...we might have something." Chris was tapping his finger on the table. He wasn't sure about throwing this one out there, but since the concept of Deltan Dancers was a workable theory now, he figured why not. "A few months ago we started working on a system whereby we deployed small particles in a wide field around the ship to basically detect movement by cloaked ships. But we never tested it..."

"Well..." Alex trailed off. "No time like the present."

"The Cavalry"

Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock, C-in-C, Starfleet

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

Flag Bridge, Deck 12
USS Cheyenne (CinC's Flagship)
19 Days after the Withdrawal

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

On the surface of it, the Flag Bridge aboard the Starship Cheyenne looked like a typical starship's bridge. Aboard Cheyenne, in truth, this was largely because the Flag Bridge had been converted from the vessel's Battle Bridge. It had the command seat, in the center.

Multiple terminals ringed the walls, with several free-standing stations here and there. A viewscreen decorated the fore of the bridge, an MSD (Master System Display) on the aft.

None of the stations were marked "Sciences", however, at the moment.

All had been configured for Tactical displays, communications stations, fleet operations stations, et cetera, et cetera.

There was no helm station, of course - a large holographic display took its place, instead. It was active now, displaying the most recent scan of the Romulus system. Behind it, the stars streaked by as the Cheyenne - and the starships from the First, Second, Third, and Fourth Fleets (along with every other ship Victor had been able to beg, borrow, or steal without leaving critical targets undefended. Though he'd never admit just how close to being underdefended he'd left some things.) - warped towards Phoenecius. Nearly three hundred and fifty ships, total.

The Twin Worlds, Romulus and Remus - or ch'Rihan and ch'Havran, as they were called in the local parlance - twirled on the display.

ch'Havran was a familiar view, but Romulus.. well, it was different.

The planet was ringed in a purple-ish energy field, the likes of which Murdock had never seen.

"Allright, lads and lasses. What the hell is it?" he asked, turning to face the man next to him, Captain Sorak, who served as the scientific advisor on his Staff.

Commander Gail Dawson, his liaison to Starfleet Intelligence (and a longtime friend), was also present.

"Whatever it is," Gail responded first, "The Hydrans put it up fast, only a few days ago. It was deployed using an orbital satellite web.

And after that, we lost all communications with Romulus."

"Everything?" Murdock asked skeptically. He knew how Intel liked it's secrets, even with Marta in charge now. But Gail wouldn't ever lie to him.

"Everything." she confirmed. "Every source we had on the ongoing occupation, on this resistance movement we kept hearing of - everything was cut off as soon as that field went up."

"Logic would dictate, then," Sorak concluded, "That it is a communications shield of some kind. Given the effort involved in deploying it, I would also hypothesize a physical element."

"Like some kind o' planetwide.. force field?" the Admiral asked.

"Yes, sir." the Vulcan replied. "A planetary shield, in essence."

Murdock let out a low whistle. Planetary shields had been researched by every major culture - and nobody he knew of had found a way to make them work yet. It was just too much damn power. "That means beamin troops down, or even landin' 'em in hoppers it out o' the question."

he mused aloud. "Makes that satellite network a priority target though."

"Undoubtedly." This from Captain Casey Jackson, the Tactical advisor.

"But it's not *the* priority target." he said, pointing out the large, tentacled shape of the 'Starbeast'. "That is. Until we take it out, we won't be able to secure control of local space around Romulus. And we have to take it out now, while we know were it is."

"No doubts there." the Admiral agreed. "But, I'm told some o the people on the Miranda and the Galaxy've got some ideas on that score."

He took a long look then, at the creature that had caused so much havoc, and again let out a low whistle. "He's hardly a wee one, innit he?"

"That's an understatement." Dawson muttered under her breath.

Whatever retort Murdock was going to make was lost by the chime of his commbadge.

The voice of Captain Eva Paige, his current Flag Captain - at least until they rendezvoused with the original task force, where he would transfer his Flag to the Miranda - cut into the air. ["Bridge to Admiral Murdock."]

"Go on, lass."

["We're approaching the rendezvous at the Phoenicius System. Projected ETA in six minutes. We're out of warp in four."] the Risan woman reported crisply.

"Got it. I'll be right up. Murdock out." he closed the commbadge, and looked around to his staff. "Allright, all o' ye. Ye heard the lady.

Pack it up - we're movin over to the Miranda soon as we get there."

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

Six minutes later, as Captain Paige had predicted, they were at the appointed rendezvous spot.

To find a whole hell of a lot more ships than they had expected waiting for them.

Something on the order of sixty ships of the 112 that had been had the first battle of Romulus had made the retreat to the Phoenecius System.

The fifteen surviving Federation vessels sat at the core now, of a much larger mass.

There were now three hundred and ninety-two Romulan vessels of various size, shape and age in the system - fully a third of the remaining Romulan Navy. Murdock hadn't a clue how they'd all gotten here, other than that there had to be sections of the Empire that were now wide open.

But that wasn't the big surprise.

No, that honor was reserved for the two hundred and sixty four Klingon Warships - more than two full fleets - and the three dozen Reman Scimitar and Viomek-Class warbirds that were in the system, too.

Murdock turned to face Captain Jackson, who'd accompanied him to the main bridge. "Looks like we've got a bit more units to play with than we expected, lad."

Jackson was doing the math in his head. "Almost eleven hundred ships..." he shook his head in disbelief. "I haven't seen a fleet like this since.."

"Since the Dominion War." Murdock replied quietly. Then he turned to face Captain Paige. "Captain, hail the Miranda, inform them I'm coming over. Also hail the Galaxy. Tell Captains M'Kantu and Jaxom I'd like to see them - and whoever else is in charge o' all of this."

Without waiting for the acknowledgement, the Admiral strode towards the turbolift.

The stakes had just gone way, way up. Because if they'd managed to muster this kind of reinforcements...

What had the Hydrans been able to drum up?

"A Question of Faith"

Alklaatu Verati'ss, Commander, IHV Shield of Resolution
Tklenat J'oolak'k, Wing Commander, IHV Shield of Resolution

Main Bridge, IHV Shield of Resolution

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

~And so we are delivered of the promised victory, just as the Ulhazi foretold~ mused the Master of the Shield of Resolution. ~Romulus shimmers behind our planet-shield, our enemies have fled broken – those that did not… crushed. These truths are undeniable, others less so.~

Master and Commander, Verati'ss brooded over the results of the Third Battle of the Cleansing, and his dour shade of grey was a sharp contrast to the light shades of his crew. He was, of course, privy to intelligence the typical Gi was forbidden to know.

A sharp hiss announced the arrival of sub-commander Tklenat J'oolak'k, lead sub-commander of the Shield of Resolution's vaunted squadron wing. She too, bore the light shade of grey that marked the almost drunken exuberance in the air of the Hydran carrier. "Commander – you

summoned: I obey", her beaks chattered with excitement as she bowed to her superior.

"Flushed with victory sub-commander?", Verati'ss asked, seeing the gleam in the pilot's eyes that bordered the glee of righteousness and the madness that marked a zealot.

J'oolak'k's rushed reply was hastened by the lingering thrill of deliverance. "Victory is a heady draught when one is deprived of it for so long, Master Verati'ss. It's important we savor and revere the spiritual gift the Ulazhi prophesized."

"Indeed", the Commader agreed. "Yet it is also important to review the lessons of the temporal world in addition to the gifts to the faithful, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't follow you Master…"

Verati'ss bent his three legs to bring him almost to the pilot's level. "How would you summarize our losses, J'oolak'k?"

"Losses? What are you talking about Verati'ss?", the wing-commander's three eyes widened in feverent disbelief. "Our enemies fled from the field as the Stargod revealed itself! As fortold!"

Verati'ss remained stoically unimpressed. "Did the Ulhazi foretell of the Federation fightercraft's superiority?" The Shield of Resolution's thrust a datapod at the dumbstruck female sub-commander.

"It's fortunate we outnumbered them twenty-to-one, J'oolak'k – otherwise our losses would have been more the than triple of their number destroyed." Wisps of warm methane blew past Verati'ss as his anger crested. "TRIPLE!"

J'oolak'k took a brief look at the datapod, and recognized the truth of the Commander's words, but remained unshaken in her devotion. "It doesn't matter. Our victory was written, Verati'ss – WRITTEN! As are our future victories – we simply have to have faith in the Stargod as we did in the last battle!"

"And what of the faith of the Lance of Retribution?", Verati'ss asked, turning darker still. "One lone Federation fightercraft sacrificed itself and brought about the destruction of hundreds. That hull was one of our greatest!"

"Perhaps they lacked faith, Master… as have you?" Foam spittled from J'oolak'k's beak as she confronted her Master. "All has been as the Ulhazi have foretold – and have they not also said 'The unfaithful shall reap what they have sown… their bitter seeds will bloom with the flower of their own death!'? Be careful, Verati'ss – you tread close to herecy!"

"Be careful, J'oolak'k", echoed the commander. "You tread close to insubordination. Look after your fighter wings, and leave my faith and the fate of the Shield of Resolution to me. I command!"

J'oolak'k trembled and slowly bowed in reverence. "And I obey."

Dismissed, the wing-commander waddled off the bridge.

The Master watched her go, then sent two of his eyestalks to survey the bridge. Sure enough, sub-officers were idle, wide-beaked at the confrontation.

~And is it religious disbelief that holds their tongues? Or fear?~

On the viewscreen, an image of the Stargod writhed with a power and liquid grace that *did* bring feelings of awe and reverence to the Shield of Resolution's Master. ~Magnificent! How amazingly...

perfect. How dare we, such imperfect creatures, meddle with such magesty?~

The question, of course, was not said aloud.

Leaders and Martyrs

By Commander James Lionel Corgan, USS Galaxy
And Captain Jerry Pearson Albrecht, USS Thunderchild

God dammit... another summons. James Corgan muttered.

He had barely recovered from the fight, his department licking their proverbial (and for some, too real) wounds, the Galaxy still a wounded bird healing in a foreign nest.

James Corgan wasn't in the mood for visits, but when compelled by a Captain with years of war experience, a commander with almost none (as far as large scale goes) had not enough pull to tell Captain Albrecht to, as he would have eloquently put, 'go f**k himself'.

It was what James Corgan wanted.

What he wanted and what happened were two related and still diametrically opposing ideas.

While still penned in his ship, James Corgan had to speak to the Captain via standard LCARS communications interface (The Galaxy only had one holographic communications projector and so too did the Thunderchild, even a commander didn't have enough pull to use it whenever he wanted). To his trepidation, his finger did what he didn't want to do. It opened up the communications channels, and after waiting on the comm officer of the Thunderchild, opened a channel to the office of J.P. Albrecht.

J.P. Albrecht was the face of death, and James had seen death before. In himself, in Victor Krieghoff, in the dying of a hundred battlefields. J.P. Albrect was another aspect of that image, a leering skull with hollow eyes and sharp features covered in thin, pale flesh. His face held the mocking joy death had when it was enjoying a kill, the all knowingness of having a life and feeling he was in complete control. His seat was a throne, his husk of a body lean and dissecated, but still projecting the power of a tyrant.

It was as James remembered him. J.P. Albrecht, Lord of the Battlefields.

The uncaring.

In Corgan's life, he had lost count of his kills when they reached the hundreds. As a young man fighting the Dominion, he had killed selfishly to void the pain he felt from other traumas (and failing at that!). On many worlds he dispatched justice, face to face with the enemy, blood on his uniform, his hands, his phaser.

James was nothing compared to this man. James killed with weapons.

J.P. Albrecht killed with orders.

This was power James feared, and this man wanted him.

Hello Commander. Albrecht greeted, his voice like gravel slate grinding together, while thinking he spat out gems.

James didn't want to give the Captain the dignity of an emotional outburst. Sir, you wanted to talk to me. He stated simply.

With a disapproving look, Albrecht took a casual glance to the side. He crossed his hands together, resting his chin, predatory whilst facing James. Never liking how J.P. Albrecht appraised others, he bore those ice eyes calling judgement on him, approval or not feeling just the same.

Finally, he spoke. I suppose you want to know why I called you Commander.

James agreed. Sir, I do, Sir.

Do you remember me?

Yes I do, Sir. Captain J.P. Albrecht, captain of the Thunderchild. My former captain, Sir. You sent my unit on many suicide missions before, sir.

~ Uh oh. ~ James shocked himself with his admittance.

What he didn't want to say out in the open, J.P. Albrecht took with amusement, a thin lipped grin reaching both cheeks, preening in his all knowingness. What he said next crooned a parentlike chiding, correcting an erronious child, Commander, how can you say it so blithely? I would have thought you learned by now, being a Commander and all.

~ What is he getting at? ~ James thought, Oh?

Albrecht continued, You are a Commander, like I always thought you would be. We are alike, you see, we have seen things we should never have saw, stuff that would... put a civilian quick to rest. We are both old warhorses. We have the scars, the stories, the bragging rights. And now, like me, you are in a position where you are not out front, but have to lead. Am I right, Commander?

You're still as evasive as ever, sir. James Corgan had a finger hover on the end message button, and he himself had a threatening snarl, I don't see why you're so damn interested in me when you barely gave a damn about me and my fellow soldiers last time, so out with it!

James... Albrecht backed off, You're not doing so well. You are touchy. I want you to relax for a moment, drop whatever misguided ideas you have about me and talk. You accuse me of being evasive. Aren't you dodging the real issues here by trying to get rid of me? Now I want you to focus, listen to me for a second, and bear with me any nostalgia that I have about when you served under me, maybe even listen to the main issues at hand during my meanderings. Are you willing to indulge an old warhorse?

Not really. James finger plunged for the button.

Albrecht scowled. It stopped James from hitting the button. Insubordination? He stated, matter of factly, ending the argument. James kept the line open. Good. I want you to stay for awhile. But I suppose I should get to some point or another. I want to know... haven't you lead people yet, being a Commander and all?

James nodded, I did.

And did some of those missions lead to the deaths of those under your command?

James stammered, Of course they did! I've lost too many of my deputies over the years, and some of them were under my orders. My department had to defend this ship many times. Whenever I tell them to pick up a rifle i'm sending them out to be potentially killed. The Captain was about to make a point, that all knowing stare knowing and sensing a sprung trap. James pulled back at the last instant, a blistering counterattack of words, And so what? Are you going to tell me that as a commander you send people to their deaths for duty just like I did? That there's no difference? Give me a f**king break, you ghoul! You didn't send people to do anything but die. I was there. I saw it all. Battles we weren't supposed to win, you just sent us. So don't compare me to you!

So, you don't understand. J.P. Albrecht finalized.

I understand that we see it differently. James Corgan corrected. You saw valiant sacrifices against overwhelming odds. You saw noble battles and deeds. You saw young men willingly face death and win. I didn't see those things.

And I see a shortsighted man too scared to go all the way to win.

James froze and choked. Excuse me?

I can see where this is going. J.P. Albrecht sighed, a resigned look to his face, seeing the beginning and the end, You're going to tell me that I just shoveled people in the fire of war like coal, or some clich lesson like that, because you were there among them, and oh... it was a tragity because they were young men already condemned by the Federation for being malcontents or nutcases like yourself, and that was not the Federation you were taught to love and adore. Yes, I can see where this is going, so i'll save you the trouble by explaining your point in a way that makes more sense than it does if it came out of your confused mouth. You see me, my leadership, as wasteful, arrogant, and stupid because we see human lives as resources and not people, and that we care more for objectives than the people we command.

Hey! Hold on a second!

No, you hold on, Commander! Your generation so toothless you're half afraid to pay for your freedoms by any means! Albrecht blistered, You go on about how you sacrifice but you cry about going to war and killing another man and seeing your people die. That's gutless, and that will kill our Federation more than any hawk!

James looked at his opponent with savage amusement. He was scared, and on the losing end of the argument, but like a man in a close grapple, he saw the slight mistake and was ready to capitalize. In the earlier years, James saw Albrecht as the colossus, the uncaring god that sentenced men like him to death.

To see him as a commander, he looked just like a loon.

James spat, And you're on a tangent. Goodbye.

Wait! Albrecht pleaded.

F**k no. You're way off. Corgan scoffed, I can't believe you think of us like that. We're ungreatful, fighting for guys like you? And now we can't defend our freedoms? Do you really think we'll avoid war by any means? Man... you are stupid.

How dare you...

Oh please. You might as wll better get to the point, even if you didn't have the right idea of what I was. What do you want from me?

J.P. Albrecht, the vital man before, was a tired skeleton. He slumped in his chair, a sigh escaping his lip, admitting lost ground. I thought you would understand when I told you. Now I don't think you do. Why should I bother.

I'm curious, sir. James replied, I was just fodder before. I'm not fodder when you want something from me. So, what is it?

He said, I want you to convince Captain M'Kantu to support my plan.

James gave the Captain a queer look. Right... like I would support any of your plans. Another suicide mission?

It is nothing of the sort! Albrecht shot back, It does demand sacrifice, and if you can't gather the balls to do it, then you are weak, and so too is your Captain when he dismissed it! It could have stopped this war. It was sound and it would end this war even at the loss of manpower and equipment.

I'm gone.

It could have saved your daughter and your lover.

James felt as if his heart was crushed by an invisible hand. Hell. What is it.

Easy. J.P. Albrecht explained, I want to land a force of troops onto the Starbeast itself.

James eyes widened in fear. He remembered the sight of the gargantuum monster as it tore ships apart like bathtoys in a tub. The thought of the creature chilled his skin and sent rivulets of fear down his spine. I saw what that thing could do. You're nuts.

I'm aware of what it did. I tried to make a lunge for it myself, but our shields went down. Albrecht chuckled, But we could have done it. Twenty platoons of Last Chancers infantry, some photonic charges at the joints, a tri cobalt device or three down the gullet, and we would have slain the creature. We could have fought off the counterattacks, even stayed at the last minute if we could. All that was missing was a united plan, one they ignored. All ships co-ordinated to keep the creature off my ship and occupied, and we would have won the battle. But no. Now we have to do it their way.

You're still nuts. James said, I saw what it could do. It would have torn the Thunderchild to pieces before you fired off a shot. The fleet was too scattered. You also had too many men on the surface. If you had the time, more security men, the fleet on fire support... maybe, but not alone, and even then not so close. You couldn't have made it. You still can't make it without making it bloody... and I don't think you need to use so much to win. Have you actually explored any options?

Why? Albrecht asked, What other options are there?

See?! James yelled, The only plans you come up with are too damn bloody! You never think you can just find a clever way around it. You just throw more men at it! It's bloody stupid! Captain, I will not support your plan. I won't convince M'Kantu to do it. I'm not that f**king stupid! Now get the hell away from me!

He was expecting Albrecht to press his point as he always had, charging as hard as he did in battle when in argument. But the expected attack never came. Albrecht backed off, his admittance to defeat a bemused smile.

We talked before about the difference between us? I can clearly see it now. You're not like me, Commander. He said.

James countered, And if I agreed? Would I be like you then?

Maybe not. Albrecht spoke sagely, his shoulders sagging with age and the weight of his own tests, You could have just been a dishonest man, saying yes and letting it go. But you're idealistic. It's not like you to do that. But what you would do is tell an old warhorse that he was stupid, an even worse idea when your career is already in jeopardy from scandal and lack of initiative. But what I can tell you is this... the difference between you and me, the reason you will stay as a commander and I will be the leader of men, ships, actual power...

His bony finger extended to the monitor, an inch from the end communication button, when he left a rictus smile.

...is that i'm willing to sacrifice others. You're not. I'm a leader, you're a martyr. Leaders are wolves, Martyrs sheep. Leaders make victory speeches, martyrs cry about the state of the world and off themselves. Who do you think will get farther?

It was then Albrect ended the communication.

And in the joust of philosophies, James didn't know who won.

"Healing"

Dr. Robert Mathieson
Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

2nd Lt. Branwen London
Furies XO
USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Man'darr Maivia
Chief of Operations/ Hazard Operative
USS Miranda

"Doc, I need you!" Bran shouted. She was getting pretty tired helping Man'darr move and her own wounded arm was throbbing. "Man'darr has been wounded, I think it is serious." Bran tried not to sound too worried.

"I will be fine," Man'darr protested

Peering up from a Romulan with a disruptor burn on the side of his face, Doctor Mathieson was surprised at the size of Branwen's companion. At almost seven feet and cruising near three hundred pounds, the wounded Ops lieutenant wasn't exactly making things easy for the Marine. "Onna first cot on th' left, Bran. Be threre quicklike." He retuned to his native patient and proceeded to finish bangading the burned epidermis.

"Thank you." She whispered leading Man'darr over as gently as she could.

"It will be all right, love." She whispered to him.

~Capellan. Balls t' brass 'e's a Capellan. Christ, this doesn't get any better, does i t?.~ The Englishman packed his kit and made his way to the new arrivals. "Right - tell me where the bad Hydran touched yer."

Branwen was still holding his hand, with her good hand. "He's my boyfriend.

He's bleeding." Now that they were safe and the job was over, the shock was getting to her.

Man'darr sighed heavily, though the sigh was strained, causing Man'darr to grimice slightly. His side felt warm and wet where Man'darr still held his side. "Got to close to a Hydran Grenade.

Just fix me so I can get back with the rebellion," Man'darr replied gruffly.

"Not for a while, I think." Bran said trying to pull herself together.

"What can I do, doctor?"

The response from the physician was strained as he brought an antiquated scanner to the cot. "Jus' keep 'im down an' still. This thing's older'n I am, an' a lot more fussy." He calibrated the instrument and proceeded to examine the big Cappelan's wounds.

"Grenade? 'At's not good - worse 'n a disruptor, but better 'n some o' their other stuff. Lay still, there's th' lad."

"Stop talking to me like a child!" Man'darr retorted in a gruff voice.

Mathieson's heart sank as the data from the scanner detailed Man'darr's injury. The Hydrans were an organic race, and much of their culture was bio-engineered - their grenades were no different.

The shrapnel of these grenades were a complex organic compound that broke down into digestive enzymes when lodged into a victim's tissue.

The Cappellan was lucky he was caught at the edge of the blast zone - the few small, jagged shell-like projectiles were now painfully eating him alive from within.

The old man grunted. "S' alright - jus' a few bits in ye. Nothin' te worry 'bout if ye behave yersel', and with a fine lass like Lieutenant Bran t' keep ye company ye shoud pull through quicklike."

"You hear, it is not bad." Branwen said softly. "But you need treatment now." She was getting calmer now help was here. Thank God Mathieson was present, she would not have known what to do herself.

Man'darr sighed. Doctors were like politicians, they rarely told the truth to patients. "Good, if it is nothing, then I should be out of here in a few minutes," Man'darr said sitting up, despite the immense pain that jolted through his body as he did so.

"No you don't." Bran took hold of him. "Not until after the doctor is finished with you, please love."

A sharp hiss pierced the air as Mathieson applied a local anasthetic from his rapidly diminishing inventory. "Minutes? I'm no' than good, lad. It's still bleedin' shrapnel, an' ye've got plenty o' tissue damage - nothin's worked inter yer guts yet, but in case ye've no'

noticed, this is a waterworks pump station - not a sickbay.

~Yet's th' word, alright. Frikkin' bio-shrapnel''s already eatin'

muscle.~ The doctor gently examined the Capellan's wounds by hand, closeley looking at the manner of each projectile's entry and the ammount of decay. "Right - I'm goin t'work 'ere, buy Lieutenant Bran, I'm needin' a favor."

"anything." She said glad to be able to do something else but watch.

"I need some lime - an' not th' fruit type." Mathieson looked about the subterranean complex. "This is a waterworks facility - they may use lime fer treatin' water, markin' their sportsfields or makin'

warpaint. I don't care wot they use it fer, but I'm needin' some quicklike. A handful'll do."

'I understand and I will find it." She gave Man'darr a quick kiss. "I will be right back, hang in there."

"Th' grenade's partly a chemical weapon - an' we need t' cleans th'

wound o' th Hydran crap in the tissue", the doctor murmered, once again focused on Man'darr's side. "I've got a solution that'll aid th' healin, but a solution o' lime'll do th' trick t' neutralize th'

chemical."

Man'darr nodded. "Very well. Just be quick about it, doctor," Man'darr replied. He hated doctors...he had had only bad expierences with them.

====

It didn't take Branwen very long to find what she needed. Being a marine officer she was used to giving orders, and within seconds she had some of the locals searching for lime.

Five minutes later she was back at the biobed with the requested item.

"Here you go, doctor."

Doctor Mathieson didn't move, still bent over Man'darr's ribcage gingerly picking out the shell-like grenade fragments that had now become brittle as they released their enzymes. "Capital, lass - jus'

capital. Now use th' scanner an' see if it's calcium oxide 'r calcuim hydroxide. We can use both, but th' hydroxide eliminates a step an'

doesn't damage th' tissue." The words 'as much' remained unspoken, as the old man didn't want to spook either of the young lovers with what he had to do.

Branwen was utterly concentrated, very motivated to do a good job. The tip of her tongue was showing while she wielded the scanner. "it's hydroxide, Doc." She said happily not noticing that some blood of her own arm wound dripped unto the bed.

"Right-o. There's a bottle o' distilled water in me kit by th' table over there - I need 500 mills o' water mixed with th' lime t'

fifteen-percent solution." Another metalic ring sounded as a bloody fragment was placed in a stainless-steel bowl. "Take yer time - too weak an' it'll be useless, too strong an' yer boyfriend'll rip me 'ead off when his guts feel like they're on fire."

She smiled at the joke. "Don't worry I will do my best. I want him back

more than you do." Branwen went to work doing it ver methodically but as quickly as possible. "This should be it."

Mathieson took the last sliver of shrapnel from the wound and irrigated it first with the distilled water, then grabbed the solution from London's hand. "I'm not gonna shine one on yer, son - I've applied a local, but I can't spare more. This'll hurt like no tomorrow. When yer ready, I'll go ahead - but any movement'll bring yer guts o'er th' floor. Savvy?"

Man'darr brached himself by gripping the table he laid on on. "I understand, doctor."

"Right - Lieutenant Bran, give 'im somethin' t' bite down on an' hold his shoulders - an' be warned it's goin' t' be a bloody bumpy ride."

Branwen nodded, tears in her eyes. She gave Man'darr a piece of wood to bite down on. And then proceeded to hold his shoulders, but he was almost twice her size and she knew that if he really freaked she would never be able to hold him. "Hang on a little longer." She whispered. "I am here for you."

Man'darr rejected the piece of wood. "I do not need, nor want that. I can endure the pain." He dropped the piece of wood to the side. "I am ready, doctor."

"You don't want me to hold you?" Bran said.

Man'darr grinned at the thought. "I doubt you would be able to hold me still, but if you wish to hold me, you may."

"Just for support, so you know I am here."

"Ducky. Jus'... ducky" the old doctor growled. "If yer both donw wi'

all th' mushy stuff, I'll jus' go ahead then, right-o?"

Man'darr looked at the doctor. "Just do it!" he snapped back.

An excruciating pain then shot through Man'darr's side, nearly feeling as if it was on fire. What seemed like an eternity, Man'darr gritted and endured the massive pain. The pain soon died and Man'darr took a deep breath as Dr. Mathieson finished healing the wound.

"A New Level" Part One

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief Engineer USS Galaxy
& Michael McDowell, Civilian Engineering Specialist USS Galaxy

(Set two days after the Romulan and Federation Fleet withdrawal from the 'Fight for Romulas')

*** Location IKS T'Kengra, Mess Hall ***

It was a Klingon drinking feast alright. The Mess Hall was crowded and Blood wine was everywhere. How any creature could drink more than one liter of that stuff was beyond Michael. Instead of doing like Klingons do, he sat back in a corner, drinking some Rak'd'jeno, and watched the scene before him unfold.

From across the room Kala could be heard laughing as she sat engrossed with Jonas and several other Klingons, Dhani had yet to identify all of the T'Kengras crew. She smiled as her sisters' happiness; somehow she had the ability to forget the looming doom. Dhani wondered when the tables had turned and Kala became the strong, clear headed one. Though with that much bloodwine she really wasn't going to have a clear head in the morning, Dhani mused.

Maybe Kala had the right attitude, live for today, live for the now, cause tomorrow you might be dead. That statement had no more poignancy in her life than it did today. For a moment she paused in her stride. So'Han paused beside her looking back at the worried expression on Dhanishta's face, "Something wrong?" he asked her.

Dhani smiled, pushing the feeling of uncertainty away, "Nothing. I'm fine." she replied smiling at him.

"Dhanishta," So'Han began, turning to face her fully, "Do not lie to me."

Dhani smiled at him, "Since when did you become a worry wart?" she asked.

So'Han backed at the remark his ridges lowering as he frowned. "A what?" he questioned perplexed.

"Never-mind." Dhani replied waving her hand. "I am fine, nothing is wrong, let's get a drink." She didn't wait for him to argue, just proceeded towards the barrel of bloodwine that had been cracked open for them.

Scooping up two tankards full of the liquid that Burton had once referred to as antimatter fuel waste, she handed one to So'Han. Clinking the containers together she smiled, "To the defeat of the Hydran." she said meekly, catching a glimpse of her expression in the beverage as she brought it to her lips and cringed.

"And to your heroic home coming." So'Han added looking down at her.

Dhani smiled briefly and took a deep swig. Right now she would give anything to just have this experience over and done with. Sometimes she wished that she had someone to monitor her at all times to stop her from making such brash decisions. Causes five against thousands were odds that not even she would bet on!

Her gaze flowed over the brim of her tankard to her sisters form. She was so full of life. How could she have let her get caught up in this war? She was the older sister, she was supposed to look out for Kala, not let her join the bandwagon to sudden heroic death! And it's not like anyone knew what they were going to attempt. The Galaxy believed that she and the others died in the hull breach. So it was now just sudden death… dam!

From Kala her vision hovered over Jonas, the marine. She paused on him, she didn't know him, in fact she had never even heard of him. They traversed different circles on the Galaxy. He wasn't on her scope of daily existence. After tomorrow he may not be on anyone's scope of existence. For all she knew he had a family, a wife back home perhaps… though by the way he was leering over her sister it was doubtful.

She felt her hackles rise as Jonas placed his hand on Kalas knee. She had never once gone out 'pulling' with her sister; she had never seen anyone attempt to hit on her either. During their time at the academy Dhani had been with Chang, she hadn't been the type to get drunk beyond belief, and when she had she had stayed remarkably in control; she put it down to all the Vulcan training, which had blatantly slipped away these last few years. But to see this marine make passes at her sister, it made her want to punch him. She held back though, Kala wasn't rejecting the pass, and it wasn't her place to decide who was good enough for her little sister, of minutes only, even though this guy certainly wasn't!

Her mind mulled over Keldan next. It was inevitable that she would pause to contemplate each of her comrades in turn with the upcoming task. She and Kel had such a muddled past. They had been close at the Academy, well as close as she would let herself be with anyone during that time. He had been there when Chang had died. It was part of her past that she never talked about, seeing Kel however brought it all hurtling back to her. Since his arrival on the Galaxy they had clashed once and spoken once. It wasn't the same relationship as before. She was a different person and he had changed in his own way too. If they survived this encounter she vowed to spend more time with him, to reacquaint herself with a man that had been part of her life. Even though he was reminiscent of a time of pain, these were new times. They should take their friendship into the future, no matter what it held.

~The future~ Dhani repeated once more as her eyes locked onto Michael. She smiled at him from across the room before casting her gaze back into her drink. How could she begin to describe Michael? What she felt for him. It was more of a question, one that her mind could not answer at this time. Had that kiss been a product of the stress of battle, at the loss of so many, the destruction of all that they held dear? Or was it more than that?

For Michael it was, at least that is the projection she felt when they had kissed. He wanted her, all of her. He wanted to be together, a relationship, like all those other loved up muppets on the Galaxy; all of whom Dhani despised! She had watched so many relationships form and then fall apart. Not that she cared to stay in the loop mind.

And what's more she had been in love. She had been in love for so many years, felt the pain of the breakdown of that relationship and then the gaping hole ever since. Could she really do it all over again? Or was self preservation a more logical path to take?

Her weight shifted as she stood there staring over her drink. What about everything else that had happened to her over the years? Was she really going to put him through all that? Since talking with Terrik her mind had calmed some, her guilt had eased and the conflict had given her something new to focus on; a relief compared to what her mind dragged her through each night. But once this was over, if they lived through it, her mind would be haunted by them again. She couldn't let Michael see those things. She had been selfish enough to let Jiiles be with her, and it had only caused him pain. She had been so confused; the link with Suder had defiled her, and him. Was she really going to let Michael be a part of her twisted life?

She shook her head, the motion causing the drink in her hand to spill, some of it splashing to the floor. She had to tell Michael, she had to stop this before it went anywhere. She had to tell him 'no'.

She looked up, her eyes locking on to his. She could still feel him. Hear his thoughts in her mind. Feel the passion, feel the height of the pedestal he placed her on. She cringed wondering if he could feel her emotions, could he sense her uncertainty?

So'Han broke her train of thought, "Are you two together?" he asked. He would have been a fool if he hadn't noticed the looks they had given each other throughout the briefing. Though he knew that he was a fool, he had held his own feeling in for Dhanishta since he was a teenager, never permitting them to pass from his lips.

Dhanishta stared up at him slightly bemused, "What?" honestly she had forgotten that he was there!

"It doesn't take a Betazoid to decode those looks Dhanishta." he replied solemnly.

"What looks…"

So'Han cut her off with a singe index finger across her lips. "There may not be a tomorrow, Dhanishta. So say what you need to say today. Don't ignore your gut feelings. You have changed from the girl I grew up with; I know you feel them now."

His gaze pierced her, held her fast to the deck. Never before had he spoken so candidly with her, never before had he made so much sense, read her mind as easily as a knife through melted butter.

He handed her his untouched tankard, "Tell him how you feel Dhanishta." He leaned in close to her, his eyes focused on Michael, his lips next to her ear, so close to her he could smell her hair, feel it brush up against his skin, "Don't make the same mistake twice Nish." he said softly, feeling her body tense next to his, he knew which words pressed her buttons.

He smiled slightly, seeing the look that crossed the humans face. Perhaps it was jealously at another man being so close to object of his hearts desire. He could admit that that expression had crossed his face once or twice over the last few hours.

Coming to his full height before Dhanishta he looked down at her, her expression was a picture, her eyes fixed before her, brow furrowed as she stared at the wall; obvious that her mind was reeling from his words.

"Do not let your pride interfere with this." he said placing his hand on her chest over her heart, his eyes firmly on Dhanishta, no longer flittering towards Michael to see his reactions.

"Do not spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if'." With his last line of advice, So'Han sidestepped her and left the mess hall. His presence wouldn't be missed.

For a while Dhani just stood there, holding his drink and hers, routed to the spot. Slowly she turned round, but he had gone. Perplexed at his words, the double meaning in them realizing what he was saying and what he was telling her to do, should she go after him? Her eyes flickered over to Michael… what a tangled web she weaved. Was it always this way? Did she miss all the signs, had she gone through her life with blinkers on or something?

~So'Han?~ Her mind questioned ridiculously.

Michael had been watching Dhani and the Klingon for some time now. Not by staring, but in a more casual way. He'd wondered what they were talking about, especially since at one point the large Klingon had looked at him for a good long minute. It was a bit too long to feel comfortable with.

Was there something wrong? Michael didn't like to leave such questions unanswered, so when he saw the Klingon leave he got up and walked over to Dhani. He smiled as he approached leaned closer and felt his heart rate quicken at the same time. "Hey...you doing okay?"

"Erm yeah…" Dhani mumbled still shocked by the recent revelations. She looked at Michael as a bashful teenager with her first crush would. Not knowing where to look or how to stand. How did everything suddenly become awkward? They had been friends for years, gone to dinner together, hell they even shared quarters. Yet now everything had changed. In one swift motion they were on a new level, one that she had never prepared for, and certainly not expected.

"You sure?" Michael said. The response Dhani gave him was not very reassuring. He looked her in the eyes. "I mean... Well, you don't sound too sure."

Dhani frowned, perplexed. Was she fine? She asked herself the question. No she wasn't, she was far from fine. Into a whole new realm of not fine, and what made it worse is that she daren't tell Michael of So'Han because of his feelings for her. She shook her head and placed the drinks on the table.

Pulling herself together she kicked herself as she felt her cheeks flush, looking at Michael she cringed at the fowling words she heard herself say, "I think we need to talk."

Michael nodded. This didn't sound too good. He hesitated a moment before answering. "Alright... We can sit over there if you want." he said as he hinted to the spot he'd just came from.

She paused and looked around, "Not in here. We can go back to Kala's quarters." Dhani suggested. It was weird sharing a room with her sister again after so many years, but needs must she supposed. She cast an eye over to her sister, who was so plastered she was swaying in her seat. Jonas too, it seemed, his eyes were half shut and his arm wavered as he brought his pint to his lips, missed his lips, dribbled some and then tried again!

"I think she will be here for a while longer, so we can talk in private." her eyes narrowed on Jonas, sending him poison dagger as she saw his hand slide further up Kala's thigh while he made a third attempt to get some of the beverage out of the tankard. The urge to lunge across the room and kick him to the curb was getting stronger and harder to resist the longer she stood here.

She needed to talk to him in private? Michael wondered what could mean. Part of him longed to be with Dhani alone right now. Kind of strange since he'd shared quarters with her for over a half year now. But Dhani was far too serious at this moment, so Michael couldn't imagine she was thinking of the same thing as him. "That's fine with me. I'll be right behind you."

Lt. Th'Khiss K'aa, ACTO, USS Miranda

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

with an appearance by;

Lt.(JG) Denny Darmajaya, Tactical Analysist, USS Miranda(npc)

Deck 7, CIC

TJ strode into the CIC without too much of a lump in his throat. It was one thing to go and see Arel Smith for a security favor, this was quiet another. It wasn't too difficult to find Lt. K'aa, seeing he was the only Gorn in Tactical.

'Here goes', TJ thought timidly, "Excuse me sir. I'm Ensign Tagra from Engineering. I have some information and a proposal you might find useful." He tried to stay smiling, but his nervousness was getting the better of him.

The reptilian raised his large head and looked at the engineer with cold, saurian eyes. "Hrssss… Ensssign: I'm due for a conference call with the Exeter in five minutesss - let'sss bring the prey before the hunt, shall we? Information, firssst, proposssal second." Not waiting for Tagra's reply the Gorn went about collecting a number of PADDS, and interestingly a set of scrolls gracefully illuminated with flowing alien script.

"Aye sir," TJ replied, 'So far so good TJ'. He continued as he followed the Gorn, "I have information about a simple redesign of mine. It simply allows our shielding system to absorb eighty-five percent of a Hellbore's energy and rechannel it back into our systems, mostly the Cannon."

TJ caught his breath quickly before going on, "My proposal is to utilize your computer here in the CIC to better the outcome of this redesign. Also, this is a massive tactical advantage here, as I'm sure you realize. The CIC wouldn't be directly involved in this per se, but you would be recieveing direct updates and information along with the ability to help Engineering update the design as needed throughout future battle."

K'aa's entire body frose. "Ssssimple redesssign? Nullifying one of the Hydrans main offensssive weaponsss seemsss hardly sssimple, Ensssign Tagra. Turning the Hellbore into an asset?" The yellow eyes swiveled to rest squarely on the engineer. "Hrssss... has Commander Dawssson been made aware of thisss redesssign?"

"Considering the information we now have, the changes are simple. The only difficulty is the oscillations I'll have to set up, that's where the CIC's computer comes in. And Commander Dawson sent me down here on his authority after viewing the information here. I have all the info on this PADD," he held up the device.

"And you have sssome confidence of itsss effectivenesss? Hrnnnnnnn... interessssting.... yesssss...." K'aa rubbed the scales beneath his maw as he weighed the resources and the possibilities. The drawback of the main cannon was the slow recharge rate - otherwise, with the exception of the transphasic torpedoes, it was the most effective weapon against the Hydran capital ships. "Sssssss... follow me"

The Lieutenant bounded into the main chamber of a busy CIC, engineer in tow. "Missster Darmajaya, if you please?" A solid-built Indonesian light lieutenant came from out of the crowd of tactical officers. "Deny - thisss isss Ensssign Tagra from Engineering. He hasss a project that will take your besssst effort and top priority. Usssse Holofield Number Two and run projectionssss basssed on his conceptual data and modificationsss - with a ssslight change; Ensssign, rather than diverting all energy to the cannon, can it be diverted to bolssster the shieldssss? The cannon wassss ineffective againssst the Ssstarbeasst, and I want more protection when we face the biological?"

"With a few modifications, it shouldn't be a problem. That was part of my original idea, but the cannon seemed a better idea at the time. I can divert energy between the standard shields and the ablative armor. Inertial Dampeners, Life Support, any other system...they all could, and can, be added in. There is a lot of energy in the Hellbore. Some can be diverted into batteries or other storage means."

Arms crossed, K'aa drummed his black claws on his bicep. "It can't be *that* easssy. From one Hellbore ssstrike? Posssible. However, the Miranda was hit by no lesss than sssix jussst prior to the arrival of the Ssstarbeassst, in addition to being raked by Fusssion Cannonsss and Gatling Phasersss – even with all weaponry operating at maximum, there'sss no way we can shunt that amount of energy; the mathematicsss jussst don't add up. What happensss during a multiple ssstrike and our ability to divert the energy issss already maxed out?"

TJ thought about that for a few seconds, "One possibility is shunting it to the phasers, it would raise their output by fifty percent. Also, there is the ability to tie in several batteries and energy storage into the Phaser Cannon, that way we could fire it two, maybe three times in a minute. Maybe finding a way to use the Deflector Dish as a main weapon." TJ paced and rubbed his chin, "Also, the dish can be used to emit graviton pulses. That can push ships away, or tear them apart. It also can hurt the Starbeast, though I'm not a Cosmozoan Biologist, so that's theoretical at best."

TJ blushed slightly, "Sorry sir, I got ahead of myself." He walked back to where he was, "If I could figure out how to redirect the energy of the Hellbore and send it back to the firing ship, I'd be doing it. But I'm afraid that in order to do that, we'd need to build a separate shield system. As for the Fusion Cannons and Gatling Phasers, our standard shields would have to take the brunt of it. But with these modifications, that might actually be negligible. There's also a possibility of using the Ablative Armor as a massive capacitor for excess energy, but we'd enter a grey area of possibilities." 'What I'd give for about 30 zero-point energy storage units' he thought. It would almost be worth mentioning, but those storage units where bulky and big, not practical.

"The thought of that amount of raw power within the hull dissstubsss me, but the idea of having the enemy'sss weaponsss recharge our shieldsss?" K'aa began to nod as he weighed the risks. "I would sssavor that experience - yessssss. Go ahead – you'll find Misssster Darmajava mossst competent in knowledge of Miranda'sss tactical systemsss. When you have a working sssimulation have me paged if I'm not back from the Conference call. One more thing Ensssign…"

"Yes sir?"

K'aa grabbed the scrolls and PADDS once more as he spoke. "The CIC'sss jussst barely recovering from the battle – I would be mossst displeassssed if there was further equipment damage. I disssslike being displeassssed very very much."

"No offense sir, but if something is broken by me or someone, or something else, then I can fix it. I am an Engineer afterall."

"Excellent. Good luck to the both of you – it'ssss a mossst promisssing concept, Missster Tagra", the large reptile offered as he departed the CIC. "Mossst promisssing indeed."

TJ watched the big Saurian leave. 'Interesting, more to him than I thought', he mused. He decided he better get started. He extended his hand, "Pleasure to meet you Lt. Darmajaya. Shall we begin?"

Deny smiled and took his hand, "And you too Ensign. And we start immediatly, I'm very interested in seeing what you've come up with."

USS Eagle "The War Prayer"

Featuring:

Captain Leonard S. Striker
Commanding Officer, USS Eagle

Master Sergeant of the SFFC Robert "Pliers" Sykes
Chief Technican, Black Hawk Group

Commander Jackson "Nightmare" Hunter
CAG, USS Eagle

Lieutenant Cameron "Helios" Ward
Gate Keeper Squadron CO/CAG SecOFF, USS Eagle

Major John J. McCandless
131st Marine Special Mission Force CO, USS Eagle

Major Salu Digby
Chief of Intelligence Operations, USS Eagle

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

Location: CIC, USS Eagle

Leo Striker took a deep breath as he looked over the orders that was in front of him and looked at the assembled officers that had only recently become apart of the Eagle's senior staff. "Ladies and Gentlemen, by vote of the Federation's Security Council, we are now formally at war with the Alliance and are to set course at once for a rendeouzs with the remains of the task force that was over ch'Rian prior to the start of the engagement." Leo said in a serious tone to show that he was all business at the moment.

The youngest officer in the room, Lieutenant Cameron Ward of the SFFC, looked a bit confused before he crossed his arms over his chest and simply asked "remains sir?"

Leo nodded, "Yes, we lost two good ships in the engagement and that's only the tip of the iceberg." Leo said solomenly.

"The Hood and Concorde are both gone, all other ships are rumored to have sustained moderate to major damage and we are still getting data both combat and regular in at the present time." said the quiet but serious tone of the Eagle's intelligence chief in Salu Digby from where she stood next to the captain. Digby was a lithe woman with short brown hair and brown eyes who while having an attractive appearence could be colder than a winter on Rua Penthe.

"We lost the Hood?!" shouted a slightly round man in his late years who wore the uniform of the SFFC with the rank of a Master Sergeant of the Fleet's Fighter Command. "I served on her under DeSoto and yur telling me he's dead?!" the man said, his tone speaking volumns about his disbelief.

"I'm afraid so, Pliers." Digby said to the Master SGT who then simply nodded and took a step back. Chief Pliers had served on numerous ships of the fleet during his long life and some joked that this would be his second major conflict against the Hydrans to which the El-Aurian would simply smirk and pat the person on the head.

"I'm sorry about my outburst, the Hood was one of three ships that I was on the longest. Ta hear that she's gone makes me angry." Pliers said at which point Leo walked around the situation table and placed a hand on the older man's left shoulder.

"Pliers, I'm positive that Desoto died with his boots firmly planted on the deck of his ship. I was there too once, remember?" Leo said in a comforting tone that made Pliers look at his captain and nod solomenly.

"So, what's the plan once we get to the meeting point captain?" Cameron asked in a professional tone, trying to hide his reaction from the news from his fellow officers.

"We kick the Hydran's asses out of our galaxy and make sure their damned homeworld is ash afterwords!" Major Jack Hunter said, as the Eagle's current CAG, it was known that he lost a quarter of his family including his future wife when the Breen attacked Earth during the Dominion War.

Leo turned to face Hunter, "That's not what Admiral Murdock said in his orders to the battlegroup, Jack. What I need from you right now is to know the current ready status of your squadrons." Leo said in his professional tone.

Jack refused to be baited, "Black Hawk, Raptor, Gate Keeper, and Eight Ball squadrons are all packed, locked and ready to fly screaming into the black to show those damn Hydrans the error of their ways." Jack said pointedly.

"You mustn't hate your enemies, son. It clouds your judgement." Pliers said from his spot next to Ward. "The group's tech crews are more than willing and ready to jump at a moments notice..though I'm not too sure about a couple like that Kastos kid. He seems a bit too..." Pliers said, trying to think of a nice way of saying it.

"Greener than a Vulcan trying to eat real texan chili?" came the suggestion of Major John J. McClandless, the Eagle's marine detachment commander. "The kid helped get my unit's pelicans in full working order but he did seem a bit green under the gills, I know the rest of your deck crew are all vets but where did you get him from?"

"Kastos or "Jammer" as he's called on the deck due to his electronics knowledge got drafted by Pryde." Pliers said and that brought a snicker from Ward's throat.

"Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I've already got the Eagle's Hazard team working in conjunction with normal ship security forces to cover everything. When the battle starts, I want all marines doing a forced combat landing on the planet while our squadrons keep us covered. Jack, I want Raptor squadron doing heavy cover for the venteral shields since they are the weakest at the moment, our engineering staff is working their collective asses off to ensure that all shields will be up to max and running normal by the time the shooting starts." Leo said and the heads around the table nodded. "I'll be sending out further info and orders once I get them from the old man of the fleet, dismissed." Leo said at which point the various officers started to leave the room but Salu stopped and turned to look at Leo.

Leo was standing with his back to the doors with his head lowered. She strained her ears but she could hear her captain saying something.

"Prophets, Lord of the Interstellar Void, watch over this spaceship and those who travel within; Lay Your hand upon her yoke, that she may not loose her way; Spread They cloak over her hull, that she may be protected from the storm; And guide us always towards the bright and beautiful worlds you have prepared for us, when life's journeys we set aside at last...Amen."

Salu quickly left the room with a confused look on her face but she ran into Commander Hunter and Sergeant Sykes. They spotted the confused look on her face.

"You saw and hear the captain's little prayer did ya?" Jack said in a slightly questioning tone.

Salu, still confused could only nod.

"It's an old habit, it's an old modified spacer's prayer from during the time of the first conflict with the Hydrans only the deity that was spoken to depended on the world ya came from." Pliers said with a rueful smile on his face. "My grandfather told me that Malcolm Striker, Leo's great grand-daddy said that once when the two served on another ship that bore the name Eagle during that battle." Pliers said and then he reached out and ran a hand across the smooth plating with the rueful smile still on his face.

"In short, Salu. It means simply Lord, I hope that I don't fuck this up." Jack said before smirking and heading off towards the hanger deck with Pliers behind him, leaving a still but now slightly less confused intel chief in their wake...

off: slight backpost

"Dinner hour"

Arel Smith

For'kel Arvelion

****

Romulus

****

The downside to finding the resistance camp was that there were no more Hydrans to fight underground and Arel was in the mood to fight.

Stifling a sigh, she made her way instead towards the group of marines and waited for her brother to finish up with whatever he was doing.

She supposed that she should get some food in her system, although she was less than enthusiastic about eating Romulan food, and she thought that maybe For'kel would like to join her.

"One hour." For'kel said as the final statement to yet another briefing. This time the plan was to disable the planet's long-range sensor networks with a high-energy pulse through the grid that linked the multitude of stations together. It would allow any Romulan/Federation fleet dispatched to get closer without detection than they normally would be.

Closing things up, he turned around... eyes landing on Arel for the first time since the meeting with Sela. It was an oasis of relief.

"Hey, glad you could join us."

"Wouldn't miss it." Arel replied dryly. "Someone's got to make sure you marines don't fuck up."

"Doesn't explain why you're here." For'kel smirked in turn. "How're your guys holding up?"

"Decent." She replied. "You?"

"Not so well." He returned frankly, checking the remaining power-cells to see how much was left in each. "We've taken a hell of a beating, but we're holding on." He shrugged. "What more can you do?"

"You have time for a dinner break?"

"I think I can spare the time." For'kel gave a small grin, setting the rifle aside.

She waited until they were alone before she gave him a hug. "I'm glad you're safe, Brother."

It was a gesture that caught him off guard a bit, but wincing through a spot of pain he managed to return one, even patting her back. He closed his eyes, sighing with relief. "Likewise. You had me worried."

That over, he took a step back and managed a smile. "We should go find that food before it gets cold."

"Probably wont make much of a difference." Arel said. "Are you injured?"

"It's called wounded." For'kel smirked teasingly. "Injured happens when no enemies are involved. It's like when you take a spill on Jaal's holo-bike program or something. And I'll be fine, the doctors have more serious cases on their hands right now."

"Sounds like a dumb program" was all Arel said. They both got their bowls of what appeared to be soup and sat down in an area that had been set aside for dining. Arel took a spoonful and grudgingly pronounced it as adequate.

"The trick is to learn how to eat it without tasting it." For'kel chuckled, downing a spoonful of broth. "The center of the tongue doesn't have the specialized taste receptors other parts do."

"Good to know. So, how're you really doing?"

Arel was one of the few people, hell probably the only person right now, he was willing to be totally open with. "Not well. Worried about Berilyn, about the Miranda ... Cougar was killed. Dana is out of the fight, barely clinging to life. The Elaithin's are back..." He tried not spitting up his soup at the memory of what Jordan had the audacity to propose. "Have a few plasma burns and shrapnel wounds...could stand a bath." He smirked. "You?"

"Been better. Haven't heard whether Mitchell or Rena are still alive, gave Kor to Krieghoff for protection, nearly killed Jordan, didn't block a right hook from Elaithin that I should have seen a mile away, got a nice slice on my back that itches, and you smell pretty bad."

Arel grinned. "But on the bright side, there's a whole planet of Hydrans to take it out on."

"You think 'I' smell bad?" For'kel laughed, pointing to his nose.

"These ridges aren't just superficial. They effectively double my sense of smell, and I have to say Arel, you're not exactly akin to roses at the moment either." Taking another spoonful of the soup, he couldn't help but ask. "I've 'wanted' to kill Jordan, but don't think I've ever come close to doing it. What happened?"

"Thought she was an impostor and it pissed me off." She threatened to fling soup at him when he chuckled at her. "Well, can you blame me? I wasn't expecting to see a woman who I thought was dead walking around Romulus."

"No, I couldn't." For'kel held up his hands. "As a matter of fact, I'd rather you responded that way then just let her roam around unchallenged. There is a concern about operatives after all."

"That was my thinking." Arel said. "But I still feel bad about it. The woman has been through a lot."

The first thoughts to enter his mind were rather sarcastic, and having had a little time to unwind gave him the reservations necessary to forgo actually speaking them. Instead he nodded in agreement, and rushed through what remained of his soup. "I should get going."

Grabbing his rifle, he offered a parting smile. "Stay safe."

"You too. I'd hate to have to kick your ass if you get killed."

"Fireflies"

(Occurs as the fleet is withdrawing)

Principle Characters:

Major Amuramia mel Thora
LT (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

Romulus
Near Orbit

Mia mel Thora regained consciousness just as her fighter was passing into the planet's mesosphere. The flames licking at the bottom of the Rogue had finally given out, leaving her with a (mostly) uninterrupted view of the landscape below.

The first thing she noticed was that she had a splitting headache, and the cockpit had turned into an oven.

The second thing she noticed was that the ground below her was spinning.

The third thing she noticed was that the spinning ground was quickly approaching her position.

Panic pulled at her; along with the excessive heat she was finding it nearly impossible to concentrate. She'd been shot down like this once before, over the sands of Vulcan, and she refused to go through that again. Fortunately (?) for her the emergency transporter and manual cockpit eject were both trashed. Which meant one thing: whether she liked it or not, she and her Rogue were going down together.

It was going to take a minor miracle to pull out of the spin and recover enough to avoid becoming a smear on the ground. The engines had cut out, and with the back of her craft more or less destroyed, aerodynamics were not at their best. The formerly state of the art Rogue Mark V had now turned into a very expensive glider with a concrete block for an ass.

Mia closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and reached for the controls once more. Thrusters were still operating, though at minimal levels. Shunting all remaining power to those systems she activated the thrusters, and waited.

Thirty seconds passed, then sixty. Around the ninety second mark the spin straightened out. The ground was much closer now; smaller details within the war zone that was Ki Baratan became clearly visible. Mia pulled back on the control stick and continued to adjust the thrusters, bringing the craft almost level.

And if she'd had about two or three thousand meters of altitude more to work with, she might have been able to avoid crashing right into and through a neighborhood.

****

Romulus
Planetary Surface
An Alley

There was a star falling from the heavens.

Death paused, the limp Hydran dangling in his grasp as its screams faded away, and looked up as the star fell to earth, trailing a tail of fire.

It was beautiful in its way, like a firefly soaring through the air, burning up it's time of existence faster with every second it kept it's bioluminescence glowing and not caring as it flashed its light in search of a mate to give meaning to its short life. That dichotomy of life and death was fascinating, and Death thought on it for the few seconds it took the falling star to drop lower and make the fact that it would land near him clear.

Stars didn't die every day - not like fireflies. Perhaps he should go and see it fall to earth? Death looked down at the Hydran in his grasp.

Yes, he would. There was nothing here that interested him any more.

****

Romulus
Planetary Surface
Crash site

Her head was still throbbing; it was making her confused and disoriented. A single thought kept repeating itself in her mind: get out, get your gear, get under cover. A landing as spectacular as hers was sure to attract unwanted attention; by her calculations she had a lot less time than she could have liked.

Popping the hatch of her cockpit Mia half rolled, half fell onto the ground. After a few seconds she pulled the Rogue's underbelly cargo hold open, the odd angle of the craft causing the contents to spill out around her. Vision swimming before her the pilot quickly snatched up her

gear-- a field cloak, phaser rifle, two hand phasers, combat tricorder, med kit, and a small knife-- then scrabbled across the cobblestone street into the nearest open doorway.

Quickly clearing the ground level of the modest two-story house, Mia located a small storage closet and slipped inside. She set the med kit down, and then slipped the tricorder and phasers into their belt holsters and the knife into her right boot. Quick, shallow breathing still echoed in her ears; Mia finally realized she hadn't removed her flight helmet.

Undoing the chin strap she tore the helmet from her head, tossing it aside. In the low light, she watched with surprise as drops of blue-purple blood spattered along the floor, following the rolling of her helmet towards the opposite wall. Something wet trickled down her cheek; when she reached up to touch it her gloved hand came away glistening. So she had hit her head on the console harder than she thought. Good thing she always left her field gear in the fighter's cargo hold.

But at the precise moment she reached for the med kit Mia's world finally decided to upend itself. Eyes rolling back in her head, antenna going limp, Mia mel Thora slumped weakly forward and into unconsciousness once more.

****

Romulus
Crash Site

It hadn't been a star after all, Death thought sadly as he examined the crashed ship and the Hydran patrol scattered around it twitched out their brain's last random neuron impulses. It was only a firefly, after all.

Someone he knew flew a ship like this, though. Her name and face were just out of reach inside his mind, but she was there, and he knew that she was important somehow. Perhaps this was her ship?

He examined the vessel, touching the still-hot metal and tracing the numbers and words on the side. No, this wasn't her ship, it didn't feel right, didn't have her aura on it. The words and numbers were different too. This belonged to another woman, the scent told him that, as did the feel of the cockpit. The blood on the ground told him that she was injured and that she was one of the blue people with the antennae. The faint trail that meandered off into the rubble surrounding the crash site told him that she wasn't in full control of her balance - perhaps due to an antennae injury, perhaps for some other reason.

She wasn't the woman, wasn't from the ship whose crew he'd been given, which meant that she wasn't his responsibility, not really. But...

memories of two women with skin as blue as the sky and hair as white as snow danced into his thoughts and out again before he could do more than realize that they were there. The women smiled and laughed and danced at the edge of his thoughts, and he knew that they too, were important to him for a reason that wasn't clear.

He looked around at the dead Hydrans, flexed his fingers and felt the rifle in one hand vanish into the clothes he wore, and shrugged, the box on his back moving with the motion. He would find the blue woman, he decided. The other blue women, the ones in his head, would like that, it would make them smile, and that was good.

****

Romulus
Planetary Surface
A Ruined Structure

She was somewhere dark and cool. The air, thick with fog, smelled damp and musty. Low light filtered in from somewhere above, but the fog obscured any features the room may have had.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice sounding quieter than she expected.

She inhaled slowly and repeated herself, louder this time. "Hello?"

Suddenly the fog before her began to shift, thick white fingers forming in the chaos, hands reaching out for her. A figure appeared next, pushing its way through the fog. Light framed the head in a surprisingly brilliant corona, leaving the rest of the figure in shadow.

"Who..." Her voice caught in her throat as the figure came closer, a wave of bitter cold washing over her. Her body involuntarily tensed as a realization slowly dawned on her.

"I remember you," she murmured, the cold wrapping around her in a tight embrace, like the arms of a long lost lover. She'd felt this before, on the hot sands of some distant planet in some far-off time. Death had welcomed her with open arms then; it would be rude to try and turn him away once more, especially when he so rarely took 'no' for an answer.

She half smiled, opening her arms towards the shadowy figure. "If I'm to die, then so be it. Please don't keep me waiting again."

"You won't die," a voice whispered out of the darkness, the words seeming to slip under her skin and burrow inwards towards her spine like hungry parasites, leaving trails of frozen fear in their wake. "Not from the blow to your head, anyway."

"What?" she asked, trying to ignore the chills that were worming their way into her core. "I don't..."

A piercing pain shot through her eyes and she cried out, reflexively covering her face with her hands. Blinking several times she opened her eyes again, and suddenly found herself squinting. Instead of a darkened, foggy room and a shadowed, abstract being, she found herself in a closet with someone who looked distinctly...human.

From her slumped position against the wall, Mia tried to lean towards the man, one hand pawing weakly at the floor between them. Grey eyes struggled to maintain their focus as they examined him.

Her antennae twitched slowly forward; from this angle it appeared that one had been broken or partially torn from its base. "Who...who are you?" The words came slowly, as if the speaker was only partially conscious. "What are you?"

That was an interesting question, and Death pondered it for a moment.

What was he? Had something about him changed in some way? The answer was, as always, the same. "You know what I am," he whispered, the words digging at her as they had before. "Everyone does, whether they admit it or not." There was something wrong about the blue woman - the Andorian - as he watched her. Movements were off, coordination impaired, one antenna.... Ah, that was it. A whisper from one of the blue women in his head told him what was wrong, and how to fix it. "Be still," Death admonished the woman and reached forward.

Drawing her hands to her chest in a feeble protective gesture, Mia tried unsuccessfully to shrink away from him. Fear was evident in her eyes as she watched his hands, not knowing what his intentions were. Was this the end at last? Or was Death merely toying with her?

Hands touched her head, immobilized it, the gloves on them rough against her scalp. One of them reached up, encircled her antennae, the one that she feared was broken, the fingers surprisingly gentle. "There will be pain," Death told her matter-of-factly - and wrenched the antenna back and up.

Mia's entire body jerked involuntarily and a pained moan escaped her lips as the antenna reseated itself, the scraping of tiny bones against one another making a series of crisp popping noises that echoed loudly in her head. A hand found his and she tugged it roughly away, instinctively cradling the damaged antenna in her other hand. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, trying to focus herself and control the pain impulses that lanced across her face.

After several moments her eyes opened again. The movement was still slow, but the eyes focused much more easily now. She considered her companion once more. Decidedly humanoid features, Starfleet standard-issue Hazard Team attire, two pips gleaming on his mustard yellow collar. This close to him, she could see the individual particles of dust that decorated his uniform and could smell a mixture of sweat, dirt, rain, and the distinct aroma of blood. Both her own, and what she quickly identified as the pungent odor of Hydran blood.

But as the pain in her head subsided she realized that above all she could still feel the touch of hands on her face, like an afterimage that had burned itself into her retinas. Her cheeks flushed as her conscious mind quickly assembled the last few minutes into a coherent memory, replaying the intimate gesture in excruciating detail.

"My apologies, Lieutenant," she began, releasing his hand at last. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. "Thank you for your assistance."

Death smiled, the expression as chilling as the sound of his voice. "How novel... they usually start to scream at this point." His head tilted to the side and he studied her. "Do you want to scream?"

"No... why would I?" Mia replied slowly, giving him a nervous look. She couldn't decide if the man was just very eccentric, or if he was truly dangerous. And she was beginning to wonder if she wanted to stick around to find out.

"Good. There's a patrol outside the building - they would have heard you." His smile widened, and the terrifying impact of his words increased. "I'll be killing them soon. Like I did the others who came to see what fell here - but I wanted to make certain that you weren't one of mine, first."

"One of..." she repeated, voice trailing off as she tried to make sense of his words. Her head still throbbed with pain; coupled with the Lieutenant's overwhelming presence, it was making it hard for her to concentrate. "You must not be from Miranda, then."

"No," the answering whisper came. "My sheep all live on Galaxy." His head tilted to the side as he looked at her. "When I saw you fall..."

Death's expression shifted for a moment, became less inhuman if still frightening in a different way, "...I thought you might be her. But you weren't; she's still flying." The expression shifted back as suddenly as it had changed. "You shouldn't be here."

"We should get moving. I'd prefer to surprise the Hydrans, and not the other way around," she abruptly concluded, instinctively collecting the rest of the gear which had been scattered about her. She grabbed her flight helmet last, fully intending to take it along if for no other reason than she felt strange without it. But when she saw the sizeable dent across the top and the partially shattered visor, she set it back on the ground and shrugged to herself. "Not going to be flying anywhere with that."

"No," Death agreed. He looked at Mia for a moment, as words slowly drifted from the mouths of the blue women in his head, words that he knew they would want him to say even though he didn't know quite why, rising higher and higher until they slipped out his lips. "Aid and assistance I will give you," he whispered in Andorian, using a formal, ritualized phrasing that few clans and individuals outside traditional martial arts circles still spoke. "You are not my clan, but in the name of my family I will offer it." He frowned, the words making little more sense now that he'd spoken them. Why did the blue women want him to say that? "What... say you?" he finished slowly.

"You honor me with your words. I accept your generous offer, sir," she replied just as formally. Her accent was crisp and light, easily marking her as someone from Andor's more southern provinces, though the syntax she used sounded closer to the traditional forms used in the North.

Mia stood, running a hand down the front of her field cloak. "I am Amuramia, of the Thora clan." She held a hand out, palm up, in the Andorian equivalent of a handshake.

Death frowned up at the woman and slowly stood; looking at her hand before extending his own in the answering gesture that the blue women urged him towards. "I..." he paused, as the words slowly surfaced in his mind, "I am... of the Idrani."

"The Idrani..." she echoed, head quirked to the side as she tried to recall where she'd heard that name before. Ah, yes. That was it. "I thought the Idrani were...gone. Wiped out."

The blue women weren't dead - he would know if they were. "No," Death said with a sense of unshakable confidence. "I haven't given them permission to die - the blue women still live. They belong to Venture, not Galaxy, but they are family... and that makes them mine." He paused, head tilted to the side. "The patrol is coming. Can you fight, or do you need time?"

"As long as I still breathe, I will fight," Mia told him. A quick check of her weapons showed that they were all at full power. Satisfied, she turned back to Victor, and gestured forward with one hand. "Lead the way; I'll follow."

Death smiled. "Good." When they had killed the Hydrans outside he would show the blue woman where the others were; the humans and the blue people and the logical ones and the rest that were here, fighting the Hydrans. They would take care of the woman from the Thora better than he could. She was alive, and the living were not his province. Not unless they were about to die... and the blue woman wasn't. "They stand too close together when moving," he whispered as he slowly opened the door to the rest of the ruined house. "They get in each other's way if you're in and amongst them. If you have the chance, disable a leg, they can't stand on two. Watch their third hand - they sometimes draw a hand weapon with it while firing their rifles with the other two. They don't look up enough for an urban environment."

"Understood," Mia whispered in reply, dropping into a stealthy posture as she moved behind him. This wouldn't be her first time fighting Hydrans, and she doubted it would be her last. But maybe this time, fighting alongside this strange man, she might learn something useful.

It took only seconds for the pair to find the Hydran patrol outside - they were as close as Death had said. He indicated one standing to the side with a finger, marking it as Mia's, and smiled his terrible, killing smile as he took three steps, a rifle appearing in his hands from the Hazard Team uniform's micro-transporter buffer, the first beam lancing out from it as the Hydrans looked up from the scanner they were clustered around, spearing the center Hydran through the body and sending him whirling into the one to his right.

As Mia's phaser fired behind him, eliminating the separated Hydran, Death fired again and again with a fierce exultation. This was what he was made for, what he was... and here, on this planet, he was free to be himself in a way that was denied him elsewhere. The Hydrans weren't like stars - they were fireflies, burning up in the flame of his presence until nothing was left but ashes.

Morning Undertow

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Petty Officer 2nd Class, Medical Technician

Crew Quarters, Deck 35

Max woke up from a hard night in Sickbay. A double shift was barely enough time to care for all the wounded present. Amputations, plasma burns, radiation illness, various degrees of cuts, carvings, burns, bruises, broken and shattered bones, and other medical illnesses that battle can bring. Sickbay looked like the war zone was brought on location. In fact, it practically was, considering the amount of sick and injured present

He looked at the chronometer sitting on his desk and noted that he still had about 4 hours before his next shift. He still had not been assigned a specific shift or position, so he's been filling in whenever possible by performing triage, initial exams, treating various minor to major injuries that didn't seem to end, coordinating with other medics and triage officers, more treating, pronouncing, everything he wanted to be right in the middle of. His only regret was not being able to go planet side on the last go around.

Dr. Anjoli D'Bari had him running left, right, up, down and sideways, obviously breaking him in but also keeping him busy. He knew the entry interview with the Counselor (when he first came on board) was made known to her, and that there was a concern over his preoccupation with his family...difficulties. The Counselor noted that Max seemed distracted, as if in some reverie, and had to raise her voice at one point to get his attention. The Counselor (Gwen Parri) made a fair assessment of him, he knew, and she was probably right in prescribing a visit once a week and "keeping the good medic busy." But he resented having to be told that there was a problem. He also resented himself for not staying focused. He had a job to do, and he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to get that job done. He would not let complacency nor self pity and anger endanger his crew mates or the mission.

Sitting up now, Petty Officer Maxwell rubbed his eyes, his body sore from the near countless hours of ministration he performed just hours ago. He knew that there was going to be more of the same soon enough, but didn't mind. Max concluded that getting in the thick of it, as it were, was exactly what he needed. He looked at the chronometer again and decided that he wasn't going back to sleep. He declined the sedative offered to help him sleep, as he also had some issues with getting a good night's rest, resulting in his having a somewhat haggard look at times. He tried tiring himself out in the holodeck with taijutsu and kickboxing practice. Usually it worked leaving him too tired to even take his uniform off when he finally made it back to quarters. But lately, with the battles, he hadn't had the time to indulge in that particular luxury. It was straight to work, and sleep in between shifts just for rest.

Max stood up and walked to the mirror. His eyes widened for a moment, but then he relaxed, realizing that he had not shaved for a few days.

Now is as good a time as any, he thought to himself. Picking up the sonic shaver, he began cleaning up, then paused. He took a closer look at himself, though for a moment, then proceeded to shave in a pattern and shape that resolved itself into a mustache and goatee. He then shaved the kinky hair that started to really show itself on top of his head.

After coming out of the sonic shower, he took another look at himself in the mirror, and smiled.

Now THAT was the New York City Paramedic I knew.

Satisfied with the new look and feeling quite refreshed, he decided that there was no reason for him to remain in quarters. There was work to be done and people to help and heal. He selected the field uniform (instead of his sickbay blues with lab coat), and looked again in the mirror to make sure he was as presentable as can be.

He was reminded of his meeting with the Command Master Chief Geoffrey Fawkes, who told him as friendly advice for the newcomer that keeping up good appearances would help him go a long way, no matter the circumstances. Max believed that and took it to heart.

Satisfied with his appearance, he turned, walked out of his quarters, and began to make his way to sickbay.

Today was a new day, he told himself. And I aim to make a difference and do it the best way I can. He smiled and greeted a passing crewman, entered a turbo lift, ordered his destination as sickbay and disappeared behind the closing doors.

Lamar/Ventar

"Updates"

Somewhere underground.....

Rayna woke up with a start. Her wrist hurt and her head. She slowly sat up and saw a light in the distant. She got up and walked towards it. There were about five people with starfleet uniforms all sitting around a small fire.

"Ah look, she is finally awake. You slept long enough."

Rayna looked around and joined them, "So what is going on outside? I would think that you would all be looking for others who are in the same situation."

"We are. Two are searching right now. We've heard rumors that many have banded together with the Unificationists. As soon as it is safe, we're going to join them but until then, we're staying here. We can't offer anything right now."

"That's fine. All I want is to get back to the Miranda and hug my kids."

They all looked at her and sighed. Rayna felt dumb for saying what she did when they had lost so much.

The two came back, "The rumors are true. I think we should go. We found out where they are."

"Let's go then. We need to get out of here before they find us." It was agreed by all to go. They packed up and left.

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

The Miranda.................

Kisha was exhausted. Sickbay had finally calmed down and she'd been up 72 hours. She left and went to bed.

"Tsubasa" (Wings)

Lieutennat Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer, USS Exeter

Lieutenant Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineer, USS Galaxy

Soundtrack & Lyrics: 'Tsubasa' - Tsubasa Chronicle Future Landscape I

* * *

Far in the light, I can see it

in every scene of the night

a tiny feather of love

I got to go

destiny never finds the way for me, my love

Even in the night I see your face, in the dark so I never lose my way to you I never close my heart the light is always there

* * *

"Nyaaa!!!"

Saul clutched the console, glaring wildly at the view screen. Two Hydran cruisers buzzed in a complex pattern, dodging for a position where their Hellebores could scortch the simulated Exeter without interruption.

He sent another volley of torpedoes, keeping eye contact with them as though his mere sight would force them to reach their target.

The enemy cruisers scattered counter measures, but it was too late for one of them. Saul pounded his palm onto the lower part of his console, directing all front phasers toward the approaching enemy.

"Break! BREAK! Shbor, ya zevel!" He barked at the simulated helmsman. The latter grunted as the cruiser missed the Exeter by merely thirty meters. The Dutchman instinctively leaned left, as though it was he who needed to evade the ramming cruiser.

As he swiveled around, as graceful as a Deltan dancer which had too much comet ale before the show, the universe seemed to slow its pace. And as it did, he could swear he saw her.

Her face weren't smiling. She seemed concentrated, his princess. Focused on doing something right, like she always did when on duty, whether she was fixing some negligible hand-held device or stopping a full-scale core breach.

Her gaze crossed his--

He smiled as time returned to its normal speed - 'too fast' - and then reached for the aft phasers' controls.

Even in the heat of simulated combat, he could smell a hint of her scent.

* * *

Time goes by, we can never stay the same now we've come so far from love memory though your smile has gone, we will never be apart in our hearts we are one, for love melody the future arrives with your love

* * *

Even in the modern day, soot was still an issue when things blew up.

Mechanics and engineers still managed to get soot smeared across their cheek and forehead as they worked on equipment that had been charred.

Engineering was bustling with what she hoped was a more organized chaos.

Things were not getting fixed fast enough for her liking, but she tried to understand everyone was working hard as they could.

The ensign beside her that was assisting in the re-wiring was not quite yet experienced, but worked with trembling hands and a look on his face clearly showing he really hoped he was doing things right.

At one moment he wasn't. Nara knew in an instant what would happen if he hooked it up, but that instant and the time it took her to shout out and the time it took him to comprehend was all too much time.

Nara pushed the young man down, just as they both got a little seared on their uniforms. In the split second of that movement, her mind found itself on Saul. The second seemed to last forever as she caught glimpse of his mischievous, mysterious smile.

She frowned as it faded with the sparks. She resisted the urge to smack the ensign, but sat back up and asked not too compassionately, "You alive, Ensign?"

* * *

willing to go to the place

where you never need to cry

I'll take you there

willing to find an answer

in all the winding road we have come through

in the heat of summer, cold of winter, I'm here so you never lose your way to me never close your heart your light is always here

* * *

Tired, battered and disheveled, Saul Bental paced alone through the bowels of the USS Exeter.

The shipped creaked and hummed around him, the silence just loud enough to echo a single moment of loneliness.

Then, he saw the porthole.

Disregarding his tiredness, he rushed toward it like a child, and brought his face so close to the duraglass that his breath condensed on the transparent surface.

Outside there were stars, and far in the distance other ships could be seen. He could just make out the form of a very specific ship, a Galaxy-class.

And on it was a very specific engineer.

Some things, he thought, were worth protecting.

Saul smiled as he broke away from the porthole, his feet carrying him briskly as though the standard issue boots were supplemented with a pair of wings.

* * *

time goes by, we can never stay the same in the shades of hope, in love memory though your smile has gone, we will never be apart in our hearts we can hear the love melody the future still shines, close to you.

"Snapped"

Ensign Faylin McAlister

Jack NPC Written by Dru

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

'She's sleeping again. I should just let her be.' Her smile gently cemented on her face as the woman walked into the room and over to the ornate bed where the little girl rested. Sitting on the edge of the pink stripped comforter, she brought her hand up, caressing the mass of tousled brown hair.

The mother watched the breathing of the child. The rise and fall of her chest was rhythmic, it was the only thing that was certain in these days.

They had been fortunate to be able to safely stay at the family mansion during the turmoil on the planet. Reclining next to the girl, the woman stretched her arm over the sleeping child, protecting the human with resolve and determination. No Hydran would touch this gift from God.

She glanced over her daughter's form and took in the room that used to be hers. It still had the same decor, it was so comforting. The ancient rocking horse stood guard in the corner. The tin toy soldiers watched from over the shelves, their little rifles posed for action if the need should arise. Memories flooded her mind, but quickly disappeared as her daughter turned and opened her brown eyes.

"Hi mommy."

"Hello darling. Did you have a good rest?"

"Yes......" The daughter stretched, then retracted in giggles as the woman picked up her baby, cradling her in her arms for a moment. The softness of her daughter brought her peace.

"Mummy?"

"Yes hon?"

"Do you want to play with me?"

Mother sat up fully, playfulness dancing in her eyes. "What shall we play?"

"Ummmmm.....I changed my mind."

Her facial features grew soft. "What would you like to do? Read a book?"

The older woman still held the child, tucking a stray strand of curly brown hair behind the child's ear. 'Pure innocence' the woman silently thought as she studied her daughter's soul through the child's eyes.

"Oh yes. I know just the one!" The child wiggled out of the loving grasp of mother, determined to retrieve the book she loved. She knew exactly where it was located, for time and time again, mummy had read the book to her. Whenever she wanted! Mummy was grand indeed. "This one!" She flipped the book on the bed, then scrambled to get back up on the bed herself.

Leaning over, the mother gently replied. "Let me help you up....." She placed her hands around her daughter's tiny waist and hoisted her up onto the large bed. The little girl grabbed her precious book, and handed it to her mother as she plopped into her mother's lap with force.

A small 'oooffff' escaped the painted rose mouth of the woman as she took the book. "This one again?"

"Uh huh! That one!"

"Okay....here we go baby." She opened the first page as the little girl snuggled into her lap.

The couple sat on the bed, cradled in each others arms as the war raged just outside the window. When they got to the part that she knew her daughter knew, they always said it together.

"I'll love you forever

I'll like you for always

as long as I'm living

my baby you'll be."

Jack didn't know how he came across the mansion, truth be told he didn't have a clue how it was still standing in the midst of the slaughter outside.

For the last two weeks he had been surviving somewhere in the outskirts of the capitol. His platoon had dug in, in a foothold at the base of a hill.

They had pretty good cover, yet still the Hydrans managed to overwhelm them.

He didn't know how many of his comrades were left; he didn't see where they ran. He couldn't even remember how long the fighting last till he too had to pull out. The screams still rung in his ears as he wearily trudged up the stairs to the second level of the mansion. He was asleep on his feet, fatigue and horror etched into his entire being. For a moment he wondered about the future, how would come to terms with all that he had witnessed?

But the future seemed far out of reach, tomorrow too was so distant on the horizon. The future was limited to the next second, the next minute, the next hour.

His dirt clad boots finally connected with the top step; his mind repeated the directions over and over, 'up the stairs, third door on the left'. In war you didn't expect the luxuries of bathing, hot food and warm things to drink or a real bed. This mansion was an oasis in the middle of a desert.

He was going to get to wash the grime off his skin, he wondered if the water could penetrate his mind and soul too. Could it wash away all the memories?

In his zombie state he walked across the landing, mud falling from his boots in clumps.

Pausing in his quest he leaned against a door frame, it was hard to keep his eyes open and his mind focused. As he rested a voice drifted through an open door. As his brain processed the configuration of words he realized that a woman was reading a story to a child. He knew that story. A smile crossed his face as he mouthed the words, 'I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.'

Lingering beside the door he peered in perplexed as to how a child could survive this war, wondering why on earth a mother would leave her child here. This was no place for a kid; the Hydrans could storm this house at any given moment. It was pure chance that it had not fallen to the same fate as the rest of this forsaken planet.

The room beyond the door was quite large. Most of its contains had been removed to allow for the steady flow of personal, that once having found this oasis had stayed, to protect it of course! What light there was flowed through the open window, along with it the sound of the fighting, it wafted in on the breeze, and like the smell of the mist that gathered in the air, it lingered.

His eyes flowed over the barren room with its bare wooden floor boards and exposed plaster walls to the owner of the gentle voice that filled the cold room with warmth.

The flow of her voice, the rise and fall and inflection in her tone soothed his tattered soul, the soft smile on his lips growing wider as he listened.

Her words touched the humanity in him that he had buried to survive.

Looking up his eyes locked on to the woman's graceful form. She was sitting on the bed, her shoulder length brown hair cascaded around to frame her face. Her olive skin glowed in the soft lighting and her eyes were down cast, as she read to what appeared to be a small doll that sat in her lap.

His smile faded as he registered the item in her lap was not a child but a doll. Confused he stepped forward, his shoulder pushing the door open fully. "Ma'am?" he questioned softly, his voice cracked, hoarse from having been exposed to the chill of the night air and the exertion of battle for so long.

Faylin McAlister glanced up, offering a soft smile as she caressed her daughter's long curly hair. "Yes?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, clearing his throat to gain some clarity in his voice.

"My name is Faylin McAlister. I'm a JAG with Starfleet. However, we are staying here.....my daughter and I during the war."

The frown lines in his face deepened, the dirt cracking across his skin.

"Your daughter?" he questioned perplexed, "Where is she?" he glanced around the room briefly, wondering, hoping, that he had indeed missed the child on the first pass.

McAlister's eyebrows knitted with confusion. "My daughter is sitting in my lap....sir...." She paused, glancing down at her daughter. "Olivia....say hello to the nice gentleman."

Jack couldn't help but look down as she inclined her head to talk to the doll, almost expecting it to answer.

"Hello." Came the reply.

Part of him was indeed relieved when the doll didn't speak, yet at the same time the lack of response from the plastic toy indicated that at least one of them was hallucinating. And after all he had been through recently he wasn't sure if he was capable of determining, with certainty, which one of them it was.

"See? She's perfectly fine. I'm attempting to shelter her from the outside.....by keeping her safe here. Don't you believe that's a good idea?"

Jack cast a worried look back towards the door. "That's great." he replied distracted by the notion of backing out of the room and closing the door, pretending that this never happened. Yet as his eyes returned to look at the confusion filled picture before him he realized that he couldn't quite turn his back on this. Maybe she was retarded, a mental patient that had been rescued, but the uniform she wore. maybe she found one. but what abut the pips, and the fact that.. His stomach lurched at the thought. she was caught here before the war broke out. His eyes closed against the pain that tugged on his heart, how truly awful.

Slowly he stepped closer to the woman. Kneeling down before her, yet still keeping his distance, he spoke quietly, "Ma'am. that is a toy." he said gently pointing to the doll.

"Nooooo, she's my daughter." Faylin tilted her head to the side. "Why are you calling her a doll?"

Jack frowned slightly, what did he expect, her to readily take the news that she was conversing with a child's toy? He took a deep breath, wondering for a moment if there was a doctor in this place. "Because ma'am it is." He stood up slowly, keeping a well trained if not exhausted eye on her, "That thing in your lap is not a child, it is a doll." he told her calmly yet firmly as he came to his full height.

Faylin stayed firmly in her place, her arms wrapping around the little doll tighter. Arching an eyebrow she spoke. "Why don't you go and talk to Fork'l.....he'll set you straight."

Jack was loathed to leave her, yet at the same time he required back up for this. A stray thought entered his mind; maybe he was the crazy one, maybe it was him that was hallucinating. It was possible. Backing up to the door, much like one would do when confronted by a deranged animal, avoiding eye contact, he paused in the doorway and strained to look for any sign of life outside the room of weirdness.

"A Kept Woman"

Ensign Faylin McAlister
Tir'len NPC
Forkel Arvelion - Marine CO- Miranda

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

There wasn't much time before the expected assault on the Hydran HQ, but one of the Marines had reported a Galaxy officer had gone crazy, he didn't have a choice to go. When For'kel heard the name of said officer was Faylin McAlister, it made the situation all the worse. He'd half given thought to calling for Savannah, but neither of them needed that right now... and he needed Savanna in fighting spirit.

It was a long trip to the Mansion, but he'd made it through the underground, being brought by a pair of Marines up to the bedroom. "Faylin?"

She sat, still cradling the doll in her arms at this point. Looking up at Fork, her eyes softened. "Shhh, she's sleeping." Faylin glanced down at the doll, brushing the long hair out of her plastic face.

For'kel took careful, measured steps, kneeling down in front of the mother and 'child', watching, observing to make sure she wasn't armed, wasn't about to run, before asking "who's sleeping?" The doll caught his attention once he carefully slipped a piece of cloth from view. "What's this?"

"Fork, don't be silly. She's Olivia." Faylin puffed out her cheeks.

"I just don't understand why everyone is saying that she's not my daughter! It's very frustrating."

"I can imagine." For'kel gave a small, disconcerted smile, deciding it best to play along for now. "I'll be right back."

Exiting the room, he gave the two Marines with him specific orders. Era had been thorough in her report on the Psychiatric facility, hopefully someone there would be willing to help. "Go get someone, bring them back, and 'hurry'."

"Okay. We will be here." Glancing down at her daughter, she began to rock her and hum her favorite song. "Everything will be okay Olivia.......I'm here."

Watching her daughter sleep in her arms, she thought it best to place her in the bed, underneath the warm blankets. Evening was coming soon, and it always grew cooler at night time. Tucking her in, she moved to the bottom of the bed, sighing heavily.

It was a long while still before Tir'len entered the room. The Romulan psychologist was in need of a bit of 'coaxing'... but 2 Marines with rifles beat one hypo-wielding Romulan every day of the week, so here he was. That, and he did have an ethical obligation to assist.

"Hello. And you are?" McAlister posed.

Tir'len offered a small smile. "I'm Tir'len, a doctor from a nearby hospital. One of your friends was concerned that you might be in need of attention."

"We...." She pointed to her daughter and then to herself. "Are in no need of medical attention, but thank you for the concern."

"Ahhh." Tir'len made immediate not of the displaced personification she was exhibiting. A classical example really. "You both look tired. Have you been sleeping well?"

"As well as we can...considering the situation here on the planet."

She stated quietly. Faylin's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the doctor. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm a psychiatrist." Tir'en responded gently. She seemed, other then her 'child', to be fairly well off. It was probably brought on by the trauma of proverbial shell shock.

"I see." Faylin got up slowly, her eyes still narrowed at the doctor and the two Marine's that came in with him. She backed up to the edge of the bed, and went around to the other side. Her eyes never left the doctor or the others as she carefully picked up Olivia in her arms. Something did not feel right......

"I have a hospital not too far from here. Warm, protected... why don't we go there and continue our discussion?"

"We don't need to go anywhere......we are fine here." McAlister kept

her distance, bringing her daughter to rest against her shoulder.

"Now, if you don't mind doctor, I need to let my daughter rest."

"She might rest better on her own. Why don't you leave her here, and we'll discuss things in another room, keep this one quiet for her?"

"That's not necessary." Faylin backed up yet again, stopping short as her back was against the wall. "We....will be fine. You.....can go now.....please....."

"Miss McAllister, I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem." Tir'len reached for the doll. "Why don't you give her to me?"

"I'm a good mother....I really am. See? She's happy. My daughter is happy and safe.....so, there's no point in you being here.

None....none what so ever." Her eyes darted back and forth, from the first Marine, to the second, back to the first again.

"You're not well Miss McAllister." Tir'len approached carefully. "I can help you, but I need your cooperation."

"Back up.........please.....do you need to be so close to me?" Faylin glanced down at her baby. "You are going to scare her....." She paused, with a quiver in her voice. "You are scaring me......."

"Why?" Tir'len asked, giving a 'go ahead' nod to one of the Marines. "Is it because you know I'm right? Stay calm, we'll help you."

Her system went into over drive as one grabbed her daughter. "Wait!

Where are you taking her?" Faylin's arms shot out past them, attempting to grab her daughter's arm. "She's mine! MINE!" She paused, the terror in her voice skyrocketed to a new level as the larger Marine grasped her wrists, preventing her from hitting him.

"LET GO OF ME!"

"This won't take long, Faylin." The Romulan smiled as he loaded a hypospray like device. "This is going to help you get some much needed rest."

Her eyes darted to the doctor. "Doctor?" Faylin's head tilted to the side. "Please? What are you doing?"

Tir'len opted not to answer, injecting her with the sedative.

"Out of Bounds"

(Brevet) Cpt. Brian Elessidil
USS Exeter

Lt. Brendan Mullen (NPC)
Acting First Officer
USS Exeter

"Lieutenant, a word please. Everyone else, dismissed."

Brian watched the rest of his patchwork senior staff efficiently filed out of the conference room casting a few uncertain glances back in his direction. It was obvious he'd asked Lt. Mullen to stay behind for a reason.

For a couple seconds after the two men were left alone, Elessidil silently stared at his designated first officer, deciding how he wanted to approach this conversation -- one that he knew the time had come to have. For his part, Mullen simply stared back as if he had not a care in the world. Perhaps he didn't.

"I'd like to think this ship's first officer would have something to contribute to a senior staff meeting," Brian began, keeping his voice calm but firm.

Mullen's first response was the annoying smirk designed to look like amusement but which masked a deep-seated irritation. He glanced to his hands folded on the table in front of him, judiciously choosing to think before speaking. "Permission to speak freely....Sir." The last word he almost had to choke out.

Personally, Brian wanted nothing more at the moment than to deny the request outright and to send Mullen packing to his quarters, or to another ship, or anywhere other than here. But he reminded himself that the younger man was first officer for a reason, and for that he was valuable. Saying nothing, Brian gave his assent with a shallow nod.

"I'd like to think that I were making my own contributions without the 'help' of someone else's officers," Mullen dryly replied. The reference was obviously meant toward more than the people who had just left the room.

Feeling the tension mounting despite the attempt at initiating some open communication, Brian kept himself in counselor mode so as not to completely shut down any chance at remedying what had quickly become a very negative relationship, for lack of a better word. He breathed before speaking, allowing a momentary pause to temper his own anger.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Lieutenant. But unfortunately, you're going to have to get used to it for awhile. This ship is short on seasoned officers and the others in this room have many years of tested experience to contribute."

"So do I," Mullen quickly retorted, his tone slightly more elevated.

"Then contribute it," Brian immediately shot back.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you're interested in anything I have to say?"

Elessidil's brow wrinkled. "And how did you arrive at that conclusion? Betazoids aren't exactly known for beating around the bush; if I weren't interested in anything you had to say I would have made someone else first officer."

Mullen showed little indication of interest or amusement. "Yeah, that was real charitable of you."

"I'm not here to be 'charitable'," Brian responded, his own voice matching Mullen's in intensity. "I'm here to make sure this ship and crew get through whatever's coming next with as little loss as possible. I didn't ask to be put in command but here I am. We're both going to have to get used to it."

"Betazoids aren't exactly known for their command abilities either."

"That was out of line, Lieutenant!" Brian shot back, abandoning all effort to keep his anger under control.

"I don't give a damn about what's in or out of line, *Captain*! I only care that this crew has the best person possible sitting in that chair when we face the Hydrans again and that's not you!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Brian snapped, already just as angry that he had allowed things with Mullen get this far as he was at Mullen himself.

"Don't report back to that bridge until you've had an attitude adjustment, Mister Mullen! Dismissed!"

Locking eyes with Brian for a moment, the lieutenant snapped to his feet and took his leave without another word. But his thoughts and emotions rang loudly in the counselor's head.

Elessidil slammed his fist against the table. They agreed on one

thing: that the Exeter's crew have the best people possible in command. Despite his petty arrogance that included Lieutenant Mullen in Brian's estimation, but Brian wasn't sure that this was going to work. With potentially strongly negative consequences, a line had been crossed, and it wasn't merely the line that demarcated the hierarchy of command. It was the line that bounded Elessidil's own self-confidence in his ability to be in command of this ship, and nothing he could say or do to Mullen was going to help that.

Brian would need his own attitude adjustment to solve that problem.

"Council of War" pt I

Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu (Ian & Pat)
Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock, CinC, Starfleet (Pat)
Admiral Donatra, Commanding Admiral, Rihannsu Star Navy (Pat)
General Vergh, IKS Dar'chak (Commanding, 8th KDF Fleet) (Dave)
General Xiomex, Commanding, Free Reman Stellar Navy (Ian)
General Kern, IKS K'mpec (Commanding, 9th KDF Fleet) (Mek)
Ambassador Aerv tr'Ahalean (Syed)
(Acting) Senator (Lt.) Shiarriel t'Khnilamnae (Eric)
Captain Darren M'Kantu, USS Galaxy (Robert)
(Acting) Captain Jaal Jaxom, USS Miranda (Cliff)
Pilot Taev, Saber Two, USS Galaxy (Dave)

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Observation Lounge
USS Miranda, Deck One
19 Days after the Withdrawal

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

Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock ran a wistful hand over the chair at the end of the table. It had been his, once, much like this ship. In a way, the Miranda was his once again.

Shortly after the 1st Fleet had rendezvoused with the forces in the Phoenicius System, the Scots Admiral had transferred is flag from the Cheyenne to the Miranda. As good a ship as the Cheyenne was, she was still undergoing refits towards becoming a true Admiral's flagship.

Jaxom retained command as his Flag Captain, of course, but if Murdock was going to lead this fleet, he'd do it from here - or importantly, in the Miranda's state of the art (if a little banged up) CiC.

And, damaged as she was, the current Miranda had been *designed* as a flagship. And he was in a unique position to know. He hadn't just been the ship's first Captain - Victor had designed her. He knew every molecular weld, every scrap of hull plating intimately. Miranda was a living, breathing thing to him, and it always would be.

And if pressed, he'd even confess that being aboard the old girl put an extra spring in his step.

But that wasn't why he was in the observation lounge, now. Acting Captain Jaxom was here as well, along with Daren, representing the fleet that had been at the first battle. Admiral Donatra, for the Romulan military forces. Ambassador tr'Ahalaen, Senator t'Khnialmnae (who was apparently a Lieutenant aboard the Miranda, as well - he'd need to ask Jaxom about *that*) and the Empress, representing the Romulan government.

Most surprisingly were Generals Vergh and Kern of the Klingon Defense Force. Murdock knew Kern well, though he'd thought the old bastard had been long since retired. 'Of course...' Victor thought to himself.

'Summers was his blood brother. That explains a lot.'

The presence of General Xiomex of the Free Reman Stellar Navy, however, was a complete mystery.

Somehow, however, the room's final occupant - a Ferengi fighter pilot by the name of Taev, off the Galaxy - had managed to bring the Klingons and Remans out in force, though the Remans had made no official declarations as yet.

Well, that was as good a place to start as any, Victor thought as he joined everyone else at the table - though everyone had waited until the Empress was seated. "Pilot Taev," the old Scotsman started.

"Er, yes, your. ah, Admiralness?" the wide-eyed, clearly rattled Ferengi asked.

"Perhaps ye'd be so kind as to inform the rest of us just how ye got the Generals here to accompany ye?" Victor asked, fighting the urge - despite the situation - to laugh at the low-ranked Ferengi pilot's obvious discomfort at the company he'd found himself in.

This was the explanation Jaal had been dying to hear. Not that he felt any ill will towards the Ferengi, anything but. The little wanker had to have balls the size of warp cores to pull in Klingons 'and' Remans to help in the fight.

"Yessir. Right away sir", the Ferengi rose and, to everyone's surprise, awkwardly wore an ancient and ill-fitting suit of Klingon armor. "My call sign was Saber Two in Saber Squadron on the Galaxy.

Major Kol, a Klingon, was Saber One - my wingman. Kol.", Taev paused, torn between regret and anger over the last dogfight, "shortened his presence among the living by becoming an ace in his first engagement.

His first words upon seeing the battle site was 'it's a good day to die' - his last act was the destruction of a Hydran Paladin-class carrier and the five-hundred or so Hydrans on board."

Again, the Ferengi paused, and cleared his throat. "Ahem. his last words were that his brothers in the Black Fleet should be told how Kol of the House of Kor gained entrance to So-Vo-Kor. As I said. I was his wingman. If anyone was to be doing the telling it would be me."

"At first opportunity, I.ah.borrowed a starfighter and looked for the Klingons", Taev continued. "I took the bat'leth that belonged to the Major and his grandfather - if I couldn't find the words to prove Kol's death, maybe the bat'leth could. When Commander. now, Captain T'Leer brought me on board, no-one believed me. The Darchak's second officer went so far as to challenge me for dishonoring Kol's honor with such lies. Naturally, I accepted. I, er. didn't have much choice.

As the challenged, I .selected a starfighter as my chosen weapon."

The Scot raised an eyebrow as the astonishing tale was woven. "And what happened to the Darchak's second officer, lad?"

Vergh's deep growling voice answered for the Ferengi. "He sits before you, Admiral. Taev of the House of Veld the Accountant is the Darchak's second officer. His worthless petaQ predecessor serves Kol in So-Vo-Kor." The burly, scarred General rose to his feet to address the Council. "We Klingons hold more weight with actions than rhetoric

- and more weight with victory than mere battles. The High Council has been 'debating' the subject of the Hydran Invasion for weeks. What prompted them to action?" The burly Klingon slapped the back of the Ferengi pilot on his back, jarring Taev to his spine. "Being shamed by a Qa'Hom with more guts than the tu'HomIraH High Council combined.

Shame brings us here, Admiral..." the massive Klingon thrust a plain, well-honed bat'leth onto the table - Kol's bat'leth - last heirloom of the house of Kor, the legendary Dahar Master, "and honor demands we stay and wage war upon our enemies."

"And past politics aside," General Kern clarified, "The Hydrans are our enemies. Christopher Summers was an honored warrior to many in the Empire as well, and my own blood brother. I will not let his death go unpunished. Many on the Council feel our... lack of involvement in the initial battle for Romulus may have been an act of cowardice - no matter that others believe the Romulans to be deserving of their fate."

Shiarrael kept her mouth shut on that last comment: there were many remarks that sprang forth stemming from the decades of animosity between her people and the Klingons, all with regards to their concept of honor and such. However her position was almost as unique in this party as was Taev's. Lieutenant and Chief Tactical Officer of the Flagship of the Starfleet task force, and Senator of the Rihannsu Government. The Empress may be here as the ranking representative, but it was Senator t'Khnialmnae who would be presenting the Rihannsu side of the house.

"My people are relieved to know that it is not us you would be directing your warriors against, General," Shiarrael spoke, inclining her head down towards him in respect. "We would have little enough to resist with as it is. As the original members of the task force are aware, the initial Hydran advance completely destroyed the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 7th Rihannsu Galaes. The Battle of ch'Rihan decimated the 1st

Galae: our Praetorian fleet, the remains of which regrouped here." She tapped in commands on a PADD, the requisite information being displayed on the appropriate viewers. "Shortly after our arrival in this system, I approached the Praetor and Empress, from which I was authorized to issue an Empire-wide Call to Arms. Our outlying border patrols remain on their vigilance against other invaders, and of the the, 6th, and 8th Galae's, fully 80% of those fleets - one-third of our total operating forces - have responded with their presence. The remainder have been spread to locations of strategic value." Shia set the PADD down.

"Many of the warbirds without are old vessels, held together more by honor and hardtack than welds and shields. Their commanders are likewise aged veterans of an older day where mnhei'sahe held more sway than arrogance and personal power. However, pride is still a dominating trait: they will not ask for help." At this point she stood, resplendent in the uniform of a Senator, though the combadge on the outer robes gave light to her dual standings. Her gaze was turned to Admiral Murdock: "Admiral, in light of such I have been authorized to ask in their stead: even simple things such as repairs and reinforcements would benefit them greatly in the conflict to come.

Though they will not ask, I can assure you they will not refuse when it is offered: the fate of our home is at stake, and that comes before all, even pride."

At that comment, the Empress actually looked at Ambassador tr'Ahalaen and gave him a small, dangerous smile. Aerv tr'Ahalaen, a Blade of the Declared, and now forever the man who had humbled himself before the Federation, knelt before them, to ask for their help in reclaiming Romulus. There would be repercussions for that little speech of his, without doubt, but not today.... The most powerful Rihana of all had made that quite clear by having tr'Ahalaen here, at this meeting, by her side.

tr'Ahalaen bowed slightly to the Empress but, for once, said nothing.

He was quite content to let the Senator speak for Romulus...at least for now.

"Council of War" pt II

Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu (Ian & Pat)
Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock, CinC, Starfleet (Pat)
Admiral Donatra, Commanding Admiral, Rihannsu Star Navy (Pat)
General Vergh, IKS Dar'chak (Commanding, 8th KDF Fleet) (Dave)
General Xiomex, Commanding, Free Reman Stellar Navy (Ian)
General Kern, IKS K'mpec (Commanding, 9th KDF Fleet) (Mek)
Ambassador Aerv tr'Ahalean (Syed)
(Acting) Senator (Lt.) Shiarriel t'Khnilamnae (Eric)
Captain Darren M'Kantu, USS Galaxy (Robert)
(Acting) Captain Jaal Jaxom, USS Miranda (Cliff)
Pilot Taev, Saber Two, USS Galaxy (Dave)

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Observation Lounge
USS Miranda, Deck One
19 Days after the Withdrawal

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

tr'Ahalaen bowed slightly to the Empress but, for once, said nothing.

He was quite content to let the Senator speak for Romulus...at least for now.

Murdock, for his part, was impressed by the Senator's tactical focus - it was an unusual gift in a politician. But, that Senator was a Starfleet Officer as well, so it was not a surprise, perhaps.

Donatra was similarly impressed with the junior t'Khianalmae - the Senate's appointment of her as liaison had met with the Admiral's approval. "Well, the ships are sorely needed," the commander of the Romulan forces admitted. "And I've worked with your people in the past

- I feel no qualms in going into battle side-to-side with a Klingon, General."

"It would be fair to admit," Kern replied, "That not all of our warriors feel the same. But they will fight who they are told to fight, or we will deal with the matter ourselves."

"Allow us to say," said the firm, but quiet young voice of the Empress from the end of the table. "That the Star Empire thanks you for the assistance of the Klingon Empire, Generals. We have a long, complicated history, I know. But we were allies once. We are pleased that, in these troubled times, we are allies once again."

Empress Kaidalin was young, it was true - she was barely more than a child, and had not been old enough to assume the throne until only the year before. Her presence had stabilized much of the conflict following the downfall of Shinzon, and Tal'Aura after him - but she was wise enough to admit that it was more the influence of Praetor Hitan than her own. Hitan. How she missed him. He'd been left behind on Romulus, unable to make it to the ship. She wanted his guidance now, but at some level, knew she no longer *needed* it.

She *was* reassured by Aerv's presence, as well. His appeals to the Federation had clearly been successful, which bought some of her favor. But then... she found him favorable for completely other reasons, as well...

Daren allowed himself to relax slightly as the presence of the Klingons sorted itself out without shouting and threats. They would be good allies - needed allies - in the battle to come. His eyes slid to the other representatives in the room, the ones that had yet to speak, the Remans. They would be good allies as well. He offered up a silent prayer to Allah that it was for that reason that they were here.

Shiarrael turned then to General Xiomex. "Now that such matters are decided upon, I believe it is time we hear the purpose behind the presence of Reman Scimitars within Empire space." There were other things she could have said, either in place of or adding on to that single line, however they would have been far from diplomatic:

something to be avoided at present.

"Even in the face of defeat, you still stand upon your throne of arrogance and take notice of us only when it suits you, doesn't it, Romulan?" General Xiomek, hero of the Reman Ascendancy, remained settled within the one area of the room not blanketed with the glaring light of fluorescents. "Surrounded as you are by your current allies,"

the bleached white face of the perhaps last remaining high-ranking member of Shinzon's former cabinet swept a gloved hand around at the Starfleet CO's present, "you still consider yourselves at the center of power. I had hoped you would have shown some humility. Your attitude does not show promise, nor learned lessons of an enlightened species once faced with life-altering predicaments. There will be no aid from the Remans. We have nothing to gain from it."

"What's that?" Murdock replied, turning to face the Reman General.

"What d'ye mean, no promise of aid?"

The Remans presence was more of a surprise than anything. But the Treaty of Galvanis - which had been shortly after the Battle of Galvanis, negotiated by then-Commander Donatra, Captain Elaithin Jii, and then-Colonel Xiomek, had provided the Remans with their own star systems in the former areas of the Romulan Neutral Zone that bordered Federation, Klingon, and Romulan space. Many of the Remans had been expatriated to Galvanis, where they had been building their own culture for the first time in millennia - the Reman Ascendancy.

Salvaged Dominion technology had allowed them to build a well-equipped fleet of Scimitar-Class warships, which they had expanded on the last few years with other, smaller vessels. Their fleet, like their space, was small, but taking on that many Scimitars would be a significant investment in resources for any of the larger powers. Thus, they had largely been left alone, and the Great Powers had been content to leave it that way.

This was the first time they had - come out of their shell, so to speak. But if Murdock was understanding the man right, they weren't here to help.

"So what ARE ye here for, then?" the Admiral asked bluntly. "T'be gloatin? 'Cause that's the last thing this situation's needin, son."

Commander Jaxom was surprised as well but kept his face neutral. He knew Murdock had the ability to raise enough ire for the entire crew if need be. Scotsmen, he came to find out, could do that. His eyes did narrow somewhat as he scrutinized Xiomek. What could he possibly have come here for if not to aid in defending the rest of the quadrant? He mentally reminded himself, once again, why he hated politics so much.

"If you're not here to help why bring so many ships? Why even bother coming at all?" the Trill asked leaning forward a bit in his chair.

"Don't you think the Hydrans will come for you next?"

"They already have, Commander. As allies with open arms of friendship.

As our human companions would say. 'they beat you to it'."

And that, Daren decided, was not what anyone had wanted to hear.

Still. why would the Remans be here if they'd accepted an offer from the Hydrans? "Answer me this if you will, Commander," he spoke up leaning forward to meet the Reman's eyes. "If that is the case, why are you here? Why bring what has to be the greater part of your fleet to this system if you were not intending to help?"

"I would think it would be quite obvious, Captain. Besides observing as an agent of the Ascendancy, I am here for a more judicious reason."

The skeletal jaw line expanded in a terse line of pursed lips and bared teeth. "Why would I break our promise to them to assist a beaten and defeated group on the verge of being conquered? That would be inviting war on the Ascendancy. We have nothing to gain, nor are we on failed terms with them. In fact, they have been more than forthcoming in their promises, and eliminated a Klingon adversary in the Lyrans.

They have shown more promise than your Federation has."

"Council of War" pt III

Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu (Ian & Pat)
Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock, CinC, Starfleet (Pat)
Admiral Donatra, Commanding Admiral, Rihannsu Star Navy (Pat)
General Vergh, IKS Dar'chak (Commanding, 8th KDF Fleet) (Dave)
General Xiomex, Commanding, Free Reman Stellar Navy (Ian)
General Kern, IKS K'mpec (Commanding, 9th KDF Fleet) (Mek)
Ambassador Aerv tr'Ahalean (Syed)
(Acting) Senator (Lt.) Shiarriel t'Khnilamnae (Eric)
Captain Darren M'Kantu, USS Galaxy (Robert)
(Acting) Captain Jaal Jaxom, USS Miranda (Cliff)
Pilot Taev, Saber Two, USS Galaxy (Dave)

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

Observation Lounge
USS Miranda, Deck One
19 Days after the Withdrawal

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

The skeletal jaw line expanded in a terse line of pursed lips and bared teeth. "Why would I break our promise to them to assist a beaten and defeated group on the verge of being conquered? That would be inviting war on the Ascendancy. We have nothing to gain, nor are we on failed terms with them. In fact, they have been more than forthcoming in their promises, and eliminated a Klingon adversary in the Lyrans.

They have shown more promise than your Federation has."

And there was the opening that Allah presented the faithful. Daren smiled, "Oh, do they now?" He stood and walked to the observation lounge's windows to point at the ships outside. "Tell me this then, Commander. Knowing how long the Federation and the Romulan Empire have been enemies, knowing all the hatred and animosity and resentment that we have held for one another over the centuries, knowing the wars and the shadow wars that we have fought in all those years, the lives that have been destroyed and lost. Why are we here? Why did Federation officers and enlisted men lay down their lives in defense of the Romulan Empire? It wasn't because of words on a treaty, although they are symbols for the reason. It wasn't to make the Star Empire into a client state. It wasn't so that we can stand and bask in the Star Empire's humiliated knowledge that they could not win without us."

Xiomek remained stoic, his features betraying nothing of the thoughts within. His eyes followed the dark-skinned human as the latter paced in confident pride between the portal, table, and along the bulkhead wall to face the Reman. The general felt the ripples of truth in emotion emanate from the male, recognizing the burdens of command.

This human would not beg he knew; but he would put on an effective show.

M'Kantu turned to face the Reman. "My men and women fought for exactly the thing that you claim that the Hydrans have - promise. In our case, not a promise for now, but a promise of the future. A future where we don't have to fight wars like this, a future where we can all live together in peaceful coexistence. We fought and we bled and we died for that promise in defense of the homeworld of one of our oldest and most dangerous enemies. and with or without you, we will go forth and fight again, and again, and again, until it's freed. It won't make the Romulans into our friends overnight. It won't make them all embrace us as friends and allies and ask us into their homes for dinner, or offer us their children in marriage. They will, in all likelihood, resent us. They will resent the fact that they needed us, and resent the fact that we came and offered them assistance, and they will resent the fact that here, now, we lived up to the promise that our Federation was founded on." Daren smiled sadly and nodded to the Romulan delegation. "It isn't a condemnation of the Romulans to say that. If the Romulan Star Empire came to the defense of the Earth, I daresay the reaction would be the same. It is. sentient nature."

"You know nothing of the Reman historical reference, do you, Captain?"

Xiomek clenched his fists together, forcing the increasingly emotional thoughts to the underdark of his soul, to be buried with all the other memories that haunted him, muddling to awareness like so many insects on a carcass. The wave of images from the group present also assailed him. It would be time to leave, and soon.

"What have the Romulans done for us but treat as less than second-class citizens? In fact, not even citizens at all, but mere slave labor for their dilithium mines! They treat their dinnerfare with more respect than they have us. They wouldn't share a continent on their planet without Federation assistance, and you would ask that we defend their world against an invader that they brought on to themselves? It has nothing to do with us, and to that end, we are not anxious to enter into a conflict alongside those that would spurn the Remans as soon as the Romulans had their world returned to them.

Honor?" Xiomek spat on the table at the foot of the Romulan delegate.

"You deserve this, Romulan. You've pressed too many species under the guise of your so-called 'honor', and now you have earned your retribution. This is your atonement."

"Can you tell me that the Hydrans will do that for your people, Commander?" Daren asked quietly. "Can you see them fighting and dying and sacrificing to defend the Reman Ascendancy? Can you see them sending their sons and daughters off to die beside you when the Darkness rises up to blot you from the stars? If you need them, will they come to your aid after centuries of warfare and mistrust, based solely on a dream for the future?" He spread his hands. "Will they, Commander?"

"No, for we are not a war-faring race any longer. We build our ships in defense of our territories, but we do not march off to war like some at the political manipulations of certain species." He marched to the window, casting one studded glove out to the ragtag fleet of starships massed alongside each other, ignoring the Rihanna Empress who watched him silently from across the room. He could pick up her thought emanations, but they remained cool.

"As for the future? Look out there, Captain. Look at your battered fleet. You speak of being honorable, yet you ask that we join your doomed venture to what purpose other than have my sons and daughters die for a cause they don't believe in, to become a statistic in a war that has no meaning to them. We don't need to enter a battle to prove we are a... more enlightened species. We are but farmers now, building a society, and establishing trade with our neighbors. It would be wholly irresponsible of me to take only the word of a government that has a spotty track record at best of their so-called 'peace mandate' to throw away an established economic and important trade partner for another who we also have issues of trust with. And one who has a history of breaking treaties on the whim of whatever political party is in power at the moment. With the Hydrans, their monarchy is consistent. They remember their agreements."

"Well then," Daren asked the Reman. "Will you and your people, fight with us, instead Commander? Because that's our promise to you. we will stand and fight and die beside you to defend your people against the Darkness."

"It is the will of your people to go and die for a worthless cause, Captain. Not ours. We are tired of conflict. There is only one thing we want at this point in time." His dark sockets then turned to lock gazes with Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu. "We want to hear the Romulans beg and grovel like they did to us. Such is karma, and such is *our* retribution."

There was a moment of silence in which all eyes turned to the young Empress of Romulus, only to find her face a mask of difficult emotion.

Then something entirely unexpected happened. Aerv tr'Ahalaen laughed.

In this place, the sound was irreverent, as if he were laughing in a church.

"You are a fool, Reman," the ambassador remarked with a shake of his head, rising to his feet, "And you are a liar...though that I can forgive. You come here and you claim to be free. Yet you have never before been more of a slave."

As harsh as his words were, tr'Ahalaen's voice was controlled and calm, "Once again you let your actions, your identity be forged entirely by what Romulus does. We still define who you are, who your allies are, what course you take. What you do not seem to understand is that liberty is not found in retribution. Revenge only gives someone else control over you, dominion over your minds and hearts.

Independence is not the ability to assert your will upon others - it is the ability to stand alone...or to kneel alone.

"The Rihanssu have always understood this...and that is why, Reman, no matter what this Rihanssu woman does here, she remains greater than you. Romulus remains greater than you. As for me...I have knelt for Romulus before, but I kneel to no one who is petty and small enough to demand it." tr'Ahalaen nodded to the Klingon delegation and smiled, "They understand, those who truly refuse all shackles, what it means to accept death before dishonor. One does not destroy a people to save an empire."

"So stand with me, Xiomek, if you will. Or hide and pray for the mercy of strangers if you will. In the end, do what you will because you will it not because of whether some alien takes a knee before you or refuses to. This is the hour, Reman. Learn to be free."

"Council of War" pt IV

Empress Kaidalin t'Vriesu (Ian & Pat)
Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock, CinC, Starfleet (Pat)
Admiral Donatra, Commanding Admiral, Rihannsu Star Navy (Pat)
General Vergh, IKS Dar'chak (Commanding, 8th KDF Fleet) (Dave)
General Xiomex, Commanding, Free Reman Stellar Navy (Ian)
General Kern, IKS K'mpec (Commanding, 9th KDF Fleet) (Mek)
Ambassador Aerv tr'Ahalean (Syed)
(Acting) Senator (Lt.) Shiarriel t'Khnilamnae (Eric)
Captain Darren M'Kantu, USS Galaxy (Robert)
(Acting) Captain Jaal Jaxom, USS Miranda (Cliff)
Pilot Taev, Saber Two, USS Galaxy (Dave)

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

Observation Lounge
USS Miranda, Deck One
19 Days after the Withdrawal

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

"So stand with me, Xiomek, if you will. Or hide and pray for the mercy of strangers if you will. In the end, do what you will because you will it not because of whether some alien takes a knee before you or refuses to. This is the hour, Reman. Learn to be free."

"We are free, Romulan. We made sure of that ourselves." Xiomek replied flatly.

"And ye've already had yuir blood price." Admiral Murdock replied quietly. "In Shinzon's revolution. You earned yuir freedom them, and ye could move beyond that a few years back at Galvanis. Yes, the Romulans made slaves o' ye - something that's happened to countless cultures over the years, on my world, on ch'Rihan, on many others. And there is always a price paid. But eventually, people move beyond it.

Ye have to start over sometime, and I tell ye this, Colonel - there'll be no fresh start if ye do this. The Romulans will always remember that ye showed up with a fleet a ships - not to help, but tae rub it in their faces."

Xiomek didn't reply.

The pregnant silence was once again broken by the young Empress Kaidalin - her voice strong, this time, her bearing sure. She looked directly into Xiomek's eyes, never flinching. "Nothing can ever make up for what we did to your people, Colonel. I freely admit that. We are a proud race. So proud, in fact, that it is perhaps our greatest flaw. We beleived your people - like the others we have conquered - to be unworthy beings."

"That was our mistake, and for my part, our everlasting shame. I cannot truly tell you I am sorry - because those words would never do the crime against your people justice. But I am sorry for it, nonetheless. You wish to see me beg, however, for your assistance? I don't believe you mean that. You know it will never happen - we can,"

she smirked, "Only let go of our pride so much."

"But what I will do," the Empress continued, "Is ask. On behalf of my Empire - on behalf of the people of Romulus, Colonel Xiomek, I formally request the military assistance of the forces of the Reman Ascendancy. I ask you to please do this thing, not, as you said, for the promise it offers now, but the promise it offers of the future - for both of us to move past our prejudices, and into a new era.

Assuming, of course, that there is ANY new Era for the Romulan people."

Murdock leaned in closely to M'Kantu, who'd reclaimed his seat next to him. "Couldn't'a said it better m'self." he whispered.

Xiomek matched his stare with that of the Empress, and felt the emotion behind her words. The advantage of being a telepath, of course, was that one knew when one was being told the truth. If the young woman survived this, he decided, she would fulfull her promise.

"You are correct, Empress." He said - respectful for the first time to anyone present. "We simply wanted to be asked. And perhaps, there can be a future after all."

Admiral Murdock gave a wide open grin at that. "It's a pleasure to have ye aboard, Colonel."

"Indeed."

"Now," he pressed on, "Thanks to the staffs of the Miranda and the Galaxy, and a lot o' fine folks at Starfleet Tactical, we have a battle plan to retake Romulus - and, we beleive, a way to deal with this Star Beast o' the Hydrans. Now, it'll take some revisin, considering our additional.. reinforcements, but.."

There was a cough from Donatra. "There is one more issue to resolve, Admiral." she said clearly, drawing several eyebrows from around the room.

Captain Jaxom frowned, "What's that, Admiral?"

"Command." she said flatly. "We must have a clear chain of it."

General Kern snorted. "And I assume that'll be with you at the top, then?"

"Well, it is *our* world we are retaking. But as a matter of fact, no." the Romulan woman replied easily. "Frankly, we need an officer who all of our forces will respect and follow. And that isn't me, General. Nor is it you or General Vergh, and no, offense, nor is it you, General Xiomek."

"Who, then?" Murdock asked, eyes narrowed.

"Frankly, you." she said bluntly. "You are the senior Admiral, sir.

You fought alongside many Romulan and Klingon forces in the Dominion War, both will respect you. And the Remans, as well, I beleive."

"I agree." Xiomek replied. "The logic is sound. It is decided then?"

There were various nods of assent around the table, much to Murdock's suprise. It was what he'd wanted, of course, but he'd expected to have to fight Donatra over it - instead of having her neatly undercut him like that. Perhaps she was more politically adept than SFI's information suspected. It was worth noting.

"Well.. now that that's settled, let's get down to it." Murdock continued, bringing up a holographic display of Romulus and Remus.

"It's been nineteen days since the Hydrans took over Romulus. In two days, I want our forces to be in control of the system. In three, I want control of the planet."

There were various looks of astonishment and surprise across the room

- which the Commander In Chief of Starfleet ignored as he continued.

"And here's how we're gonna do it.."

"Precipice"

Qelereth'Mereth Th'truk
Superintendent of Occupation, ch'Rihan

Th'truk was beginning to wonder if the singular honor which her great matron C'ruv had bestowed upon her was quite as much honor as initially advertised. Within hours of the landings, Qelereth'Meshketh C'ruv had summoned her to the Light of Vindication, and given her a promotion; Qelereth'Mereth and superintendent of the Romulan home system.

In the nearly four weeks since then, she'd had nothing but difficulty with the occupation. She'd immediately landed the Arrow of Shibboleth in the bay of Ki Baratan and entered the city with her troops. N'fth'nor's soldiers had secured the city already, and Hydran troops lined the roads, cheering their glorious victory. She had ridden in her hover-chariot, resplendant in her best uniform, making her way to the Romulan Senate chambers. Nothing could spoil the day.

The next day, on the other hand, wasn't so grand. Nor were the seventeen after that. Indeed, every hour since the beginning of the occupation had been a living hell for her and her personnl. Not a day went by without hundreds of Hydran troops being slaughtered at the hands of the resistance movement. It was tiresome, at best. She kept hearing rumors - mostly from drugged Romulan or Starfleet prisoners just before she executed them - of some 'General Elaithin', giving orders to an organized resistance. As far as she was concerned, he was a myth; the resistance couldn't possibly be organized. After all, the Romulans and the Federation loathed each other. Not that it mattered; she would crush them regardless.

One of her lowly Gi'Mev servant-men entered the chambers, bowing his eyestalks before her, knowing better than to look at her directly. "Glorious Superintendant, there is a message from Superintendant Glo'th'fl on Lyra Prime."

Th'truk sneered braodly. Glo'th'fl was one fo the least repulsive males that she had ever encountered - certainly they had both had some interesting encounters in their early postings together. Now she knew him to be the Superintendant of occupations in their occupied Lyran territories. It was rare for a mere male to rise so far.

She merely held out a hand, dismissing the Gi'Mev, and he set the report down and scurried from her presence, before she decided to indulger herself in his youthful body. Not all of his companions had been qble to please the Qelereth'Mereth, and as such, not all of his companions had managed to escape alive. He considered himself lucky every time he did.

Fortunately for him, Th'truk did not desire him this day. She had rather differant tastes when the fancy struck her. However, thos matters could wait. First, she would se the news from her companion.

Activating the report, a holoimage of her old companion appeared before her, speaking in his measured tones.

"Greetings, my lovely. I am pleased to hear that you are well, and that the Romulan vermin are about to learn their true purpose in this galaxy. I can only hope they shall appreciate your education more than these overgrown walking fur coats appreciate mine."

Th'truk grimaced; she had heard vague reports of the Lyran reticence to accept their new situation. Glo'th'fl had the minor embarassment of having managed to execute the entire resistance leadership save one - and then having that one escape with his personal yacht in the company of a suspected Federation agent.

The recording continued; "There have been riots here, and I've had to be increasingly firm with my subjects. I had hoped to allow restoration of some of the Lyran customs and civil services soon, but the citizenry has made it clear that they are unready for such leniency.

"I fear I must depart. Don't allow the Romulans to forget their place. They and the Federation must pay for denying us our rightful place in the galaxy. Good luck, my dear."

The message ended, and Glo'th'fl's image vanished. Th'truk merely lounged for a few minutes, reflecting on her situation. It the distance, she could hear a blast somewehre in the city. She had long since stopped noticing it. Her troops would kill or capture the perpetrators.

She slowly dragged her bloated form to her feet, moving slowly towards her desk. She knew that the Federation and Romulans had gathered their allies at Phonecius, and that they would be making their failed attmpt to retake the planet soon enough. She had faith in their pet to destroy the enemy fleet, but she worried that the Hydrans would suffer heavy losses.

She did, however, have one weapon ready in the unlikely event that the Hydrans should fail to take the planet - if worst came to worst, no one would survive on this planet. She hoped that in their last seconds, the Romulan people would be able to appreciate the irony that it was their own government that was responsible for their demise...

Her personnel had discovered it the first week of the occupation, buried below this very structure - a control system for geothermal stations around the planet, capable of unbalancing the entire environment of ch'Rihan to the point of destroying the entire planet by burning away the atmosphere in a matter of minutes. The system was inoperable, but that had been easy enough to remedy, and as of only two days before, it was ready for use, going into operation at the same time as the Hydran communications blackout field. Whether the people on the planet knew it or not, there was no more Romulan Empire, and never would be again.

The Gi'Mev reentered, near-supplicated again. "Your ground commanders are here to speak with you, glorious Superintendant."

Th'truk sighed. The incontinant males that led most of her occupation divisions were little more than a pack of self-promoting whiners. "Send them in."

Five ground commanders stalked in, festooned with more decorations than anyone really needed. There was little preamble before her senior commander, Ghareshk'Mev Nl'thet, began to speak. "Superintendant, the attacks are getting worse; it is becoming clear that they are being coordinated."

She glowered at them. "If that is your opinion, then why haven't you destroyed those who are responsible?!?"

Nl'thet lowered his eyestalks. "We weren't ready for this sort of action, mistress. We do not have the proper equipment to fight an insurgency."

Gral'Meshekth Rru'than stepped forward; he had always been far more bold than wise. "You said we'd be greeted as liberators!"

It was the last thing he ever said. Th'truk simply fired a blast at his chest and watched in delight as he vaporized.

"You have until tomorrow to find the insurgency leaders. Get our of my sight, all of you!"

The four remaining males scrambled out of the room, and Th'truk sat back, trying to ignore the ill-will she currently felt. She needed something to relax her soon, or she was going to start killing more than merely incompetant ground commanders.

A young Qui'Mev walked in. Th'truk felt her spirits lift. Young Enth'tl'ra was a very spirited young woman - and one who never supplicated herself before anyone. Th'truk enjoyed the brashness of it all. Enth'tl'ra spoke;

"Glorious Superintendant, we have a new report from the fleet; our allies have arrived. Over five-hundred Breen and T'Kith'kin vessels have joined our ranks. When the Romulans and their Federation puppet-masters arrive, they will be unable to stop us."

Th'truk felt the thrill of victory running through herself already. Standing, she walked over to the younger female. "My dear, you are to be rewarded for your welcome news..."

"Lament for Icarus, Act III, Scene 2"

OR

"Brothers in Arms"

Captain Juan Carlos Holmes
Commanding Officer, USS Icarus
And Others

In the Icarus sickbay, Juan Holmes stood, precariously balanced on the shoulder of his executive officer. He decided that it was probably a bit undignified for his planned grand entrance back onto his bridge. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. He took his arm off of Khoma's shoulder...

And promptly found himself sprawled ingloriously on the floor.

"Happy now?"

Groaning, Holmes managed to roll himself over onto his back, only to find himself staring up at Doctor Wagner. "Think you can fix my legs up there, Doc?"

She shook her head. "Only time is going to do that, Boss. You never do listen to me. Sorry, but if you're going to insist on returning to duty against my recommendations, I'm just going to have to give you the chair."

The moment was pretty much broken by the bark of laughter from Ares. Holmes scowled at his XO and glanced over to where Wagner was gesturing. It was difficult to see from where he was lying on the floor - no one had yet bothered to help him to his feet - but sitting ominously at the edge of his vision was an anti-grav chair.

His nightmare was clearly just beginning.

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

"Captain on the bridge!"

Holmes tried to hide the scowl from his features. The Chief clearly didn't realize that the ship's captain loathed formality, even on the bridge - something that anyone who had been onboard for more than five minutes should have figured out. To make matters worse, of course, it drew attention to his rather vulnerable position in a floating chair.

He had never felt a desire to hide on his own bridge before. Hell, he hadn't felt said desire at all since Damon Greyheart had hired him as a scared kid to be the Auriga's mechanic. It figured.

He hovered towards the center of the bridge, trying hard to ignore the stares he was getting. Thus far, no one really seemed to have anything to say. Gliding past tactical, his strategic operations officer, Tom Knight, was noticably fidgeting. ~Great,~ Holmes though to himself, ~If someone who has been serving with me for eight years can't handle me in a floating bondage seat, how am *I* supposed to accept it?~

"Captain?"

Holmes turned his head to where Ares was standing right behind him, greatful that his XO was breaking the ice... witha PADD, of all things.

"This is a list of all personnel still onboard."

Holmes looked down at the PADD; it wasn't a terribly long list. He was certainly proud of the crew for standing fimr in their convictions and remaining with the fleet, but he still wasn't exactly encouraged by the dwindling size of his crew. He had enough experience to know that the situation was tenuous at best. The math was simple; there was no way his ship could go into a battle of any size in her current state and come out alive. The odds were insurmountable; there were pretty much screwed.

No one on the crew was stupid; they had to know this. It was a wonder they had stuck around this long. Still, their morale had to be shaky. There really wasn't much he could do about that, but he still owed it to them to at least tell them what they were facing. After all, they could all be dead tomorrow.

"Ares, have the whole crew assemble on the forward flight deck in thirty minutes."

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

Even with two or three hanging cables and a collapsed girder, the Icarus flightdeck was still a fairly large chamber. Indeed, it was only outclassed by those of the Concorde-, Typhon-, and Nimitz-classes... and one other, but of those here assembled, only Holmes knew about the Columbias, and that was because he had helped design them.

He glided his chair to a position in the upper control booth where he could see his whole crew; they looked like a small company. It wasn't truly apparent until this moment how much their numbers had dwindled.

Khoma stood behind him. "Still sure you want to go through with this? There aren't many left..."

The captain nodded. "They have to see this through to the end, Ares. You know what our crew is like; if we take them away from this all now, they'll never forgive us." He let his eyes sweep over the group.

"Nutters, every last one of them."

His old friend chuckled. Aside from Holmes, Khoma was the only one there. The rest of the staff was down below with the crew, and none could see their seated and injured captain from there. That was his choice; what he said here today may very well be how any survivors remembered him for the rest of their lives, and his pride refused to allow them to remember him as a cripple.

Thus it was that he had dressed in his finest atire; the custom made dress uniform, polished brass... even the old sword was present, and he had stopped that particular pretension years ago.

He took a deep breath, and nodded to Ares. The younger man returned the gesture, and held onto the back of the chair. Holmes straightened his legs, one after the other, and slowly lifted himself to his feet. It was really only a sheer force of will that kept him up, and he took several halting steps out of the booth. Soon, he was in the open, in sight of his crew, and he leaned against the railing, where all could see him.

The din fell silent, and all eyes looked expectantly upwards at him. He tried to meet them all, but they blurred together. However, there was a consistant theme in those gazes; fear. Nervousness. Lack of confidence. Fatalism.

~Well, I didn't get dressed up for nothing.~

Another deep breath, and Juan Holmes spoke, addressing his crew for probably the last time. His voice was rock steady, his words clear, reverbrating throughout the cavernous bay.

"Icarus! I see in your eyes the same fear that would strike me dead where I stand, the same fear that would tear us apart. But I stand before you today to address just that, to speak my mind, as I have always done.

"I've been Captain of this crew for five years, and we've seen more blood, sweat, and tears in that time than we had any right to endure. But I wake every morning with the knowledge that whatever trials we may face, whatever pain we might endure, whatever may be asked of us, you will all be beside me, ready to do what needs to be done.

"And so here we are, fewer than two-hundred of us left. Those unable to report for duty have been transferred to the hospital ships, and so many of our number either remained behind on ch'Rihan, or died in the skies. What's left is choice. What's left is the lucky few who have survived the fires of hell itself. And now I stand before you to ask you to follow me back into Perdition. All of you got on this ship for different reasons, but all of you have come to the same place. And now I'm asking more of you than I ever have before.

"Many of our companions are gone, some of them forever. Our very home is hurting, held together by our sheer force of will. The brass made it very clear to us; our part in this fight is over, Icarus is done. Commander Khoma made it very clear to them; Icarus is *never* finished. *WE* are never finished. This ship and her crew will fight on against those that would destroy us. We will not sit idly by and watch our brothers-in-arms go into battle without our standard flying high beside them.

"I have never lied to you, and I have no intention of beginning to now. I do not expect us to survive this fight. Icarus will die, and we shall likely die with her. But if by our life or death we can protect our fellows, then that is what we shall do.

"Just as assignment to this ship is, this mission is strictly voluntary. Any who wish to remain behind, I have runabouts prepared for take-off. No one will think less of your pragmatism. I, for one, encourage all of you to strongly consider this option. I have no wish to see any more of this crew - this family - die. I will not take anyone on this voyage who does not personally choose to come along. I do not wish to die in the company of any who fears to die beside me.

"Those that remain will be choice. There are no relief personnel, no replacements. We are it. But I tell you, do not despair. Wish not for one man more from Starfleet. If we are to die, we will have done so fulfilling our duties. But if we are to live, the fewer of us, the greater the share of honor. For my part, I am not a man who desires wealth, nor do I care who enjoys my hospitality. But before we go into battle, I urge you all to stop by the bridge, and read the motto on Icarus' plaque;

"If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive!

"Those that survive this fight, and return safely home, will stand proudly upon the anniversary of what we do here. They will feast with those dear to them, and bare their arms for all to see, proclaiming, 'These are the wounds I endured for the Federation! These are the wounds I recieved on the Icarus!'

"Much is forgotten as we age, but those who survive this fight will remember to their advantage what feats we accomplish. We shall assure that the name 'Icarus' will never be forgotten, from this day until the end of the universe itself. We few; we happy few; we brothers in arms. For that is what this crew is. This is my family, and shall be forevermore, even if I do not live another day. And I can assure you of this; We shall make it so that those still left behind in the Federation will look away in shame that they were not here when anyone speaks who fought beside the noble Icarus.

"We have a duty to ourselves, a duty to each other, a duty to the Federation to get the job done. Today I want you to remember not what we have done; I want you to remember why we have done it. We have fought for a better galaxy, a better life for our children. That is what has driven us, motivated us, kept us moving when other crews would have given up. Today, we fight for the Federation."

Silence hung over the chamber. There was nothing more to be said. Holmes turned and slowly made his way back into the booth, collapsing into his chair as soon as he was out of sight. Ares would take care of the details. There was nothing mroe for him to do but wait - wait and see if he still had a crew.

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

It was only five minutes, but it felt like several lifetimes to Holmes before his exec walked back into the chamber and gave an uncharacteristically formal greeting.

"Captain! Ship's company present and ready for duty, Sir!"

The CO slowly took his face from his hands and looked up. "How many are left?"

Ares said nothing. He merely sprung to attention, that boyish smile creeping across his features. Holmes could endure it no longer. He forgot his personal shame for a moment, and moved his chair past his XO, out onto the balcony, in plain sight of his crew.

To a man, every single one stood at attention, in perfect parade-ground formation. None had left. Even the runabout pilots themselves stood at attention, right beside their craft.

For the first time in his career, Juan Holmes openly and unabashedly wept. Softly he spoke to himself, in a clear unwavering voice;

"Glory, glory, hallelujah."

"Lament for Icarus, Act III, Scene 1"

Captain Juan Carlos Holmes
Commanding Officer, USS Icarus

Commander Ares Treagor Khoma
Acting Commanding Officer, USS Icarus

Provisional Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Doctor Erika Wagner
Acting Chief Medical Officer, USS Icarus

"Commander?"

Ares Khoma turned in the captain's chair of the Icarus. "What is it, Chief?"

The very fact that he was addressing an Alpha Shift bridge 'officer' by that title was a pretty clear indication of the rather dire state-of-affairs onboard the Icarus. Indeed, so much of the crew was either dead of incapacitated that the brass had actually ordered Icarus to withdraw.

It was an understandable order; there were only seventeen fighters left operational, and they were all in various states of disrepair. They still hadn't effected full repairs to their shield grid, leaving only seventy-five percent capacity available; the phasers were back to full capacity, but only because they had been routed through the ship's secondary warp core... which was in danger of burning out. The CIWS was still not functioning, and sensors were touchy at best... when they worked at all. With all of these challenges presented to them, it was no wonder that Starfleet had ordered the ship back to port.

Ares told them to go to hell.

With the support of several other Commanding Officers in the ragtag fleet, Icarus had remained, though the Commander had refused to take on relief personnel from other ship. With a very good probability of being destroyed before this mess was all over, Ares decided that it was probably best to maintain the ship's volunteer tradition. All personnel too injured for duty were evacuated to the hospital ships. All save one.

Captain Holmes.

For three weeks now, he had remained comatose in the Icarus' sickbay, under the care of Doctor Wagner, who was the highest ranking medical officer left onboard. Come to think of it, she was the only medical officer left onboard. Khoma found it somewhat ironic that the ship's captain was in the care of a woman who had once betrayed the ship to Seciton 31, but Holmes still trusted her, and certainly it wasn't the first time he had nursed him through a coma. And so Ares kept the captain aboard, knowing that his old friend wouldn't wish to leave his ship in such circumstances. Everyone else was gone, and so the Icarus was left with a crew of only one-hundred seventy-four... out of seven-hundred.

Thus it was that there was a Chief Petty Officer manning the bridge communications station, trying to get the executive officer's attention.

"Um, Commander?"

Khoma shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry, what was that, Chief?"

"We're recieving telemetry data from the Exeter. Shall I patch it through?"

Khoma sighed inwardly, there was a certain irony that a ship that was also pretty badly damaged in the battle was the one accomodating for Icarus' sensor weaknesses. "Of course, Chief. Patch it through to. 'Commander Elaithin, onscreen."

Someone on the Exeter was somewhat behind in passing on the relevant information, and the chief was a little lax in patching the ship into fleetwide communications. Essentially, this led to the crew of the Icarus entering the plotline only in time to see the entire Klingon-Reman joint fleet decloak ahead of them... and they had absolutely no idea what the circumstances were. Suffice to say, this gave much of the ship's crew rather a start, and Ares didn't even have to give the order; the Lieutenant at tactical clearly had the foresight to put the ship on yellow alert.

The chief finally had the sense to engage fleet communications, and the crew luckily caught the final snatches of the conversation that transpired.

"I told you Commander," Vergh's expression was a large, toothy grin, "We are here to help and as you can see... we mean it."

"Like I said," Jaal answered, "We 'greatly' appreciate it."

Ares finally released the breath that he had not realized he was holding... that sort of thing seemed to happen an aweful lot on this ship. "Well, that was certainly... interesting. Stand down from yellow alert."

He stood to stretch. "I'll be in my office. 'Commander Elaithin, you have the conn. Inform flagship that...

"Sickbay to Commander Khoma..."

Ares stopped, tapping his badge. "This is Commander Khoma."

There was no reply at all.

"Khoma to sickbay; Doctor Wagner, repond."

There was still no answer. Khoma turned back towards communications. "Chief?"

The poor noncom was tapping keys hurridly. "Sorry, Commander. Internal communications are down again. I'm rerouting circuits." There was another pause. "Try again, Commander."

Ares tapped his badge once more. "Khoma to Doctor Wagner."

"Bridge, this is sickbay. What the hell are you people playing at up there?!?"

"Never mind that, Doc. What's the word?"

"Captain Holmes is awake, Commander... and he wishes talk to you."

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

Ares burst into sickbay, completely ignoring the poor orderly that he nearly knocked over. Striding over to his oldest friend's bedside, he waved off Doctor Wagner's protestations and practically shouted, "Would you please learn how to stay in your damn chair from now on?!?"

His boss raised a sardonic eyebrow - most of which had been burned off - and replied, "I'm glad you missed me. Now could you please explain to me what you've done with my ship?"

Khoma sighed and sat down beside the captain's bed, running a hand through his hair. "We're currently in the Phoenecius System, along with the other survivors and the remains of the Romulan fleet. About three hundred Klingon and Reman warships showed up about ten minutes ago claiming to be here to help, but honestly, I couldn't even begin to tell you what they want."

"ch'Rihan?"

Ares sighed. "The Hydrans have it, Skipper. We have no idea what's going on back there, but we certainly left a lot of people behind."

Holmes nodded. "How long after I went out did we retreat?"

"About two minutes, actually," the XO answered, "Captain Summers is dead. M'Kantu is in command for now. We have no idea where Starfleet is, but most of the ships are at least partially repaired."

"And us?"

A derisive grunt was the initial answer. "Us? Hell, the brass ordered us to withdraw to a starbase, saying we were in too poor a shape to continue, but we've so far refused to leave. I've transferred all the other injured to hospital ships, and I won't take on any transfer crew... somehow, I just don't feel like they'd fit in with this crown, you know?"

The captain nodded his amused understanding.

"Anyway, we lost two-hundred fourteen, and with those taken off or still back at the planet, that leaves us with one-hundred seventy-four."

There was a moment of silence, and Doctor Wagner glanced at the Captain. She knew thi look. There was absolutely no point in trying to reason with her patient, and stood back; he'd been recovering fairly well, anyway. That was the advantage to a coma - it kept a man like Juan Holmes from getting up and causing himself any more damage. At this point, however, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him, and she'd long since learned not to try.

The captain moved his feet to the edge of the bed, cautiously putting his left foot to the floor. Testing his weight, his stood, wavering a little as he tried to gin his balance. Khoma tried to help him, but was waved off. Slowly, the ship's commander managed to stand upright. Looking up, his eyes bored deep into those of his exec.

"One-hundred seventy-five."

"Confessions"

Commander Joral Anton
Rogue Group CO (Missing in Action)

===Present Day===

The Lyrans certainly were a well-intentioned people. Of course, with the extend or my injuries, there was little they could do for me when it came to kitbashing one of their bunks for my use, but they had at least tried. I had made it for two nights before being unable to walk the next morning. On a whim, I had lept into one of their normal bunks. The damn thing worked. Go figure.

It was pretty damned hard to rest, however, when the comm was blaring in my ears. "Commander? Commander Joral, are you awake?"

I blearily opened one eye, slapping my hand onto the comm panel beside me. "What the hell could you possibly want at this hour, Gnallerr?"

"I do apoligise for disturbing your slumber, friend Commander, but it is the wish of the General that you come to the CIC. We're picking up a feed from Lyran Prime."

I acknowledged, and dragged myself upright, every joint in my batterred body protesting. "I'll be there shortly. Joral out."

It was about five minutes before I managed to limpmy way into the CIC. No one noticed my presence, which was in and of itself odd. I soon found the cause of the disturbance - all eyes were riveted to the primary monitor.

On the screen was one of the most brutal scenes I had ever witnessed. Someone was feeding a closed circuit image of the Lyran capital city to the small resistance fleet, and the sight was heart-wrenching; the people were rioting against the Hydran occupation. Everywhere, fires burned, and bodies smouldered.

I stood rooted to the spot, knowing with certainty where this would lead, but unable to tear my gaze away. Beside me, Heth'ba had the same almost horrified expression on her face, and all throughout the CIC, every eye was focused on that one monitor.

Behind me, I could hear Ensign Prrthlraa gasp, and finally she asked to no one in particular, "What do you think is going to happen?"

No one seemed to want to answer, and it was I who finally broke the silence, voicing that which none wanted to hear, but all knew to be the thruth.

"What usually happens when people without guns confront people WITH guns."

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

Two days later, I sat in the situation room alone, in front of the computer screens, trying to decipher intelligence that we'd managed to gather from further data raids. I was so engrossed, I didn't even hear the telltale grinding of the doors until Heth'ba spoke to me.

"Friend Joral..."

I turned, seeing Heth'ba. The General's eyes were sad, something I was getting used to seeing. However, there was something differant about them this one time.

"What is it?"

She held out the data chip she had brought in. "We finally have word from the Federation..."

That was it. No elaboration, nothing. All I could do was take the data chip and stick it into the reader.

A Starfleet report came up on screen, something I hadn't seen in quite some time. I didn't know how the Lyrans had gotten it, and I probably didn't want to. Heth'ba stood rooted to the spot as I read; She had clearly already seen its contents. I really couldn't get too far - not much past the name 'Miranda'.

The report was incomplete, of course. All I knew was that Romulas - ch'Rihan - had fallen, and that several Starfleet ships were there, including my own. The Starbeast was mentioned, but nothing beyond that - the action report didn't tell me if Miranda was destroyed or not, it didn't tell me who among my comrades was dead, who was 'missing'... nothing. All I knew was taht things were grave indeed.

I knew one more thing, though. It wouldn't stand. No matter how many pathetic cowards sat on the Federation Council, Starfleet wouldn't let this travesty stand. They would return, in force.

Finally, I found my voice. "Do we know anything else?"

Heth'ba spoke softly, almost matronly, something she had never done for me before. "There are rumors, that's all. The Romulans and some Starfleet ship's have regrouped, and we think the Klingons and the Remans may be going to join them, though we can't confirm any of that."

She let the silence hang in the air, allowing me my thoughts. If she had known where those thoughts would lead us, she may have tried to head them off.

After several minutes, I spoke. "I guess we'd better get moving then, don't you agree, General?"

She didn't have to puzzle over my meaning. She'd come to know me well over these past months, and knew what I was saying; it was time for us, too, to go charging in to aid the Romulans in their hour of need.

She looked at me, almost pitying. "Joral, this is suicide; we're losing this fight, and what differance can we make here?"

"You know the answer to that, General. You know as well as I that we can not succeed here alone; we need help. No one knows our plight, no one is coming. If we do this, we have helped to deal a crippling blow to the oppressors of your people, and it might be just what we need to call in the cavalry."

I knew I was getting through, but like any good leader, she still had that one lingering doubt, that one tied so closely with the lives of her followers. "Our chances of survival are very slim, my friend."

I smiled, for possibly the first time in many months, and I looked straight into Heth'ba's slitted eye, my own eyes blazing with a fire I had thought to be lost. "I'd rather die covered in blood than an old man lying in my own piss."

She leaned back on her haunches, a woman contemplating what she knew was likely her own demise. "To be honest, I don't really want to die. I don't want my people to die." There was a pause, as my fire entered her eyes as well, and she glanced at the others around the situation table. "But if we must die - if WE must die - let it be like this."

I slowly looked around at the assembled staff, all seven of them, and one by one, they nodded as I caught their eyes. Finally, I came to Gnallerr, my ever-faithful companion, who stared down at his own paws for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he lifted his face, defiance etched in his very posture, in every line of his increasingly care-worn face. "Friend Joral, if we fail in this - and we probably will - it will be an honor to die beside you."

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

I will relate to you, gentle reader, one more incident, brief though it may be. To you, it may seem inconsequential, but to me it speaks greatly to the character of those brave souls with whom I was fortunate enough to serve for those months in which I was all but dead. To me, the faith in their comrades, the bonds of loyalty that little band of survivors held for each other was never clearer than than this one moment.

That evening, before we were to depart on what we all felt would be our glorious last stand, myself, General Heth'ba, Commander Gnallerr, and three other commanders within the Resistance armada gathered together in Heth'ba's quarters to share a toast. I sat to the side, as ever choosing to be an observer. These were officers, comrades in arms, who had shared years of service, dating to long before that Hydran occupation. There were times when I flet like an intruder, regardless of how welcome they might try to make me feel.

Heth'ba was always the leader, the mentor, the mother of this little group, but the bonds they all shared were now exposed in this, their seeming last hours. As a small Lyran opera played over the intercom - one which, I might add, I would have previously found painful to the ears - Heth'ba did something that no one there had ever seem. She stood and turned to Gnallerr, saying, "Loyal Commander, would you dance with me?"

The surprise was evident in the turned back ears of all the Lyrans. I for one, despite my shock, had never seen a Lyran dance, and was certainly interested in witnessing such a thing. Gnallerr, however, was obviously somewhat unsure about such a display of affection from his commanding officer, and hesitated. "Now? On the eve of your revolution?"

Heth'ba's eyes conveyed her smile. "A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having."

That night, she danced with all her commanders, and they with each other. It was the strangest celebration I have ever attended, and will be to the end of my days. But despite my status as an outsider, despite my injuries, my pain, my lonliness, and my impending death - it was the happiest I have ever felt, and will ever feel.

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

The next morning, we stood together in the CIC, our tiny fleet racing towards what would likely be our deaths, when young Prrthlraa came racing in from Comm. Holding out a report to us, she said, "We have more word on the fleets, your honors."

I snatched the report from her hands before eithe Gnallerr or Heth'ba had a chance to see it, my eyes scanning the words before me. Still no mention of Miranda...

But there was hope. A large fleet was reported in the Phoenicius System, including the rumored Klingons and Remans, alongside the batterred Starfleet and Romulan elements. They were clearly ammassing for combat, prepared to race in to return Romulus to its people.

I handed the report to Heth'ba, who looked it over and began to order it relayed to all ships in the fleet. I barely heard her. My tactician's mind was already mulling the data, the dispositions, the angles of attack...

It was only seconds before I saw the weak point; The Federation and their allies could only approach from a few directions, and not from the Rihannsu core, in the direction of Lyran and Hyrdran territory - all of that was occuppied already. Those regions were open, and as such, the Hydrans likely thought their rear protected - after all, no allied forces existed in that direction...

The very direction from which we would be approaching.

It wasn't enough however; there was only one way for us to cover both flanks, enterring the system from all unprotected directions.

I spun about, ignoring the vertigo this action caused. I didn't really register what was being said - I didn't really care. I simply spoke.

"We need to divide the fleet."

The entire room fell silent.

That seemed to happen a lot around here.

For the first time since we'd met, Gnallerr gave me what could only be described as a look of incredulity. I was frankly surprised it had taken him this long, considering some of the insane plans I had led them all into. "Are you completely out of your mind?!?"

It was clear that his thoughts were pretty widely shared.

Joral shook off the inevitable criticisms, stumping his way to the nearest console and typing furiously. "My mental state is hardly the issue. Look here." He activated the main viewer with a map of the region. "The Hydrans occupy the eintre region of Romulan space that we are already in. There's no way that Starfleet or their allies can attack from that direction. There is no wa the Hydrans will be guarding that approach."

I tapped another set of keys, calling up our tiny fleet's location. "Now, if we drive directly into the center, we'll certainly achief a certain element of surprise, but there is absolutely no way that our ammassed forces will have any real effect - they'll just swing around and crush us."

The screen changed again, this time showing two separate routes instead of one. "If, however, we attack the same way we have been for months now, in two smaller, harder to hit, groups, we cause the maximum amount of chaos, and still maintain our numbers. Meanwhile, we divide their attention further by spreading out the damage, and forcing them to guard twice as much of their rear."

Heads were nodding around the CIC. I was clearly getting through to some of them.. Heth'ba was the first to speak.

"It has another advantage. If any Hydran forces that are guarding the occupied territory *do* stumble upon us, we will not all perish."

She wasn't the General for nothing.

She began to pace around the room, 'barking' orders - which was an interesting thing to hear coming from an over-grown cat. "Gnallerr, you will take half of the fleet, along with Friend Joral, and follow his secondary arch, closest to galactic east. I shall take the remainder of the fleet and follow the second path. We shall have to time this exactly - there can be no contact between us once the groups have separated. Take most of our fighters with you - Friend Joral will know how to better utilize them than anyone."

She stopped, standing right in front of me. Somehow, I was pretty sure this would be the last time we met. She wrapped her tail around my wrist briefly, by far the most affectionate gesture she had ever shown. "I'll see you on Romulus, friend Joral."

I nodded, squeezing the tip in a return display. "Or Hell."

The End of "The Confessions of Joral Anton"

"New Awakening"

Featuring:

Ensign Eve
Technical Operations
Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

AND

Any number of shamelessly squandered, expendable, nameless NPC's.

=USS Galaxy=
=Sickbay=

"??? - ??" An orderly turned about, hearing someone speaking in a language unfamiliar to him - he'd been raised in L.A. and therefore, even through the academy and his posting here on the Galaxy, had never really heard much outside of the Federation Standard that the universal translator's provided. He was an execelent medical person, but languages, just weren't him. On the biobed behind him lay a young woman, her uniform colored black - intelligence. He'd heard the whispered rumors about her, things far darker than realistically possible, but the confused look on her face belied any thoughts about her being alright.

"??? - ??? ??? - ??"

She was the one speaking, and either the translator didn't recognize it, or hers was broken. And she was talking to him. "It's all right," he said in what he hoped would be a reasuring tone of voice.

"You're fine." She tried to sit up but he gently grasped her shoulders to keep her on the bed and shook his head. "You can't go anywhere, we need to make sure you're OK." Her arms came up, impossibly quick, and impossibly strong as he found his 250 lbs frame flying up and back to crash against the wall. His head snapped back, and all went black.

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

Her actions did not go unnoticed, and the activities about her were likewise noted in the woman's mind. People in strange uniforms, and even things! Monsters and devils, strange beasts that shouldn't exist! The humans were working on some of them, others were lying there ... it was all wrong! More started to come towards her, brandishing small things that looked like strange flashlights. She grabbed someone, her grip causing him to cry out in pain - at least that's what it sounded like: they spoke strangely, she couldn't understand. They must be soft and weak if her own hands could hurt them so. She hoped that they weren't soft enough to stop a gun.

Thankfully a door was close and she could see the hall just outside.

Seconds later the one she'd grabbed was tumbling forward towards those with the flashlights and she was out in the hall.

Was it going to get dark soon?

Turning left she started to run. The hall had a gentle curve to one side, so she took an intersecting path to the right. She spied a set of doors with no handles at the end and cautiously aproached. When they parted - INTO THE WALLS - of their own accord, she knew there were bad things happening. This was magic far beyond her comprehension. Besides which, the compartment on the other side was small, barely enough room for a handfull of people, and nowhere else to go - a dead end. Turning around, she resumed her movements, trying to stay as far ahead of any guards searching for her. Frantically she looked for ways to move beyond these halls that didn't include the magic doors. What with all of the damage the facility had aparently taken, she wasn't long in discovering such a portal.

The pathway beyond was small and if she'd been any larger it would have been cramped. She was comfortable with small spaces, however, so the tunnel was nothing she feared. Closing the door behind her - a normal one, thankfully - she continued her journey away from whereever it was she had started in.

Some time later she came to what at first apeared to be a dead end.

After some searching, she found the machine that opened the door. It didn't apear to have anything that moved, but when the green section was touched there was an audible pop as something let go and the door was free to swing. Sliding out, she found herself in someone's residence.

It was lavish compared to her own home. A bed large enough to fit two, or maybe three people! Desk, tables, chairs, a bathroom with the most odd looking fixtures and comodities! Exiting into the living room, she began to look closer at the smaller things of which there were verry few. Eventually she discovered something she did not expect.

A picture of herself. Someone must have spent a fortune to create it, she mused to herself - it was in color!

Further investigation was halted when the magic doors parted to reveal a number of individuals. They wore an aproximation of what she was clothed with, though their collars sported a pleasent gold color.

"Ensign, if you'll just come with us we can get this worked out, ok?"

Again they spoke gibberish. And there were those funny flashlights again.

"? ???? ??????!" she cried out, backing into a corner. "??????? ???????????, ??????? ?????, ??????? ??????! ? ???? ?????, ? ???? ???? ? ????! ??? - ???? ? ?????"

The guards looked at each other, confused as well. One of them pointed his flashlight at her, and a beam of golden cascading light streamed out to strike her square in the chest. It hurt like nothing else, even her father's whip when she'd done something bad hadn't hurt like this. Though the pain she could see them, all four of them, and she remembered how weak those first two had been. Were these the same way? Running forward, two more lances of light struck her, again in the torso and once in the right shoulder .... strangely enough that last one didn't cause nearly as much suffering. This fueled her hope that she might possibly make it through them. But where she would go afterwards was not thought about.

The next thing she knew, three of them were on the ground and one of those wasn't moving. They had armor of some sort on, but it didn't help their weakness much. The fourth individual had been behind his companions and therefore had been able to back away farther down the corridor upon her mad rush and the ensuing conflict. He started to fiddle with his flashlight, or whatever it was, and she began to run, away from him.

A lance of searing heat blossomed within her back and she stumbled and cried out, but still she kept moving. Another blow landed, directly on her spine and she fell to her knees, yet still she kept trying to get away. A third struck and she found she could no longer move.

Instinctively she curled up as she fell finally to the ground and soon drifted away into unconsciousness.

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

The young security guard aproached the ensign cautiously, his phaser directed at her unwaveringly. It had taken 6 different beams, 5 of which had been on heavy stun, to take her down. Knealing down, he could see she was out, finally. But what was this? Gently lifting one of her hands from her face, he saw something he was fully unprepared for.

Tears.

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

??? - ??? (Who are you?)

??? - ?? (Where am I?)

? ???? ??????! ??????? ???????????, ??????? ?????, ??????? ??????! ? ???? ?????, ? ???? ???? ? ????! ??? - ???? ? ?????

(I want out of here! No laboratories, no gulag, no prison! I want home I want mother and father! Where are mother and father?)

"Go Forth and Heal"

With:
Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict "Max" Maxwell
Medical Technician, U.S.S. Miranda
Dr. Anjoli D'Bari
CMO, U.S.S. Miranda

On board the U.S.S. Miranda, Sickbay

Max Maxwell entered Sickbay and was immediately greeted by one of the medical officers.

"Dr. D'Bari wanted to see you when you got in, Max," he said.

Max was suddenly besieged with moderate panic. He knew he was early, so it couldn't be a reprimand for attendance (he has been stellar in making sure he arrived 20 minutes before his shifts started). He wondered if he had done something wrong for Dr. D'Bari to want to see him as soon as he came in.

Guess I'll find out now, thought Max.

He walked over to the CMO's door and touched the door chime. He heard a woman's voice invite him in. As he stepped through the door, he realized that Dr. Anjoli D'Bari was in the middle of a log entry. He moved to excuse himself, but the doctor waved for him to stay.

"...and effective immediately," she continued into her log, "Petty Officer Benedict Maxwell is relieved from the assigned position of Medical Technician." She paused and studied the look on Max's face.

Max himself suddenly felt himself outside of his body, not believing what he just heard. Relieved from duty??? What the fuck did I do? Max suddenly had the urge to leave and find a head to pray to but knew he had to stay put.

Dr. D'Bari, smiling at Max's very obvious discomfort (I didn't know that dark skinned humans could turn that shade of pale, she thought to herself sarcastically), continued her log entry.

"Effective immediately, and commensurate with Petty Officer Maxwell's training and education, his official title will now be Paramedic. His medical proficiency and knowledge clearly demonstrates that the title of Medical Technician is...limiting of what he can and actually does." Dr. D'Bari ended her log and looked to see what Max's reaction to this information would be.

Max thought about what to say, and could only speak what was on his mind.

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?"

"Of course," she replied.

Max steeled himself for what reaction his next statement might bring.

"You scared the living shit outta me," blurted Max, his New York accent coming out a bit.

Dr. D'Bari laughed softly at the somewhat guttural but humorous remark.

"Max, you deserve this. You will be working on par with with the nurses here, and performing more procedures than a standard Med Tech could. Congratulations, Mr. Paramedic."

Max smiled and nodded his thanks.

"Well, I guess I should get to work, we still some wounded to tend to."

"Very well," Dr. D'Bari said. "Also, I want you to drop by before you leave so that I can assign you to a permanent shift."

"Thanks, Doc, that would help a lot. I'm used to the long hours, but a little regularity would be great."

"Excellent." Dr. D'Bari looked down at her comm screen, noting the incoming message request. "If there's nothing else?"

"No Ma'am, I'm gonna head out to work, with your permission?"

"Dismissed"

Max walked out of the CMO's office, and went right to work on a corporal with some burn injuries.

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