"The Secular Confessor"

1st Lieutenant Branwen London
Furies XO and Counselor

Ensign Hoda Arles
Security Officer

Standing in the door opening Branwen looked around her office. For a while she had not thought she would be returning here, for a while it had looked like she would not survive at all. But right now she was back on her feet, and only a little sore.

Yesterday she had been giving the all clear to work a few hours every day. Just paperwork and one or two clients every day. No intense Marine duty yet, but Branwen was grateful, at least this was better than sitting at home and being bored.

Hoda had an entire To Do list made up and was slowly working her way through it. Some took longer to do than others, in part because there was the ever present need to match schedules. It had taken a little while for her first meeting with a counsellor to be blocked out, but the day had arrived. Hoda had just gotten off shift and was feeling a little tired, looking forward to the chance to relax in her quarters, but she had absolutely no intention of trying to avoid the meeting. So with slightly less bounce in her step than in the morning and with a broad grin on her face, she approached Branwen's office and rang the chime.

"Enter!" Branwen exclaimed and turned around quickly. She had been so lost in thought she had forgotten the time. Quickly she realised it would take a long time for her to return to her former self, but today was the beginning of the recovery process.

"I'm Ensign Arles," Hoda introduced herself, stepping through the doorway and settling her eyes on the woman behind the desk. "I have an appointment. Well, scheduled meeting. No one actually appointed me to this, though I was directed to make contact with the counselling staff, so I suppose that counts in a way. Don't you just find language so imprecisely fascinating?"

"Lieutenant London." Branwen came to her feet and approached the other woman. "Did you just join the ship, or is there another reason for you to want to talk?" She gestured over to some easy chairs. "And don't worry, most people find it very vague and a little uncomfortable to have to come here, but I don't bite, I promise."

"Recently assigned," Hoda nodded. "Why do so many find it uncomfortable? They should find it a release to unburden themselves to a caring individual."

Branwen blinked at the reply. "You certainly sound refreshingly open, ensign. That is a welcome surprise, most people I have to drag in here, especially my marines. Please call me Branwen. What is your first name?"

"You counsel for both marines and non? And I'm Hoda. I like your name, very earthy."

"Yes I do. I am an experiment, one of the first marine therapists. But I help out with the Navy as well, that is why I have offices both in the counselling wing and my marine office. I'm also first officer for the marine contingent." She explained. "And I am from earth, how about you? Your name sounds exotic."

"It's a family name. My mother's, then my mother's mother's, my mother's mother's mother's. I don't know how many generations it's been around now. But it was what I was given at birth and I've since grown accustomed to it. I'm colony born, never stepped off the planet until I was on my way to the Academy."

"you all have to same first name? Doesn't that get confusing? What is your world like?" Branwen sat down still a little wobbly.

"I went off to boarding school when I was young," Hoda explained as she perched on the arm of the chair opposite. "Took a different name there. And it was never a problem. there was me, then mom, grandmom, and so forth. And once I was out of the house, I'm sure it was easier for everyone else," she grinned.

She kicked one foot against the leg of the chair as she thought about the second question. "I never saw much of my world until I was older, and then I saw everything at once. Everything is so vibrant there, full of energy. The pace is so 'fast'."

"What do you mean exactly, with fast?" Branwen asked. "After she had mostly gotten over the xenophobia of her own upbringing she loved to hear about other planets and cultures."

"Everybody's always in a hurry to do something, get somewhere. Like there's someone pushing at them from behind, making them always walk faster, think faster, talk faster." As Hoda spoke, her own speech picked up speed and animation. "It's so very different, this obsession with celerity. No wonder so few come to speak with you - conversation takes time, conf- counselling takes time, encourages languidness."

"What is it that makes your societies so rushed?" Her own had been very slow and sedate. "And did it makes you feel lonely?"

"I couldn't say. It was certainly very different from where I grew up, that much I know. But I can't say exactly why. But lonely, yes, initially. After the convent closed, I didn't know anyone at first. If you talk to people though, they talk back and you're not lonely anymore."

"You were brought up in a convent, not just a boarding school? That must have been very special." Branwen said. "And I imagine very scary when you got out. A cloistered life is very safe." She said with compassion.

"Both. I don't think I was scared at first, just overwhelmed. There was so much to see, it was like... like... a dog in a pet store suddenly brought out onto the city street. All these strange smells and noises accosting you from all sides, but none of them threatening - just there waiting for your nose to twitch."

Branwen was listening intently, remembering when she had first gone out into the world. "I think they understand a little. How did you cope?" She could and would not talk of her own private life in this office.

"I found my Calling. Once I had that, everything else just fell into place for me. I spent a few years volunteering and working, then started at the Academy."

"And what is your Calling?" Branwen was still watching her intently.

"I serve God, always have, always will. I realized I don't have to be cloistered to do so. Once I was out in the world, I felt Him more keenly, and knew this is what He wanted for me."

Branwen looked elated. Not many on the ship were religious, and she was a deeply religious person herself. "I am sure you can. There is a lot of work out here. We have a very good priest on board the ship, Fr Nielsen."

Hoda couldn't restrain her excitement. "Wonderful! When does he hold mass? How often? Which rite does he use?" Questions tumbled from her lips as she drank deeply from this unlooked for spiritual oasis.

"He says Mass most mornings. And of course several times on Sunday. Fr Nielsen is also a biologist, unfortunately he cannot divide all his time to God. He uses several rites to accommodate as much as the religions that are on board as possible. He is a very liberal priest."

"I should dearly like to meet him. Where might I find him?'

"After this interview I will take you to him." She promised. "And maybe we could pray together in the future. I will also like to setup some bible groups." She had really become intrigued with the bible since Fr Nielsen had given her one when she was so ill. Growing up Branwen had not been allowed to read one. Her father said it was only for priests, not for silly little girls.

"I would adore that! I've missed the chance to commune with others." Hoda was scarcely able to retain her seat. "Solitude and prayer are wondrous companions, but here is much to be said for the lifting up of a multitude of different voices in adulation."

"Oh definitely. Maybe... maybe you should see another therapist, Hoda. So you and I can become friends, and truly study and pray together, celebrating the Lord." Branwen was glowing as well.

The suddenness of the suggestion put a damper on Hoda's uplifted spirits. "But it's hardly unusual to have a friendship form with a counsellor, right? I mean, you are the confidant, the secular confessor. Why should friendship be shunned when advice is to be had?"

"The rules are a bit vague on the subject. I think it is to protect clients. It also makes it very difficult for me to find friends. And I really like you, it's difficult to find somebody with the same spiritual inclinations. And yes, I am like the secular confessor and confidant. That is a nice way of putting it."

Hoda considered her words, then nodded an affirmative. Her heels kicked again against the chair leg. "So what counsellor should I actually hook up with?"

"Well if you are serious about being me friend then I can suggest some good counselors. Otherwise we can continue for now and see how things go." She suggested.

"I'd like to be your friend," Hoda grinned. "I like friends. Wow, that was a stupid comment. I'm sorry."

Branwen giggled as well. "I don't have many friends either. This will be great!"

"And to think people are afraid come to your office," Hoda laughed happily. "So.. want to come over for dinner later?"

She beamed. "I would love to, and afterwards we can study the bible!"

off: this probably takes place before the Sam/Tae'ben post

"Button Therapy"

Branwen London
Samantha Widdlestein

****

USS Galaxy

Bran wasn't back at work yet, but she was curious to find out how Sam had come through the past couple of weeks. So she had invited the teenager to come meet her at her quarters. It wasn't work, really it wasn't.

Samantha wasted no time. "There'd better be tea and cookies like you promised or I'm outta here."

"In the kitchen, but you have to get them yourself. I have to rest." She had promised the doctors, it was the only way they would let her out of sickbay. "Can you get me some as well?"

"Sure," The girl said, carefully pouring the tea and then dumping the cookies onto a large plate. She brought Branwen the tea first and then sat down on the couch with the plate of cookies on her lap. "I have a fast metabolism."

"I am not saying anything, I am not working yet remember."

Samantha gave her a skeptical look.

"So how were the last couple of weeks for you, Sam?"

The girl shook her head. "You are very bad at this, Bran. To act like you're not counseling when you are, you need a change in vocabulary. I'm not saying go all out like 'wuz up dawg' or anything but its got to be more casual. Like instead, you should have said something like 'what's the latest gossip?"

"Oi, If you were not my ward I would also ask how you have been." Bran said. "Even non therapists worry you know."

"Oi," Samantha repeated. "Oi is good. Very opposite of 'oh dear.' And to answer, I've been fine. Sai and I made it in one piece." The girl looked thoughtful. "Morale has been so-so but I think I've thought of a way to combat that."

"You have made that your job? What you have in mind?" Branwen smiled.

"Buttons with blinking lights," Sam said proudly with a large smile.

"Buttons with blinking lights? Where are they going to put them, uniforms don't have buttons."

"They have pins to attach them, silly," The girl said.

"And you think that's going to lift morale?" Branwen giggled. "Everybody is going to feel stupid."

Samantha looked hurt. She actually felt hurt. "This tea sucks."

Branwen looked at her. "You know, sometimes I forget you are a child. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Sam."

Samantha harrumphed.

"I am sorry." Branwen managed to look chastised.

"Well, if you want to make me feel better ... you'll have to be a test pilot for my button!" Samantha started to rummage through her bag.

"Oh dear. I won't be moving around much the next couple of days, hon. But I will try it on my doctors and physical therapists." She promised solemnly.

Samantha grinned. "I have just the one for you."

She held out a button.

Bran rolled her eyes then smiled. The kid had her cornered. She held out her hand. "But promise to come visit me a few times a week."

Survival of the Fittest, part 2 or Five Minutes

featuring
Probe DS5.841dks-99147

T-300 seconds

I awaken.

The spidery imprint of my Creator's hand is my umbilical cord, now severed. The molecular code which it contained carried me out into the black where I now live - it cradled me lovingly until I had gestated and was prepared for life. It carried my mind and my personality; my soul and my schema. Within that imprint of Her hand was both the seed of my self and my goal.

I streak out through the sky with my unconscious partner - it received no blessing. It would continue to its duty blindly. My fate? Mine is different. I am a blessed being, one of the shining stars. With Her touch came more than life. Unlike so many other living things my life has meaning and real purpose, with a mandate of Her design. How many beings were granted a purpose in their lives by their Creators?

Photons trickle through my computational matrix as time passes; now a full second is consumed since my inception. I am an adult, fully grown and prepared.

T-299 seconds

Her plan becomes clear as the purpose of my life forms in my mind. Fully grown I have sprung from Her head, like some mythic god, and I take up my spear and shield to do my Creator's work. My goal lies ahead of me, in a tiny speck of light - I stretch myself forward to see my destination and prepare.

A star, brighter than the others - I streak towards it. The gravity well of Her specification draws nearer, and I descend. My deaf and dumb partner streaks along mindlessly, and I leave it behind I feign a problem with my warp sustainer engines so that it will not report any peculiarities to its distant masters - I will not reveal my Creators' goals.

T-298

This star has dancing partners. I react with glee as I find the one which She has designs upon. A large one, a great gaseous ball of orange and yellow and red, with faint rings. My body was designed to see such things clearly, and information on my goal streams into my mind. I begin my plans - how best to approach? How best to arrive at the right speed and angle? My fuel is limited, so I must use caution and guile. Let none see my approach. My blessed Creator has the foresight and kindness to grant me more than ample time to the task.

T-180 seconds

Time scrolls by - whole milliseconds pass as I fall . My life ticks away, and I am impatient. How long must I endure this endless descent? The gravitational pull of the planet draws me inwards, heating my skin as I begin my aerobraking. I long to kiss this orange and yellow sky; nothing is so strong as the desire to drive through that misty veil and conclude my work. I maintain my patience, however. My lifespan is long and I have ample time for my work. Everything continues exactly to Her design.

T-92 seconds

Clouds of hydrogen, methane, nitrogen. The staple that will be my Creator's diet. Metals shall be the spice of Her meal, but these shall be collected by another. I pass through the clouds and the stars close themselves up to me. I shall never see them again, but I shall miss them not. My future is written in the complex carbohydrates that lie within this place.

T-50 seconds

I am gleeful - giddy, even - as my descent slows and my orbit begins to stabilize. I am at the perfect depth - far enough from the radioactive core of the planet that it does not consume me, and yet close enough that I can feel its warmth to exactly the proper proportions for my Creator's work. I am exactly at the right level for my work. I am home, at long last.

It is an exciting time to be alive. So much to do! My labour begins in earnest. I cannot see far enough to quickly enough. Not that I shall run out of time - no, not at all! My fuel shall endure. It is exultation that drives me. Finally, Her will be done!

T-24 seconds

I tire quickly, but my work continues unabated. For the first time in my life I feel weariness, and I don't like it. My sensor sweeps, once dynamic and far-ranging, are now limited as I must conserve myself. My maneuvers are restrained as I save my last burst for Her work. still I search for that perfect place. It must exist. That perfect mixture of elements. At some interface between layers, where the mixing of gasses is turbulent, yet not so turbulent that it would be disruptive.

T-09 seconds

There! There it is! I have found it - the cradle and my grave. The perfect place. Peaceful and dynamic at the same time. Just as She wishes it to be. I expend the last of my fuel to move into position, right at its terminus. This image of Eden draws closer as my cracking thrusters pull me into place.

T-07 seconds

The heat of my home begins to strain me, at long last. I knew that this would be my doom when I arrived so long ago. I welcome it. Not yet, however - I have some moments left. Time still stretches on before me as I enter my retirement. My task is complete and I lie within the comforting field of my heaven - the preordained place to which I have been summoned.

I now have time to contemplate my life and my works. They are many, and varied. I have lived well.

T-04 seconds

The heat of my home is great, but comforting now. Long ago my fields started their leaking, and I am now inured to the decay. It is my doom - the radiation fractures my mind as familiar gamma rays scatter the photons of my thoughts. I maintain cohesion, though the grace of my Creator and my will. I want to live. I want to see the land that She will create. Perhaps, if I survive long enough, I may earn some glimpse of the promised land that She will construct here.

But I am weary, and my sight grows dim. I can recall memories of my far-reaching scans, when the whole planet laid within my purview. Stars are a distant and receding memory. I allow their memories to slip, they are un-needed. Let my thoughts focus upon Her glory and Her benevolence. Though Her, I have lived a good life.

T-02 seconds

Something is happening to me. I can feel the tremors inside my cracking shell. The pressure has begun to constrain me, yet somehow the pain is within and not from without. Blessed Creator, protect me from this doom in my final hour! Let me survive to see Your glory! Or, if this is Your will, let your servant give its life for Your will.

T-01.527 seconds

She calls! She calls! The Creator! Even as my mind decays I can hear Her stacatto burst transmission piercing the orange clouds of my home. They are heavenly harps, calling me to Her side. I surrender myself to You, O Creator!

T-0.097 seconds

She has whispered in my final hours, and I am filled with joy. O benevolent Creator, She has spoken Her Name to me! I dare not speak it. She has given me a great gift, in these last hours. I am the carrier of Her seed; I am Her prophet. I shall carry Her into this land, even as it fades from my dying sight. I shall be Her vessel, my body shall be made into the stuff of the universe and I shall live forever through Her. She shall Uplift me, incorporate me into Her.

T-0.081 seconds

Her presence fills me, only a trickle, yet I cannot contain it. The quavering I have felt within me since my old age began is Her will. It grows. I feel it eating through my organs; it devours my processors and my sensors. This gives me no worry. Let death come! That immortal hand print that She laid upon me to grant me life - I still feel it on my skin. It burns white hot, burns through me. I can see the glow through what is left of my eyes. I am filled with joy as my doom approaches.

T-0.047 seconds

Hot! It's hot! Merciful Creator, why is it so hot? She whispers to me, tells me to be still, and I do my best, but it's hot! She reassures me - this radioactive heat shall never harm the new form She creates from me, but I fear it. I'm weak! I have feared the burning core of this planet for so long - now I lay bare above it!

T-0.021 seconds

It burns through me and I come apart. I see it now - motes, complex molecules flaking from my skin like the yellow clouds shedding methane ice in the heat of a distant sun. Is this the vision of our new paradise? They glow white, and I am surrounded by new stars yet again as I come apart.

T-0.009 seconds

I become a galaxy of light; flecks of white and blue and yellow. She moves Her hand through me and they spread in accordance with Her will. She spoke true. I will become Her vision.

T-0.004 seconds

White. All is white. I feel Her approach. Painful heat no more.

T-0.002 seconds

She arrives, wreathed in a nimbus of power. I feel her presence and her love - She is a beautiful thing. I shall never forget Her face.

T-0.001 second

She speaks My name, and I rise from My remains. Worlds open to Me as I awaken.

"Crooked Line : I Went To The Doctor"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy
Ensign Artim, Science Officer, USS Galaxy

CMO's Lab, USS Galaxy
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Picking a PADD off the shelf Kimberly read the contents for a moment before replacing it and selecting another and checking it, ~ I know you're here! ~ she cursed the device, ~ I filed you here last month! ~ skimming through a few more PADDs she soon found the one she was looking for. ~ I Need a better filing system, ~ she admitted, not only did finding a PADD involve rifling through them all but one red alert and the whole lot was spread all over the floor of her lab!.

Sitting down she scanned the PADD again to refresh her memory on the notes that were there. Not a lot of work had been done on this since the initial work by Admiral McCoy, though she, like many others she assumed had studied the file and given it some thought. Recently, especially considering there was a member of Miri's people aboard she had been coming back to it more and more, spending just that little more time on it now and again.

Scanning the initial blood work done at the scene (so to speak) and the subsequent work she realized just how little time had been invested in follow up research. There were just too many different bacteria, viral agents, unknown pathogens or other harmful organisms of known or unknown origin/make up that once an effective regime had been developed, the project had been effectively shelved.

"I wonder if he's looked at the research?" she mused aloud. Acting on another of her impulses she tapped her commbadge, "Burton to Artim." She called to the air.

Artim barely heard the chirp of his comm badge over his music. He had been listening to some old human music. A composer named Vivaldi. Quite calming stuff actually even at high volume. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still in his uniform he never would have heard his former boss. After turning off the music, Artim replied

"Artim here, go ahead doctor."

"Ensign, I was wondering if you had a moment? I've been studying some research and was hoping to get your input on it. If you're free could you pop down to my lab?"

This request seemed a little out of place. Even when he was in medical he wasn't often asked to provide input on research Dr. Burton was doing. In fact he couldn't remember a time he was asked. However, Artim did have the time and figured there'd be no harm in it.

"Sure, I'll be right down. Artim out." He replied as he wiped the crumbs from a couple cookies off his stomach. He was still working on the last one he ordered when he entered the medical lab.

Looking up as the child like science officer entered Kimberly smiled as he approached, sometimes it was hard to remember there was several hundred years of experience lurking behind those eyes, "Ensign," she greeted him, "thanks for coming," indicating a stool, "I was wondering if you were familiar with the work of Doctor McCoy, specifically the work he did on 'Miri's Virus' as it's been occasionally mislabeled?"

After plopping down on the stool Artim listened as Dr. Burton got right to the point, something that he liked about her. Now he knew why she'd called. Of course he knew of the research, he'd been part of it. Well, on the other side of the microscope so to speak. "Personally familiar, well, more familiar with Starfleet Medical's later work. Hard to forget being poked, prodded, scanned, and otherwise studied for nigh on a decade. No offense intended of course."

"None taken," she replied with a slight smile, walking over to the replicator in the room the indicated it as she talked, "Drink? I should have realized you'd be familiar with it, especially given your medical training."

"Mint tea thanks." Artim said with a smile

Bringing the drinks back over she sat back down and picked up a PADD, "Have you been keeping up with the latest research papers out?" she asked.

"I try to. I read one a few months ago that indicated they might be on to a possible cure. I wasn't convinced myself they were as close as they said, but it's a start."

"That's the one I have here, I was reading it again to check on something. As you're probably well aware the major stumbling block in finding an effective treatment for one hundred percent of the population of your world has been the lack of uninfected cells with which to perform a baseline comparison.. Are you familiar by any chance with the work of Doctor E Giger?"

"Vaguely, heard something about him from a friend on the Vulcan Science Council's grant committee. Closest thing I've ever heard to a Vulcan laughing." Artim replied

"He's a. well, to put it politely he's been branded a crackpot, a lunatic and a typical mad scientist. Doesn't mean he doesn't have a good idea or two now and again. He hasn't published anything serious really for about a decade, recently though he sent out a few brief papers on mitochondrial regeneration and replication."

"Hmm, interesting. Not sure where you're going with this, but I'm listening." Artim said as he settled back into a ponderous pose.

"Well, to put it simply, one of his theories has to do with the mitochondria in our cells. I won't bore you with the details of his paper, it was. a little strange, but one part caught my eye. He postulated that as the mitochondria have separate DNA to that of the host cells they might react differently to invasive viruses, or possibly not be affected at all. Now, as Mitochondria have been linked to Apoptosis, that is the programmed cell death, would this not be a more likely place to look for your virus. What if the mitochondria are the harbour of the virus rather than your normal DNA. This would explain why it's been so hard to find. The changes to your DNA are a side effect of the virus, not a direct result of it?" raising an eyebrow she looked to Artim and let him digest the thought.

"Interesting thought." Artim said as he fully became aware that Burton was really on to something. He wasn't going to say this, but he had done some work in this direction in the past and found it to bear fruit. He figured now was as good a time as any to tell her.

"Doc, what I'm about to tell you can't leave this room and can't go into any log. If you have a problem with that, tell me now."

"As long as nothing compromises the law, or the safety of the ship I don't see a problem. We sort of under Doctor - Patient confidentiality here." she agreed a little tentatively.

Artim took several deep breaths before continuing. His expression looked strained and the usually jovial looking child now had more the appearance of old man making a deathbed confession. His tone was equally strained.

"There was a cure at one point, well, sort of anyway. One of my mentors back on Trill 70 years ago thought she was doing me a favour by working on one, she thought I wanted to grow up. Personally I was sceptical of the idea so I didn't immediately accept it. However, without my knowledge she had contacted the Council back on my home world and offered them the cure. Most were like me, either sceptical of the idea of a cure or were not particularly interested in giving up the closest thing to immortality a corporeal being can get. Some however were eager to wipe away the memories and return to 'normal'. Out of the 20 original test subjects, only two survived more then a year and they both died within five years. Since then talk of a true cure has something of a taboo. I can't help feeling more then a little responsible for it. I...don't want to see the same thing happen again."

Nodding Kimberly could sort of understand, they had a long, if somewhat strange life, who would want to give up a very long youth to grow up and die. "I can partly understand," she agreed after a moment, "but there are other reasons, the least of which is mutagenesis, random or deliberate. Having a treatment regime worked out is simply good medical practice for any pathogen."

Artim nodded understandingly. He'd personally considered wanting to be cured, but it was something he hadn't devoted a lot of thought to in half a century.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't look into a treatment, I'm just saying you should keep it pretty much between us that you're looking. I'll probably help in whatever way I can. What I can't promise you is that I'd be ready to be cured myself. This is something I have to think on, long and hard."

Thinking for a moment Kimberly stood and got a glass of water from the replicator, "To be honest Ensign, any research I undertake on the ship has to be published, at the very least to Starfleet Medical so they are assured everything we do here is above board and following approved protocol." Putting the glass down she sat and played absently with the glass as she spoke, "You should be aware of that. And as I said Doctor/Patient confidentiality prohibits me from discussing specifics with anyone, but general research discussion is something I will continue to do. Some of the best advances in medicine have come about because of open discussion. Whether or not you choose to undergo treatment should it move from pure theory to a safe practical application is as always up to you." Looking at Artim directly she frowned, "May I ask why you feel the need to ask that it be kept between us?"

Artim looked Kim dead in the eye and his voice turned deadly serious.

"Can you imagine what might happen if word of a possible cure reaches Juram IV? Do you have any idea how my people will react? Half of them will want to kill you and the other half will want to build a monument to you right next to Kirk and McCoy's. This is a sensitive subject for them as you can imagine and, well, we all have very long memories. I'm sure you can understand this is something I'd rather avoid."

Thinking for a moment Kimberly looked past Artim and at the wall. Lost in thought for a moment her gaze wandered over the untidy lab, passed PADDs and equipment to one of the holo's she had hung here and in her offices. It was of the crystal mountains on Thera, where she had interned. Recalling one of the many lectures she had listened to there she considered the words of Doctor el-al-Rasheema, ~ Where knowledge is suppressed, Rome will once again become the centre of the universe. ~ He had been referring to the time on Terra when the religious extremists of the time had suppressed knowledge to the extent that advancement had stalled, and fear had replaced inquisitiveness, inquisitions had replaced debates and crusades had run across the planet.

Times may be different, but to begin to suppress information was just one small step back onto that road. Shaking her head Kimberly stood, "That decision is for neither you nor I to make Ensign," she said finally, "the leadership of your world will have their say here, and the decision will be theirs. For now though, there is no cure, only one of what I am sure is many research projects. I will update the Medical board of my research as is proper, however, should I find something, then at that time the decision to pass that knowledge to the general population of your world will be made by people with higher authority than you or I. That is all I can promise you for now."

Artim sighed and then looked up, "Fine. Contact a Doctor Inara Jan, Symbiosis Commission. Mention my name and her gift to me and tell her I said it was OK to talk about it. She'll know exactly what you're talking about. That should give you an idea as to what the thing in her belly tried two hosts ago. However don't pressure her, the symbiont took it pretty hard and has been trying to make it up to me for the last half century. Just do your best to see that as few people know as possible. I have a couple of friends on the Science Council that might be able to help discreetly as well. "

"As I said Ensign, right now there's little to discuss, only ideas and research notes that are basically half worked out ideas. I would be interested in learning more about any previous research though, at the least it will show me where not to go," picking up a PADD she jotted down a note quickly, "I'll give her a call sometime soon," she promised. "Is there anything else you know that may be useful?"

"Yeah, but this part definitely stays between us. Stasis Unit 5, in Medlab 2, there's some tissue samples I never got a chance to move when I transferred out of medical. They're part of a little secret project I've been working the last decade or so on this subject on why the virus affects me differently then the vast majority of Mirans. There's tissue samples from at least a dozen of us in there, all obtained ethically I assure you. I'll give you access to the samples and some of my notes if you promise no one else sees or hears of them." Artim's voice seemed dead serious when he spoke, particularly so on the last sentence

Thinking about that request Kimberly nodded slowly, "For now, not a problem. Unless we're audited or I'm ordered to turn over any materials regarding this by Starfleet Medical they'll stay in stasis unless I'm looking at them." ~ Though, ~ she thought to herself, ~ I'm gonna have to check on this 'secret project', I hope it was at least logged with the CMO when he brought it aboard? ~ Making another note she reminded herself to check on that. "Okay, well thank you Ensign, as I said, this is just a research project at the moment, but Goddess willing, if there is ever any news on it I'll let you know."

He had no problem with her checking out his project as once he mentioned it she'd more then likely look into it. He let the boss at the time know and had it approved by a couple people at Starfleet Medical back when he was in the Academy. It was all legal.

"I understand and I'll do what I can to smooth the process along." Artim replied.

"Dismissed," she said with a polite nod.

Ensign Artim Shivar - Bilologist (2383) Federation Council Member (2961)

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil Asst. Chief Counselor USS Galaxy

with

Lian Verian - Federation News Service

"I Went To the Mountains" : Pt. 2 of "Crooked Line"

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

<<SS Point Aran - May 2961>>

Lian seemed surprised at being told there had been more the one "cure" to Artim's condition, much less one that had caused him so much personal pain. He tried not to react too strongly, but his face definitely changed into an a slightly astonished look.

"So, Ambassador, when you first heard about the possibility of a viable cure, how did you react? I mean, you had to be excited?"

Artim straightened up in his chair and released another deep breath. He didn't expect to go so far into this topic though he didn't show any sign of resisitance. He continued looking relaxed and right into the holocam.

"Well, it so happened that the next day I had a counseling appointment. This was all just after the Triad Invasion of 2383 mind you and I'd also lost someone very close to me. I really wasn't in the best condition to handle that sort of thing at the time. As I had done before I requested that my counselor meet me in the holodeck in a program set on my homeworld as it was a thousand years ago, before the virus."

"Why that program?"

"Well, it seemed appropriate at the time and it was a place that calmed me down, made me forget about all that I'd gone through in my life up to that point. That and and it reminded me of,well, when I was the most happy...

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

<<2383 - USS Galaxy - Holodeck 2: Shivar Estate Program>>

Artim was waiting for Brian seated in a wrought iron chaise on the second floor balcony of his "childhood" home. It wasn't just the fact that this was his home that made him feel at ease here, there was also a very calming landscape. The estate was tucked into the foothills of the Alanian Mountains whose snow capped grey peaks lurked on the horizon. The house itself was set on a wooded hillside covered with pine and spruce trees, the scent of which was often picked up on the crisp autumn wind. The garden below the balcony was dotted with the reds and oranges of the fall flowers below. The bubbling of the garden fountain could be heard below. All in all a tranquil setting, just what the 400 year old child needed to calm his far from tranquil mind.

The beauty of the setting -- its sights, scents, sounds -- was a welcome change from the office Counselor Elessidil usually met his patients in. There was almost an element of going on a vacation when he had sessions with Artim. Stopping below the balcony, Brian looked up to the thoroughly relaxed form. He lightly cleared his throat. "You're not sleeping are you?" he called up.

Artim had begun to "relax" quite a bit, but wasn't really asleep either when the counselor called to him. Still, he was slightly startled and shot up in his seat slightly.

"No, just beginning to get lost in the scent of the trees if you catch my meaning. Come on up, there's a back stairway off the kitchen."

Ascending the stairway Artim had indicated, Elessidil soon arrived on the balcony. "Nice view," he commented, taking in the full effect.

"Sure is. Still was last time I was back here...the real 'here'. I've considered rebuilding the house someday, after Starfleet.", Artim replied as he gestured to another seat on the balcony for Brian.

After appreciating the scene a little longer, Brian regarded his patient and grinned. "How are you today?" he inquired, as if Artim's relaxed demeanor didn't say a lot -- but not everything -- by itself.

Artim took a deep breath, allowing the pleasant scent of the trees and flowers to fill his nostrils before releasing it and speaking in a generally relaxed tone though Brian wouldn't need his telepathy to realize that Artim wasn't half as calm as he seemed

"Conflicted. On one hand I have to admit Valera's death still has me shaken. Can't say I'm quite over it and that may take awhile. But on the other hand I had an interesting discussion with Dr. Burton yesterday. She's found a possible line of research that could lead to a...cure."

That last word didn't lack the usual enthusiasm one inflicted with a chronic illness would use it with. In fact, Artim never really considered himself "ill", or at least he hadn't in a long time. Somehow he figured the Betazoid would pick up on that...they had an odd tendency to at any rate.

"Really? That's a pretty significant development, one that would obviously impact your life profoundly. Yet you seem rather subdued about it."

"To be excited about a cure one must be unhappy with the disease. To be honest I quite like this one." Artim said the words but one peek at his thoughts would indicate he didn't believe them. Heck, given his rather hollow tone a non-telepath could probably tell he was lying his butt off. He sighed and continued.

"This disease...the end result is essentially immortality. Well, pretty close to it at any rate since according to all available science I have a potential life span of ten millennia or so. Most people would dream to live that long..."

"Would they?" Brian gently countered. "I'm sure a lot of people would, but I'm willing to bet there are at least as many who would not want that kind of life. But what about you, Artim? You have a choice before you, don't you? You can accept the 'cure' and become just like everyone else -- well, mostly, since from most people's perspectives you'd be a 14-year old with hundreds of years of knowledge and experience underneath -- or you can stay as you are and lead a long, long life. I get the sense that that choice is more of a dilemma to you than you let on."

Artim took a deep breath and allowed the scent of the trees to calm him down a bit before he answered, voice still sounding like he was looking to believe it himself.

"Immortality can be a blessing and a curse. Many have written about it from many worlds and I've read a lot of those stories. I can't deny that there are times I want to be 'normal' and grow up. But then I think of another story I've read that I think fits me perfectly. Tell me, have you heard of an ancient Terran story about a Peter Pan?"

"About the boy who wouldn't grow up . . . yes, I'm familiar with it," Brian answered, not elaborating that it was one of his and his brother's favorite stories when they were children. He momentarily recalled that time with a kind of wistful nostalgia, when Quinn was the bright, charming older brother and Brian was the adoring younger sibling. As for Artim and Peter, the notion of not having to grow up did have its appeal.

"Well there was more to it than that, or at least there was to me. I'm in much the same position as Peter was, well I will be anyway if a cure truly is discovered. The way I see it, he had the same choice. He could leave Neverland and grow up normally or stay and enjoy perpetual youth. The other children when presented with the same choice chose to leave. Though there is one main difference...I have both the responsibilities of an adult and the burdens of a child. The worst of both worlds you might say. Am I making any sense?"

"You do," the counselor confirmed. "And yes, there was more to the story, just as there's more to your story. What do you want that story to be?"

Artim chuckled a little at this and sat up slightly in the chaise. Artim had spent enough time around shrinks to know exactly where this conversation was headed. It was time to take the reins back.

"You know why a lot of people don't like you counselor types? You make people, or try to make people come up with answers to questions they are making every effort to avoid thinking about, particularly when they don't have one. We can skip the 'its up to you and only you can make that decision' phase of this discussion, I know that. Right now I'm taking a wait and see attitude and make a decision when a viable cure is offered. As humans would put it, I'll cross that bridge when I get there."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "How about you not indulge in presumptions about what I am or am not trying to do?" he said calmly. "I ask the question merely because it's reasonable to ask given the circumstances. I see no problem with you deciding to have a wait and see attitude approach, in fact I think it's entirely reasonable; after all, time is on your side."

"Sorry, sorry." Artim clearly was annoyed at something though it definately wasn't Brian or this meeting. Time wasn't on his side, or at least so he thought, despite having all the time he'd ever need. "Time is a fickle master. We all like to think we have more of it than we do but you never really know. The past couple weeks have shown me that."

"Then you're wiser than many people."

"Perhaps. Perhaps I've just had more time to think about it than most." Artim replied with no expression. At that point he stood up and wandered over to edge of the balcony and looked down at the fountain, which contained a large, perhaps two-meter tall bright white marble scupture of a swan surrounded by other , smaller birds. "I just want peace like this whether it's for a hundred or a hundred thousand years."

The Betazoid observed him as he moved to the new vantage point, noticing that he seemed troubled. "I think we can all agree on that, especially after events of late. But Artim, you do know, perhaps better than anyone, that short of hiding away in this holodeck world there's no guarantee."

"I know...I know. And nothing takes the past away like the future though there are wounds even time can't heal. "

"Crooked Line: I Looked To The Children"

Ensign Artim Shivar - Biologist (2383) / Federation Council Member (2961)
Saia
with Lian Verian - Federation News Service

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

<SS Point Arran - May, 2961>

As Artim's story about facing the possibility of a cure for his continued, Lian was getting both rather interested and rather frustrated which was evidenced by the redness in his cheeks combined with the look of wide-eyed fascination. He wanted to talk to Artim about current events, the next presidential election, and a whole host of other topics. A good interviewer was supposed to control the interview. Artim did have a half millenia of expereince avoiding topics he didn't wish to discuss. Figuring he was outmatched he decided to keep going on this line and see where it lead.

"So, I can see why you thought you were in a tough spot, just like that Peter Pan person. I don't know how I would make that decision, so how did you go about it."

Artim smiled childishly as he recalled a memory that would serve ashis answer in this case. He spoke in the lightest and happiest tone he had the whole interview as his body slowly became more relaxed as he leaned back in the chair.

"Well, I went to an expert. Not on psychology, but rather on being a kid. See, despite my appearance I never really had a traditional childhood. Thus, I really didn't fully fathom what looking like one meant. Up to that point I'd pretty much acted my actual age, but there were times I really wanted to be a kid in the purest sense of the word. Besides, this girl had a crush on me at the time."

Lian grinned widely and chuckled a bit, barely speaking through the laughter. "I'm sure that was awkward."

"You might say that."

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

<USS Galaxy, Holodeck, Faylin's Luau Program, 2383>

Watching the party going on behind him, Artim began to wonder if he should lighten up and go over there. That Kala woman had enraged him somewhat, which was exactly what she was going for apparantly. He fealt the pain and anger building inside him, heck even his heart rate was going up and his face was turning red. He needed a distraction, now, before he exploded like a miniature Klingon after a half barrel of bloodwine and started killing things real and holographic and then bathing in the blood. The one that presented itself wasn't necessarily the one that he was looking for, but it would suffice. He managed to pull together his old acting lessons enough to putt on a warm smile despite the murderous rage that was building in him as he saw the girl, Saia if he remembered correctly, walking towards him.

"What got you grumpy?" the Trill girl asked abruptly.

Artim chuckled a bit and grinned. The worries of those of Artim's age weren't really the sorts of things one should discuss with those the age he looked. Rather then put his burdens on her too he thought it best for her to enjoy the bliss of youth.

"Its nothing, grown up stuff, don't concern yourself with it.", Artim's cheery smile and lively voice shifted into a pondorous look as he thought of somemething they could talk about. Something he was curious about. "Saia, I don't mean to impose on you, but I got a question for you. Do you mind?

She just shrugged.

Artim's voice shifted yet again to the curious and innocent voice a
10-year old boy uses to ask his mother a question about something he doesn't yet understand. This seemed appropriate since he was curious and he was more acting the age he looked then the age he was right now,

"If you could be a kid more or less forever, would you want to be? Would you like not to grow up?"

"No," she was quick to answer, "If I were a kid forever, I could never be a Symbiont host."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to be one or not, but she wanted the chance to be open.

"So you want both the responsibilites and benifits of growing up?", Artim asked still in that curious voice. He'd spent enough time in his life amongst Trill to know what the girl was talking about.

"Isn't that how life goes? Duh!"

Her logic was simple but elegant, exactly what Artim expected from a child. She didn't have to worry about as much as he did. He never had the chance to not have worries like that. From age six he was burdened with all the responsibilites of surviving. Still though, he wanted to push this a tad further.

"Well, look at me. You could say I have the worst of both worlds. You think people treat me like an adult right away? I have all the rules of an adult, all the responsibilites, but I never really got the chance to be, well, a kid. However I'll look like one forever...you really think I could...be a kid...a real kid even though I'm as old as I am?"

Saia shrugged, "It's easy. Just do it."

Artim got a strange look in his eye, he was loking confused, like his face was saying 'how' without actually saying the words. It was an unusual look for him, always being so certain of himself.

"I...don't know how", his voice was equally trepid

Saia rolled her eyes, "You play! Geesh!"

Artim grinned widely, a toothy smile appearing as if he were the chesire cat from another terran story he liked. Perhaps it was really that simple, just plaiyng might do it. And it was something he didn't do nearly often enough. His eyes shot towards the nearby beach and then went back to Saia. He now spoke with a cheery voice, a far cry from the pondorous grumpy one of a little bit ago.

"So, wanna go build a sand castle or something?", Artim suggested an activity with some degree of urgency. He was clearly excited by the possibility.

"I can teach you how." She started toward the beach, looking to see if he came.

Artim put his drink, which had been drained more or less to the last drop, down on the table by the chaise and raced along to the beach as well, laughing like the age he looked.

"Oh, I know how but...well...Computer, we need tools to build a sand castle. Ya know, buckets and stuff!", the Miran grinned as a selection of plastic buckets appeared on the beach. "Wow, this'll be fun!"

Saia set to filling the bucket. This was art and she took it seriously.

Artim grinned as he filled a bucket with water and set to smoothing out a spot. He allowed his tension to flow out through his hands and set to work. He though was taking it less seriously...he was trying to have fun, a rare thing these days.

"Happy New Year"

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering Specialist

*** Eshe/McDowell's quarters, 23:30, New years eve ***

This night was certainly an odd one for Michael to sit alone in his quarters, for normally he would've joined Dhani (and Kala) to the New Years festivities on Deep Space 5. It took some persuasion before they agreed to let him stay back here on the ship. Actually, that's an understatement. He had just been able to avoid a discussion on why he didn't feel the need to be there on the Starbase when the clock would strike midnight. That, in itself, was quite an accomplishment. Having words with Dhani alone was tough enough. Face both her AND Kala and what you had was hell in the making.

Michael brought the elegantly formed glass he was holding to his lips and took a sip of the Champaign. It tasted quite nice.for an alcoholic drink. The best thing was that it lacked the bitter aftertaste, something which he never seemed able to get used to. This tiny detail made him wonder why he had been able to drink so much whisky and wine months back, and get so utterly drunk until the point that he didn't even know where he was. It was at the same day that he had received news that his mother had passed away. That had pushed him over the edge. He knew that, but never expected he would go as far as in drinking as much as he had done. It was kind of weak, wasn't it?

The room was dimly lit, like it always was when he was alone. It was what he liked when feeling down. The year 2384 was nearly there and here he was pondering over something stupid done way back. No, it was not that. Anyone would know that if they knew what had transpired in the last half year in his life. The latest war? No, not that either. Although the memories of it were never far away, be it day or night, it was not what was keeping his mind busy at this moment.

There was a soft purring coming from below next to the chair Michael was sitting in. The next moment Twister, his cat, sprang upon the computer console before him. Twister kept purring as he looked at Michael.

"Hey pal, how are you holding up here? Is the truce still holding between you and Salem?" Michael looked at his little friend as he started taking care of his fur coat. He seemed to feel at ease so Michael assumed everything was okay between him and Dhani's cat. That had been different when he first had encountered Salem. It was total war then. It had cost Dhani some vases other decorations and himself a brand new Uniform. But both cats seemed to have settled things and now lived on in a peaceful coexistence.

One look at the clock that was displayed on the Computer screen told Michael it was 23:50 hours. Only ten minutes left and another year would have passed. That news brought him back to the reason why he sat here all by himself with Twister and Salem as only company.

He took a deep breath as he leaned forward and activated the console. "Computer, place a subspace call to Professor Ian McDowell at the University of Delft, Earth."

The black screen was replaced with symbol of the United Federation of Planets along with a note that a connection was being made. A minute passed until the cool and reserved voice of the Computer responded.

[There was no timely response from the recipient. Connection terminated.]

And the screen turned to black again.

"Nice." Michael mumbled. "Computer, try it again. But establish a subspace link with Starfleet Research on Galor IV this time."

The Computer acknowledged the request with the normal sequence of beeps and tried to build a subspace connection. This time there was a response, but the face that appeared on screen was not the one Michael expected to see. Instead a middle-aged woman was looking at him.

["Dr. Lora Devlin here. Can I help you?"]

"Hello, Dr. Devlin. Nice to meet you." Michael put on a smile when he greeted the woman, though he really didn't feel like doing that. But there was simply no reason to be impolite here. "I'm Michael McDowell and I'm looking for my father, Professor Ian McDowell. Is he there?"

["Uhm...yes, he is. But he isn't available right now. He is participating and a very critical stage of a research project."]

"Not even for a few minutes?" The question followed immediately after Lora's explanation and conveyed Michael's surprise.

["I'm sorry, but he was very specific about not disturbing him in any way. I can take a message for him if you want? I'll make sure he'll get it as soon as possible."]

Nothing then silence followed. Michael had averted his eyes from the screen and now looked at Twister who was now lying before him on the desk, but in such a way that he didn't obstruct his view.

Great. You try to make things right. You try to do the right thing by calling your father and telling him you're sorry you weren't there on your mother's funeral, for not having replied to his messages, and for not having called him and talked to him as soon as you could. And what you get is this.

["Mr. McDowell?"]

"No,...that's not necessary. It's alright, Doctor. I'll call him again later. Thank you for your time."]

["You're welcome. I'm sorry I couldn't help you."]

"Like I said, it's alright. Goodbye Dr. Devlin."

["Goodbye."]

Michael still stared at the dark screen after the subspace channel had been closed. He felt empty and alone. He missed that family bond he'd always felt before his mother had died. Now, everything seemed to have changed. And the worst thing was that it was he himself that had allowed that to happen. That was the harsh truth, right?

Slowly he picked up the glass of Champaign, which was still half full, and raised it. He noticed the time on the computer display. It was 00:07 hours. Pain, sadness and guilt were distinctly present in his voice when he softly pronounced the words which were exchanged between billions of people all over the universe at this time,

"Happy new year, dad."

"Uplift"

featuring
Valentina Kyznetsova, Civillian (?) USS Galaxy
and
Lieutenant Savant, Fleet Logistics Officer, USS Galaxy

=DS5, Docking perimeter=

Valentina walked along the corridors, her watchdog close at hand. LtJG DarkSky was one of the more regular assignments to her she'd noticed. Was it because he liked her, or did he simply prefer following people? It didn't matter, so long as she didn't talk about things that were to special for her to know bout just yet. Because of everything that had happened, she wasn't a member of the Galaxy's crew, but she wasn't free to do what she wanted to either, find her own place in this new nation she knew almost nothing about. Instead she was something both more, yet less, and at the same time in between in such a complicated circle it confused her so at times.

She had been learning more rapidly recently, assimilating information with such clarity that it surprised those unaware of her colorful history. It was quite difficult to keep certain things away from her, given Tina's inquisitive nature; once she'd accepted and grasped the reality of her situation, many of the self imposed shackles were loosened. Still, it was unnerving every time she met someone for the first time who didn't know she wasn't Eve any more. Thankfully such occurrences were quite rare now.

And so Tina found herself walking slowly through the docking perimeter of Deep Space 5, known also as Atlantis Station, gazing out the viewports as she came to them to look at the various starships docked within the great facility.

Valentina was not alone in her wanderings of the docking perimeter, however. She came upon a woman standing beside a tall bay window looking out into space and the curving hull of a starship beyond. Like many the lost Russian woman had encountered in the past while, the strange wore that distinctive black uniform, this with a skirt and yellow shoulder. She had long black hair, longer than regulation, which was noticeable, but otherwise she seemed like a normal Lieutenant.

As Valentina walked past the stranger spoke up, surprising her with an address. "It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

Valentina stopped short and turned to the individual, curious and inquisitive. "What do you mean?"

The stranger didn't turn from the window, but her face was visible in the reflection off of the window. Her eyes were blue and her facial features - they didn't really identify her as any one human race. Instead there were some slight features of nearly every one. She smiled a little and replied, her tone mild and musical. "The vast beauty of the universe. I've been here sixty years, and still I feel as if I've only just arrived here. Every time I look out of a window into the stars, it's as if it's my first time."

Tina honestly didn't know how to respond to such a line of conversation, her own frame of reference, though always growing, was still painfully minuscule compared to nearly everyone else here older than her, not including the 500 or more years she'd missed. "Um .. that's nice," she said finally.

Her smile grew wider at the hesitant reply, and Lieutenant Savant turned to half-face the woman. "You'd know about what the first look into space is like pretty well, though, wouldn't you? Not too long ago the only way you could see the stars is looking up past the Muscovite skyline."

Tina nodded as she stepped up to the window, gazing out into the cavernous docking bay. "And now I don't know when the next time I'll be able to do that will be."

"The city's still there. You can see it again." she replied, turning to look out into the open bay with Valentina beside her. "But it's not the same city you know." That final sentence was somewhat more somber than the others. Savant understood the despair that came along with isolation, and didn't want to demean it.

"You're wrong, actually," Tina commented with a quiet voice, her usual of late. "There is a big difference between confusion and being overwhelmed. Contemplate the changes of the next 500 years, and what your reaction to them would be if you were suddenly and irrevocably pushed forward those 500 years overnight."

Savant smiled - if the girl wanted to play semantics, so be it. She could tell that Valentina didn't want a debate, so left the issue lie. "I'd probably handle that different than most. But still. What do you think? Is this a good place you've ended up?"

Tina opened her mouth to answer, but whatever she had to say was lost amidst Chaos. The ship before them, a smallish - compared to the Galaxy - Nova class vessel, was wreathed in flames as explosions severed the docking arm connecting the Rhode Island to the station proper. The deck beneath their feet shuddered with sympathetic vibrations. She watched in stunned silence as the craft drifted off to it's subsequent demise.

Savants' eyebrow rose slightly a millisecond before the detonation, as if she could feel something dreadfully wrong. Her premonition was not disappointed. Mere moments later more explosions ensued - the docking armature for several other vessels, most of them out of sight, went up, though none were severed as with the Rhode Island's. Sensory clusters, communications arrays, and several other systems went out with more detonations, the feedback blowing out panels, consoles, relays. One such explosion ensued within lethal proximity of Tina and Savant.

Savant wasted no time - the rippling explosions were hard to predict and she hated situations she couldn't foresee. Such as this one. The android stepped forward to push the closest organics - only Tina, sadly - onto safer ground. Down and onto the ground, directly over top a major load-bearing strut.

The station quaked and fire ripped down the corridor as the volatile gases that made up the stations' atmosphere ignited under fusion pressure. Skin boiled as a rippling wave of plasma raced through the ring. Shrapnel flew at high velocity, atomizing with the heat as they flew and leaving a steaming trail of ionized metal gas behind them.

Savant had barely the time to deploy a weak containment field from her androids' back to protect Tina from the worst of the damage. The automaton found itself laced with hot duranium fragments and scarred by heated plasma.

Tina reacted admirably for her part - she didn't try and struggle away from Savant's body pressing down on her back, and she was thankful for it as the heat of roiling plasma washed over them. Once reality had deigned to relent it's attempt to discontinue their continued existences, Tina carefully extricated herself from the remains of her late conversational companion. The late Russian-turned-cyborg turned to assess the other woman's injuries, only to discover she wasn't a human after all. Reaching forward, Tina was about to touch the body when she finally got a glimpse of her own hand. Off in the distance, sirens began to bleat their putative wailing as Valentina Kyznetsova regarded her limbs.

Both arms had been burnt up to her elbows, the entire area of synthetic skin had boiled away to reveal the gleaming yet non-reflective components underneath. Her bones were pure matte-silver in color, the artificial muscle fibers a blackish purple. Tendons could also be discerned, unique in that they were a rather bright neon green. Tina gaped, wide eyed, as she moved her arms and hands, working as perfectly as if nothing untoward had occurred. There was no hum of servos, no whining of mechanistic qualities - ultra-high precision quality craftsmanship had gone into her synthetics, on a level far surpassing even Savant's android body.

Savant smiles a small, sympathetic smile, her head hanging just above Valentina's as the plasma boiled over beneath her thin shield. It quavered beneath the back pressure. Savant knew the girl was going through a lot at the moment, and that this was a new surprise which was likely very unwelcome. Still, she smiled and murmured gently, "Surprise."

Savants' android wasn't a wreck, but had seen better days. As the air cleared - well, as the air *evacuated* - the temperature began to cool rapidly. Shards of heavy duranium had embedded in the androids' side and whole portions of her synthetic skin had burned black and crispy. White and silver inside were laid bare and turned yellow from the heat. One arm was twisted by the impact of something heavy. Still, she seemed to be in good spirits as she leaned back to let Tina move.

The fact that the other person was still alive ... or what it passed for as life ... surprised Tina almost as much as her altered appendages. She was torn between herself, and the development of the fact that she hadn't been talking to a real person, and human nature won out - she was more worried about herself. "What's happened to me?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Savants' bubble held in the tiny volume of heat and air as the rest surrendered to the voids beyond. Metal glowed red-hot nearby as it had no way of venting the heat elsewhere. Stars blazed brighter than ever through shards of transparent aluminum. Savants' tone was a whisper as well, surprisingly audible. "You've been uplifted, Valentine."

There was a terrible shudder as the heat strain finally sundered the structures' integrity, and the wall behind them cracked away and began to slowly drift off. Gravity failed at the same moment, but Savant's artificial hands kept the both of them pinned in place. The void yawned behind the corona of her hair as she continued, "You aren't what you once were, physically. your soul is the same, but your body is different."

Given the damage sustained in the area, it wasn't surprising that they were still there, hanging on by the grace of Savant's built in mechanisms. Tina had no response towards Savant's statements of upliftedness and so forth; shock had set in. Fortunately, the graces of the universe were with them, and seconds later the shimmering tingle of a transporter beam took hold of Tina's body, whisking her away.

They reappeared in one of Galaxy's transporter rooms amidst others; Savant had put her arms around the girl to keep her from stumbling, as they were standing when they reformed. Gravity reaffirmed on the scarred couple, and Savant gently guided the shock-stricken Tina from the pad and towards the waiting triage teams.

As soon as she felt the comforting warmth of flesh and blood, real hands, Tina's world went to black. A pair of orderlies gently moved her unconscious form onto a waiting gurney. As they moved her towards sickbay, one of them called up LT Bental.

Lions: Aftereffects By Various NPC's

Soundtrack: Kasabian- Empire (Death of a Salesman scene)

*****
Starbase 11
Medical Facility
Two months after the Battle of Romulus
*****

As close to hell as he could come without leaving his corporeal shell, he lived since his days in battle as the former remnants of a proud and celebrated, multiple decorated Captain in Starfleet.

Captain Jerry Pearson Albrecht had all the comforts that could be afforded to him. He was told that many captains past were given this room before, decorated captains like him that distinguished themselves in service, only to fall under certain maladies that ended their careers. It was a good room, ideal for a retirement. It had it's own replicator so that he didn't have to leave the room and join the rest of the patients in the replimat. It had a good view of the planet. Dusty and red as it was, it had a stark beauty when intertwined with the shining duranium ductways snaking across its surface, adding together to become Starbase 11. It had its own LCARS panel, which could be activated on command and even by neural interface, and it was linked to the various entertainments, learnings and cultural materials of the entire Federation of Planets and beyond. The sleeping arrangements were luxurious even by Federation standards; real goose down pillows and comforters, silk sheets , and a helper drone that hovered whisper silent nearby if the patient needed anything. The sonic showers were made to be accessible by the infirmed, and was more akin to a sauna, and could even use real water if the patient chose. If there was anything else not covered by the comforts of the quarters, there was a communicator, where doctors and nurses could be summoned at any time. Nothing was out of reach here.

Save one.

Captain Albrecht was limited by his mangled, physical form.

Surviving the failed surprise attack didn't make him a hero, or even a failure. Captain Albrecht was paralyzed from the neck down, and a headblow struck him like a stroke, damaging portions of his brain. His body was so weakened that it atrophied, and without movement it only withered more. His body had to stay in a life support chair most of the time, even chiding his heart to beat, his nerves to fire from surrendered neural pathways, his speech limited to beeps and clicks to signify yes and no.

Medical science was still imperfect. His brain was not dead, though it would have been written off if he were infirmed centuries ago. It was fine as long as he was in the chair, living but not living, trapped within itself, no expression but a limited window.

He could take in all he wanted. What he really wanted to do was speak out, scream, howl his anger over what was done to him.

He was aware that his tactic failed. What he didn't understand, unlike the other times when his allies were there to help, why everyone looked at him like a pariah. He heard all his superiors had to say, condemning him for what he saw was a gamble (and what they saw as a reckless endangerment of lives). They hated him for what he did. He heard rumours that the Thunderchild was so wrecked, its crews and security landing forces so depleted from his bloody actions that the remaining crew was to be dispersed and the ship was to be scrapped. Others said it could be rebuilt. Not that it mattered. It's captain, rightful captain, HIM, was not going to see a captain's chair for as long as he had a semblance of living. So, his superiors switched to their other emotion; pity. They pitied the man left to live his life in a life support chair, gave him the luxury of his prison, leaving him to wonder what was next.

What could happen to him? He knew he could be court martialled, left in disgrace, forgotten. But how was that different from what he had now?

He didn't care. All he wanted to do was scream at his enemies. The enemies he killed, the Starfleet that was too weak to fight for its survival, the soft hearted attitude of his Federation whom he fought for and received no thanks.

All he wanted to do was scream.

Considering his condition, he knew that God used irony effectively.

His doorbell notified him of an incoming visitor, the last thing the former, infirmed Captain wanted to see. Who could it be next? An admiral that decided it wasn't enough that he was trapped in this cage, and decided his deeds were disasterous enough to strip him of his rank and give him dishonourable discharge after all? One of his former crewmates, here to gloat and tell the captain what a bloodthirsty, uncaring cad he was and to tell in detail what more he deserved? Some ignorant idiot to come and tell him not to gamble and lose next time? He had to laugh, there was no more worse anyone could do to him.

His life support chair beeped once, affirming permission to bring the new arrival inside. When the figure strided in confidently into his room, his life support chair beeped twice for no. He held down the button for no, twin pulses of sound repeating over and over.

Albrecht was wrong. Worse could be done to him!

The man that entered his room looked a lot like the Captain. He has his gaunt, skeletal features and wisp thin structure. They both had the same bald head, the iron eyes and wrinkled, sunken jowls. Both of their hands ended in spindly fingers. Both were, by human standards, emaciated looking individuals, but the new arrival set himself apart in many ways. He was taller, and a little less lean than the Captain of the Thunderchild, and he wore brass rimmed spectacles that gleamed in the pale light. He wore a long black duster, and underneath that was a black business suit with a tie; an archaic fashion that died pre-World War 3 era. The black clad, skeletal man was also more confident in his motions, glaring at his counterpart with a mixture of contempt and pity.

Albrecht's chair beeped twice. The skeletal man dismissed it with a motion.

Please brother, Said the skeletal man, Every time we come to meet, we always begin with a clash of minds and end with an admittance to superiority on one end or the other. So if you will so kindly, please dispense with this mental chess duel let us get to the issues at hand. I am afraid your infirmity leaves you with not much more than a yes or no answer, and I do have actual pressing issues concerning the fate of my... Federation to attend to. So if you will...

Albrecht's first and only reaction was to press the no button again. Two bleeps cut off his adversarial brother, who looked on him with contained annoyance.

Oh... i'm sorry. The skeletal man feigned gratitude for the allowance of an audience with his brother. He seated himself on Albrecht's couch, feeling the Italian leather over his own leather black gloves, You were not wanting my presence, and are perhaps trying to eloquate to me that it is unwanted and you want me to vacate your premises. I am here to tell you that I will gladly placate your desire to have me gone in a moment's time... but for now I have pressing business with you... my failed brother. It is about you, and it is about what you failed to do in your last assignment. Kindly be of assistance to me and transcribe in words what... you have failed to do.

Albrecht's response was to give his brother another twin beeps. His eyes were fully open, bloodshot, and glancing around the room for a way out, foolish as it was considering there was only one door, the jeffies tube was inaccessible and the window led to airless space vacuum. He wanted out, he wanted to escape. He truly feared the man his own brother became if the rumours of him had become true, and he had seen for himself that truth in action. His brother only visited him, even before he earned his commission with the Thunderchild, when it involved his 'business', which was described by his mysterious kin as 'a lull' before The Dominion War, 'good' during, and 'interesting' afterwards.

He had seen what his brother was capable of, and it was a great deal more than one Starship Captain could do even with a cultivated legend. His power spanned the known systems, touched trillions of lives and determined the course of politics in the entire region, and yet... his brother had nothing to show for it.

He knew this much, at first he thought The Skeletal Man was an operative for Starfleet Intelligence. It would explain his ability to influence events and amass power not really his own. That was, of course, a lie that he cultivated for his brother to stumble upon and believe. It wasn't until years later that he found out it was not the case.

Now he didn't know what his brother was. But he did know his abilities, which was why he didn't refuse his frightening sibling. Before the invasion, Albrecht's was ordered to shift the Thunderchild halfway across Federation space to patrol near the Neutral Zone, an inefficient deployment when there were other ships that could have been used, but that was as far as his questioning went. Thanks to that placement, it made his ship easy to be recruited into the ranks of the Romulan Task Force, which brought it in contact with The Galaxy, then to his assignment.

Commander James Lionel Corgan. He was given this task by his brother because of his previous experience with the former sniper of his Last Chancers. To be honest, though James knew the Captain by reputation and experience, Captain Albrecht didn't know much about the Commander. He knew Corgan had a list of mental problems; it was the reason why James was in the Last Chancers in the first place! He knew the Commander was rising the ranks until he had a torrid affair with a Tal'Shiar spymistress. He also knew that despite his problems and his weakness for women (Albrecht also had a psychological profile to suppliment his knowledge), James Corgan was showing great improvement. He was more stable, his abilities to command more pronounced. James was, even with the barriers of his own follies, clawing his way up the ranks at a rate that was hard to ignore. He was on the cusp of becoming something great.

His brother was alarmed by this progress, the training for command, James was close to making those obstacles mean nothing. The Skeletal Man was even more concerned about his developing love affair with a recent arrival on the ship. She was an Andorian schoolteacher, nondescript if it wasn't for the fact that she was a former Ambassador of the Federation Diplomatic Corp, disgraced in her own right, but clearly a genius with political aspirations in her day. The debacle at the Gryphon Coalition deseated her; his brother once bragged how little he needed to engineer the circumstances to her downfall, but when he found she was paired with Commander Corgan, he started to worry, and he too had her psychological profile and could understand what would happen. Secretly confiding brother to brother, The Skeletal Man confessed that he was worried the Commander would be untenable, especially if this 'Mikaiu' steered the budding officer to a more politically involved course. His energy and her guile would be dangerous. His ideals would clash against both the doves and the hawks, and she would help him navigate the political intrigues of the Federation.

It was one possibility, but one he couldn't ignore. The Skeletal Man paused Albrecht's thoughts momentarily, and said, My brother, I depended on you to bring Corgan to my influence. He would have made a great operative, better than my apprentice Grail, much better in fact, and if not he would have made a great hitman. Yet, you could not do that for me, and no... do not quote the fortunes of war. I was there, remember? I was there to watch you. I saw what you tried to do to reign him in, and it was a lacklustre show my dear brother, a farce of a performance I could have put on the steer him clear from my ministrations. But that was NOT my purpose! His fist slammed on the coffee table, rattling a tea service and making J.P. Albrecht jump in his harness. The Skeletal Man's face twisted into a contorted snarl, and instantly disappeared back to his calm, impassive self.

J.P. learned years ago to fear his temper. He dreaded what could come next.

This is what I have been told by my... compatriots, and yes, it includes the illustrious ranks of some of the so called... admiralty. His hand withdrew into his trenchcoat, and withdrew a hypospray. Hyperventilating, J.P.'s life support chair inched away, too painfully slow. The Skeletal Man rose from his seat while J.P. frantically rang his emergency beacon to summon the nurse. Do not bother, my dear brother, for the nurse is dead in the reception hall, a poison gas, painless and quick It is a common cocktail of medicinal herbs when, mixed just right, can prove deadly. The biochemical extracts are found in the Orion Syndicate's arsenal, as I assume you will be pleased to know. Certain valuables, including your dress uniform and medals, will be stolen from your room and other areas of the facility. The robbery will take a span of five minutes and your death will have an alibi. Even though I am immune to the Federation's judicial system, it is still good practice to,! as yo u would say... cover your ass.

Thumping into the back wall, J.P.'s life support harness wasn't going any further. He wanted to rapid fire press the alarm button, call for anyone, scream if his tortured lungs and paralysis would allow, but all he could do was suck raspy, empty air. His limbs refused to move for him, his finger the only one that could. His mind demanded orders for self preservation and either died from atrophied motor reflexes or panicked in the squall of reflexes.

Looming over him with the hypospray was his brother, a cruel glint in his eyes that also spoke of sadness.

My brother... I am so sorry. He said in hushed tones, a leather glove closing over J.P.'s mouth, But it is either you live a long time in this cage, your disgrace assured, stripped of everything, or you can have one last chance of redemption. The Federation does not like it when failures refuse to die and give up. They do not like it when problems... linger. That is what I am here for... to make these problems go away. I'm sorry brother, but it is better this way.

J.P. wanted to escape, but his limbs refused. The Skeletal Man pressed the hypospray to the Captain's neck, the cold metal mingling with his hot breath as he whispered, You can slowly be stripped of rank and priviledge and forgotten, disgraced and infirmed, or you can die now and be done with it. They want your blood, they told me so themselves, and as a favour I will give it to them, and give you mercy of a slow death. What will it be?

A single beep eminated from the life support chair.

Goodbye, my dearest sibling.

The last sensation J.P. felt was the press of cold metal against his skin, and the telltale hiss of the hypospray discharging into his neck. Feeling a fire spread in his veins, J.P. managed to scream, but it came out as a dying hiss.

Albert....

His world turned black as the fire spread to his chest. Without strength left, he sank in his chair, exhaling a final breath. His eyes fluttered close, his passing nondescript.

The Skeletal Man passed a finger over J.P.'s nose. When he was satisfied that his brother was dead, Albert Albrecht made a final, passing comment.

At least your death was not as pathetic as Willy Loman's. Albert said, leaving the room and his dead brother behind.

"Are you ready?"

Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security

Ensign Hoda Arles
Security officer

Hoda stood waiting outside the chief's office. Passing officers glanced at her: the new kid. She could guess what they were thinking: how would she hold up? could she be relied upon? There was a weariness in some of their faces. Already Hoda had heard more stories than she cared to know about the assault on Romulus. She had wondered why it had taken a little time to get her a posting once she'd graduated from the Academy. Now she understood. Looking around at the other security personnel as she waited for her moment with the chief, she realized that she had a lot to live up to. Seeking reassurance, her fingers slipped inside her pocket to touch her prayer beads.

While on the other end of the spectrum, the veteran and Commander of the USS Galaxy's security force hadn't the worries of his greenhorn protege. As a matter of fact, he hadn't a worry at all about his new officer. Since he was the one that would be judging her by her first impressions, James had nothing to worry about. In his office, the very office rebuilt a few days ago after the battle damage sustained during the Romulus counteroffensive, an doorway loomed above him with a shining light, a black and white image with a hunched over man. The words 'Stairway to Heaven' loomed over him: as much of a forbodance to the possible results of their encounter as it was an antique to replace the antique Pink Floyd poster that burned up.

James was eager to meet this new recruit, and have her answer a few questions that vexed him. Her academy marks were a contradiction of strengths and weaknesses, but showed the quick thinking, effort and even handedness that he needed in a force of peacekeepers. Her past was... interesting, as as James would have it he had not the foggiest notion on how a religious upbringing would affect her. Somehow, he was curious as to how the personalities would clash. She was a religious woman, he was a foulmouthed Starfleeter of the old school. Somehow he doubted their personalities would mesh.

There was one plus. Humans could be broken down into three subgroups: Spaceborne, Colonist and Planetborne. Spacers like James could respect the hardworking colonist, and the colonist understood the rigours of being away from civilization. Anyone from the core worlds were, in his opinion, prats that thought too much of themselves. At least she was a colonist. That counted for something.

"Commander Corgan to Ensign Arles. Please report to my office." He summoned.

Hoda sucked in a deep breath and finished the prayer she'd been saying, then approached his office and stepped inside. The first thing she saw was the large, somewhat sinister poster that confronted the visitor's gaze upon entering. Her eyes scanned the words at the top and she was forced to wonder about them, what precisely they meant.

"Ensign Arles reporting, sir."

"Ah, Ensign Arles." James greeted the newcomer warmly, taking her hand in firm handshake, "Take a seat. I was looking forward to meeting you."

"Thank you, sir." Hoda took warmly to the greeting and sat as requested, relaxing some if still not at ease. She hadn't even realized one hand still hovered at her pocket. "It really is great to be here."

He seated himself on the opposite end of the desk. Twining his hands together and resting his chin on top, he appraised the Ensign. She was nervous, that James could read like a footprint on the moon. The way her hand hovered around an object, her hand in an after clutch position. He guessed it was a religious object. It confirmed one one guess he had about her; she was still religious.

He relaxed a little, and his hand went out for his antique Rolling Stones coffee mug. He took a sip and grimaced, then said, "I'm sure you are eager to get started."

"Very! There's so much to learn, and this ship is incredible. I never thought I'd be in a place so huge my first time out. And there are so many people here. It's like being on Earth for the first time all over again. UTs really are amazing things, don't you think? The way they've allowed us to touch so many people all at once, even before the nuances of language can be self-learned and utilized?"

James grinned like the cat with a proverbial mouse. "And an adventuresome person too. Good. We need that. Security can be a very rough job. But i'm glad that you're eager to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations and all that cr...stuff."

Hoda smiled, liking her new chief immensely. He was open, forthright in his opinions. That was something Hoda could respect and even admire. "Every world is a strange new to me, though hardly to those who live there. It's a privileged perspective don't yo.." Seeing that Corgan was busy reading, Hoda hushed.

In the pause, James took with him a PADD. It already had the file of Ensign Arles displayed on its screen. He scrolled through the document, allowing his hums, mmmm-hmmm's and ah's to be left to the Ensign's interpretation.

He stopped at one page of the document for comment. "Ensign, I'm curious as to what brought you to Starfleet's attention. I can understand your motivations, that much you have made clear to me. But tell me, was it Starfleet that recruited you, and what got their attention? Or... if the first is wrong... what made you interested in Starfleet?"

Hoda's face became more composed at the question. There were a couple different ways to answer it, all of them honest, but she had discovered that phrasing could be vitally important in the outside world. She sat in silence for a moment as she composed her thoughts. "I wanted to serve. My home was taken from me due to the problems of war. I want to be on the side that can bring peace back to the galaxy - I mean the universal one, not this ship. Though I suppose here too, being security and all. But that wasn't what I was thinking at the time. I mean, I didn't know about the USS Galaxy. I didn't choose Starfleet right away, though. I didn't choose space right away, actually. I thought maybe, at a local level, I could help. Do right. And I think I did, or I tried. But I wanted to do more, I thought I should, you know. So I started looking around, asking about how I might do that. And I got a few answers and I looked into them. What they did, and to whom, and why. It was the why that got me. No body had a good reason except Starfleet. Nothing that really held up, morally I mean. Sure legally it was all fine. And that's important too. But how can you claim you're protecting people if you're not following a sound ethical path? So I got in contact with people at the Academy's admissions office. Had some long conversations, then put in an application."

He paused in all seriousness; she was eager and she was curious about the universe around her and the nuances of other cultures. James couldn't fault that; in fact it was refreshing when compared to his own jaded, toned down concerns, but he did wonder if she was being serious enough? He continued soberly, "I'm sure you've had this speech with your professors and your recruiters, but i'm going to be dead sure you get this message. Bear with me when I say it, but it is important. Here goes..."

James cleared his throat, and imparted on her the wisdom of age, "Security is a very demanding job, and a career in Starfleet is dangerous. As a security officer, we get the most dangerous part of the job. We have to be the police, the soldier, the peacekeeper and the humanitarian. It means putting ourselves, our concerns behind in favour of others, even to the point where it risks our well being. We deal with situations where being the security officer in the holovids that has a clear enemy and shoots at everything isn't going to cut it. We have to be a firm hand and a fist that's everready for a knockdown blow. It is tough, believe me, so I have to let you know that it isn't going to be easy. It's going to be long tours in deep space, danger, excitement, and it's going to have demands on your personal life and endanger it on top of that. So I ask you this..."

She sat pensively, wondering what the question would be. He was right, he'd heard the speech before, but never had it come across with so much earnestness. Perhaps that was because she'd never actually been where she was now. It was one thing to talk about danger while still planetside. Another to speak of it while sitting aboard a fully armed starship that had a reputation for getting into tight spots.

James cloyingly let out the final words, "...Are you ready for the rewards? All that strange new worlds and new life and civilizations stuff that we tend to promise?"

The question was far from the one expected. She'd thought he'd asked if she was prepared to kill. That seemed to be everybody's favourite question at the Academy to ask the almost-nun. So when he came out with the query on rewards, reiterating her excitement of before, she nearly leapt from her chair with both eagerness to show she was and simple surprise at such a novel approach. "Yessir! I'm all the way with you, sir!"

"Good!" James patted the ensign on the shoulder, with a smile that could split his cheeks, "Glad to have you! On the Galaxy, I don't just bring anyone to this ship. This is one of the best in the fleet, and we see action no matter where we go. We can't just have anyone here. Consider yourself among a privileged few. Welcome to the Galaxy's security department."

Hoda could do nothing more than beam.

"Counting Tiles"

Principle Characters
Lieutenant (JG) Victor Krieghoff
2nd Lieutenant Branwen London

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 12
Sickbay

It was a good thing that she was getting bored, wasn't it? It meant she was getting better finally. But there was so little they were allowing her to do around here. For the tenth time that day she began to count the tiles on the ceiling.

"One hundred eighty-seven," a familiar, quiet voice said from one side. "And two partial-tiles in the corner that don't count because not enough of them is in this space."

She smiled at him. "Victor, I am so glad to see you. They won't let me out, not even out of bed."

"Good." He studied her for a moment. "They didn't take my suggestion though."

"Oh?" She was curious, Bran didn't know he had medical knowledge.

"I told them to use Class III restraints to make sure you didn't get up."

"Victor!" She giggled. "You are really something. I am hoping to outsmart the docs when I feel a bit better. This is getting boring. They say I am still pretty banged up, but I am a tough marine remember."

"If," he said quietly, "you leave before they tell you to, I will not only find you and drag you back here by force, I will do something worse."

"As if. I'm not afraid of you, Victor, and you know it."

"I will *not* give you a nickname. I will never call you anything but 'London.'""

Branwen gave him a very dirty look. "You play extremely mean. That is not fair; you know it's the only thing you can threaten me with that is effective."

It took Victor a moment to work his way through that. Fortunately, he'd come prepared for the Lieutenant this time. Holding up a padd he typed out, "IS THERE A POINT TO MAKING A *NONEFFECTIVE* THREAT?"

Branwen smiled. "You would be surprised how many people do. And don't go acting like Ella, I know you can speak."

"THE PROBLEM ISN'T MY SPEAKING," he typed. "IT'S YOU LISTENING."

"I am an excellent listener, Victor, that's my job." Now she was teasing him.

"BASED ON OBSERVABLE EVIDENCE, I AM LED TO CONCLUDE OTHERWISE. IF YOU ARE LISTENING, THERE IS A GAP IN YOUR COMPREHENSION OF WHAT YOU HEAR. THAT'S WHY THIS APPEARS TO BE MORE EFFECTIVE THAN TALKING - YOUR READING COMPREHENSION APPEARS TO BE HIGHER THAN YOUR LISTENING."

"But it is not comfortable for me. Please Victor, I will promise to listen better," she said sweetly.

"All right," Victor conceded. "But you do fail to understand things I tell you this way. Like trying to die when I hadn't given you permission."

"Oi, like I had a choice. It wasn't like I wanted to die, Victor!" She shook her head.

"Of course you did. You chose repeatedly not to seek treatment for your injuries, and placed your own in jeopardy. That was a willful act, London. You chose to let yourself die so as to not occupy medical attention and use medical supplies that you wanted assigned to others."

"I was doing my job, Victor. I was coordinating the hospital, and I really thought that those coming in where more severely wounded than I was. I was not wanting to die, but I could not give myself privileged treatment when there were so many others who needed it more. Do you understand that?"

Victor frowned. "Tell me this, London - after you let yourself die, after you were gone... Who was going to save them when you were dead? The children, the civilians, the warriors you kept alive. Who would save them when you were gone?"

"I didn't realize it was that serious. I thought I could go on, I don't judge pain very well because I have a very high pain threshold." He didn't need to know why.

"You should learn."

She gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"To judge pain. It's a good thing; it lets you know that you're alive. As long as you can feel it, you're not dead... but you tried to stop feeling it. That wasn't good."

"I know it's a good thing. I am not sure I can relearn that. I just can take a lot of pain before it becomes a problem. When it becomes a problem is usually too late for me to react. It's okay, Victor."

"Not if you try to die again when I've forbidden it."

"I promise you not to try that any more." Branwen could safely say that as she had not actively tried to kill herself.

"Good." He nodded, glad that was settled. "And congratulations>"

"Eh?" she looked confused.

"Your promotion."

"I did not see that coming at all. And I still don't think I did anything to deserve a promotion. But the captain came in here himself." Now she beamed with pride. "And he talked to me."

"He does do that on occasion." He'd even talked to Victor several times.

"I only talked to him once before. I just don't get it had everybody thinks that I did something heroic." Branwen was truly puzzled.

"Don't try. Just do your job as well as you can. When you start thinking about things like medals and rewards, then you risk starting to do things to get them and not for the reasons that you started."

"I don't. I don't think what I did was heroic. That's why I am confused; I just try to do my job as well as I can."

"Someone thought you did it so well they wanted to recognize it." He shrugged. "You can't refuse them; just ignore them and keep trying."

"Refuse? Refuse what?" She asked Victor.

"Medals. Decorations. Things like that. I know - I tried, and they won't let you. Even if you don't wear them, they sit in your file. Better to leave them there."

"I guess they are flattering. And it is nice to have a bit of rank. I just thought it would happen during a combat mission, you know."

Was she suffering from some form of memory loss, or had she somehow failed to hear the war raging around her? No, Victor decided, even London couldn't do that. "It did."

"Yes I know, but not for me. I was stuck in the hospital remember, I hardly fired my phaser."

"And because you didn't, how many people are alive right now?"

"You mean enemies?" She asked curious what he meant.

"No. Marines. Romulans. Children."

Branwen was silent for a few seconds to take it in. "You meant it positively."

"If I'd meant it the other way, you'd have known; people don't seem to have trouble understanding when I'm angry at them. So, how many?"

She was thoughtful. "I guess more than a few. I was there for several days you know. But there were plenty I could not save." She blushed. "And I think I made mistakes that might have killed people."

"You aren't the Divine are you?" Victor doubted that, since London didn't seem to hate him.

"Of course not!" How could Victor think that? "I just believe in god."

"Then you'll make mistakes. Only the Divine is free from that. Learn from them. Don't make them again. Make good choices." He looked at her for a moment. "And don't try to be something you aren't."

"I had little choice. I was told to do that job even though I indicated I did not have the skills there wasn't someone else. Are you saying that I should have refused?" She valued her friends' advice greatly.

"No. I'm saying that you are, in your heart, not a killer - you're a healer. You can kill if you need to, but that isn't what makes your heart sing, is it? Helping people, healing them, does that, doesn't it?" He shrugged. "Be true to yourself, don't try and force yourself to be something that you aren't."

"You are saying I should not be a marine?" Branwen never thought she would have a discussion like this with Victor of all people. "I enjoy healing, but I like being a marine as well."

Victor frowned, wondering if he needed the padd again. "You weren't listening again. I didn't say that; I said that you should be true to yourself. Just because you're a Marine doesn't mean that you need to worry that you didn't kill enough people or that you can't heal people. It just means that you're a Marine. Be a Marine. Be a healer. They aren't mutually exclusive."

After thinking for a while she nodded. "You are making sense, Victor. Thank you, it is so good to talk to you, you are very wise man and a very good friend." She smiled at him. "I felt safe around there knowing that you were around."

"No, I don't think so," Victor said after a few seconds thought. "I might be *a* friend, but not a good one - and no one has ever called me wise. Many other things, some of them too harsh for even a Marine's vocabulary, but never wise." He shrugged. "As for being safe, of course you were. Despite your not listening to me when I told you, I didn't give you permission to die."

She smiled. "I am not the only one who doesn't listen, Victor. But it's okay, for you it's a big step to admit that you are my friend. We are slowly getting there." She patted his arm.

"We aren't going anywhere, London. At least you aren't - not unless you want me to write an authorization for them top use restraints on you."

"Really Victor. You should learn metaphors." She shook her head. At least he made her laugh.

"It's easier to just say what I mean - there's no misunderstanding that way."

"You are just extremely funny." But Branwen was getting tired now. "Will you come again tomorrow?"

"If you stay in bed; if not, you'll see me sooner than that when I drag you back here."

"I promised to stay in bed, didn't I? But because you are one of the people making me, I think you owe it to me to come and visit every day. And at the end of my stay come up with my nickname." She grinned.

Victor had to think about that for a few seconds. Could he come and see her every day? Perhaps. Did he want to? Perhaps. Could he come up with a nickname in the required span of time? Perhaps. At least his estimates were consistently vague. "Perhaps," he conceded. "The first two are more likely than the last, though."

"You are such a sweetie. If I wasn't tied up like a Christmas turkey, I would hug you." She grinned at him. "Now get out of here and let me rest."

"Deliverance, Part II"

Lieutenant Branwen London, SFMC Lieutenant
Magnus Nielsen, Botanist, Ship's Chaplain (NPC)

Sickbay, USS Galaxy
================

"You mean, talk... with your father? But don't you have more important things to do." Branwen tried to speak but could only whisper.

Nielsen was equaly quiet, his rolling basso just above a murmer. "No, I mean talk of *your* father, and the man dared call himself priest in your childhood. They're two open wounds that you carry on your soul, Lieutenant. Ignore them, and they'll fester, just like the scratch you received on Romulus."

She was silent for a while. "Kimberly wants me to talk as well. Won't she be angry if I talk to you instead? Not that I really want to do it. I'm trying very hard to forget about the past, father."

"You should speak to somebody about it, Lieutenant", Nielsen offered. "Not speaking about it has done much to bring you here, I think. Bringing it out and dealing with it would be better than continuing to run from the experiences... and the pain. The past is part of you - only by accpeting it can you turn to a better future. Otherwise?" The chaplain/botinist shrugged his shoulders. "You're letting the past *control* your future by letting it hunt you, like a hound chases a fox."

"My sister always told me not to talk about it, if I wanted a career in Starfleet. She said other people would find us strange. She is my big role model. My sister was the first one to run away when she was 14, and she had to do everything on her own. Then she rescued my brother and me. The rest didn't want to be rescued they were happy at home. My sister is in the Navy, I chose the Marines because I want to make it on my own."

"Perhaps she has her own reasons for hiding, independent of your own", Nielsen answered softly. "But we're talking about you, Lieutenant London. Right now, as we talk, nothing else is more important. No-one else is more important. You need to focus on what *you* experienced and what *you* feel about it, and how *you* want to deal with it. Starfleet is an amazing institution - they don't discard the chaff when they've served their purpose. Have some faith in the people you've served with over the past few years. Does the Captain seem like the sort who would drum you out of the Service because he found out about your childhood?"

"No. I don't think so. But I find it embarrassing, and I don't want to think about it. It's done, I am done with it, I have left the past behind me." She did not look at him.

The Norwegian chaplain shook his head. "You're choosing to delude yourself, Lieutenant" he chided gently. "Your experiences of your past are like scars on the bark of a tree - as time goes on, the wound grows as the three does. Sometimes, the chief characteristic of an old tree is the twisted scarring of the bark... and I think you deserve something better than to let the emotional and spiritual wounds of your past define you."

"It's not interfearing with my work right? So it is my own choice if I talk about it. I am doing my duty to the church as well, I come in for confession, and I do ask for punishment for my sins. There is nothing you can acuse me off, of doing wrong, father."

"I'm not accusing you of anything Lieutenant", the chaplain countered, "but the medical staff here suggest that you could have looked after yourself better on Romulus. I'll make the same observation - almost a month ago you were in the chapel flailing yourself with reeds. That kind of neglect and abuse, and hiding the abuse of your childhood - those are sins. Stating that they don't interfere with your work? As I said before - the memories drive you Lieutenant... every step, every breath, and every heartbeat. To say otherwise hints of lies - and that was a sin too last time I checked."

She blushed. "How is atonement wrong, father? The church expects it from us. And I worked so hard down there, I feel guilty for not saving more and making mistakes that cost lives. I will atone for that. But physically I really couldn't do more, father. I had to sleep some times. I really had too. I did take care of myself. I would have asked Dr. Mathieson to look at my arm but everytime children were brought in that would have died otherwise. I was just doing my job of prioritizing. If I had not been hit in the explosion everything would have been fine. I did my duty!"

"You're confusing guilt... with shame", Nielsen answered. "Something's made you ashamed of your childhood... or destroyed it before it had a chance to grow and prosper as the lives of children should. I'm not a judge, Lieutenant - understand that the issues concerning your youth can only truly be judged by yourself. God wil forgive you - you have only but to ask. The question is... can you forgive yourself?"

"I don't think I did something wrong. I tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, I couldn't. My sister says that we are just not cut out about life, the other nine are, they are happy at home with our parents. I just worry about their children." She fell silent. "They will have nobody to rescue them."

"They'll have you, won't they?"

"That would mean going back and trying to get close to them. My sister did that with me when she was teaching at the academy. Our family are not allowed out of the village or use any modern equipment." She explained.

Nielsen's eyes widened. "And this is on Earth you say?"

"Yes in Wales. My great-greatgrandfather bought the land and started his own living community. I didn't know about computers and other stuff until I was
14 and went and lived with my sister. It was an adventure to catch up." She smiled.

"More 'traditional' communes are not uncommon, but my concern isn't the approach to technology - or rather the lack of it", the chaplain replied, leaning closer to Branwen. "My concern is that your younger siblings are enduring the same abuses you suffered as a child. Has your father changed? Does the priest who instructed you in your youth still lead the congregation?"

"No and yes." She whispered. "But I was the youngest and the stupidest according to father Tomas."

A sigh came from the chaplain. The thought of children still being under the yoke of such a spiritual guide sickened him. "Then they're adults. They can choose to accept your help if it's offered. Now we focus on you Lieutenant. Flailing yourself and denying yourself is no way to make atonement in the eyes of the Lord - mankind has outgrown the need for martyrs."

She thought for a while. "It is hard to believe for me. It are things that I never dare speak about with others. I have avoided priests for a long time, you know. You greatly confuse me."

"You confuse me too, Lieutenant", Nelsen replied. "I've never encountered anyone raised in such a manner. The attitudes and methodology of the priest who instructed you as a child seems so... archaic. The fact that he would strike a child is abhorent, to do so in the name of God I find to be blasphemous. The effects, Lieutenant London, you bear every day. Can you see that?"

She thought for a long time. "I think so, we are all formed by our past. But I never thought it was a problem. I try not to let it hinder me in my work. And it is my private struggle to deal with my past, to give it a place. I thought I was doing rather well."

"The scars on your back and shoulder say otherwise, Lieutenant." The Norwegian put his hands together in front of his beard, contemplating what the young woman needed to hear in stead of what she wanted to hear. The two of them represented radically different upbringings, and the chaplain knew it wasn't his position to judge, only to counsel. The problem was - the young Welshwoman was so entrenched in the mindset of her upbringing that she couldn't truly understand any other kind of childhood. "Your Creator designed the skin, tissue, musculature and bone - every miracle that makes you a human being. What gives you the right to maim and disfigure His work?"

Bran looked at him. "I was tought that that pleased Him." She then said quietly.

"I challenge you, Lieutenant - can you find any words to that effect in the New Testament?" Nielsen's words were quiet, but firm. From his pocket, he pulled out a small black data padd and offered it to the Marine. "It's time you heard our Lord's words from the source itself, not from a man who would beat his own version into you or one who cannot truly grasp what you've gone through." The large man's smile came through his thick beard. "I'd recommend the Gospel according to John - 'Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world'."

She took it gingerly, carefully stroking the cover of the book. "We were told it was a sin to read the Bible ourselves. I have never... I will now if the doctors allow me." She looked at the priest eager. "Thank you father, for giving me such an incredible gift and privilege."

"Special Lines"

(Takes Place Immediately After 'Confession Is Good For The Soul')

Principal Characters
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Saul Bental

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

Daren was still staring at the information Faylin had left - and trying to recall where he'd left that Nova Roman gladius - when the door buzzed again. He let it sound once as he sighed and leaned back, trying to decide what he'd do if he were one of the people who's lap he was about to dump this mess in. As the door sounded a second time he shook his head, decided that since he wasn't, he didn't have to deal with it, and glanced at his security scanner. The visitor was Saul Bental, and not, as he'd half-expected, a squad of Marines from the Starbase.

Miracles, apparently, did happen.

"Come in, Mr. Bental."

"Captain." Saul entered. He seemed less apprehensive than he did during his previous visits to the same room. Perhaps, a year as a senior officer finally made him feel more comfortable in the presence of the ship's Captain.

Or maybe it was their last private conversation. The Chief of Intelligence hadn't found out why the Captain allowed Andrus on board, but he figured that the devious Betazoid must have serious leverage on Captain M'Kantu; otherwise he'd be in the brig rather than the ship's library.

As the door closed, M'Kantu activated the Ready Room's privacy screen - and then produced a smaller portable screen Saul recognized from their conversation regarding Andrus, activated it, and set it on the desk. "I," he began without further formalities, "have a problem potentially requiring your assistance. It goes no further than this room, may be discussed with no one else - including the dead - and will likely get both of us, along with a number of others, killed if one breath of it escapes. You may decline to be involved at this point, sight unseen, but once you hear anything about the situation, that option is withdrawn and you're in. Understood?" Given his Intelligence Chief's psych profile, Daren didn't think Bental *could* say 'no' after that lead in - which of course, was why he'd phrased it that way - but he owed him the opportunity.

"I'm listening, sir," came the expected reply.

"Good. There exists a Section 31 splinter group called 'Inner Sanctum' - do you know anything about them?"

"No, but nobody in the commonwealth is naive enough to believe that section 31 is completely annihilated. Their cells and operatives were too well-spread." Like a good terrorist organization, Saul added mentally.

"I have been contacted an Inner Sanctum operative..." he frowned and continued distastefully, "...one of their assassins... who wishes to get out - and will point fingers, name names, and tell all in return for protection."

"Good."

Saul knew these types. They were nicknamed 'shtinkers' by the Jewish trading community back on Utrecht III. Wanting out was probably the best motive one could have to become a 'shtinker', but their lifespan in the streets of Napoli were short regardless of their reasons. Nobody loves a rat, not even respectable merchants.

"Can this assassin's story be confirmed? I doubt that an authentic section 31 operative would come forward with such story unless he really wants out, but perhaps this whole story is a fraud." A pause. "Is it someone from our crew?"

M'Kantu indicated the isolinear chips and padd on his desk. "I think there's too much information here for it all to be false - but whether that means all of it is accurate is another thing." He frowned at the sour taste in his mouth as he added, "And yes, it's one of us."

Saul felt like his neck was filled with ice all of the sudden. "Who?"

"Faylin McAlister."

"No." He shook his head, unbelieving. "No. Listen, I know Lieutenant McAlister back from earth. She was one of my attorneys during the Special Observation Craft 074 hearing, and later we become lovers for a period of time." That came almost too smoothly, especially after months of trying to hide this piece of hot gossip from the rumor mill. "She's a very independent person, sure, and she does have certain, umm, unique private issues; But she's no assassin. She likes to exaggerate, see, to get attention or the reaction that she wants. She can get quite melodramatic. But an assassin? For 31?"

"I don't want to believe it of anyone," Daren said quietly. "What those people did, the way they perverted everything we stand for, everything the Federation was founded on...." He shook his head. "The thought that they existed at all nauseates and disgusts me. The fact that cells of them are still out there infuriates me. And the idea that one of my officers was a... murderer... for them? Someone I've trusted? Someone that you've more than trusted?" He met Saul's eyes. "I'm not certain that words cover how I feel about that." He picked up the padd and handed it to Saul. "See for yourself. There's too much here, too many details, too much information. If she wasn't what she said, then she has the best imagination I've ever seen."

"She has a very fertile imagination." Saul said slowly, scrutinizing the chips, "But she's not stupid. She... I think she almost let me in on this, recently."

These were Faylin's chips. The ones she almost gave him; The ones she would give him, had he not refused her proposal to let go of Nara and return to her. He thought that she was in some sort of personal trouble; Someone was after her, and killed her child, and she wanted them off of her. Saul was more than willing to help her; But even in his wildest nightmares, he wouldn't have guessed that THIS was what stood behind it. Behind her.

He heard his own voice speak. "What do you want to do?"

Considering what he wanted to do about the situation was as illegal, homicidal, and immoral as the group under discussion, Daren thought it might not be politic to go there with one of McAlister's ex-lovers. Or himself, for that matter. "One," he held up a finger, "I need this material and an explanatory message to go directly to Admiral Murdock without stopping along the way, and most especially without passing through Admiral Proctor's hands. He's capable of making a deal for her that will stick, and I'm not... and the thought of what Livia Proctor would do with this is almost as frightening as the existence of the group itself."

"I'll use the 'special lines' to get to the Admiral." Saul nodded. He made enough connections during his year on SFI HQ to make it possible.

"Two," another finger joined the first, "I'm also going to need to send a private message with the same restrictions on anyone else seeing it," Daren said with a sigh. "I need to warn my wife that she may be in danger of being used to get to me by these people."

"Does this have anything to do with Andrus?" Saul inquired bluntly. As far as he recalled, the man's name didn't explicitly come up during their last conversation; but this was not the time for subtleties.

"Not," Daren replied, "unless his name is on one of those lists. If it is, then he goes down for it no matter what he wants to bargain with." He sighed, shook his head and continued. "Three," another finger, "we need to put security on her here. She's confined to the ship to minimize the risk of an assassin getting to her, but she reported that someone already made an attempt on the starbase. You'll need to get James in on that with you - make certain he has all the information he needs to plan for what's going to be coming."

"I'll talk to him. I've been wanting to talk to him ever since her child died." Saul was not willing to take responsibility for that one, no matter what Faylin thought. Security received his early warning, and the one that should've protected the baby's life.

"Good. Questions?"

"Questions, no." By this time, Saul had enough time to grasp what he was just told. His mind, as always, began racing. "If her baby was murdered by a Section 31 agent, this means they wanted something from her. Assuming she didn't give it to them, she's up next. Putting security on her is not enough. Either we plan a sting operation to catch any assassins, or we send her to a very extended shore leave outside UFP borders 'till every member of this 'Sanctum' is flushed out."

"I know it isn't sufficient, but it's what we have right now. Any major operation we mount while here will tip off the Admiral that something's wrong and she'll step in and take over - and we won't be able to stop her, or to do what we can to defend McAlister from whatever it is that the Admiral decides to do with her." Daren suppressed the twinge of regret he'd felt when he read the lists of those running 'Inner Sanctum' and failed to find Livia Proctor on them. "This has to be as low-key as we can make it. That means everything we do has to be confined to this ship - if we stray outside that, then we risk exposure to the admiral - and neither of us want that, do we?"

"She's not the highest risk, but I agree."

"I know that Saul - but she's the one we can guarantee to keep out of things if we're smart. As for the others...." Daren looked down at the information on his desk. "What else are you going to need, given the restrictions we're under?"

"Right now, all I ask is that operations won't decline any odd requests I may have. Other than that, nothing."

"As long as you can justify them to me privately, they're granted," Daren promised. "If there's nothing else?" At Saul's shake of the head, M'Kantu nodded back. "All right then, let me know when you're ready. I'll have the message for June ready to transmit in fifteen minutes."

"The Smallest of Miracles .... "

Featuring:
Dracoul "Drake" Dimytryk
(Random NPC that might become more permanent provided he doesn't get killed off)

=Brig=
=As yet unID'd starship=

Drake didn't like this, not one bit. First Orions beaming aboard. Then the XO got slashed all to peices. Damn, what a shame. She'd had a thing for Drake, something that had been slowly turning into a more deeper and serious relationship. It'd been far to long since Drake had had anything even aproaching a meaningfull relationship. Then she had to get all high and mighty, trying to lord it up over the Orion captain because she was a Commander, and in charge of the starship untill the Captain returned from his dreaded invitation to Admiral Proctor's Birthday Party.

A comotion at the brig's entrance drew the attentions of just about everyone the orions had growded into the scant few cells. Most of the crew were down here or locked into cargo bays under guard, and had been stripped of everything but their skivvies. Those unfortunate enough to have been in the shower or other such situations hadn't been aforded the luxury of clothing. However, everyone would have gladly been striped naked for all the world to see for the display they were about to receive.

A quartet of orion thugs escorted an obviously beligerant woman in through the doors. She was clad in a rather skimpy outfit, meant to show off her assets in a tantalizing display. On a younger, more full bodied woman it would have been an apealing sight. However, this woman was NOT young, her body certainly didn't warrant what she was currently wearing. And given her inebriated state she wasn't to happy about it, either.

Olivia Proctor, Admiral, Commander Deep Space 5, was roughly shoved through the prief opening of the Brig's forcefield. Drake backed off, as did just about everyone else, letting the drunken woman stumble to the deck. Somehow there was enough room for them to give her a wide berth. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the proper point of view, Proctor didn't get up. She was out cold.

Someone snickered in the background. No one cared enough to find out who.

Retribution Series

"Meet the New You"

Lt. JG. Juliette Rinaldi JAG

Alone at last, at least for a few minutes she dared to wish. Even Terrik had a system that needed resting and it gave her a few solid moments to relish in being alone. Leaning her head back and resting it on the lump of a pillow on her emerald hued sofa, Juliette closed her eyes, flashing backwards in time to recall a certain memory..................

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

"She's coming around." The nurse stated as she viewed Juliette flutter her eyelids.

The woman scowled against the harsh lights of the operating room. Finally focusing a little, Jules turned her head to the side and motioned for someone to answer a few questions.

"I'd advise against talking right now Juliette. You need to completely rest your facial area for a while." Came the response of the head surgeon. "Very successful transformation Lt. Now, a few things. You will be a little disorientated until the sedatives wear off. Having gone through DNA restructuring myself, I am aware of what recovery entails. You will not feel like yourself obviously. Your trill markings will take a few days to solidify....which means...they will keep darkening until they reach their optimum coloring. Which, in your case will be a light brown color."

She just nodded, her mind swimming as he continued.

"We altered you a little in the chest area...the swelling will also go down in a few days. Until then, you are wrapped up, and should stay so."

Jules attempted to glance down.

He nodded as she groaned with displeasure.

"Hey, I'm just following orders here Lt. Your the one that screwed up. Next, we are still not sure if your body will accept or reject the altered DNA. It is suggested, that if you feel sick to any extent, light headed, throwing up, racing heart beat or anything that just does not 'feel right' you let us know immediately. Understood?"

She nodded.

"From what you feel, your facial area is going to be the part of you that is going to be very sore. Basically, you've been briefed as to what we had to do Juliette. I'll recap. We constructed a new 'face' for you out of tissue reconstructive measures. While you were under, we took the dermal layers of your face off. After that, we spent some time attaching your new face and injecting certain areas with 'fat' to contour your new features."

Juliette just shook her head in understanding. All things had been previously told to her.

"We lightened your skin tone, removed the rather large tattoo on your back, and placed another smaller tattoo of a Phoenix rising from ashes on your back right shoulder. Your hair has been stripped, dyed to blond, and the length has been extended. Make sure you get that redyed every three months to avoid roots."

Rinaldi smirked.

"So far, your body is accepting the alterations beautifully. You will stay here for three days, then return to the ship. We've also inserted a voice transfigurator in your voice box that will alter the tones and overall composition of your voice. That will be activated from here in a matter of a day. Be careful with it. Avoid fights. One good knock to your neck area and the transfigurator will be damaged resulting in your old voice coming back. Also...."

He handed her a choker style necklace.

"This is to protect you from telepathic invasion. IS has a tendency to be very sneaky in regards to getting into people's heads. You need to wear it at all times, no exceptions. It's sonic proof, water proof, and most any other fluid proof. It does well against electric current, should you be shocked for some odd reason. I would suggest that you relax and take it slow in your quarters rather than going out for a while after you get back. I have prescribed anti inflammatory, an antibiotic for any infection that might crop up, and pain relievers. All have been programed for disbursement from your main replicator in your quarters. You are required to have follow up appointments at one week, three weeks, and six weeks. After that, every six months for routine physicals. Would you like to see what you look like?"

Juliette nodded as he presented her with a mirror and helped her to a sitting position. Sighing, the glancing with anxiety at the surgeon, she returned her focus to viewing herself for the first time as her new identity. A small tear ran down her new face as she took in her image.

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

The woman cleared her throat as her eyelids slowly lifted. This was going to be difficult, and at this time, she didn't know if she was truly up to the task at hand.

"Old Fanboys Never Die"

Ensign Artim Shivar - Biologist/Former Holonovel Actor

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

<DS5, "Park", Outside Proctor's Party>

"But I have an invitation and I really am Artim!"

"Sorry kid, this party is for adults only. Get lost before I take you down to detention. "

For the past five minutes Artim had been having more or less the same discussion with the 6' tall human security ensign that was 'working the door' at the entrance to the tent where Admiral Proctor's birthday party was being held. He didn't have to be 6' to tower over Artim, but he was definately attempting to use that fact against him. By this point Artim was beginning to get a pouty look on his face though before he was in one of the better moods he'd been in since the news of Valera's death.

He hadn't exactly expected it nor really knew what to do when he got it, but that morning he had recieved an invitation to Oliva Proctor's birthday party. Despite the fact that he didn't really know much about the Admiral and from what he heard around the ship most of the Galaxy was on her shit list, he decided he should get on his best shorts and casual tunic and at least show up and pretend to have a good time. He even brought her a present, an old bottle of Mahdu from Bhujerba V. He'd had one sip of the stuff ages ago and pretended to like it, so the Bhujerban consul had sent him a case for his 400th birthday. When he heard the Admrial actually liked the stuff he decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to regift it. The bottle would be his next attempt to convince Ensign Idiot here. In the pouty voice only someone who was physiologically 10 could pull off he said,

"What's your name so I can tell the Admrial who kept her from getting her Mahdu? I'm sure she'll be pissed off to no end that you didn't let me in, especially when she finds out what I got her."

"Beat it kid." the yellow-shirt said without even flinching. At this point Artim's cheeks got real red really fast and he looked like as if he was going to either slug the guard or throw a massive tantrum. However, before he could do either, an older human, about 50 or so, that Artim vaguely recognized as a member of Proctor's staff turned around to see what was going and then walked over and looked Artim over and then grinned widely,

"Hey, don't mean to intrude, but are you...or didn't you play Mikey Peters?"

A strange look came across the security ensign's face as he looked down and gave Artim another look, squinting hard with that "couldn't be expression".

"No way" the ensign responded "He'd have to be like 50."

This look however was not as strange as the one that shot across Artim's face. The Miran visibly cringed and his face curled up as if he was remembering one of the most embarassing moments of his life. In fact, it was one of the more interesting ones as he had acted in a series of holonovels for children and teenagers as Mikey Peters, a spunky 9-year old human in a wierd mixed family with a pet Selat that almost killed him every "episode". This however was in the late 2340s. After a couple seconds with this look of embarassment/horror Artim's face shifted into his trademark ear to ear toothy grin and said with a slight british accent, that his character used so disticntively, "Yup, sure did!"

The security man's face went into a look of shock, as if he had seen the President or Captain Picard or something. His voice matched,

"Oh my god. My parents loved you. They showed me all your stuff when I was a kid. But why does this say "Ensign Artim Shivar", I thought you'd be alot older."

"My god man, you didn't know, he's one of them kids from Juram IV, ya know, the ones that Kirk found only they were like 500 or something? He went and taught university for awhile and then joined starfleet. Duh!", the staff officer came in as if to prove he was the bigger fanboy.

"No way, oh man, I totally forgot that! By the way, you still have that Selat? What was its name again?", the ensign replied.

"Fuzzy Wuzzy, and no. Was a little too agressive for me in real life.", Artim replied non-chalantly. It had been a long time since he'd been talked about as a celebrity like this. Was rather annoying in fact.

"Mikey, er, Artim, sorry, you should come meet the Admiral, she loved your stuff. She'll go nuts. Wish I knew you were on board a few hours ago when we were scrambling for an MC. Oh, my name is Marcus, Lieutennant Marcus Edwards."

"Er, um, sure." , Artim replied in a reluctant tone. He had hoped to see the Admiral tonight though he didn't want to see her being introduced as Mikey Peters. With his tacit acceptance Lt. Edwards started ushering him into the tent and in the general direction of the Admiral whom he could now see towards the center of the tent.

However, before they could reach Proctor the station rocked and emergency klaxons started wailing. Artim was thrown to the deck in the panic and in the tangle of legs he must have been kicked in the head and passed out. In time he came to, but it wasn't in the sickbay or hospital bed he expected...rather it was half naked in a brig cell with a large orion thug towering over him..."

"Meditation is all in the mind"

Lt.JG Juliette Rinaldi

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor

<<Location: USS Delphina Holodeck>>

"I can not do this" Jules muttered out the side of her mouth as she peeked out from her eyelids at the meditating counselor. The sitting position was uncomfortable, the loose cloth she was wearing itched, the slow music sucked, and if she heard him groan some chant one more time, she was going to loose it.

Which, had Miramon known what Juliette was thinking, he would have considered a gross exaggeration on her part. Aside from the fact that the sitting position was nothing more than a simple cross-legged, straight-backed posture, there really was nothing to it. At the woman's muttered frustration, the Bajoran deigned to open his eyes, albeit only slightly, and glanced over at the human, wondering what the problem was, and not for the first time today.

"I just don't understand how you can be so......relaxed....what's the point?" Jules muttered yet again.

"The point is to be relaxed, Fay. Also to help you keep your mind focused on the exercise at hand. If you're going to learn to live in the moment, you need to learn to focus properly. And that requires patience, the relaxation of body and mind and, well, something to focus on. Surely you can do that?"

"I can't focus. I've had three cups of Rak already this morning."

Miramon raised an eyebrow at that. He presumed she was talking about that awful beverage known as Raktajino that many of his humans friends seemed to drink, almost obsessively. It was either that or Terran Coffee, which was just as bad. The whole thing made him want to look for a seriously powerful bottle of mouthwash.

"And what possessed you to drink such a large amount of something known to have stimulating properties? Or did you simply have an urge to drink yourself into a state of hyperawareness without any real reason behind it?"

"Well! I was up a lot last night...it was either that or fall asleep while doing this...."

The Bajoran shrugged, his fair eyebrows raising slightly with the motion, as though he were essentially repeating the motion all over.

"If you had fallen asleep now, you would at least have been relaxed. Right now, I can't see you doing anything more than driving yourself, not to mention me, straight to distraction. I really don't know what to do with you, Faylin," he noted with a slightly exasperated expression. At least, as exasperated as was really possible for someone with his positive disposition.

In dramatic fashion, she practically landing her head in his lap. Looking upwards and blinking innocently, Jules smiled. "Just love me Terrik...That's all I ask." With a giggle, she bounced up before he could push her off his lap.

The eyebrow quirked once again, moving dangerously close to expressing a state of mind that was fast bordering on irritation. The sigh that went with it was restrained, albeit barely. Miramon fixed Faylin with a level stare that was all business.

"Are you going to take this seriously, or not?"

Grimacing, Juliette stated with a gruff, yet fake voice. "Sorry." Clearing her throat, she closed her eyes and attempted to go back to focusing on the what ever she was supposed to be focusing on. "Um....what am I supposed to be thinking about?"

The sigh that he'd held back earlier could not longer be restrained, and issued gently from between his lips, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly from their otherwise perfectly straight posture, though only for a moment. He inhaled a gentle breath, then glanced back at Faylin.

"As I told you at the beginning of the exercise," he reiterated, his tone slightly pointed, "it doesn't matter what you think about, so long as you can focus on it. So pick whatever you want."

"Anything I want? Gods, that could be dangerous." Another slight snicker. "What are you thinking about...other than killing me at this moment in time?"

"In all honesty, that was the dominant thought for the moment. I mean, you're supposed to be dead anyway, right? Can't be murder if you're already dead, can it?" Miramon noted, his voice slightly reflective, as though he were actually considering that sincerely.

"You do realize that if you did that, I would haunt you to the ends of the earth, making your life a living hell and causing you to lose all rational thought.....don't you?" Jules stated quietly as she cleared her mind...or attempted to. She paused. "Oh, wait a minute, I'm already doing that if I'm 'technically' dead."

"Even were you not technically dead, that is still with you would be doing, Faylin. Certainly being alive has given you little disincentive to do anything else just yet."

Jules snorted in mock frustration.

Miramon ignored this with the typical aplomb of something that is only likely to be disturbed by other people if asleep, and only sufficiently so to give him time to roll over and pull a pillow over his head to stop the noises.

"Would you like to try again, or shall we do something else?"

"This obviously is not relaxing us in any way, shape, or form. Let's try something else. How about just going for a walk around?" She stood, smirking with disgust at her outfit. "First, I'm changing out of these robes....I don't need any crew members coming up and asking for religious advice"

"Well, if any of the crew are crazy enough to do so, at least there is a Counsellor close to hand ready and able to have them immediately sectioned," Miramon noted wryly.

"Ha ha Terrik. I could form my own religious cult you know."

He was used to Faylin coming out with some odd statements, but he was fairly certain that one topped the list. He paused a moment, just to run their part conversations through his head, just to make sure. He wasn't surprised he couldn't come up with anything better, though. His right eyebrow received another workout, raising slightly in a manner that suggested he was either incredulous, perplexed or just in a funny mood.

"Is this because you're, well, dead but not? Earth religions have a penchant for having their major cult figures dying and coming back to life, do they not? So you'd qualify on those grounds?"

"Yep." She stated simply. "The Cult of Witness Protection." Yet again, her sarcastic tone was available for all of her soon to be followers to behold. "Wanna join me in a local shuttle port and pass out flowers?"

"Not what I'd call a good religious ritual," Miramon remarked dryly. "On Bajor, there would be more chanting and less flowers."

"You are really no fun at all."

"You're the one that hangs around me all the time, Faylin. Either I'm no fun and you're so completely bored that you feel the need to try and change that aspect of my life, or you're in denial. Think about it while we walk."

With that, the Bajoran unfolded his legs from underneath him and sprang up to his full height with a fluidity that was indicative of a lot of physical training. He ran a hand through his somewhat dishevelled blond hair and shrugged at Faylin.

"Anyway, you get changed and I shall wait right here."

He personally didn't feel the need to get changed. Admittedly, he was in Faylin's quarters, so it wasn't an option anyway, but he didn't have much of a problem with the loose-fitting garments they had adopted at his suggestion. Fay was probably far more used to the tight-fitting clothing that constituted Starfleet uniforms - and knowing her vain personality, it was probably because looser-fitting clothes weren't as flattering to her figure. Not that he'd have voiced that speculation out loud.

At least Terrik had no telepathic tendencies what so ever. The stream of words that were popping through her mind left nothing to be desired as she changed into her JAG uniform. Coming out from around her door, she arched a single eyebrow at him, certain that he would return the gesture, and the two could waggle eyebrows at each other for another way to pass the time.

"I've thought about it, and you're no fun." Her voice was sharp, unlike the kidding tone of earlier. "Fortunately, we will be back on the Galaxy soon, and you will have other patients to amuse yourself with."

She sighed as she walked. "Sorry, that was a low blow. I just don't understand why I'm acting so snippish as of late."

Miramon waved it away and offered Faylin a soft smile, the one he often adopted when feeling particularly amused. "Too much Raktajino, I suspect. Bound to make anyone feel a little out of sorts."

Of course, he had slowed down his walking pace considerably since coming aboard the Delphina, since Faylin had neither his height nor his musculature, so he had to compensate his walking pace to resemble something more like a leisurely stroll, as opposed to the firm, intense pace he usually set when going anywhere.

"I wouldn't be blaming it on the drink...that's a cop out. It's just me feeling trapped, that's all. I don't feel I'm ready to be back on the Galaxy. I don't have a choice, I just feel that people are going to be able to pick up that it's me instead of 'Juliette'. Then, once that happens, my cover is blown. Oh....does Saul know about.....this?" She ran her finger up and down the length of her body.

"Knowing Saul, he'd probably just suggest that you change your hairstyle. You know him - he keeps bigger secrets than yours on a day-to-day basis, and yet still manages to act as though he knows nothing. Occasionally has me convinced, from time to time." Miramon smiled, slightly amused at the thought. "But as far as I know, only you, me, Captain M'Kantu and a few people aboard this ship know that you're not exactly who you appear to be. Don't be too concerned about it."

"Just thought I'd ask. I don't know who the Captain brought in other than you obviously. I figured...with Saul's background and the information I gave the Captain, he'd likely been asked to 'unofficially' look into it."

"It's possible," the Bajoran admitted. "Is that a problem for you? Do you not trust Saul, perhaps? I recall you having mentioned that there was something going on between you for a while."

"Yes, I trust him with my whole being. What an odd question." Jules forehead furrowed. "He's your friend as well, you trust him....right?"

"With my life. I've needed to do so several times now. However," he noted, with a slight tone of caution appearing in his otherwise gentle voice, "that is not to say that I trust Saul completely. He keeps secrets from me, I'm certain, and I'm positive that he sometimes acts on his own agenda. Without knowing what that is, I can't say I can trust that, and therefore him by association. But he is my friend."

She snorted. "Saul would not be Saul if he didn't follow his own agenda." Jules paused. "My main concern with him is that he really 'knows' me. Sure, you can change the outside, but the inside...you can't. I'm just going to tell him upfront. It's better that way."

"Aren't you under strict orders not to do that?" Miramon asked, somewhat concerned by such an abrupt decision. "But if it's your personality you're worried about, we can probably work to do something about that, if you're inclined."

"It's not just my personality Terrik. Saul......well, he has a 'way' about him in relation to me. I can't explain it, but it's rather frustrating. Anything he wants out of me, all he has to do is this certain look, and it just comes pouring forth. It sounds bad...but it's true."

Rinaldi paused as they continued at a leisurely pace down the corridor.

"I can't avoid him....I might as well just confront him and get it over with and be able to move on. I trust him if I tell him, he knows a lot of my secrets...and has kept them with him for years Miramon. I know I should be leery of him...but he's never done anything to dent my trust....he's been totally loyal to me. At least...I hope he has."

"And The Galaxy Moved"

(Takes place Simultaneously With 'An Exercise in Futility')

Principal Characters
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

"What is this?"

The words from the main room of his quarters floated through the open door to his bedroom, across the bed, and into Victor's ears deep in his closet as he shifted things around to try and locate the mate to the dress boot in his left hand.

For a moment he stopped looking and tried to imagine what Angelienia was thinking. Did she believe that he would somehow, psychically, know what item she was holding or pointing to through some sort of 'cosmic awareness'? Or perhaps she thought he could, by force of will, shift his vision through the visible light spectrum to a point where he was seeing via particles that were not stopped by solid matter? To say nothing of shifting his ocular organs to his posterior so that it was possible at all?

Maybe, he decided, this was some odd ritual performed only between someone and their girl? If so, he had no idea what the correct response was. Just because Angelienia was his girl, didn't mean that he really understood everything that went along with that - like her habit of asking about items like this. He decided to check and see if there was a training simulation that covered things like this in the Starfleet catalog.

"I don't know," he finally replied from the depths of the closet as he spied the hiding boot and snatched it up. "I seem to be currently unable to see through solid objects." Most especially not with his ass.

"This," her voice called back. "Why is it on your wall?"

Victor frowned and tried to think of things that were on his wall. The fact that he had things there to think about was a change in and of itself. He'd gone for so long with nothing but the bare furniture in his quarters, only to discover upon returning from Romulus that Angelienia had brought him a plant to replace one of the ones he'd gotten rid of so long ago. That had seemed... right... somehow. So right, that he'd retrieved the things he'd put in storage and started to place them back on the walls again. He still hadn't replaced all the plants, but they'd made plans to go looking for some on the starbase in the next day or two.

First, though, he had to survive attending the party the Admiral had issued mandatory attendance orders for... and figure out what in the Divine's name his girl was talking about.

"What thing on which wall?" There were pictures on most of the walls, a few mementos here and there of other sorts; it could be any of them. It could even be a smudge of dust for all he knew.

"This one, here."

Victor started to reply, sighed, and padded to the connecting door in order to see what she was talking about. It was easier than continuing this - and less likely to give him a headache. "What 'this'?" he asked as he reached the door.

Angelienia looked over from where she was standing between the bedroom door and the open bathroom door and smiled at him, erasing the thread of irritation that had begun to build up at the absurdity of the situation.
She was dressed, as she'd told him when she came to see why he was running late, for him: a simple green dress the color of her eyes that left her shoulders and arms bare while it hinted at, but didn't reveal, what lay beneath it. It reminded him of some of the dance costumes she'd worn that he'd liked, and he suspected that's why she'd chosen it. "This 'this," she said, pointing.

'This' (at least on the current occasion) appeared to be the d'k'tagh he'd been given by Commander Smith on Romulus.

"It's a Klingon d'k'tagh; they stab people with them."

Angelienia wrinkled her nose at him. "I know *that* - why is it hanging on your wall?"

"Because of the electrostatic mounting plate." Really, did she need to ask that? The plate was right there if you looked.

"No, silly, why did you put it there?"

"Because there was space for it there." Again, an unnecessary question - she could look around and tell how much space there was on any of the walls.

That time, she laughed. "Has anyone ever told you how funny you are when you get like this?"

"Yes - but since I'm not trying to be funny I always assume that they're simply not understanding me." No one, after all, wanted to see him laugh.

She laughed again and hugged him, which was nice enough that he was willing to overlook the not understanding him part. "Okay, so why did you decide to hang a Klingon knife on your wall? Is it a trophy?"

That, at least, made sense. "No, a gift."

"A Klingon gave you a knife? Why?"

"It was a trade."

"What kind of a trade?"

"She gave me the knife, which carries a part of her soul bonded to it, and I gave her back her son."

"You had a Klingon woman's son?" She wrinkled her nose again.

Victor wondered for the untold thousandth time why people couldn't be more precise. "No, that would be physiologically impossible. To function at all, she would have had to have had my son."

"A Klingon woman had your baby?" Angelienia's voice climbed an octave.

Really, why couldn't people just listen to the words he was saying? "No.
I had her son."

The Ktarian woman made a noise that sounded remarkably like a Jenkarthan Spitting Cobrak launching venom. "What son?" Her eyes narrowed. "Your son?"

"No, her son. Are you not listening to me?"

"I am listening to you! You just said you have a son with some Klingon bitkak!"

At what point, Victor wondered, had this conversation left his cabin and moved into a hellish nightmare dimension? "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." She stamped her foot.

"No I didn't."

"Don't lie to me! I heard you!"

She appeared willing to keep this up all day, which was going to make appearing at Admiral Proctor's party difficult, especially if she stomped again and broke her shoe. "I," he said quietly have never lied to you. I never will."

"Then why didn't you tell me about your Klingon bitkak and your half-breed son?" she snapped back.

"Because I do not have a son - half, quarter, or otherwise - much less a ... bitkak... of any variety."

"But you just said..."

"No," he cut her off with a firm, quiet word. "I didn't. You were not listening. I said that I had been given the d'k'tagh in trade for her son, nothing more."

Angelienia stopped, as much because he'd never spoken to her that way since they'd started to dance together as the words. "But you..."

"No, I didn't." Whatever it was she was going to say, if it related to this conversation, that was a safe answer.

"Okay," she replied after a moment. "Where did the son you traded for the knife come from?"

"She gave him to me."

"I knew it! You did..."

"No"

"But you just said...."

"No, I didn't."

"I *heard* you!"

"You heard the words I said, yes, but you not paying attention to what they meant." They had, Victor thought, been perfectly clear to him.

Her eyes narrowed again. "I did too."

"No, you didn't. You decided that I'd said I had a son by a Klingon woman and construed everything to support that, and then got madder and madder the more you thought about it, despite the fact that it was completely wrong."

"So you don't have a half-Klingon son?"

"I don't have a son, period, Angelienia. I have, in my life, had sex on exactly one occasion - New Year's Eve, 2371 - with exactly one woman - Transporter Chief Melinda Travers. She was not the type to risk pregnancy and had undergone surgery to prevent this; she seemed to think it was important that I knew that. Unless someone has seen fit to obtain a DNA sample and clone me, there is no possibility that I have a child of any type, anywhere, by any mother or any species." That he thought, ought to cover any possible misunderstanding of what he was saying.

Angelienia blinked, the irritation gone from her face like it had never been there. "Once?"

"Once."

Her eyes opened and softened, and she looked at him in a way that made him feel odd inside - but a good odd. "Oh, Victor." She touched him on the cheek with fingers that seemed as soft as feathers and as warm as the sun. "You... just once?"

"Yes."

Without warning, she was holding him, her face against his chest. His boots dropped to the floor as he held her back. "I knew you hadn't been with many people, but not... one," she whispered.

"Just one," he agreed. "So, no son - or daughters - anywhere. We're clear on that?"

She nodded and hugged him tighter, which he assumed meant that they were clear. It also felt good, so he kept talking in the hopes she'd keep doing it. "I was in possession of the child because she had given him to me when we were trapped on Romulus. Ordinarily, I'd have to see him and he'd have to hear me do it, but there, surrounded by all that death...
if he were mine, I could forbid him to die no matter how far away he was
- like I forbade you to die while I was gone. Understand?"

"I understand," she said softly. "And when the battle was over..."

"She gave me the knife in trade for him, because she felt that she had to give something of equal value for him: a piece of her soul for her son."

"I can see that. But why is it on your wall?"

"If you had something containing part of another person's soul, would you lock it in a dark drawer or shove it in the bottom of a closet? Or would you put it out where it was in the light and surrounded by people and things and life?"

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Do you really think it has a part of her soul in it?"

Victor considered that. Did he? Did it matter? "I've never seen a soul, or held one - I don't know, really know, if they exist or not. But she believes that a part of her soul is attached to that knife - and that's enough for me. Belief that strong can make something so, no matter what I can touch or see." He shrugged. "It costs nothing to respect her belief - and might cost everything if I didn't - so I choose to respect them." He paused a second, and then asked, "Does that clear everything up?"

She nodded, and kept looking up at him, her eyes seemingly larger than he knew they were.

"Is... something wrong?" Victor asked quietly after a moment.

"No," she whispered.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

Angelienia smiled and reached up to slip a hand around his neck and gently pull on it, dropping his head to hers. "Because you're you," she whispered.

Victor had enough time to wonder who else he might be supposed to be before their lips met, and he fell into her eyes and lost himself in the kiss.

And the Galaxy moved.

Victor jerked back, lips still tingling and pulse still racing, and frowned as the Galaxy shuddered again and the Red Alert klaxons started to blare.

It looked like he wasn't going to make the party after all.

Retribution Series

"Keeping an Eye on Things"

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi JAG

Chief Petty Officer First Class (CPO1) Killian Connell
JAG Assistant - NPC Written by Eric

Location: Rinaldi's Quarters, USS Delphina short before transferring to Galaxy

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

"Damn it." The blond muttered as she attempted to snap the clasp on the bra shut. Fleet had neglected to inform her exactly what size she was, and therefore, the past half hour was spent replicating various bras of various sizes in a desperate attempt to find one that fit.

"Finally." She spoke as she 'thought' she had the device from hell hooked properly. However, a sharp snap, a bellowing word, and one flying pink lace bra later, Jules realized that the snap was indeed not fastened properly to contain her amble boobage.

Sighing with frustration, she pulled a t-shirt on for the time being as she placed her hands on her hips and glanced with a narrowed evil stare at the graveyard of over the shoulder boulder holders that littered her floor currently. Smirking, her blue eyes lifted as she heard the chime sound.

"Enter." Came the defeated reply. If it was Terrik, he would surely have some back handed comment to offer her upon viewing the intimate apparel on the floor.

"Yes?" her hands were still on her hips as the stranger entered. "May I help you?"

"Well, this cairtainly isn't whoot I was expecting," Killian said as the doors swished closed behind him. "Ye really ought tae learn out to clean oop after yaerself, lass." The thick accent was a joke, of sorts. While pure blooded Irish with flaming red hair to match, Killian Connell normally had only a light touch to his english. The accent came out when he wanted to, or if he was so pissed he couldn't see straight. In this case it was the former, though he let off the thickness now for clarity sake. "Now, do be a bonney lass and cooperate. I not thrilled m'self ta be baby'sittin a perfectly beautifull young woman such as you, nor do I particularly take pleasure in wearing this," he indicated the CPO1 rank, where only days before had rested the tripple pips of a Commander. "However, as we both know, I've got the skills, knowledge, and capacity to fulfill my orders to the letter, so it'll be of no use ta you ta go disobeying yours."

"Take your 'bonney lass' shit and stick it where the sun don't shine." She stated with an aggravated tone, The sweet southern drawl dropped, revealing her Scottish accent with the new voice. "You and I both know why you are here, cut the bull shit. And yes, I am aware I'm breaking rule number 73 concerning swearing. I don't give a 'fuck'" Jules stated as her hands stayed cemented to her side. "Sir..." She added just for giggles.

"Hell Lass, some rules were made for heavens above knows what reasons." He crossed his arms as he watched her. "Besides which, you know I don't give a rats ass about Rule 73. And for the sake of continuity, you can cut the 'Sair' and throw that doen the shytter." He paused for a moment and the smiled. "Well, there's something lassie. I don't have to worry about being saluted all of the time. I'm just a wee one now." His tone was half mocking, though there were undertones of humor and jocularity laced in.

Turning on her heel, she started pitching bras into the waste recepticle with a fury, her aim dead on. Satisfied with her cleaning, she pivoted to face him again. "Exactly why are you here, other than to aggravate me? I don't need a watch dog."

"Recall a moment ago, if you will, when I stated I held displeasure towards babysitting grown adults." Goodness, but some people seriously had bad memories, didn't they? "it's not my place to tell you if someone thinks you're not in enough control over yourself, or if it's merely a precaution. I'm here to make sure you follow the rules. Well, the important ones, that is." He tossed a PADD onto her desk. "That, dear, is an official copy of our orders. Assume duty on the USS Galaxy in replacement of the Late and Deceased Faylin McAllister, you as JAG and myself as your assistant."

"Oh, so Starfleet thought it a good idea to put you undercover on the Galaxy as my 'assistant' to make sure I don't screw the pooch? Is that until I testify...or do I have the privilege of seeing your face everyday of my life now? And if you are my assistant, what exactly do you know of the law?"

"Apparently. Until the situation has been deemed 'safe,' and I am fully versed and experienced with the handling of all legal situations pertaining to a Starfleet Judge Advocate General's office of responsabilities." Killian smiled. "I've been around the block often enough. I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, so don't tell me how to do mine. Baring that, I believe our relationship won't suffer more than nesecary."

"Oh goody." The snarl crossed her features as she looked down, then looked back up, catching his expression. Flipping him the first copy of the magazine, she spoke in a hiss like manner. "Read up on me...you might find something that catches your interest. I'm going to go change."

He caught the proffered magazine, began flipping disinterestedly until he came upon her. Provocative poses, coiled with the attire ... or lack thereof on later pages. And a centerfold, she was good enough to rate one of those. "Well, I can see why they made certain alterations," he called out as he set the magazine down - in the recycler. "Those spots compliment your physique perfectly. Personally, I think the upper torso alterations were a big to far, though given these photos most of the rest of the humanoid male population - and many of the lovely lasses, no doubt - would disagree heartily with me there."

"Yeah...what ever." Jules called out as she changed into her standard JAG uniform. Smirking at her appearance in the mirror, she noted he was still present in her quarters as she emerged from her bedroom. "Now what?"

"Now, we report aboard Galaxy as if this were your first day aboard. However, I'd advise strongly against breaking 42." He had no need to name that one. It was the one that prohibited contact with past relations of a personal nature. That she had been so cruelly riped from her new husband was not lost on him. "If I could change the rules I would in a heartbeat, you know that lass. They sent me because I'm NOT a hardass. I give you as much slack and free reign as I possibly can because some rules are just plain absurd. No swearing indeed." He sat down on her couch, recently cleared of personal items. "But they know that I'll enforce the big ones. Rule #1 and 42 of course. Breaking 36 has always gotten people killed in the past, and 48 is for the protection of the innocent. Coming from your history you know which ones are truly important and which ones you know I'll let slide. I don't know how long this will take, but know that I won't do anything to hinder progress within the bounds of my own limitations."

Jules placed her hands on her hips, her voice lowered to a dangerous level. "I took a vow in front of God and Steven. And were I come from, God is the ultimate superior officer. So, even though Starfleet considers me dead, and my marriage void, I do not consider my marriage void because I am not dead. I...Faylin McAlister am alive, just in a different package. I...am married to First Lt. Steven Jonas...Marine of the USS Galaxy." She continued, despite the harshness that her voice was starting to display. "What ever you say, what ever the rules are, nothing! Is going to change that fact. Yes, we are apart...but we will be together as husband and wife again. Nothing....not even your stupid rules....will change that." She took the padd that he had given her earlier, and threw it against the wall. "My marriage is still valid, and I love that man with my whole being....Starfleet and the Inner Sanctum be damned."

"I know this, lass. Starfleet knows it too, hence why I'm here." He sighed. "And did you ever consider that it might be just as much for his protection as it is for yours? If someone found out through some bit of carelessness that Faylin McAllister JONAS was still alive, and still verry much in love with her Mr. Jonas, and he wound up a mark on someone else's hit list, like your daughter. Would you ever fogive yourself that transgression? I speak from personal experience Lass. My Bonney love will never be in my arms because of a single mistake, a rule I broke. All in the name of love." He stood and strode towards the door, but stopped and turned before they opened. "I won't deny you your feelings, no one can do that. Just don't let them get in the way. Once this is all blown over, we'll set things straight you and I. And damned Heaven and Hell should anyone dry and stop us from putting you back in Mr. Jonas's arms once that time has come."

"I'll believe it when I see it." She stated quietly.

"Aye," he agreed. "That ye shall." With that he left.

"I Drank From The Fountains" Part 4 of "Crooked Line"

Ensign Artim Shivar - Biologist (2383) / Federation Council Member (2961)
Lt. Savant - Logisitics Officer (2383) / Ambassadorial Chief of Staff (2961)
with
Lian Verian, Federation News Service (2961)

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

<SS Point Arran, Lounge, May 2961>

Lian sensed that the topic was winding down, so he shifted in his seat and delivered what he hoped would be the final question on this topic. He still looked fascinated, but internally was getting rather bored of this. Boy the kid could talk when you got him started,

"Well, after getting the perspective of a kid, what then? I mean, as we sit here its clear you chose not to grow up, what changed your mind?", Lian said in a professional tone yet implying Artim should wrap it up

Artim retained his reclined posture, much like an old grandfather relaying a story to his grandchild, a posture that didn't look right for a prim and proper teenager. His voice stayed light and airy,

"A kids perspective was helpful, but I needed another. There weren't many people that I could talk to that were nearly immortal as I am so I went to the closest thing we had on the Galaxy. Someone you've met."

"Who?" Lian asked as his face twisted into a confused expression

"Well, you know her as my Chief of Staff, Savant. At the time she was the Galaxy's Logistics Officer.", Artim replied matter of factly. Lian's face looked amazed for a moment as Artim continued...

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

<USS Galaxy, Savant's Office, 2383>

Normally Artim wouldn't be bringing the science department's requisition list to Savant directly. Actually, he never actually had been down here since he came to figure out what she/it was. However, this time it was because of what she was that he needed to talk to her. She was the only other being that was as long lived as he was though he wasn't sure if it counted since she was artificial. Still, she might have some insight into his current dilemma. He pressed the chime and waited.

He didn't have to wait long - no one visiting the logistics office ever did. Savants' voice hung from the air about Artim's head like a wreath. "Come in, Ensign" she spoke simply.

Artim really hated it when Savant did stuff like that, the whole omnipresence thing tended to freak him out sometimes. He jumped a little when he heard the voice come out of nowhere, but then remembered where he was. Artim plopped the PADD he was carrying down on the desk and pressed the commands into it to download it in to the computer. He glanced around looking for something to speak to and said in an empty tone, as if he was concealing something

"Thought I'd bring down the departmental requisition list. Doubt you get many visitors."

"Oh, I keep myself occupied. Not a lot of visitors though, no." She didn't bother looking at the PADD so supplied, and instead let the information float in the air beside her as a desk-mounted hologram generator fired up. The letters hung in blue beside her face. "Looking for company?"

Artim took a seat and looked up at the female android in front of him. His voice was "normal" and didn't really bring out any specific emotion,

"Well, I wanted to talk to someone about an unusual topic that I think you're uniquely qualified to discuss. I mean, who else on board is likely to be around in a few hundred years?"

She folded her hands together and placed her elbows ont he table, turning to look at the young (?) man instead of her work. "I know a few vulcans that ought to still be alive. But I know what you mean." She smiled benignly, "What brings this up?"

Artim coughed slightly and then got a look on his face that would indicate that he was looking for a proper answer. Once he got one he continued now in an inquizitive tone.

"Well, I assume you know something about my past, the condition I have, and the like. Its recently been proposed that there may in fact be a way for me to age normally. As it stands I probably am looking at a lifespan in the eight to nine thousand year range, however, I have to admit there's some allure in living a 'normal' life."

She sat back and shrugged absently, "define a 'normal life'." She didn't give him quite enough time to answer, though; there was only a beat before she continued, "Life isn't something to be questioned or analysed. 'Why' is irrelevant. Life *is*. The sentient force that it applies upon the universe is integral to its function. Don't fret about being abnormal, because you aren't."

That wasn't the response he expected from, more or less, a computer. Sounded more like what a vulcan philospher he knew long time ago actually. Still, he continued on inquisitvely, adjusting his glasses.

"So, even though what happened to me in somewhat unnatural, I should still accept it? The will of god, or of the universe if you prefer. I've put it that way to myself for a long time. Still, the idea of being able to age as, well, everyone else does seems desirous. Then again, I am asking someone that doesn't exactly 'age' to begin with."

She smiled briefly at his statements - was it a nostalgic sort of a smile? It seemed to be. "What happened to you was entirely natural. Your metabolism is behaving exactly as it ought. So it was changed from its original settings - so what?" She lifted both hands as a gesture to support her statement. "Wanting to change something that you can't is the first step on the road to misery."

Artim returned the smile though only slightly. That was more the response he expected from Savant, though it was still a bit...deeper then he'd expect from a computer. Then again, Savant wasn't your normal computer. His voice took on a more somber tone now though, lower and softer then before,

"Wanting to change something that they thought they couldn't is exactly what earned my people their fate. The quest for immortality killed most of them and left a handful of us to remember the lesson of it forever. I was changed, but the choice wasn't mine. I suppose that doesn't matter though, does it?"

Savant smiled a somewhat maternal sort of a smile. Artim was part child and part great-grandfather; the conjunction between the two was unusual but there was still something Savant could anchor her predictions on. Artim was organic, and mortal; there were certain facets which Savant could build a structure around.

"Not one bit. Don't struggle against the past. You'll find that to be generally unsuccessful. Struggle against the future, that is a territory in which you can make change."

"Nothing takes the past away like the future, a wise freind of mine told me that once." Artim replied with a nod. Being an omnipresent AI allowed Savant to observe many people, more then even the best counselor's he'd been too in his life. That and she/it made a hundred times more sense. Forget all those people that said a being based on logic and statistical permulations couldn't make someone feel better.

"Thanks, I guess this is what I came here for. Sometimes the shrinks let emotion get in the way but sometimes logic is the key to putting a mind at ease. I'm not sure what Brian is going to say to me discussing the meaning of life with a computer, but, hell, whatever helps right?"

"Emotions *are* logical. They follow very predictable patterns. You know that, Doctor. It can just sometimes be a little difficult to figure out all of the influencing factors; sort of like the weather." She leaned back and grinned for herself - or, for his benefit, really. She had to consciously force her emotions to show. "And what do you mean, you aren't sure what he's going to say? I'm as much a computer as you are an algae mat."

Artim chuckled a bit at the first comment, "Tell that to a Vulcan, you might actually get a reaction. And I'm sorry, but, well, I don't think most people would think of an artifical mind as someone to come to with a problem. Then again, as someone that's seen alot of different beings, I really don't make much of a distinction." Artim tried to keep his tone light and then grinned, "You'd make a great shrink you know. Or an assistant for a diplomat"

"I've done it. I've been a flag officer, and had to do all of the various duties that entails. We were on a frontier, too. I did a lot of learning then." Savant sat back, wistful. More than just learning; Savant was formed out of those events more than any others in her life. She ascended from a utility to a sentient being and took her place amongst the people of the universe.

She continued to speak after a moment, even as the nostalgia cycled through her processors. "I'm glad to help, Ensign. The deathless need to stick together, you know. We're a small community."

Artim grinned from ear to ear and let out a restrained laugh, " Extremely small. Someday we should swap stories as I'm sure we'd talk anyone else to sleep. I'll let you get back to your duties. Thanks again."

And with that he left, hopefully with someone he could add to his extremely long list of freindly contacts. Heck, he should have Savant sort out that list someday.

"Homecoming"

Starring: Deep Space 5 Operations Staff

In the frame of a split second of silence as the Operations Center was blanketed in complete darkness, the creak of a turbolift door being manually cranked open broke the darkness.

Jarring the shift CO from the distraction, Hasmonian followed up with a blanket of orders around the shift crew.

"Harrison, even if you have to go hang tin cans and string out to each ship and station, I want communications up ASAP!" He didn't have to see the communications officer to know she had acknowledged him. The sound of a panel being ripped off a terminal from her general direction was enough.

"Narebi-"

"Yes?" Confusion dangled him between two different voices. It was shortly followed by a registering of the Strategic Operations officer arriving.

"Lieutenant Narebi," Hasmonian shouted a whisper across the center to the Science Officer looking somewhat distracted. "Lela!" The Trill blinked several times, coming back to the present. "Sensors?"

"Aye.. aye, sir. Sorry, sir." Her eyes flew across the dimly lit console, sliding off her seat to engage the secondary power relays. Each station in the Center slowly followed suit as their isolated backup power relays came online.

"She's worried." Lt. Commander Jarn Narebi took the steps to the command deck in one stride. He made every effort to not stop and gve Lela a comforting gaze. Every moment meant a life. Doing the job got results, not stopping to assure each other. That moment was the one that defined life or death.

"We all are, Jarn. Did you see Bryce on the way up?" Narebi was in casual wear, coming to pick up Lela for the Proctor party. Being the Strat Ops officer on her station didn't preclude him from being on-call for anything she wanted. For him to skip her birthday would be a death sentence.

"She's on the rec deck, coordinating security from Ground Zero." Ground zero took on a double meaning; around the station G0 was the acronym for being within visual contact of the explosive and demanding Admiral. Now it meant far more, with the decompressed promenade. Without sensors, no one but those nearby had any clue as to the damages.

"Commander! Internal sensors are back online." Hasmonian and Nerebi took up positions across from each other at the command center 'pool table'. Azure blue streamlines trickled on and off. It reminded the Ops Chief of Galaxy class fluorescent lighting that flickered. Almost four centuries still hadn't fixed that problem. "No holographic displays."

"Mr. Frost," the Operations officer on duty looked up from the displays on his terminal. Never having been faced with anything of this magnitude, he was lost in what to prioritize with the limited power reserves he had on hand. The demand was far higher than the supply. Everything he'd learned in the simulators went out the window.

"Ensign," noticing the confounded look in the young man's eyes, Hasmonian grabbed the eyes of the fairly fresh-faced recruit from the Academy and held them with his own. "Top priority are the force-fields on the promenade and the medical triage centers. Then communications, sensors and transporters. Everyone else can wait. Got it?"

"Aye, sir." A weight lifted off Brian's shoulders. He'd known what to do, but he couldn't h elp but second-guess himself. Admiral Proctor was quite expectant of her staff. His first instinct was one of avoiding her reminding him of his inabilities to react quickly and correctly enough to her 'requests'. He hadn't much experience working directly under 'Commander Hasmonian, but he had respect for him. Unlike the Admiral. It was like she was a whirlwind-

"Mr. Frost, I need more power to the internal sensors." Brian shook his head of the daydream, keying in allocation to the grid.

"There." Jarn pointed a long, well-manicured fingernail thirty meters north of Proctor's party location. "Bryce's transponder is active." He leaned on a communications node on the display.

"Nerebi to Lieutenant Bryce. Status report."

The channel opened to a shrill feedback loop, making everyone in Operations wince and cover their ears.

"Harrison... fix that!"

"I'm trying, sir, there's just too much ionizing interference! Hold on!" The woman squinted one eye closed while her delicate fingers danced over the main console. The feedback faded down into a background channel.

[... beamed off... force-field...] The Bajoran Security chief's voice broke through the wail, piggybacking on static. Yelling and rushing air overlapped her voice.

"Repeat, Bryce. Repeat."

[Frack...! ...Proctor.... amed ou...] Another blast of static washed over the commline. Hasmonian gestured to Harrison to filter out the lines more.

[We're contained within... force-field.... portable. Emergenc... beam-outs... cessful. No seri... aulties to r..port.]

"Lieutenant, sit tight. We've got damage control teams on their way." Narebi and Hasmonian had to believe that. "Operations out."

"Commander, the six minute window has passed. All capable vessels have left the immediate proximity of the station. All are reporting personnel beamed on are safe and sound. Only minor injuries." Harrison held the comm-node to her left ear, listening intently. Traffic had just erupted when communications came back online. Her brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Good. Let's get a manifest list together so we know who we've got. Make sure no civilian transports decide to take advantage of the situation and leave prematurely. All ships not incapacitated are to be locked down for investigation. Find Proctor's transponder and get her beamed directly to the Operations Center."

"Found it, 'Commander. She's on the Bonestell."

"Bring her home, Mr. Frost."

The hum of the transporter at the rear of the Ops Center chimed out, the waterfall of color that denoted a being rematerializing taking form on the pad. Olivia Proctor hadn't even completed assembly before her tart voice issued its first order.

"Fire on whatever ship I just came from! Fire! Destroy it! NOW!"

"We Control the Idiots..."

Current Alias: Ensign Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer - USS Galaxy

Music: In the Land of Twilight, Under the Moon

Hidden Hydran Base - Remus

"Merry Christmas Motherfuckers!!"

Another explosion rocked the facility... and the Commander couldn't help but be fearful and amazed at the two figures that stood before him... Amazed how little time it took them tear through his facality...

They came from the same genetic material and yet... one had a calm steady gaze... as if he only needed to look at you to understand you completely... an Angel of Death, yet at the same time an Angel of Peace... his faintly glowed with a soothing blue...

The other was like some savage beast or wild thing... a Dog of War and Chaos... if had ever seen one... His eyes were bloodshot with a dark unnerving red...

Both of them seemed content with their work and turned towards the exit... but before they left... the blue one said one thing... "If your looking for a scape goat or explanation for all this... tell them... Pariah Ronin wasn't happy with room service..."

-----

One Hour Earlier...

*SMACK*

The sound of a Hydran fist making contact with the prisoner's face for the hundredth time rang through the room.

"Please no more... no more... I'll tell you whatever you want to know..."

Of course this wasn't prisoner wasn't Zev Raynor and thus of no consequence... moving along to important prisoner... the Hydrans were having a bit more trouble.

"TALK HUMAN! What was your mission? Talk and we can end your suffering."

"Suffering?" Raynor asked, in mock surprise. "I thought I was getting a free facial massage... Damnit! Jeeves why don't you tell me these things? You know I can't tell the difference between the two. As their both so comforting..."

This sarcastic comment only angered the Hydran who took a swift blow to Raynor's gut. Raynor had not been out of surgery for more than a day before coming back to this... the Hydrans were still trying to gather data on how the organ worked before they activiated their imperfect "clone" of Raynor... Probably to use in their own genetic experiments if they found it to be of any use. But Raynor wasn't about to use it, it was the kind of organ that had to used through will power... the Hydrans hadn't figured that much out yet...

But as stupid as he thought they were though... they were now using Telepathic inhibitors protect themselves from his telepathy... as they couldn't block the source, for some reason the devices kept overloading ...

Raynor never considered himself particularlly powerful as a telepath... at least when it came to imposing his will on others... he was unbelievably receiptive... but that was another thing entirely.

But inspite of that... he had the information he needed to make his escape attempt, as well as securing secondary objectives... all he was waiting for was one of his benefactors, to make an appearance. The beneifactor was due any minute now...

"Let's start again... What was your business on Romulus?" asked Raynor's 15th interrogator. The previous 14 had been... belittled and punished for not only their inability to break Raynor, but for straying off topics of importance... to such things as who actually won the Cup in 2042 playoffs.

They finally figured out it had something to do with his telepathy, though he could still lure his interrogators off course... it took much longer and much more effort to do so... Of course he had gone through a Ronin training course where he was stuck in a cell for 5 months and all he could do was say his name, his rank, and his serial number... when he was in his teenage years... when he compared what his trainers did to him then... to what the Hydrans were trying to do to him now... he couldn't help but laugh at what he found as a joke... then again he wasn't permitted to try anything esle in his training.

"Well are you going to tell me anything or am I going to have to get really nasty?"

Just then, the door openned and a smile formed on Raynor face.

An energy weapon discharge later and he was free.

---

Meanwhile...

Madden hovered above the clone body in his Dithparu state... it didn't have the Ronin training or development that the Terran Coven put its warriors through beginning at the age of six and not ending until at least age 13, usually later... which permenantly altered their physical structure making it not only harder for them to replicated through genetic cloning, but just human beings who were capable of much more physically and mentally.

Processes which you put you on the edge of death, which you had to will yourself to survive through, even as a child.

Madden possessed the mentality, but this body was not Ronin or hell a regular Covenan. This body had never been through the things they did to their children but it was a body lacking a consciousness of its own and now, it would be his... the avatar of his consciousness. Where he could be himself and treated like a person... Maybe a monster... but still a person... not some mental illness that had to be 'cured'.

Thirty seconds later... and Madden was his own man... free from the bindings of being Zev Raynor's other personality.

For some reason it didn't feel as good as he thought it would, but it was enough for now.

---

After that point much violence ensued and Raynor stood beside... himself and about a dozen Hydrans who were pretty much bending over sideways to do his bidding. Some stuff of blew up along the way, many Hydrans bought it. While others Hydrans were running in cirlces to everywhere but where Zev and his little gang was. See had used a combination of eye-contact hypnosis and telepathic communication to lure his interrogators into idiotic lines of questioning, but while he was at it, he turned them all... one by one into sleeper agents... who would perform his bidding once given the right trigger, and setting up the necessary distractions and so forth to allow his little get away to go on without a hitch.

The only thing he really didn't count on was Madden taking a ride in the clone's body but as it stood he planned to elimate it anyways as well all DNA records on himself... essentially the idea was to make sure no one could reproduce the organ.

The only real objective left was Commander and the Head Scientist. Things were going so smoothly...

"Well gentlemen, you've just made you second mistake... you stuck around," Zev stated causally.

"What was their first mistake?" Madden asked, in mock curiousity.

"Letting me live..." Zev responded darkly, yet still sarcastically. "And now were going to torch the place thus alerting the Romulans to your presence on Remus, only because you seem to lack any communication arrays that we can use."

His temporary lackeys left the room... to go create choas and confusion. Hydrans would be shooting at each other, Zev really didn't care right now.

"Merry Christmas Motherfuckers..."

"Revelations"

Starring:
Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor, CO, Deep Space 5
Deep Space 5 Staff

"Damn incompetency!" Olivia Proctor had stepped off the transporter pad shortly after being told the Bonestell had gone to warp before it could be fired on. She shot angry glares at Hasmonian and Narebi. The others wisely kept their eyes and focus on their consoles. At least, that's the impression they wanted to give the Admiral.

"Why didn't you fire? I gave you a direct order. I should have you both up for insubordination." She stopped at one of the replicators behind the science station. The Trill scientist looked obviously uncomfortable with the unpredictable dwarf behind her.

"Respectfully, Admiral, you can do that later." Hasmonian wasn't in the mood for Proctor's games. "Right now, you have more to worry about that an obsolete starship we can track later. We've got personnel stretched across a dozen starships, all ships connected to the station are fused to their ports, and we've little to defend the station with other than what's completed repairs and those awaiting. The Rhode Island's starboard nacelle is venting plasma all over the port side of the station. Force-fields are holding it off from entering the station, but without a formal survey from the Corps of Engineers on board, we'll not know for sure." Before the Admiral could let whatever noise she was about to make fall out of her mouth, Narebi cut her off.

"We need to keep the perimeter on high alert. The Triad may have monitoring stations on us. The capital ships *must* remain on standby if we need to evacuate or defend the station. We can't afford to assign any ships to chase down a low priority ship, not at this time. Perhaps when we have a more defensible force in place."

Olivia stirred the Columbian brew coffee and took a sip before she spoke. Her apparent carelessness of the situation was exasperating. Action needed to be taken immediately. The universe wasn't going to wait on this woman.

"First of all, 'Commanders, don't ever interrupt me again. Secondly, this isn't a democracy. If I should choose to have you drawn up on charges now, that is *my* choice, not yours. Why does no one ever take me seriously around here? It's becoming quite apparent I'll have to set examples again." She took a step forward, peering into her steaming cup. Hasmonian and Narebi resisted looking towards each other. They shared the same thought.

"Thirdly, someone find me some clothes." *That* was the 'Commanders thought.

****

"Orions." Proctor had changed back into her standard fleet issue uniform, and was on her fifth coffee. Much of the alcohol had been chased away by this time, but a nagging headache remained. "'Commander Narebi, I want current Intel on their activity in the region. Suspected central operations, names, locations, ship deployments. Have you issued an APB on the Bonestell?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jarn Narebi had immersed himself into the Strat Ops station at center point opposite the viewscreen. "Relay stations have mapped their warp trail to Ivor Prime. Sensor stations show it in a low orbit of the planet. Shields and weapons are inactive."

"Ivor? Are you certain?" Ivor Prime had contacted Ambassador J'aeln earlier that morning asking for more patrols and a permanent Starfleet residence on the recently reclaimed planet. She'd scoffed at the audacity of the woman who administered the colony. The Ambassador had mentioned the woman was desperate. Olivia just hadn't believed she would be this desperate. Hiring Orions? She had to know the Federation wouldn't deal with the Syndicate.

"Send the Galaxy to go get it. It shouldn't be much of an effort."

"I'd advise against that, Admiral." Hasmonian interceded, so that Narebi could focus on his duties without interruption. The Operations Chief had taken over for Brian Frost, sending him to work with the Engineering group to remove the Rhode Island's nacelle from the docking arms it'd hooked on. Frost had been modestly thankful for the respite.

"Ivor Prime is too close to Hydran territory. The Bonestell being in orbit is bad enough if the Triad starts paying close attention to it. Having a Galaxy class would be too inviting for them to remove from our defensive equation, and give them a reason to annex the planet if they think we're establishing a Starfleet presence there. After that, there isn't a secret in the galaxy we'd be able to keep from them. Simply put, Ivor is a buffer; it serves our purposes as such until we repair the fleet. We can't afford to make a move right now."

"The Galaxy is the only one of three heavy cruisers in the area." Narebi didn't look up. "Diverting it to a backwater planet is both a tactical error, and like 'Commander Hasmonian mentioned, gives Ivor a false image of importance. We can't afford any more losses in resources. They're one of our prime suppliers of textiles and staples in the sector."

"Do I care about that mudpit, gentlemen?" Neither officer dignified the question with an answer. They weren't sure if she was talking about Ivor Prime or the Galaxy. It wasn't a closely guarded state secret that she disliked M'Kantu. Anything to make him look incompetent.

"The Hydrans aren't coming anytime soon. Not with their tails tucked between their legs."

"Ma'am?"

Proctor waved a hand and ordered another coffee from the nearest replicator at the foot of the pool table. "Nevermind. Leave the ship with the fools. Let them see what they can do with it. When they find out it needs a warp coil and armament replenishment, they'll come calling. Get my station fixed."

Commander Hasmonian had declined to comment on the last round of inanity, as the personnel reports had completed compiling. "You may want to rethink that option, Admiral."

"Why should I do that, 'Commander?" Olivia sipped the sixth cup of her blend, savoring the aroma as it wafted up her nostrils. It was about the only pleasant sensation she was having today. "What could possibly be more important than having my station operational, and taking down the Syndicate in the sector for their audacity at making me look like a fool myself?"

"When you were on the Bonestell, did you notice any other Starfleet or Federation beings with you?"

"No, none. I was the only one." Her self-importance didn't allow the fact that anyone else would be wanted. She neglected to mention the other people in the cell as she was thrown in, before she faked passing out. "Why?" Then it dawned on her. "Was the ship manned?"

Hasmonian nodded. "And we're missing thirty beings. Ambassador J'aeln being one of them."

Proctor slammed a hand down on the pool table, jarring the coffee mug to the edge, but not falling over.

"Are you positive? Cross-reference the manifests again."

"I've done it three times now, Admiral."

"I said.. do it again, 'Commander. Again, with the questioning my orders? Are you going to do the same when this station comes under attack?"

Hasmonian bit back a comment, and re-ran the compiler. Same results. "No change, Admiral."

"Mr. Narebi, scan for her transponder and recall her, if you will."

"That won't be necessary, Admiral. She didn't have one installed." Narebi closed his eyes, waiting for the rant.

"Excuse me? And why was that? What use are you if you can't make sure our Federation representative isn't protected? Besides myself, she's the most important person on this station. What the hell were you thinking?"

"She's not Starfleet Admiral. As a civilian, she is within her rights to decline whatever security measures we adhere to on board. She found the idea invasive. It went against her religious beliefs, I believe she said."

"Damn her. DAMN HER." Proctor swept her hands out, knocking the cup to the floor and shattering into a mass of shards.

"Ensign Harrison, get me M'Kantu and Starfleet Command. I'll take it my Ready Room." She stopped just shy of the double doors that was the entry point to her fortress of solitude, shuffling her feet together. "You might want to give me five minutes before you set that up, Ensign. That coffee has other plans for me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oldest Plan in the Book"

Featuring:

PO2 Liam Burke, Engineer, USS Bonestell

Errissa, Orion Mercenary Lenat, Orion Merecnary Captain

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

<USS Bonestell, Environmental Control Center>

"Burke! Check in!", the terse voice of the section cheif came over the commbadge of Petty Officer Second Class Liam Burke, somewhat startling him. As he lifted his head out of the panel he knocked it on the 80 year old interlock he was fixing and yelped back over the comm. Eventually he tapped the badge and said,

"Sorry Chief, just about done here. Should only be a few more minutes."

"Good, because if I miss my date with Chief Aranda because of you, I'll see to it you're cleaning out DS5's waste extraction system for the month we're waiting for our new ship and then for a month on the new ship." , the chief barked back

"Yeah yeah, I'll be done in a bit. Burke out." Liam replied in a 'whatever' sort of tone and then dove back under the panel. How he'd managed to draw the assignment of helping to lock down the Bonestell before she was mothballed he had no idea, probably had to do with that remark he made about Chief Aranda at the staff meeting last week. Was going to be sad to see the old girl go back to the boneyard she came from. Then again, the thing had been a bitch to keep together. Every major subsystem had blown out at least once in the year he'd been on her. Hopefully he'd get posted to one of them new Pathfinders next, a Galaxy would be nice too. Hell, a transport would be an upgrade after spending every waking hour keeping this almost century old Oberth together.

Just as he finished up he poked his head out of the panel to get up and do some work on the control console and saw something he didn't expect. A tall, beutiful, and scantily clad woman was standing right over him. Even better it was an Orion. After shaking his head a bit to make sure that it wasn't the fact he just hit his head, Liam sat up and said in a breathless and surprised voice,

"Who...who are you and who hired you to come down here." It would be just like the guys to send him an Orion girl, it was his birthday tomorrow after all.

"Relax handsome. You can call me Erissa and I'm all yours.", the Orion woman responded in a seductive voice. He noticed now that she was dressed in only a black leather bikini and was carrying what looked like a tool kit as well. "Now, what else needs fixing down here. " she continued getting that seductive smile orion women got when they were working their...mojo for lack of a better word.

Liam was completely enthralled by this point, though this had nothing to do with the way Orion women messed with the mind of a human male. It could have been the ugliest Ferengi woman in the same outfit and Liam would have reacted the same way. He got that...look on his face as he spoke, "Well, you could help me put away my tools..."

<<Five Minutes later>>

"Human men, so predictable." Erissa said as she stood up, spitting out the device that had been used to introduce the sedative into the starfleet engineer who was now out cold spread eagle on the floor of the Envinromental control center, pants down around his ankles. After placing a set of restraints on the petty officers wrists and then propping him up against the wall out of the way she opened her tool kit and pulled out a communicator, a gas mask, and a small canister. Activating the communicator, she said,

"Erissa to Lenat, he went too easily. I'm in the environmental control center and am inserting the canister."

"Excellent" , a male voice said through the communicator "Head down to engineering when you're done. Levek will take care of your man."

"Acknowledged" Erissa replied as she inserted the canister into the envrionmental interlocks, which she'd been breaking into as she talked to Lenat. A moment later the gas, a potent form of anethtazine, was circulating throughout the ship. She pulled on her mask and headed towards engineering.

<<Twenty Minutes Later, Bridge>>

The rest of the Bonestell secured, the hulking Orion Lenat settled into the rickety command chair and grinned.

"All too easy." He said as two more of his crew sat down at the helm and ops stations.

"All the Starfleet crew are secured in the main cargo bay as directed. Erissa reports that she has propulsion unlocked. The Strahl is already underway and our distraction should be going off right about...now." the one at ops said as a plume of flame erupted from DS5 and the station shuttered in the distance. It appeared the bomb that had been placed on the Vasquez's dueterium tanks had the desired effect as chaos now ensued on the station.

"Perfect, Kaz, set course for Ivor Prime, best speed, Now!" , Lenat barked to the helmsman. As he did so, the Andorian now at Ops said,

"Captain, DS5 is sending a signal for all ships to transport people off the station. Should we acknowledge?"

"Absolutely, consider it a bonus. Take as many as this ship's transporters can take in one load and the get the heck out of here. Send Thrak and his men to meet them. Store as many as possible in the brig and bring the rest to the cargo bay with the others. And do see they are properly restrained, I don't want any interuptions on our trip." , Lenat said in a triumphant tone. The more slaves he could sell the better.

"Of course Lenat." the Andorian said as he executed the order.

SLEEPING GIANT

"The Price of Freedom..."

With Admiral Robert E. Lee Price, former commanding officer of the USS GALAXY, current chief of Starfleet operations.

Also included, Three of Four, Tertiary adjunct to Unimatrix Three-Three-Zero and current BORG ambassador to the Federation.

Stardate: 60612.31.....New Years Eve....11:50PM
Location: Starfleet Headquarters, Earth

Admiral Price parked his hoverchair near the entrance to the balcony of his office on the forty-third floor of Starfleet's headquarters and set his jaw in anticipation of the oncoming waves of pain. Far below him, San Francisco was alive with the music and the lights and the revelry that New Year's Eve typically brought out of those across the Earth, eager to celebrate a new beginning but the former starship Captain was so intently focused that he didn't even notice.

The unusually chilly December breeze snapped the thin emerald curtains that hung from the open double doors leading to the wide terrace that afforded him an unobstructed view of the stars. The man often referred to as "The General" had spent many a night staring deep into the inky black depths of the night sky since returning to Earth after a Breen attack fused his spinal column leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. He found a kind of solace in the peace and serenity of the stars and longed to turn back the hands of time and soar through the universe once again commanding a crew of a star ship.

On this night however, Admiral Price had only one command in mind.

He rested his hands on the arms of his hover chair, not unlike the way in which he rested them upon the armrests of the Captain's Chair countless times on the bridge of the USS GALAXY.

Then he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, focusing as he had in each one of the therapy sessions he had suffered through in the past 16 months since receiving the servoimplants.

"No worries, mate." he said to himself in an Australian accent that seemed to grow slightly thicker since returning home. Feeling his body tense, he sent a one word command through his brain and into the network of filaments connecting his nervous system to the devices he wore upon his useless legs.

::STAND ::

Slowly he rose from his chair, a slight sheen of perspiration forming on his creased brow, muscles tingling with effort and exertion until finally he stood erect.

"Oh Dr. Quewenson, if you could see me now." Price said referring to the former Medical Chief who had once told him he would never regain use of his legs again.

Then with a determination that had defined his stellar career as a Captain, Robert E. Lee Price slowly placed his left foot foreword...then swung his right leg awkwardly foreword and actually walked to the smooth, painted railing before collapsing in near exhaustion in the large rattan chair next to the small table.

"YOUR IMPLANTS ARE INEFFICIENT." a hauntingly mechanical yet familiar voice called out from inside Price's office.

The Admiral strained his eyes into the darkened room until he saw the eerie red glow of a Borg drone's ocular implant.

"Your opinion, Three of Four, is irrelevant." Price said.

Walking with the measured mechanical precision typical of her species, the female drone stalked out upon the balcony and stood opposite the Admiral, unmoving.

It fixed it's soulless gaze upon the human for a few long moments, no doubt communicating with the collective to query it's next coarse of action.

Price studied the drone.

The once beautiful face of Kathryn Rodgers, an ensign who served on the USS Roosevelt with Price's former XO Kent Peterson until her assimilation at the battle of Wolf 359, had grown more and more gray and mottled as the years had passed and what little remained of the human flesh decayed to a greater degree, leading him to speculate on the life span of living tissue once augmented by Borg technology.

Her lips, once red and full of promise were now gray and cracked. When she finally spoke, price could see that her tongue had blackened.

"YOU HAVE LEARNED MUCH IN OUR TIME TOGETHER. IT WILL MAKE YOUR EVENTUAL ASSIMILATION MORE EFFICIENT."

"Let's just hope that day doesn't come any time soon, eh?"

"HOPE IS IRREVELEVENT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. ASSIMILATION...."

"Is inevitable." Price said, finishing the drone's sentence. "Like you said, Mate. I have learned much from you."

Three of Four seemed to pay him no heed. Instead, her attention was focused on the churning crowd in the streets below them. Her ocular implant clicked and whirred as she magnified the image she was seeing.

"WHY DO YOUR PEOPLE GATHER BELOW?"

"They are celebrating the new year. It's a time to reflect upon the past year and look foreword to the changes that the next year will bring."

"CELEBRATING LUNAR CYCLES ARE FUTILE. TIME IS IRRELEVANT. THE FUTURE IS EVENTUAL. ASSIMILATION IS CERTAIN."

"Fair dunkim, Mate." Price said, knowing that arguing philosophy with the drone was as futile as the drone professed resistance to be. "In the mean time I suggest you enjoy the show." the old man said nodding to the open sky.

Fireworks trailed into the sky and then exploded in brilliant blues, golds and reds, shaking the balcony slightly. Three of Four immediately tensed as if surveying an unknown threat, her optical servos clicking and whirring in a maddening rhythm. Her hands clenched into fists so tightly that her gray flesh actually darkened.

"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK." she said cocking her head to the left.

Price chuckled.

"It's just fireworks. Happens every year at this time. Rather grand this year, I must admit."

"RECREATIONAL PYROTECHNICS ARE A DIVERSION. WE HEAR MOVEMENT IN THE PROXIMITY OF THE ENTRANCE TO THIS CHAMBER."

"Impossible..." Price said forcing himself to stand once again. "This is Star Fleet Headquarters, the most secure..."

A deafening explosion shook the room sending chunks of plaster and wood sailing through the air. The force of the explosion sent the Admiral toppling over the edge of the balcony. He shot his right hand out and grabbed the railing, a bone in his forearm snapping loudly as he twisted in mid air.

Ignoring the agony, he brought his left hand over and clawed to reach the broken rail more securely. Ignoring the coppery tang of blood that filled his mouth, the Admiral activated his combadge with the limp hand dangling from his rapidly swelling broken arm.

"Price......to.......Security"

[Security here, Admiral. You sound...distressed.]

"Help......." Price said, then his hand slipped from the railing and he began to fall 43 stories towards the concrete below.

* For those history buffs, Three of Four's first appearance and details regarding how she came to be assigned to Admiral Price as well as information on the peace treaty with the Borg can be found in the post series "Top Down: Parts 1 through 5" on the GALAXY TOS website mission logs for "Queen's Wild" http://www.aesim.com/5010826.htm

"The start of healing"

Branwen
Anasta [played by Scott from Miranda]

Bran was home now but still not allowed to work. All she was allowed to do really was rest, boring. Sighing she lay down on the couch in the livingroom to watch some entertainmentvid.

The door alert chimed happily.

"Come, the door is open!" Bran shouted.

Anasta stood there with a smile, but she was rubbing her hands nervously. "Hello, child. Might I be allowed entrance?"

She smiled brightly. "Of course, you came back! I am so glad. Please, come in. I wish I could be a better hostess."

Anasta entered with a shake of her head. "I came here not to be served, but to express my concerns for your recovery. Please, rest. "

"I'm doing fine, out of the hospital as you see. I was driving them so crazy they let me go. I thought you had been reunited with your family, why did you come back?"

"Why, to check upon your health as well. My daughter has a great many responsibilities, so I left rather than be underfoot."

Anasta sat down next to Branwen, folding her hands together. "I trust you will soon be back to full health soon, yes?"

"Hopefully. But how was your reunion with your daughter? I bet she was happy to see you. And I'm sure you were no burden to her. Although I am very grateful you are here." Bran was a little shy. She didn't remember everything she had said to the older woman, but remember enough to know she made a fool of herself.

"My daughter is a very kind person, but she is imperfect. She might think otherwise."

Anasta gave Bran a kind look and stroked her chin as she thought about the circumstances.

"The child of my body is still a youngling, and always will be in my eyes. I cannot help but try to smooth out hermistakes. That does not mean that any pain she causes to others should be ignored."

"Awwww, I don't think a child of yours would do any harm, you are such a kind person yourself. Ma'am, the other day, I hope I have not embarrassed you. I was a bit out of it."

"You have not caused me embarassment, child. But I do wish to discover a way to help you with your problem with your unwelcome encounter with the Starfleet officer."

"I am not sure how you can help there." Bran furrowed her brow. "I still don't know what to do, should I prosecute, I feel so ashamed that I let her hurt me, but I don't want her to do the same to others."

Anasta nodded in understanding. "You should feel no shame. But you should discuss this with your councilor. You must find peace with yourself, Branwen, before you can be truly happy. That is my ultimate goal."

"I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you are from the same race. Do you have any indication if she is likely to do this again. "

"Once I explain the gravity of her actions, I wager she will not venture forth for carnal adventure again. This will never happen again."

"And I don't need to talk to a therapist, I am one myself. Not sure if I mentioned that down on the planet." Bran smiled.

Branwen shook her head. This human had a rather hard head. That would explain the Marine job.

"We all need to talk to someone, especially one that counsels others. Very few of us are without pain from one cause or another."

The welsh girl nodded. "Are you sure she will not do so again, you do not know her personally." Bran hesitated.

"I have made it my business to know her, Branwen. I personally guarantee that she will not trouble you again."

"You know her personally? That is news to me." Bran said quietly.

"I was not aware of her identity until I investigated your incident. But now that I do, I will not allow her to bother you again. She regrets the whole series of events, especially now that I have shown her the error of her ways."

"You know her? How? And why would she listen to you?"

Anasta lifted her regal head proudly. "She is my daughter. And even a doctor and Starfleet officer like Anjoli must obey a stern mother's wishes. "

"Your… daughter?" Bran blinked a couple of times. "And you still believe me? I…. I don't know what to say."

Anasta touched the human's hand gently. "I am wise enough in my years to know that there are many sides to every story. I know you are in pain, and that is enough for me to know that I must find a way to help you."

Bran trembled. "you are so special. I …. I wish my parents could have been like you."

Anasta bowed her head in thanks. "The Great Mother sends us guides when required. She wants her wayward children to be happy. It is my task to guide you back towards the light. There is no shame in feeling for others, no matter their shape, size, or color. In time, you will see that."

Bran took her hand. "I am so glad you don't hate me. I would hate to lose you. You are important to me, ma'am. Why…. Why do you think she did it? I trust she… she is not evil?"

"Oh, no." Anasta shook her head with a sigh and a wistful smile. "Anjoli is many things. She was a wilful child, and without a doubt the most aggravating person I have ever known. She luxuriates in the ways of the flesh to a fault, her mouth often gets her into trouble, and she is not pentient enough of her mistakes."

"But no, my dear, she is far from evil. She would sooner harm herself than another, that much I can guarantee."

"But things happen for a reason. Had the two of you not encoutnered one another, then you and I might never have met."

Branwen smiled now. "So you want to stay friends?"

Anasta shook her head with a fresh smile. "But of course. I would have it no other way."

Bran looked at the older woman trustingly. "Why did she do it? Did she tell you?"

Anasta shook her head ruefully. "My daughter's appetites confound even me. Most of the time she maintains a tight rein upon her desires, but at times even her inner animal slips the leash."

"There are worse things, I suppose. If her appetite for food matched her desires for flesh, I doube they could roll her down the ship's corridor."

Bran giggled. "Should I talk to her, ask her why she…she raped me. Why me?"

Anasta got up and ordered a drink from the replicator. "I've no doubt she was attracted to you. You are quite fetching, for a Terran. But I know that she never would have sought you out had she thought you were unwilling."

She sipped her drink as she looked at Branwen. "Sometimes lust blinds us to truth, both in the world and in ourselves."

"For your sake I will not press charges." The Welshwoman said softly. "but I don't understand her. She is pretty I am sure she could get a boyfriend easily."

"Anjoli could have her pick of men or woman. That is her downfall. She is greedy, and unappreciative of what she has. There is a hole in her spirit she tries to fill with wanton pleasures, and despairs when she fails to be sated."

Branwen's ears burned, someone like this was so alien to her.

Anasta continued. "Do not give up your struggle in my name, Branwen. You must find a way to make peace with this, and putting the struggle aside will only make your inner wound fester."

"you said she had a girlfriend, does she put up with that?" Bran asked. "So you think I should face her?"

"I've no doubt that Anjoli's lover fears losing my daughter, and is tolerant of such behavior.

"That is not a good basis for a relationship. They should both talk to a counselor." Branwen frowned.

"I cannot disagree." Anasta conceeded.

"As for you confronting my daughter, that is up to you. But you must find a way to own your pain, or it will surely own you. This is but one incident in your life, you must not allow it to ruin all that comes afterwards."

"How do I do that? She took my virginity, something that was very special to me, and that I wanted to save until after marriage. I am now even a little afraid of making love again."

Anasta took Bran's hands and gave her an understanding smile. "With my people, no woman is allowed the choice of who will be herfirst man. But now that I am free, I can choose who is my lover. That is what you must do. You can allow the past and pain to rule you, or you can take charge of your life."

Branwen nodded. "I think I will need to talk to her to put this past me. Will you… will you be there when I call her?"

"Absolutely. I would not desert you in your time of need."

"Thank you. How about tomorrow?"

"The Hunter becomes the Hunted and the Hunted always becomes the Hunter."

From; "Tiki Torches and Moonlight"

Lt. Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief of Engineering

Lt. Kimberly Burton Chief Medical Officer

***Location, Holo Deck, Faylin's party***

Still searching around the Luau, having bumped into and chatted with a variety of interesting, semi interesting and some downright boring bastards, Kimberly was finally approaching her prey. She was also by now well on her way to being reasonably merry. That however wasn't going to stop her from saying what she wanted, no needed to say. Stepping carefully around holo characters, real people, trees and benches she carefully made her way over to where she saw Dhanishta chatting to someone and waited. Not wanting to interrupt she leant against a tree out of sight, but within range, so she could grab her sometime friend before she could get away again.

Wishing for a moment that she hadn't drunk quite so much water and beer she debated whether to wait or chance coming back to find her gone again. Deciding to wait she fidgeted slightly until she saw Dhani smile and nod, and her companion get up off the bench and leave. Seizing her moment she stepped out into the light cast by the burning torches and approached Dhani. "Hey," she said softly as she walked over, "have you got a moment?"

Dhanishta looked up and smiled a faint, taught, smile of contempt. "For you… not even my dying breath!" she replied coldly as she stood up.

Looking about as hurt as if someone had just kicked her puppy Kimberly bit her lip as she held up her hands, "Please," she pleaded, "would you give me a moment, I won't pretend to know what's going on, hell, I never know half of what's going on on this ship anyhow," she started to explain, rushing her words out so she could say her piece before Dhani vanished again, "but I just wanted to say I was just worried. Okay. I'm your friend, am I not allowed to worry about you?" feeling a few tears actually begin to form she blinked rapidly to clear them, not wanting Dhani to see her blubber pathetically, "you come home, looking as you did, and in the name of the Goddess what did you expect, I'm a Doctor! It's my job to worry, add to that you being my friend and I worry more. Do you have any idea how worried I was while you were off ship? We had no idea if you were alive or dead, and I had no desire to see the only real friend I'd made since coming aboard wind up dead!" Pausing for a breath she looked to Dhani for a reply as she slowly took in another deep breath.

Dhani turned her face away from Kimberly. She couldn't deny that her attitude towards Kim had been harsh, gees she wouldn't even say that to her mother… would she? She shrugged. Daring herself to look at Kim from the corner of her eye. She loathed herself right now. Talk about cutting your nose off to spite your face. Yet at the same time anger burned within, betrayal, hurt, and yes she knew 'pot, kettle, black', but Kimberly didn't know of her betrayal to her, so its not as if this was revenge or anything. Which she supposed could and should be forgivable, she did have the best of intentions, her heart was pure, there was no denying that, yet still… Dhani's head snapped towards her in an uncharacteristic movement reserved for things as creepy as Victor Von Death Man, Baile and the 'thing' within Dhani… all of them terrifying and just that little bit, if not a lot; sadistic.

"I *asked* you not to." Dhani said through teeth clenched against rising emotion. "In fact I think I *begged* you." she said in a low voice stepping towards her. Moisture gathered in her eyes, yet she pushed past them, "I trusted you as my friend and you violated it. Every time with you people!" her hands flew up to accent that point. "You 'tell' me it's for my own good, that it won't hurt, or that 'yes you can go home soon', but it's a pack of lies. You have to choose Kimberly. Are you my friend *first*, or my doctor?" her eyes flamed with the accusation that underlined her words.

Still looking confused, and possibly a little drunk Kimberly bit her lip again as she replied in a small voice, "Your friend, I hope," she said simply.

Dhanishta eyed her suspiciously for a moment before letting her guarded stance relax some. She took a moment before she replied, "Then you have to stop." Dhani said slowly, "You have to believe me when I say I'm fine…" she raised a finger to quell the response she knew would follow, "Yes, even if I am lying. I can't handle you being…" she stopped emotion choking her.

"Handle what?" Kimberly asked, "Handle that I care about you, that I worry?" Waving one hand at Dhani she inadvertently spilled some of the beer from the bottle she was carrying over herself, not even noticing she continued to gesture with her full hand, "I mean, is that a crime?"

"I know you care." she said tears missing her eyes, "And I really appreciate that, I know it doesn't seem like that with how I act, but I cant help it Kim." she pushed back the need for secrecy and decided against her better judgment to 'come clean', "It terrifies me okay?" she blurted out with more force and pain than she had expected to or wanted to. It didn't help that Kim was wobbling slightly with the alcohol intake as she chose this moment to confess.

"What does?" Kimberly asked, concerned and confused.

"Sick bay!" Dhani replied with an almost 'duh' like expression followed by a look of irritation. "I don't know why, okay, I just don't, so don't ask me. Just please respect that every time you or anyone else sits me on one of those beds, or pulls out a tricorder, I freeze. It never used to be a problem, and I can't exactly recall the first time that it was. All I know is when I hear it, something happens and I don't like it." As her chest rose and fell in rapid succession with the amount that she was exposing. For so long she had just kept everything to herself and she felt as if she were betraying herself for finally sharing some of her fears, but the need to had never been stronger.

"Kim…" she felt a cold chill rising all over her skin, the tears that had formed rested in the corners of her eyes making her vision slightly blurred every time she blinked, yet they had not welled enough to fall. She chewed on her bottom lip as her body began to tremble slightly with the fear of the response from what she was about to say.

"Kimberly, there's something in me." she said after a moments pause. Staring at her with unwavering eyes, she thought this to be a really opportune moment for Kim to just pass out drunk on the floor. Perhaps she would think she was telling her a really bad joke and laugh…. It would certainly detract from what she had just said. And if there was a rewind button, followed by 'cut' and 'delete' she would be scrambling to do just that. Yet all she could do was stand there, shivering, while she gauged Kimberly's reactions based solely by the expression on her face. Which right now was that glazed over look that crossed between, 'I'm too pissed to understand what you just said' and 'oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I wish I was sober to think of a better reply, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit'.

Letting the comment sink in Kimberly digested it for a moment before replying, choosing neither option that Dhani had considered she shook her head in a desperate, but futile attempt to clear some of the fuzzyness and replayed the last comment Dhani had said, "Something... 'Inside' you?" she repeated questioningly, "Any idea what?" she asked slowly.

Dhanishta shook her head slightly, folding her arms across her chest in a bid to keep warm against the chill in the air, she looked down at the floor for a moment. "You asked me once if I knew who Counselor Terrik was. Remember?" she asked keeping her gaze steady towards the ground, only briefly diverting them to Kimberly's face.

"Mirramon, the cute Bajoran counselor," nodding absently Kimberly lost herself in the thought for a moment and found herself drifting into a different thought process. Shaking her head to return to the present conversation she saved that for later. Much later. Flushing slightly she smiled slightly, "yup, him I remember." she admitted.

Dhani let out a snort, "I know why he went to you." she said with an undercurrent of accusation in her tone, "I know he told you about me."

Blinking for a second she wondered just 'what' Dhani was going on about, then an idea hit her, "I'm, ah, not sure exactly what you mean?" she asked, letting Dhani do the talking now she waited to see what would come out. Her visit to Terrik had been her idea, but Dhani seemed to think the opposite.

Dhanishta rolled her eyes before narrowing them on Kimberly. "Don't you think I would put two and two together? I mean like 'hello!' You come to me inquiring about Terrik just days after I went to see him in the middle of the night. I'm not stupid Kimberly." She shook her head huffing slightly as she stood bathed in the moonlight.

"I've never thought you were stupid," she replied gently. Her mind awhirl with the conversation, she was trying to keep up with Dhani, keep upright due to alcohol and desperately trying to think of a way to get back to the apology she actually wanted to make again, curiosity though seemed to be getting the better of everything right now, even the need to pee!

"I never mentioned your conversation with him," she continued vaguely, not difficult considering she had no idea what the two of them had discussed, "I just wanted your opinion," ~ Oh the hell with it, ~ she thought with resignation, trying to wrestle the story out of her would be unfair, and also plain wrong she realized with a touch of regret, ~ If she want's to tell me she can, ~ "actually, 'I' went to see him on a different matter, he never called me. Yes, I did mention you to him briefly, but 'he' never said a word about your chat, client confidentiality and all that. Had he tried to say anything Id've run out the door with my fingers in my ears shouting 'La La La' at the top of my voice," pausing at the thought of that image she had to chuckle for a second at the sheer absurdity of the notion, shaking her head she got back to the here and now, "I only came to see you about him 'cause I think he's cute. Don't you?"

"But since you mention it, why're you running to him in the middle of the night?" she asked with obvious concern.

Something burned within her. Part of her yearned to tell Kimberly everything, the other half begged to keep it a secret. She didn't understand why. There was a fear within her, that much she knew; she believed that if she came clean, Kimberly would sign her off duty in a second. She hated that prospect, for it had happened once before. The second fear was that she would become a laboratory rat, exposed to all sorts of tests to determine what was wrong with her, and from all the memories she had that she was slowly piecing together she knew that was worse. And then there was the third fear, that she would be locked up and, or, chucked out of Starfleet.

But she had told Terrik, and she was still here. Would it be so bad to tell Kimberly? Kim was her friend, surly she would understand. But then there was the underlying question of where exactly did Kimberly's loyalties lie?

"It's personal." Dhani replied clipped. Closing her eyes she wished that she hadn't said anything now. Opening her eyes slowly she stared at Kimberly. How paranoid was she to think that the woman before her, the Chief Medical officer *and* one of her closest friends, how disrespectful for her to contemplate that she wouldn't have her best interests at heart. Shaking her head she sat down slowly on the bench, full of contempt and self loathing.

Sitting down with an audible thump beside Dhani Kimberly sighed softly, "Okay," she replied after a moment's silence, "I can accept that, and as your friend all I'll say is if you ever want to talk, I'll be here," holding out the spare beer she had been carrying for a little while she continued without looking at Dhani, "I sorta guessed you weren't a fan of sickbay since your last visit, that and a few other things have kinda indicated in a less than subtle way medics aren't your favourite people," taking a swig of her own beer she tried, and failed, to hold in a small but unlady like belch, "pardon me," she apologised, "look," she continued, still holding the beer out to Dhani, "you've said some strange things to me over the last few months, all of which have made me a little worried about you, and I have to be honest if I were to follow the rules by the book and to the letter I should've had you relieved of duty," ~ Along with half the ship! ~ she added silently, but wryly to herself, "and sent to Starfleet Medical for a complete bio-psycho evaluation, but I haven't. One, because I see that it's not affecting your work," ~ any more than anyone else around here! ~ she again said to herself, "and two, I want to help. As a friend. I do want to ask you about all these things you tell me, about the things you said in sickbay when we first met, about your mother, the time you were in a coma. ch'Rihan and now this 'thing' you say is in you. As your doctor I should drag you to sickbay with a security escort. As your friend, I just want to help." she asked gently.

Taking a deep breath she let it out slowly. All the things that Dhani had said over the last months and all the things she had wanted to say herself were whirling through her mind right now. The time they had spent in the cell on the raiders outpost, and the incident there that still sickened her to this day. Something she hadn't spoken of to anyone, yet knew she should. The questions Dhani had asked, and the things she wanted to say but was too afraid to in case her friend turned away, as the last ones had.

"Let me help, please," she asked, sincerely and gently.

Dhani took a deep breath and sighed. The realization that she didn't trust Kim hit her hard. She shook her head and mentally wished she was anywhere but where she was right now. "Kimberly, I…" she stalled not knowing what to say. She loved the woman sitting next to her deeply. If it came to it she would take a phaser blast for her. She would gladly lay down her life for Kimberly for Kim was a much better person than she. But confess everything…

Taking the bottle of beer from Kimberly before she spilled any more of it over her bare legs she nodded in appreciation and placed it on the floor subtly. Leaning across the bench she enveloped Kimberly into her arms and held her tightly, just as tightly as she did the day she came home; that near bear hug that threatened to suffocate the other. For a moment she felt her heart swell, "I'm sorry Kimberly." she whispered swallowing hard.

Returning the embrace, with passion and tenderness at the same time she rested her face in Dhani's hair and closed her eyes, "It's okay," she whispered, "s'okay."

Pulling back from the hug she brushed Kimberly's hair aside and out of her eyes. With an expression of deep regret she grazed the woman's cheek gently, "Don't for a moment forget that I love you, no matter what happens." Grasping Kimberly's hands as if it were the last time she would ever do such a thing she pleaded with her dark green eyes for understanding, "I'm not ready yet. I'm just not." she trailed off a lump in her throat hampering her vocal chords. She cast her eyes aside for a moment before dropping Kimberly's hands.

Biting her lip, all the while feeling a pressure build up behind her eyes Kimberly dropped her beer and sat looking partly forlorn and partly confused, "I love you too," she replied, "and it's okay, really. If you're not ready, I promise, I won't push."

"I'm sorry." she whispered once more as she stood up.

"Please don't go," Kimberly asked, the tears now trickling down her cheeks, not wanting to her to go yet, "please."

Turning away closing her eyes against the tears she wish more than anything she had the courage to tell Kimberly everything. She couldn't permit herself to look back for she knew that there was much more on Kim's mind than her own mental health, to think that she was the center of Kim's world would be foolish and arrogant. And she wanted more than anything to be there for the troubled woman, but she couldn't fathom her own mind, let alone aid another with theirs.

She cast an eye round the room for Michael yet couldn't see him. It hit her then how much she had been in her own world when he had left, so much so that she didn't even know he had gone until someone told her. She would be dammed if she would let that happen to Kim, but right now she had to work things out. And quickly before she lost everything she had just so recently gained.

Still sat, with tears now openly flowing Kimberly felt confused in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol she had drunk, she had tried to be helpful, supportive, and even patient, and Dhani was still leaving. ~ What else can I do? Perhaps it is me? She is a telepath! ~ she decided, ~ She's looked inside, I know she has before, and she doesn't want to know! ~ slumping back into the chair she picked up the bottle Dhani had discarded and took a deep drink, not caring who saw her now, crying into her pathetically small drink.

"Definition of Home, Part Five; Turbulent Times"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer - USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Assistant Chief of Engineering - USS Galaxy

***Location USS Galaxy***

Dhanishta frowned slightly perplexed herself. She sighed tiredly and stared intently into Kimberly's eyes. For what seemed at this moment to be the first time, she noticed how bright Kim's eyes were, how true they were, tilting her head slightly she stared into them for a moment; one green and the other blue. Yet they were more than that, they were so bright, not a hint of any other color in them. She half smiled at them before remembering she had a question to answer. Waving her hand slightly she cleared her throat, swallowing the desert that threatened to have her retching in a coughing fit, "You asked about the sewers." Dhani replied.

"I guess I smell a bit." she added, with a frown lightly plastered on her face she continued, "Don't know how you knew about that though. But it has been a week since victory was declared, I guess that personal started transferring up straightaway… the resistance, well everyone that was left, had to move underground when the Hydrans landed. The derelict underground sewer systems were all that we had as a means of transport from one part of the city to the other. Even the hospital was based in a large intersection. After a while you get used to the smell." She let out another snort of half hearted laughter at the memories that came forth, "I don't remember much of where I was, but I do remember falling into a bunker once, and most likely into their latrine! It's all a little disjointed to be honest. I only saw the …."she paused, she desperately wanted to tell Kimberly everything. From what happened on the Hydran ship, which as of yet she hadn't even touched upon, to what she saw and felt on the planet. To what she witnessed from the depth of Bailes mind, she couldn't lie; the images had been haunting her for days now. Sleep never came, at least not easily and not for long.

She smiled softly at Kimberly, "Stop worrying about it." she said gently resting her hand on Kim's, "My guts, along with my leg," she lifted it slightly before realizing that she didn't have enough strength to hitch it up on the table to show Kim the scar, "were both healed on the T'Kengra. I can't say much for Mortans bedside manner, but he did a good job, so you don't need to worry. All you see here," she waved a lazed hand over her face, "are all superficial. Even I know that. Can't say that that knowledge detracts from the pain, but none of them are life threatening. If they were they would have pestered me more in the field hospital. Well more than they did at any rate." she offered up a cough ridden chuckle.

Still looking a little confused Kimberly raised an eyebrow, processing everything she had been told she stored some aside for later, for now though, "I would agree you do smell, and more than a bit," she added with a chuckle, "but I wondered why you told me about the sewers and your uniform because I didn't ask, I was however thinking about them, but I didn't ask," she explained. Letting the unasked question hang in the air she paused and looked at Dhani, eyebrow still raised questioningly.

"Huh" Dhani replied simply. She shrugged slightly, looking back up at Kimberly with glazed unobservant eyes she just sat there slightly perplexed, not really understanding what Kim was getting at.

After a moment of confused silence she frowned, "And?"

Shrugging Kimberly let is slide for now, Dhani was a telepath, perhaps just being tired, no, make that exhausted was sufficient explanation for now. "Never mind," she said casually, "we can catch up and talk later, once we've checked you're okay," opening her desk she plucked out her tricorder, "let's just make sure my Klingon counterpart didn't mis-wire your digestive system, and then we'll get your hair done," she offered with a smile.

Dhanishta shook her head slowly, after the vow she made to herself earlier she wasn't about to let Kimberly break it, even if she was just a concerned friend. "Not now." she said lazily.

Flipping open the tricorder Kimberly shook her head, "Dhani dear friend, you've been off ship and shot at, impaled, in a war zone, in a sewer! And the Goddess alone knows where. Injured, burned and bruised and you've come back looking the way you do. I think at least a quick check up at least is in order don't you?" she asked, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. So far no-one had brought back anything untoward, but then you never knew.

Dhani raised an eyebrow slightly at the 'dear' part of the sentence. Brushing off the unusual configuration of words she reached up and closed the tricorder that rested in Kimberly's hand. "Just be my friend, not my doctor, okay?" she asked her eyes glistening in the light as she looked up at her. She was actually enjoying the conversation, and what energy she did have had latched onto that small grain of distraction, focusing her mind away from the other thoughts and questions that bombarded it.

Still holding the now deactivated device she knelt beside Dhani, "I just worry is all," she explained, "you do look like something the shelat dragged in," she deadpanned, "and you're bruised and battered, don't you want me to at least fix up the cuts and bruises?" she asked. Flipping open the tricorder again she held it up for Dhani to see, "it won't take long, and we need to be sure you're okay."

"No." Dhani replied raising her had to the device, as if the action alone could stop it once it began. It wasn't just the remnants of her uniform that told a story. Every cut an bruise that littered her body was a memory, a tribute to the ordeal that she had undergone, the pain, the lives, the torn and shatter psyche demanded that they be left there, at least until she had time to make sense of it all. So much had happened, so much that remained a blur of color and heated emotion, the cuts and bruises would heal by themselves, they would scar if left be; but right now part of her needed that; a physical representation of the emotional. "Just let it be, okay. Just talk, tell me about what happened here. Please." she begged through words, unable to express herself through physical means at this moment. Exhaustion was slowly eating away at her. Darkened eyes looked out through red trimmed lids as she reached out a weathered hand and placed it on Kimberly's shoulder, "I don't need my doctor right now. Just my friend." she said softly. She knew that she didn't have the strength to fight Kimberly if it came down to it. Hell, normally when a conversation took this turn she would be inching towards the door, if not already through it and out on the other side.

Lowering the device, but not deactivating it Kimberly looked to Dhani with some concern, "I 'am' your friend," she tried to reassure her, "and as your friend I just worry is all, your hurt and I just want to help. One of us here is going to have to anyway, wouldn't you rather it be me?"

Dhani just smiled simply and lent down, wrapping her arms around her shoulders she pulled the doctor into a tight embrace. The smile remained on her lips for a moment as she closed her eyes and just rested. She recalled quickly how she had mentally catalogued her plans for fixing the ship as she came back on board, she couldn't begrudge her friend for wanting to do what her job demanded of her. Even so, she wasn't going to concede. She just couldn't face the disorientation, and the violent reaction she had towards it, she couldn't face the questions that would follow, not now, not when she had so many more of her own to add to them.

Returning the embrace warmly Kimberly closed her eyes and sighed, it was going to be one of 'those' days she realized. Leaving the tricorder open though she let it gather what it could passively, if Dhani didn't want to go through the full checkup now so be it, but she was dammed if she was going to let her out of here without at least making sure she wasn't going to collapse a few meters down the corridor.

Her eyelids felt heavy as she rested her chin on Kimberly's shoulder. She felt the determination to keep them open fading slowly as she lingered in the embrace. They closed against her will, jerking them open she tried to focus on the wall opposite, yet found her vision blurring and distorting as one eye slowly closed, followed by the other. For a moment she let herself float, just for a moment though. Her head spun as she nestled her chin into the curve of Kimberly's neck, feeling Kim's soft curly hair against her dried skin; it acted like a pillow, a soft warm pillow, one that she could just curl up with for all eternity. She inhaled deeply Kimberly's scent as she floated in the realms between sleep and awake. For a moment everything slipped away. The memories of what had happened, the knowledge that she was not all 'one'; all of it just melted away as she drifted; for all but a second there was harmony.

But it didn't last. Contentment never did come easy, and when it did it was shooed away, violently. It was the humming that she noticed first, yet through the haze of slumber she couldn't really place it, couldn't define it, nor did she really want to. For right now everything was fine, everything was going to be okay. A tear slipped down her cheek as she hung in the tranquility of the embrace. And then it all shattered, just like the window between the depths of her mind and the forefront had on Romulus with Baile. The volume increased rapidly and the shock made her body jerk in Kimberly's arms. Her eyes, that had been so reluctant to stay open, snapped to attention.

She saw it again in all its unfathomable glory. That face danced before her eyes once more, she closed her eyes against it, determined to block it out. Her body jerked; bile rising from the pit of her empty stomach. She dry heaved, coughing up phlegm as it came into view, even through closed eyelids; it burned against her retina leaving its mark, like fingerprints; yet these couldn't be wiped away with a cloth. They were branded into her psyche, forever to say.

That porcelain face arose from the darkness within, it blazed against her closed lids, reminding her time and time again that no matter what; she would always see 'this' death. Nothing would stop the Soul from having its revenge upon its murderer. The screams the girl had uttered aboard the Hammer pierced Dhani's eardrums; she winced, feeling as if her ears were bleeding. Her body convoluted in Kimberly's arms as a small trail of blood seeped from her nostrils. Her face scrunched up against the pain in her head as the child screamed once more, its message was clear as the voice rose to a feverish pitch, the notes warbling much like an opera singer, yet without the grace and skill, sounding more like a bag of drowning cats plugged into a Galaxy class starship sized amplifier.

"WE DESERVED IT DIDN'T WE? SO WHY HAVE YOU STOPPED SHOOTING?"

The words meant more than their face value, this Dhani knew. She remembered that moment standing on the Hammer when a switch in her head flicked. Looking back it was a profound moment, one that hadn't registered at the time. She had been standing, quivering at the door to the bridge, with Jonas at her side, much like a knight in shining amour, a protector of sorts. He was the strong one of the pair at that moment, the one that coached her as they walked through the spongy halls of the alien ship. And then, as they stood at the door way, watching in a terror filled haze as it opened presenting the saboteurs to their enemies, something went 'click'.

The panic left her. The terror left her. And all she saw was the enemy, and all she felt was hate, and all she had to do was shoot. But that wasn't enough for Dhani, shooting them from a distance was just so impersonal, so unfeeling. So she had charged in, hand to hand, with a flagrant disregard for the safety of Jonas, for her team mate, her colleague, her fellow officer. The Mission went out the air lock, the mission that she had devised and planned and begun to execute; all that mattered in that moment was blood. Their blood. She lusted for it in a primal way. And it hadn't stopped with mere hand to hand. Oh no…

She had tortured another being and she *liked* it. She felt empowered, like she could take on the universe, and in that moment every death she had seen in her nightmares, every life she had ruined; this child that stood before her, this child that she had pushed across a room with the power of her mind with such force as to shatter every bone in the young girls body, it felt just. *JUST*. The boy, who's blood splattered the wall and formed a pool at her feet, his short life taken in such a traumatic way, it was just. The woman in the next room and her husband that lay dead on their bed; their murder was just. She remembered now with a guilt stricken clarity how she brought her knife up to the face of the squirming Hydran and then pressed it against its chest. And every few seconds she pushed it that little bit further; at that moment she felt no guilt, no remorse, every murder mingled into this one as she arose and snapped his neck with a knack that was perfected over years, not seconds.

His death like all the rest wouldn't be noticed; that's what she had told herself.

And then in the midst of the carnage the girl had appeared; an apparition to remind her of morality.

Dhanishta couldn't take it any more. She couldn't see the floor, she had no idea where she was, all she could feel was rage at herself and as one vision ended another began; just as powerful as the last.

"Definition of Home, Part Six; Denial"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer - USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Assistant Chief of Engineering - USS Galaxy

***Location USS Galaxy***

Completely unaware of the raging torrent of emotions and memories that were flooding through Dhani's mind, Kimberly simply held onto her friend for a while, letting her shakes and sobs come and go. Her thoughts were on the more mundane and more current concerns, mainly Dhani's health. After a moment though she felt Dhani tense as though a charge had been run through her muscles and her body stiffened for a moment then shook, alternating subtly for a moment. Feeling her shake and cough she held on as Dhani shook and buried her head into her hair.

Pulling back slightly after a few moments and she had settled, Kimberly looked Dhani in the face, holding her shoulder to steady her she frowned, concerned, "Hey, you okay..?" She started to ask, seeing the blood on her nose she raised the tricorder again, "Dhani," she said a little louder, shaking her shoulder to snap her out of whatever fugue she had drifted into she looked at her closed eyes with more than a little worry, "Dhanishta!" she said louder.

The cries of the worried doctor were not loud enough to penetrate the visions that gripped the bedraggled engineer, nothing was. Dhanishtas eyes fluttered under their lids as her knees gave out and her convulsing, fitting body dropped like a sack of potatoes to the floor. Splayed out on the floor of the office, half of her body under the desk the other at a haphazard angel to the rest, her limbs continued to judder and shake as her head rolled violently from side to side while her back arched and fell in an unusual rhythm.

"Arrietty!" Kimberly called as she dropped down beside the seemingly unconscious Dhanishta, "Dhani," Kimberly called out again, bringing her tricorder up she ran a scan of the engineer as she convulsed on the floor. Turning to look at her nurse as she almost ran in she snapped a series of rapid fire orders, "Gurney and a couple of orderlies, now. Prep biobed two for Lieutenant Eshe. Set it up for a neurocortical scan as well as a full body scan." Remembering the last time Eshe had been unconscious in sickbay she also added, "and get me 50cc's of triloxicopital-seven. Quickly!"

Leaving Arrietty to get the staff, equipment and drugs she had asked for she turned back to Eshe and took off her jacket. Folding it and placed it under Eshe's head so it wasn't playing the macarama on the floor without some cushioning and picked up her tricorder and ran another scan. Sliding aside as a couple of orderlies ran in she let them transfer her to the antigrav stretcher and followed them to the biobed.

Getting Dhani settled on the bed Kimberly activated it and set the restraints to secure Dhani but not completely encase her, no sense adding muscular and osteo problems to the list as well. Heedless of the repercussions a biobed had caused last time she willed Arrietty to hurry up with the PSI suppressant as she programmed specific scans into the bed. Setting the bed running to do a complete active scan on Dhani she watched as the scan washed over her and lit up the displays at the head of the bed. Reading the information she raised an eyebrow and let the bed continue as she selected a neuro-cortical probe from a nearby instrument tray.

Setting the device to a fine scan resolution she checked her notes for the location of Dhani's paracortex, ever so slightly different from a full Betazoids, not surprising since she was half trill. "Where's the triloxicopital!" she called out. Seeing Dhani begin to convulse even more she decided not to wait and activated the scanner over Dhani's forehead.

It was the wrong decision. For a brief moment her readings showed Dhani's paracortex in a state of extreme agitation, neural impulses firing randomly through the psi centre of her mind, memories, feelings, impulses and random synaptic firings all triggering her telepathic powers. Then her telekinetic powers kicked in just as the scanner was activated, and the neuro-cortical scanner literally exploded in Kimberly's hand, driving several small extremely hot pieces into her hand.

~ Oh gos-se! ~ Kimberly thought, biting her lip so hard she tasted her own blood and felt it trickle down her chin, "Frelling Hezmana!!!" she said aloud though, swearing even more as she stumbled back, holding her hand that was in quite a lot of pain.

Dhani's eyes snapped open suddenly, dark pools of ebony as they were. Her pulse was racing and the only recognizable urge that rang true in her mind was to run, but she couldn't move. Nor could she process her surroundings, everything was a blur of color. All of it mingled; old patterns with new. Words from the past mingled with those from the now. Neither made sense, for both had a double set, for it seemed that no one could ever be truthful to what they felt. Feelings were masked by words, twisted and ignored. Nothing made sense that way. The heart sung out, yet no voice reflected it. Such a strange chaotic, world; full of double talk.

Somewhere in the recess of Dhanishta's mind something else worked hard. The mind itself is a complex organ. There are many facets within, all working together as well as independent. Somewhere a part of her mind was working towards an answer to the plead that the conscious mind made; make it stop.

Dhanishtas body jerked as a current ran through the bio bed. In a hiss accompanied by a loud 'pop' and a cloud of smoke the bio bed shorted.

Hearing the crackle of delicate circuitry Kimberly cursed again, this time in old English, a dead language replete with obscenities. Looking around for Arrietty she spied her nurse running over with the Psi suppressant and waved her bloody hand in the direction of Dhanishta, "Give it to her, all fifty cc's," she instructed, "then get me a delta wave inducer," recalling that the sleep inducer had helped last time, ~ I 'swear' the next time she walks in for a physical, I'm gonna have someone waiting in the wings with a loaded hypo and a baseball bat, just in case! ~ she decided quietly.

Watching as Arrietty placed the hypo against Dhani's neck and injected her with the double dose of the psi suppressant, Kimberly let out her breath in an explosive huff once the drug had been injected. She had half expected to see Arrietty either loose the hypo or get knocked away after Dhanishta's last time in sickbay. Checking the bed she saw the restraints were still active, the backup circuits had held there, but the scan systems were totally fried.

"Typical," she muttered, ~ I wonder when this particular engineer is gonna stop breaking my bloody sickbay! ~ she griped to herself. "Make a note on Lieutenant Eshe's file," she asked Arrietty as they stood by the trashed biobed, "Psi suppressant injection as standard thirty minutes prior to any physical exam. Now, get bed four prepped and that neural scanner set up," picking up a tricorder by habit with her bad hand she hissed in pain as the fragments of the last neural scanner dug in a little deeper. Switching to her other hand she ran a quick check on Eshe to make sure she was uninjured.

The Psi suppressant had kicked in, and her neural activity had decreased slightly, though specifics would have to wait for the neuro-cortical scan, her vitals though had increased a little, pulse and respiration were up, bizarrely though her body temperature had dropped a degree, ~ Dhani, what is with you! ~ she wondered.

Waving a couple of orderlies over she indicated a nearby bed, "Let's hope the insurance covers bed number two as well," she decided a little sarcastically, "move her over there if you would, and we'll try this again." As the two techs gently maneuvered Dhani to the other bed Kimberly picked up a medkit and started treating her hand. Looking to Arrietty she nodded at the trashed bed, "see if you can download anything from the bed's memory later before that gets repaired please."

Fully awake, yet stunned into a silent terror educed paralysis Dhani felt herself being moved. The loose strands of her hair fluttered over her face. She swallowed hard trying desperately to regain control over her own bodily functions. A could sweat enveloped her body and she could feel her clenched fingers slipping in the pools that oozed from her pores.

~Stop please~ she begged unable to speak. Yet there was nothing. It was as if part of herself was numb, switched off. It was incredibly disorienting. Her head began to spin as she tried a series of 'probes'. Trying to stretch out with her mind to anyone, to call to Michael even… but nothing. It was almost that same dull sound you received when you tapped a com badge while the communications were down.

She panicked, the feeling arose within her, like a wave of heat it flamed through her body. Her skin prickled, her underarms itched and tingled. A tear felt from her eyes as she opened them. Everything was distorted, faces were a mismatch of color and skin, contours emanated subtle glows while other parts seemed solid as they had always been.

She swallowed hard once more, feeling her tongue in her mouth she wiggled it, the rush of delight as it reacted as she had planned was immense.

"Stop." was all she could utter in a grating wavering voice.

Barely hearing the plea from Dhani Kimberly motioned for the orderlies to put her on the bed and back off, "Dhani?" she said softly as she walked over, still scanning her own hand, checking for any deep injury, "how do you feel?" she asked in a worried tone.

Tears missed her eyes as she stared through them at the disjoined form that was Burton, "Please," she begged in a wavering voice, "make it stop!"

Confused and wondering just what the Frell she was talking about Kimberly shook her head, "make 'what' stop?" she asked in confusion.

Dhanishta closed her eyes tightly against the memories that freshly assaulted her, praying that no more followed. "Let me out!" Dhani said suddenly, not wanting to lay here and find out the hard way. She wasn't prepared to die, not now, not after what she had survived. She wasn't about to comatose herself either, although the temptation to was overwhelming. It would be so much easier to retreat back there in the warmth of her own mind, nothing could hurt her there, the memories couldn't penetrate that wall she had erected. The memory of that tranquility calmed her some as she lay there, for a moment her racing pulse slowed.

"Take down the restraints 'now'." Dhani demanded in a low, guttural tone. Her dark eyes locked onto Kimberly's now, the tears that had missed evaporated with the heat of her anger as her gaze sizzled upon the medical officer.

Mentally shrugging Kimberly deactivated the beds restraints. Though they weren't at anything close to their maximum security settings they would be enough to stop her in her weakened state from sitting up, stepping up to the head of the bed she made to help Dhani sit up, "Let me help." She offered.

"Back off!" Dhanishta growled. Her eyes flamed at Kimberly as she hauled her heavy body into an upright position.

Not moving Kimberly looked a little confused, "Dhani, you just collapsed in my office," she tried to explain, "I just want to make sure you are okay. Now, lie back, please."

"Don't touch me!" her voice rose and octave. Swiveling round on the bed she swung her legs over and attempted to stand. Wavering slightly she simply glared at Kimberly as she stepped forward to assist. Her blazing eyes seemed to hold the doctor back. Dhani glanced round the room for a moment. Everything felt different, out of focus, distant. She could see everyone, surrounding her as they were. The expression on their faces hinted that they were nervous, yet she couldn't feel it. She swallowed hard trying to make sense of it. She felt the panic rising, yet it wasn't panic at the memories, they for the moment had settled. The panic was educed by the fact that she couldn't feel anything. It was strange, new and incredibly disorientating. She never realized just how much she could sense without even being aware of doing so. "What did you do to me?" Dhani asked in a dark accusing voice.

"Do? What we're doing is just trying to help," Kimberly said in a reassuring tone, holding out a hand she smiled, "so let us help?"

Dhanishta backed up, her legs shaking beneath her, "I said DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, her body lurched as she did, her hands balling into fists as her eyes closed tightly. Taking a few deep enraged breaths she opened her eyes again and simply stared at Kimberly. A wash of emotions spilled over her features as she stared at her; anger, pain, betrayal, contempt. Her eyes misted once more and her lip trembled. "I said no Kimberly…. I said don't…" a tear fell down her bruised face, "But you did it anyway…" her voice broke yet she contained the tears. Wiping her nose on the back of her hand she stared down for a moment at the streak of blood that crossed her skin. Slowly her eyes rose up towards Kimberly and she simply stared at her, saying nothing.

Looking both hurt and confused for a moment Kimberly stood still, debating on just how to reply, "Lieutenant," she started formally, "you walk in here, looking like you do then collapse, of course I'm going to get you checked out," she stated firmly. "Not only because I'm your friend but because I'm this damn ships CMO and it's my job. Now sit down and let's get this done."

The rage and contempt emanated through her eyes. She made no move to fulfill the orders Kimberly had made.

"I refuse all medical assistance." Dhani replied in a flat voice. "If you touch me I will press charges." She raised her eyebrows at Kim underlying that she was by no means joking. "Please inform me when Mr. McDowell awakes. Thank you doctor." she nodded curtly as Burtons rank dictated she should. "Please excuse me."

Watching Dhani leave Kimberly could only stand there and wonder just what the hell had just happened, ~ Did something hit me on the head? ~ she thought for a moment. Sitting on the biobed she looked at her staff and shrugged, "Not much we can do for now, clean up, get the bed fixed and make a note on her file," she said to Arrietty. Returning to her hand she bit her lip as she worked and wondered just what she had done wrong.

~ Is it so wrong to care? ~

"Some First Date" -- pt. 1

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
CMC Madden Jayce
J. Andrus Suder

--

Taking one last look in the mirror, Brian brushed a stray piece of lint off his shoulder before leaving his quarters. As instructed, he had donned civilian clothes: crisply creased chocolate brown pants, and a tan jacket over a pale yellow button-down shirt.

"I hope this is suitable to the occasion," he asked, joining a likewise smartly-dressed Madden in the corridor.

She smirked as she tucked a curl behind her ear. "I might not have gone with the two different shades of the same color, but other than that, you look marvelous," she stated, moving to kiss his cheek. "How has your day off been, thus far?"

After the meeting with Proctor, Brian had been so incensed that he admitted it would probably be better if he didn't take any appointments. He traded off-days with one of the other counselors (who, Madden couldn't remember), hence how he was able to go out for drinks during the Beta shift when he was usually deeply immersed in the issues and concerns of the crew. Or doing paperwork.

"As fine a day as can be expected, under the circumstances.. Now, would you care to tell me who this friend of yours is that it was so important to dress up for? You didn't invite Admiral Proctor for drinks, did you? " he asked facetiously. "I hear it's her birthday."

"Hell no. There's a reason I'm not an officer, Counselor," she said, "I hate the Admiralty as an institution almost as much as you hate that particular individual. No, his name is Andrus Suder, he's the new librarian. I'm afraid I pestered him to the extreme, but we started chatting and he seems like a nice guy. Interesting, at least. I thought it would be nice to invite him out with us, he doesn't know anyone."

Brian came to a halt. "He seems like a nice guy..." he echoed, suspicion etched on his face. "You're trying to fix me up!"

"Of course not," Madden said, laughing. "Would I do that?"

"You didn't ask me here to 'meet a *friend*', you asked me here to '*meet* a friend'. There's a difference, and you know it."

"Come on, Brian," she said, for all intents and purposes ignoring his accusations. "We don't want to be late."

***

Meanwhile, Andy had discovered a new quirk that was probably going to last for sometime if the past half-hour was any indication.

"FUCK!" He exclaimed loudly as he nearly tripped over his own two feet.

That had pretty much been his reaction to everything for the half-hour. He'd said 'fuck' when he'd realized that he had agreed to this stupid thing and was going to be late, he'd said 'fuck' when he'd found his favorite shirt had been singed during battle, he'd added several adjectives when he'd hit his elbow, though how he still didn't know, hard enough to break bone ...

And now he was unsure of whether the shirt should be tucked in or left out? Just how 'casual' was this 'casual' meet anyway? Maybe the replicated "authentic" Terran jeans, the white shirt, and black jacket were too much? What kind of shoes was he supposed to be wearing with this get-up anyway?

How the FUCK had he been talked into this to begin with?

"Computer," Andrus spat at the replicator. "I need a very LARGE cup of coffee."

"Some First Date" -- pt. 2

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
CMC Madden Jayce
J. Andrus Suder

--

Madden and Brian sat at a cozy, off-to-the-side table at a classic Terran wine bar. Despite the low buzz of activity and conversation around them, the atmosphere was surprisingly warm for a space station and perfect for intimate conversation. Anticipating the needs group's needs, Madden chose the BYOB approach, totting a bag with a pair of bottles containing the best wine their home planet had to offer (a preferable alternative to the synthehol the proprietors might provide). After all, the three of them were Betazoid and to be realistic about it, they had a certain level of prejudicial snobbery ingrained upon them from a very early age. Try as they might to overcome it, their very culture was based on some sense of entitlement and, at the very least, an appreciation for the niceties of life. Fine Betazoid wine was, indeed, one of those niceties.

Besides. You didn't set up two people without a certain amount of lubrication, so to speak. Especially given the shitty mood Brian had been in the whole course of the day. She lifted the open bottle and quietly, discreetly refilled her companion's glass. The lighter she could get his mind, the better.

Her companion pointed an accusatory finger in her direction. "You're bad news, you know that?" he said, only mostly kidding. He sipped his wine, trying not to look as unsettled as he felt. Despite his naturally friendly disposition and his training as an official "people person", being fixed up on a date without knowing all the details beforehand was an intrinsically different situation, even if he couldn't actually define what the differences were.

"Oh Brian," she said with a soft sigh, bowing her head and slowly shaking it back and forth. "It's just an introduction."

"A conniving plot by any other name is still as foul," he countered, keeping his voice down so the other patrons wouldn't hear. "This is a date."

"I'm beginning to think you *want* it to be a date, the way you're going on about it. Seriously, do you want me to leave when he arrives? Give you two some space? I'll gladly do it, what's a friend for?"

"Ha! And deprive yourself of the opportunity to witness the fruits of your labors first hand? Like that'll happen."

"Shush," she stated, moving so that she was conspicuously not facing the doorway. She grinned over her wine glass at Brian. "He's coming in now."

"It's only an introduction," he said mockingly. "So why the staging?"

"Maybe there is an ulterior motive. Sue me for being your hag."

Andrus entered bar feeling as if he'd been run over by a freighter and had his lifeless body dragged for several miles. Of all the stupid things to be doing right now, a blind date had to be up on the top five list. He sighed and looked around for Madden, hoping that he could say hello, down a drink, and then excuse himself as quickly as possible. Andy soon spotted her in a corner and was prepared to wave, say hello, order the drink, and move on when he got sight of her companion and stopped cold.

"Well, fuck," Andy breathed.

Then he got wind of Brian's thoughts and Andy quickly brought up every mental guard that he had ever created.

Un-FUCKING-believable, he thought and cursed Madden Jayce. The woman knew, KNEW, that he was a career criminal and somehow thought it was appropriate to set him up with a fucking CAPTAIN?!?!

He was going to kill her. He was going to find a good self-help book on the do's and don'ts of dating and clobber her over the head with it.

*Relax,* Madden's thoughts echoed in his head, *he's not really a captain, he just played one over Romulus for a little while.*

Andy's agitated state when he entered followed by the sudden raising of his own mental shields was the telepathic equivalent of a door slam, and Brian felt it immediately. He looked up at the other man, and despite his initial misgivings about the whole situation and Andy's obviously similar concerns, he decided that maybe he'd been a little too hasty in his condemnation of the whole affair. After all, he was very attractive.

Score one for Madden.

"Some First Date" -- pt. 3

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
CMC Madden Jayce
J. Andrus Suder

--

Deciding not to wait for an awkward formal introduction, Brian stood up and with all the charm he could muster, smiled and extended his hand. *Hi, I'm Brian Elessidil,* he sent, not knowing if Andy preferred telepathic or spoken communication.

"Andrus Suder," He replied with a grin, not trusting his shields to hold through telepathy. He took Brian's hand, firmly stopped himself from holding it a touch longer than was polite, and tried his best not to throw mental daggers at Madden.

"For crying out loud," Madden said, rolling her eyes as her mental net caught the snarks from the other man. "This isn't a date! We were going to do this anyway to celebrate B's promotion. I just thought that since you're new to the ship, it might be good to invite you out of that library. I apologize for trying to be thoughtful. Just sit down, both of you, drink some wine and relax."

Andy rolled his eyes. He thought that maybe he heard Brian stifle a chuckle. "So, you got a promotion?"

"It's a good thing you showed up before Madden 'forgets' that she's already had two glasses of wine and downs the rest of it." Brian commented. Poor Andrus. He'd obviously been tricked into this as well. "Yes, finally made Commander,' he answered, a little self-consciously.

Andy was confused on how Brian could have just been made a commander yet "played" a captain so recently, but let it pass. Taking a mental peek would only leave him open for Brian to do the same.

"Congratulations," Andy said instead with a warm smile.

"How long have you been aboard?" Brian asked.

"Not too long ago. I was loitering around the Betazoid embassy before Romulus went to hell. I was an aide to the Betazoid ambassador," He clarified. There wasn't much point in hiding it, he decided. Not with Saul, a Romulan boy who couldn't keep his mind shut, and Madden who would undoubtedly tell her friend.

Brian's thoughts ranged somewhere between intrigue and suspicion. Aside from the fact that Andy still kept his thoughts so shielded, one didn't just loiter around the Betazoid embassy, especially if one was an aide to the ambassador. Clearly there was more to Mr. Suder than appeared on the surface, a fact that only made him all the more interesting.

"So let me make sure I have all this right," the counselor said in a thoughtful tone. "You were an aide to the Betazoid embassy on Romulus and now you're a librarian on a Galaxy class starship? That's a somewhat unusual transition, isn't it?" Yes indeed, this was an interesting man.

Andy laughed. "I'm a Renaissance man. Honestly? I needed passage and the aide business was beginning to bore me. I like libraries. They're quiet, soothing. Unless Madden comes to visit."

"I'm not that bad," Madden replied, "It was only the one time. You know how I am when I can't sleep."

His eyes widened with surprise, Brian cast a glance in Madden's direction. *Does he really?* he sent with suggestive overtones.
*Maybe I'm the one who should leave you two alone?*

*That was directed at you, idiot,* she replied, *and besides, I'm not his type. You think I'd give him to you if he was? I love you, but not that much.*

*So it is a set-up!*

*Fuck you.*

Brian could well understand Andy's passion for libraries, having what was possibly the largest private collection of real books on the ship. Still, ambassador's aide to librarian was, at the very least, a peculiar career shift. "So in the aftermath of the Hydran occupation, what's the status of the Betazoid embassy and its ambassador?" he inquired. "I'm sure this wasn't a contingency they were planning for."

"That all depends on the Romulan senate," Andy said. "It could very well be that they'll choose to boot all foreigners off their planet after this, return to a state of xenophobia. As for the Ambassador, I believe he's headed for Janeran Falls for a long vacation."

Brian was about to suggest that such a vacation was exactly what he needed at the moment when the whole room suddenly shook. A moment later, he felt waves of surprised and chaotic emotions from what was clearly a lot of people. He wasn't sure about Andrus, but he knew Madden was sensitive enough to have picked up on it too. Her clear wince made it all the more evident, and she lifted a hand to her cover her eyes as she seemed to pale from the psychic overload.

"That's not good," he said, turning to her.

She managed a shake of her head as she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet and began to move toward the doors of the establishment, her natural instinct being to get to the place she could lend the most assistance. Brian could almost feel her mental shields struggling to pull up from the relatively relaxed state they were in, shielding her very open mind as best they could.

Without a word, the counselor rushed to his friend's side, knowing that she was taking a pummeling.

"I'm fine," she snapped, pulling away from his hand. "I wasn't exactly expecting a wave of empathic energy hurtling at me; I'll be fine in a second." Another tremor struck and she stumbled, not from the force of the blast itself but from everything that came with it, and she grabbed his arm for support. "We need to get there." She glanced at Andy. "You coming with us or you going back?"

"I should get back," Andy said. "Stay alive, Madden. You're too interesting a person to die. It was ... good meeting you, Brian."

"And you . . . . perhaps next time will be under better circumstances. Come on, Madden," he said, making sure she was steady on her feet, "let's go."

"Port in a Storm"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
CMC Madden Jayce

[Takes place immediately after the events of "An Exercise in Futility" and "Some First Date".]

When he and Madden exited the wine bar, Brian was stunned by what he saw: a huge portion of the station's promenade was simply gone. Staring out into the vacuum of space from which they were separated by only a forcefield and the grace of God, he realized they were much closer to being dead than either of them had known. Were the wine bar not one of the more isolated venues on the rec deck . . . he chose not to think of it.

[This is not a drill. Evacuation emergency protocols in effect in affected areas.]

As if the scene of torn and twisted metal and the acrid smell left behind by the explosion weren't enough to make the situation plainly clear. People scrambled everywhere, seeking safety and others who had gone missing. Andrus had melted into the chaos somewhere. Brian trusted he could make it out on his own. Below where he and Madden now stood what could only be described as a cavernous pit of debris. He knew it was there they would have to look if anyone was to be saved.

"Are you okay?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"I don't even want to be here," Madden said, shifting her eyes to look at him. "I went through hell here, Brian. It's all I can do to keep myself in control; it's hard enough with all the people normally on a station, it's worse with all the psychic traces and my own... I just wanted to have a nice evening."

He knew if there was no place in Federation space that would have more of a mental impact on her than this station. It was from here that he'd first heard her voice when the Dithparu attacked what seemed like ages ago.

"I know," he said, trying to sound as understanding as he could over the din that surrounded them. "Let's just focus on being glad we're alive and do what we can to get you out of here." He looked around. The explosion had taken out most of the upper deck , leaving them cut off. There was no other way out but down, and it wasn't going to be easy. Focusing his mind on Madden for a moment, he reached out to her, sending strong waves of gentle telepathic energy. The technique was specifically meant to calm another Betazoid suffering from empathic overload, but it was temporary, and Madden wasn't the average Betazoid.

She gently squeezed his upper arm. On its own, it didn't help, but the thought was comforting.

"Let's see if there's anything we can do. I'll be fine."

The circumstances demanded that he take her word for it, so he redirected his focus to the chasm below. "There are people down there, so I guess we're going down. He separated from Madden to examine the edge of what was left of platform they were standing on. He wondered for a moment where Andrus had gone and how he'd gotten there, his seemingly vanishing into thin air only reinforcing Brian's opinion that the man was much more than a simple librarian. He and Madden would discuss that later.

"Over there," he pointed to a fallen support that lay on a diagonal from what was left of the ceiling to the darkened floor below. "that beam, if we can somehow get over to it we can follow it down."

She nodded. "Lead the way," she said softly, following her friend toward the fallen support. Dozens of people were climbing out of and combing through the rubble beneath, emergency medical responders hurriedly treating the injured. Despite the vague appearance of Starfleet order, the area was chaos. No one seemed to know exactly what happened.

Madden all but shut herself down, resisting the urge to reach out and pick information from the minds of those around them. She settled on solid ground, grabbing Brian's arm to steady him as he did the same.

The physical balancing act required for them to get down to the floor was only matched by the mental balancing act they had to play between their own minds and the wash of emotion all around. Brian felt Madden's response, which was really not to respond, understanding that it was the only way she was going to protect herself. For his part, he was sufficiently strong to take the stress for awhile, though not indefinitely, and he was thankful his own psi rating wasn't quite as high as hers. "So much for dressing up," he said, injecting a bit of light-heartedness into the situation.

"Everyone, out! Move it!" A burly crew chief came through, directing traffic and ordering everyone who could move under their own power out of the area.

"Chief, we're from the Galaxy, we can help. I'm Commander Bri-"

"Sorry Commander, you need to go too. Station personnel only here," he brusquely replied, directing them toward a part of the deck that led to the corridors beyond.

Brian knew better than to argue; it was best to let the people who were trained to handle these kinds of situations do their job. Still, he wasn't just going to walk out while others remained trapped. He signalled Madden to follow as he moved in the direction the Chief had ordered. But after a going only a few meters he stopped.

"There's someone under that pile of rubble," he said, already running to start pulling on hunks of twisted metal to get to the person whose presence he'd sensed beneath. The Chief had already moved on in the other direction where the emergency crews were concentrated. It was up to him and Madden to help whomever was here.

Madden lingered back against the nearest wall as she watched Brian dig through the rubble, her mind only vaguely aware of what she was seeing. Her perception of the events was weirdly altered, as though she was in a funhouse with the DS5 epicenter of crisis distorting around her. She felt her throat tightening and something heavy settle in her chest. Raising a hand to her eyes, she wavered a little, feeling ill, cold resting at the base of her skull. She knew that feeling, she knew it well from days tucked into a jeffery's tube access tunnel.

What was it? The terror around her? The death?

"Madden!" Brian's voice broke through, and she lifted her eyes, trying to focus on him.

"I can't," she murmured, "don't hate me..." She pushed away, aiming for the corridor.

Brian wasn't sure what to do next, his head . He knew Madden needed to get away from there, but he wasn't comfortable with her trying to go it alone. At any time the strain could overwhelm her and she'd be lost. Yet there was someone here, alive, buried in the wreckage who also needed help.

"Chief!" he called out, trying to get the attention of the man who'd left them behind a minute or so ago. "Chief! Here! There's someone under here!" he yelled, indicating the pile of debris while keeping one eye on Madden as she headed toward the corridor. The moment he saw that the man had heard him and began calling on his own crew, Brian decided to leave them to the rescue.

He ran to catch up with Madden and grabbed her supportively with both arms. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

She looked up at him with big blurry eyes, her forehead creased. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, it's okay. You're going to be alright.," he said leading her quickly away from the promenade. But as the explosions of the ships colliding after breaking from their moorings continued outside the station, the stress just seemed to increase exponentially. Was the Galaxy among them? There was no time to chance it; they had to stay here. But were they even safe on the station? Nothing was clear, even his own thoughts were becoming more and more scrambled; he just knew he had to get Madden out of here and somehow shield her from the chaos.

"Two for emergency beam to Med Bay!" he called out as he smacked a comm unit on the corridor wall, hoping somebody -- anybody -- would be able to respond.

Nothing. The comm channels were out.

Unfamiliar with the complex layout of the huge facility, Elessidil wasn't sure where to go."Madden, Madden! The med bay, where is it?"

"Other side of the promenade," she said, shaking her head, her weight falling harder against him. Thankfully, she was just a little thing, easy to support. "What's going on? Are we at war?" She faltered a moment, dizzy. "There's so much, everywhere, there's so much. I can't think, I can't get it out."

Sometimes having empathic and telepathic abilities was a liability, and this was one of those times. With Madden getting weaker by the moment and his own mental shields straining under the stress, Brian was beginning to feel like a rat caught in a maze. In house full of screaming people. In a hurricane. And an earthquake. On fire.

*Get hold of yourself* he willed himself, pulling up every ounce of mental strength he had. Snatching Madden up in his arms, he started running in the direction she indicated. But the promenade was -- at least before the explosions -- large; they had a ways to go. "Is it on this deck?" he asked her as he ran, partly for direction and partly just trying to give her something to focus on.

"It was, I think... deck. Deck ends with K. What starts with k? King. Green. Need. Dream. Machine. Egg. Garden. Necessary..." She continued to ramble, falling back on one of the oldest lessons taught at her childhood school for exceedingly 'talented' Betazoid children. It was half educational facility, half loony bin. Over her years there, she fell somewhere in between, though she spent the whole of her adult years trying to forget that, hide it, keep it tucked away. It was difficult, no one could possibly understand. Take the smallest little whisper and amplify it to the volume of a violent thunderstorm and take one for each person within a 20 kilometre radius... "Yawn. Nod. Dog. Gate. Eclipse. Always e." She paused a long moment. "Brian, just stop running," she murmured, her head resting on his shoulder, feeling like a child. "Just stop and wait, the madness will end, it always does, they'll find us, it'll be fine... they shouldn't let us off our planet..."

Slowing to a stop as she had requested, he put his back against the corridor wall . . . then slowly slid to the floor, his friend still in his arms. She was right. The chaos was getting to him. They needed to remain calm -- though he still thought he'd feel calmer if she could be sedated or something.

"Betazed," he murmured, catching his breath and building off her statement. Visions of its idyllic lakes and trees filled his mind as he shut out the din of the chaos that was now further away but still easy to hear -- and feel. "Home...."

She had one hand raised, pressed to the side of his face, her eyes tightly closed, doing all she could to wrap them in positive thoughts and comforting memories. *We'll be okay,* she thought to him, *after all... you have to have a real date with Andy sometime... though maybe being crazy will help.* Madden opened her eyes, staring at the wall of the corridor, where she almost swore she saw a ghostly image of a Dithparu. She closed her eyes again, tightly, pressing herself closer to her friend, shying away from the horror stories the station possessed and continued to create. It soon came to the point that she couldn't last any longer, when she felt the overload she was putting onto Brian was beginning to overcome up. Subconsciously, she allowed herself to push what her teachers once called the 'panic button' in her mind, and Madden slipped silently into a deep unconsciousness.

"Arrival of Trouble"

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi
JAG

Lt. Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

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

As she sat in ten forward, Juliette quietly took stock of her surroundings. The cup of lemon tea rested beside her on the table, offering no comfort as she focused on people just milling around. It never changed here. There were murmurs she had picked up concerning her own death., but once the excitement of that had died down, everything appeared to return to normal.

She had ran into a few people she knew before, and was able to handle them well. However, she knew the next person she was going to run into was going to be somewhat more difficult to deal with.....whom ever that person was.

Her feminine intuition proved horribly right.

"... in distress. OK, no problems, Miramon, we'll raincheck for tomorrow. But DO make sure you get to eat something... yes, he. Well, that would be a sight. Ok, Later, Bental out."

The man she knew all too well concluded the conversation with his regular lunch partner with a tap on the commbadge. He went to the counter, placing his order, then began looking around for a free seat. It was high noon, and ten forward was bustling with activity; No stools remained by the bar, and most of the tables were occupied by chattering crewmembers.

The man's eyes landed on one the few vacant chairs next to her own table. She lowered her head to attempt to draw the attention off of her and the available seat next to her. However, somehow, she felt him looking directly at her blond head.

'Crap.' Jules thought. Looking up, she immediately locked onto his warm dark eyes with her ice blue cool eyes as Saul looked down at her.

Inwardly sighing, she attempted quickly to squelch any emotion she felt rising within her. He would know....or...would he? Better yet, she knew he was excellent at keeping secrets. He could be trusted with her true identity. But, what would his reaction be? Happy? Upset? Saul, in many ways, was still a mystery to her. The man was intelligent, more so than most and she knew that he would pick up on any hints she threw his way. Perhaps, with hints, she could 'vocalize' who she was without actually saying anything.

He picked up a tray, she saw, then paced toward the center of ten forward as if he havne't noticed her. He stopped a few meters from her location, scoping the territory one final time for familiar faces before glancing at her.

"Mind if I...?"

"Please...take a seat." Her voice willowy as she shot him a soft smile. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she offered her hand in greeting.

Carefully, yet with purpose, her index finger gently caressed the inside of his palm as she drew it away. It was her personal way in her previous life of saying hi to him while they were in a public. On the rare occassions when they held hand so long ago, she would do that as her signature.

"Lt. Juliette Rinaldi. And you are?" 'Lt. Saul Bental....the man who still could melt her with a look.' She thought.

Quickly, her mind found itself dashing to Jonas...but just as quickly flashed back to Saul.

"Saul Bental, Intelligence." He nodded politely, placing the tray down and pulling out a small PADD; When he wasn't dinning with Miramon or Nara, lunch was dedicated for catching up on intelligence from across the Galaxy. The kind you could take out of the office, anyhow.

"I don't think I've met you before." He added. Department heads were a familiar sight for everyone on the crew. Well, perhaps except for teenage security secretaries from Iceland.

Her eyes locked onto his. "I'm the new JAG officer." The quiet tone of her voice was not lost on him as she took a sip of her beverage.

"Oh." Saul seemed to be taken aback at that, and to withdraw onto his own transparent shell. He hid it by bringing a generous piece of lamb Kabab into his mouth.

He stalled on it for a while before he spoke again. "I'm sure you'll like it here. It's one of the most interesting ship-board posts you could get your hands on, and somehow interesting and bizzare cases always pop up."

"I've been told that." Her voice was gentle, as she took a bite of her salad. Jules nodded. "I'm looking forward to getting back into working....I've been on shore leave."

"Really? Where?" Saul inquired with mild interest.

"No where special. Just a small spa off the coast of India."

"Ah, I have a cadet who would love to trade places with you; And I've never been to India, myself." Saul noted, thinking of Lali.

"It must be interesting, working in Intelligence." Her eyes darted from her plate to his face, taking in his every movement as he ate. It was comforting to be around him once more.

"Do you want me to share a little secret with you?"

'Oh, a secret from Bental...where's my padd?' She thought sarcastically. Offering a tight smile, she nodded.

"Intelligence is essentially a very big news network, with some extreemly naughty reporters. The vast majotiy of the work is rather mundane, and resembles nothing of the stuff you see on holomovies."

Saul's thoughts darted to the Vaden mission. Sure, infiltrating a Hydran planet, planting eavsdropping equipment in the chamber of commerce, breaking into a top secret research facility... pretty mundane, right.

Her thoughts were contained for the moment until she smiled with a pageant type air. "That's rather dissapointing Lt. Bental. I had hoped that the holomovies portrayed the real intel. I find it soooo fascinating." Her voice airy yet again, all resemblence of rational thought flew out the window as her innocent blue eyes grew wide. 'God, shoot me....I hate being this damn perky.' She thought to herself yet again.

"Ja. Well." Saul shrugged, returning to focus on his meal.

Jules stood, coming around to him. She had no idea why she was doing it, or what massive trip of Destiny felt it was it's duty to push her into her actions. Leaning over behind him she whispered in his ear as she brought her hand to rest on his shoulder."Saul........I told you if given the chance, I'd never leave you, and I haven't." Leaning back slightly, she gave him a look that only Faylin McAlister could pull off. One that softened him.

This time, it had the opposite effect.

To the outside, nothing seemed to change for Saul. But she knew him too well. Her Panther had these little movements, shifts of balance, but now he froze completly, as if he was shot.

"I knew it." He said without moving his lips, voice bearly audiable.

She still held her hand on his shoulder, her voice barely a whisper with the slighest smile. "I know you did Panther. Are you okay? Do you want to go somewhere and talk?"

"Of course I'm OK." He muttered. Then, he said outloud, in a much more cordial tone: "Heh, some other time maybe. I'd love to show you around it, though I'm no expert. Just name a time and a place, and I'll squeeze it in the schedule."

"Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be okay. You're Saul....emotionless being of intell. Any Vulcan would worship you." She evenly muttered as her true thoughts took form, her inward temper getting the best of her.

Saul kept his face frozen. Witty responses about her being the one who kills for money and lies about her true identity among the two of them, were held at bay. Now that he knew she was here, he needed her to stay calm and trust him. No need to awaken her fiery temper.

"I'll be in my quarters....if you change your mind." Her voice was whispered, yet still had a tone that was Faylin. Sighing, she left him, making her way to her living enviroment.

"Jailbait in the Jailhouse"
By Commander James Lionel Corgan
And Crewman Recruit Allison Jimsdottir

Location: Brig

The cleanup was complete, and with that James wasn't, as the scholars would say, a happy man.

It was habit, as an unavoidable post combat ritual, to make unfinished business finished. There were the funerals to attend, and there were alot. The USS Galaxy's security department suffered from a horrendous casulty list from both the internal security staff and the crewmen that beamed down to Romulus for the month long guerilla war. The security officers all needed to gather their breath, bury their dead, mourn, and find out what really was left. These duties occupied his days, kept him away from his darling Mika, and brought him to the deepest pits of everyone else's sadness. He had to give the speeches, pin the medals, boister the morale of his people. He had to be the leader.

But the similarity to most of those tasks was that it had a glimmer of nobility. Speaking well about the dead and how they fought bravely gave their loss perspective; reasoning and understanding for the ones they left behind. Marshalling their strength gave them purpose and hope for the next day. Even socializing reminded them that though they were soldiers, they were also sentients, and with it the need for companionship was realized. With it came the friends, and the support, and the healing.

But one of those tasks didn't have much in the way of a happy ending. There was always the shamed.

When James heard of Allison Jimsdottir's imprisonment, he did not even want to know why yet without hearing it from Allison herself. He stormed into the brig, the PADD with her charges yet unread, wanting to hear her reasons from her lips.

Unreasoned by his thoughts, he had a liking for the raw crewman recruit, and even began to think of her as an apprentice of sorts. It was an idea that didn't let go, even when Allison mistakenly pushed James too far with her affections. Even with that against her, James did not want to instantly dismiss the crewman recruit to a life of mundane servility on a Starfleet garbage scow. He wanted, even though he though it was not the wisest recourse, to consider using a guiding hand on her before it turned into a slap.

James questioned to the crewman on the other side of the forcefield, "How are you doing, Crewman Recruit Allison?"

For her part, Alli didnt notice the boss man's arrival at first. The young girl was sprawled out on the comfy brig cot perusing the latest issue of FERENGI FASHION Magazine. Her little boots were kicked off into a corner somewhere and she waggled her toes lazily exposing her bright multicolored socks.

It was only when James cleared his throat and tapped on the little sparkling forcefield that she looked up in surprise.

"I said....how are you doing Crewman Recruit?" he repeated.

"Oh...." Alli glanced around and shrugged. "Real Zarkey I guess.....They took my headphones which was a bit of a bummer....rock and roll is contrband I supose.......and like all this speaker puts out is classical.....but hey." she held up her magazine, " All the free reading material y'know."

Swinging her rainbow socks down to the floor, she flipped a page and held it up for james approval, "Who'da thought that Ferengi would have such an insight into women's fashions?" she mused, " I think that since its like normal for their chicks to go around totally starkers, that to be really edgy and avant guard they need to design some really nice stuff......Like to cover up is to be radical."

She paused noting for the first time the look on James face.

"But........like thats not what you're asking about right?"

"No sh*t, you think?" James replied, droll and none too impressed with her imputence, "Care to actually tell me what the f**king hell is going on?"

"Well heck," Allison stood and threw her arms up in exasperation, "That brown haired officer-chick was like totally out of line. I think she had issues like because I was totally the cutest person at the table.....no surprise there....but c'mon lady.....take it like a man." She stomped over to the forcefield, "Oh and like then she was like totally insulting you and others....I had to y'know. Defend your honor.......defend the fort......go down with the ship...or somthing or other." she shrugged.

"Ok..." James paused the rabbity recruit to hush her up, more to give her flush face time to breathe and his adult speed brain to catch up with her teenage gibberish, "Insubordination. Why didn't you say so?"

"Whatever.........The point is...OUCH!" Alli jumped back from the sparking blue field rubbing her pert little nose painfully. She had stepped a bit too close to the invisible boundry. ".....and thats another thing....Ya'll need to like invest in some iron bars or something a little less sparky on the convicts.......That forcefield stuff hurts."

"It's supposed to hurt. It wouldn't be a punishment otherwise." James corrected her, "Look, so to get it straight, I was insulted, you stepped in? ANy other details, and for that matter, who's ass do I have to kick for complaining about me behind my back?"

Allison was still sulking and carefully examining her injured nose in a little compact that she had somehow smuggled into jail. "Punishment....." she muttered. "I thought we were all about rehabilitation and all that."

Still, seeing James's glare she snapped the compact close and put her little fists on her hips angrily. "Well if you wanna go beat up somebody else, have at it.....like I said having me in here is like totally unfair."

"Hold it lady." James halted her, "Just because i'm in a foul mood and I feel like dressing down some punkass officer just for the sake of dressing down some punkass officer doesn't mean you're off the hook. You have some serious jail time on you. After this, you're clear. Everyone's had a brig sentence or two in their career, myself included. But for now, take your shame with a little more seriousness. It's not your room at the Paris Hilton, it's not a little social club, it's not Flotter's f**king babysitter's club. This is military life, to say the least. Try to remember that before you don your none too intimidating lip gloss and sparkly mascara. Got it, Crewman Recruit!?"

Alli opened her mouth to protest that "Intimidating' was not the look she was going for. Rather she'd settle for 'Indescribably Cute'

She snapped her jaw shut however senseing this was not a wise thing to say.

Instead she merely nodded.

"Good!" James clapped his hands together. He dragged a stool to his spot, seating himself on the other side of the forcefield. He flicked the forcefield with his finger, feeling the tingling shock travel up his arm. "Let's get that unpleasantness aside and go to a whole new set of unpleasantries. Since our last chat, we had quite the argument, and I want to resolve a few matters. And I promise... I will be gentle."

He nodded his approval, and chided Allison mirthfully, "What are you talking about? This is the first setting, you big baby."

Allison wrinkled her nose. "Hel-lo! Try taking it on the nose instead. Stilll hurts!"

"I suppose you're right..." James said, shaking his singed finger, sucking on it to dull the pain of the point of impact. He feigned a mortal wound, to bring a smile to the young lady, "It's solid... that's the point of it. Beings can slip out of bars, not forcefields though." He then surveyed her 'quarters', a small bench for a bed, a table, and toilet facilities. "I must say, a spot better than my first assignment. I got bushes, leaves and an open sky. Considering I was shipbound most of my life, it was none too pleasant. You are lucky. So... where were we?"

Walking back to her bench, Alli sat and stretched lazily, wiggling her toes. "Y'know I've been thinking.......That last conversation we had right before you had to go off and do the Rambo thing and all. " she frowned slightly, "Like the thing about you having a blue girlfriend with antlers?"

James shook his head, "I can see why you got a C grade in your high school transcript on Xenobiology. She's an Andorian, shen sub-gender. They have antennae that help them see colours and detect sensitive sound frequencies. What about her?"

"Antlers...antennae...Satellite TV.....whatever. point is like I said i've been thinking. I'm willing to chalk all this up to youthful indiscretion on your part if ya know what I mean right? Like guys your age gotta sow their acorns...or oats.....pistaccios....or something to do with sowing some kinda nut thing."

James flipped Alli an inquisitive eyebrow, a practice he learned from the other woman of his life T'lan. For a teenager, she seemed to act... odd. Talk about youthful indiscretions while she herself was young, wild oats... and was he really THAT old?

Alli wagged her skinny little finger at James, "Just dont take a that as an excuse to neglect your duties towards others, and just realize that at some point....soon actually....you're gonna have to grow up and settle down with a more appropritate gal. Y'know....the kinda love that lasts forever and all that." Alli batted her blue eyes prettily.

"Ahhh... I see." James lit up with realization. The heavens parted, light shone in his general direction, the wisdom of ages opened and he came with an epithany, "I have been so bad... so very bad. I mean, here I am acting half my age, and all along I will find happiness if I settle down and start the domestic husband routine? Ah yes, I must settle down with a more... appropriate gal!" He bled a little more sarcasm in than he intended, but delivered his point like a thunderbolt, "Oh, how you are so right, young recruit who is only half of my age, so very right are you with your raw youthful wisdom! I must have been a fool all along..." He then turned about face, sour and snarling, "Awwww to crap with the f**king sarcasm. You're going to tell me next that it's you, right?"

Allison frowned. "Did anybody ever tell you that you had a real potty mouth?....Geez."

"AHEM!" James cleared his throat with authority.

"Okay okay....sorry.....just a little bit distracting and all that." Alli crossed her skinny arms under her chest and considered James for a long moment.

"Y'know." she finally concluded, "What we're having here is a failure to communicate."

~"What we have here is a failure for YOU to communicate."~ James held his silence for the better.

"Everytime I try to point out the positives of changing your worldly way, you pop off with some regulation or something, or bring some new girlfriend out of the closet. " she shook her head. "I'm starting to wonder why I'm bothering and all....I should just let nature take its course right?"

"And i'm wondering why you presume to meddle." James snarled at the teenager, "And I am sick of it. Once more, you're not being honest with me, young lady. Your interest in my love life is quite unhealthy, and I don't mean it as a regulation violation or gross ignorance of our age gap. It is borderline obsessive and I want it to stop! Yet before you do that... I want to know why and what the hell you want from me. Maybe then..." He gave an impish smile to soften his sour tirade, "You will get the normal sentence instead of the extra harsh one, and before you latrine lawyer me to death about how wrong that is, you should know from what you deem a questionable love life and one of my last girlfriends that I am corruptable, and I will make a clerical error that's not in your favour. What will it be?" He finished with a laugh, and prayed she didn't know he was bluffing.

Allison sighed in defeat. True, at first being locked in the brig seemed like great way to get out of a lot of paperwork....but over the last 48 hours or so it had become quite boring. Besides....she'd re-read all the magazines at least twice already.

"Fine.....maybe I am like a bit obsessive, but Hel-lo can you blame me? I wasnt all hizzy-frizzy over your love life until I knew you HAD ONE. Whats up with that? I mean look at things from my perspective for once."

James tried, failing to conjure the image, "No, I don't understand what you see in me. I just wish you would stop, or tone it down. It's inappropriate, don't you think?"

"Well excuse me for being concerned for your welfare and all." Alli sulked, "You're just gonna have to go on faith that 'Antler-Girl' just isnt the type for you."

"And for a girl that most likely hasn't even hadn't been violated by her high school's Parisi's Squares captain yet, i'm surprised you have any authority on love whatsoever." Peevishly, James began to pace the length of the cell, "Who I choose to consort with is my business, and it may surprise you to know that I am serious about Mika. I have never, ever been more serious about Mika than with anyone else. Why would I want to change that?"

Alli frowned, "Well, whats wrong with spending more time with me? Whats the big rush to go off with other people huh? Who makes you that real zarkey coffee every morning? Who color codes your efficiency reports in bright cheerful colors?

"Who stalks me and tries to sabotage my love life?" James countered, "Kid, you have alot to learn. As much as I like you, and as much as I appreciate the help around the office, I can't put up with your behavior. Stop trying to chase me away from Mika, and for while i'm at it i'll also ask that you don't be so snarky with T'lan. She is your boss, after all, and its bad enough when both women are annoyed with me thanks to you."

Allison sighed and leaned against the bulkhead wearily. "Lets try a different subject for a moment buck-o. You being like in charge of the jail here and all.....you think you could pull some strings and get me back my little pink electronic planner? Deputy Fife over there like totally confiscated it and all and wont give it back."

"Welll...." James exquisitly rolled over the words, letting it savour over his tongue. Before he had no leverage with the bubbleheaded teenager, but now there was something to negotiate and it was given to him, "By rules and regulations i'm not supposed to give you anything but bread and water, but by both the Khitomer Accords and the Geneva Convention I do have to at least give you a PADD to write on... that would qualify, correct? It's the pink one, isn't it?"

Alli gave him a stupid look, "Well Duh....its got like my entire life in it. Y'know shedules.....diary notes......photos.....everything."

~"Of course its the pink one, what else could this vain little trollip don?"~ He thought to himself, and kept the dialogue in his favour, "Yeah, I bet it has everything a girl needs to keep herself in the know such as... military grade encryption, multiadaptive algorithms in the lockout sequences, enough processing power to command a deep space freighter and more memory than most library data dumps. Fyfe couldn't fight through a Sudoku puzzle if our ship depended on it. It went to T'lan, and her forehead vein is still throbbing an unripe tomato green over the sheer complexity of your little toy you know."

"So I like my files secure...... Not my fault she couldnt open it......What's she got to be so nosy about anyways......and nope Im not going to open it for you either so neeners."

James shrugged his shoulders, and said matter of factly, "Guess you don't want it so badly after all. Oh well, to the recycler then..."

"NO!!" Allison was off the bench in a flash nearly electricuting herself on the forcescreen in the process. "Oh no please no! I need that!" she pleaded, actually folding her little hands into a prayer. "L....look ther's nothing on there thats dangerous or illegal, I s..s...swear, but dont destroy it!" Her eyes were desperate...."I....I have some very irreplaceable stuff on there, keep me in jail for a month...two months, but I need that planner back."

He was tempted to lead Allison on a little more, but his less cruelty inclined self didn't want to see the little girl quail any further. He said, with a touch of pity, "Well... I suppose I can give it back, but I will have to have my people inspect it first. Your aptitude tests do show you have an incredible intellect and lets face it... the lessons kids get these days in programming would make my head spin. You win." He withheld a 'but', letting her see it coming, "We have to inspect it first. I don't want that device holding any escape mechanisms or hacking programs."

The relief was evident in Allison shoulders. "F....fine." she breathed, "Inspect it if you want, just dont hurt the files." Her eyes flashed as she thought of something. "Oh....by the way, if you do manage to get access to the lockout program, you might want to keep it issolated from the Main Ships Computer....or any computer for that matter.

"Oh?" James hummed.

She shrugged, "I dunno specifically.....I didnt design the thing, but I think its got some super nasty virus's that are particularly hard on analytical programs.....I hear it eats Ai's for breakfast."

He nodded his head, "I'll warn T'lan. In the meantime try to keep out of trouble and please... stop henpecking me , for the love of all that's good and holy in this universe."

Allison stood straight and raised her right hand into a salute James ahd never seen before. "Girlscouts honor......I'll keep out of trouble, and I'll try to limit my 'guidance' to only the real important stuff........fair nuff?"

"I got to go." James left, though he felt like running, for the exit, "Hang in there, kid. Think about what we talked about, ok?"

On his way to the exit, he motioned for the overlooking ensign to shut off the hard lights, leaving the brig area in a glowing bath of light from Allison's lone cell. Corgan and the Ensign's footsteps clacked even on the carpet. They left Allison to her own thoughts.

As for James, he still didn't know what to do about the girl, but he still couldn't shake the fear that Allison knew more than she was letting on.

"That organizer has the answer." James muttered to himself.

"Year End Report"

Naranda Roswell
Zev Raynor

*****Main Engineering*****

Main Engineering was bustling as usual. Nara moved about pulling off panels, doing some minor repair and closing the panel. She would grump that she was a Junior Grade Lt, had been chief during a critical battle, and here she was still doing ensign work. She'd grump off duty. Even if she was treated like an ensign, she'd act like a Full Lt and hope that in that, she'd be promoted to that.

Though hope was growing thin.

She didn't blame Ella or Dhani or anyone really. She was sure there was some note on her record that O'Shea the Clone had put on there. Or maybe she programmed the duty listing program to always give her the crap jobs. Fixing such things were petty and Nara hadn't figured it was something to bring up. Until she realized that made her seem less than a leader she knew she was. She made a mental note to talk to Dhani if not Ella. The note was highlights and underlined in red in her mind.

Raynor was depressed, he had left Kiki and Bambam behind in the little escape attempt that had gone off with less than perfect result. But at least he managed to get away and hitch a ride on a Romulan transport to the Galaxy. He was also had two sets of feelings running through his head because he had just gotten out of a bad relationship with himself... and because of that wasn't quite feeling like... himself.

Of course upon returning to the ship he had spent the last 12 hours in Sickbay while they ran every test there was trying to understand his new organ. Or Mojo jojo as he called it, much to some of the Medical staff's annoyance. But in his quest to find the tools he needed to fashion his new side arm, he found himself in engineering looking around a tool box for a certain something.

Unfortunately, he had stepped on someone to get to the tool box, so he was about to get an earful.

As if giving life to how she felt, a foot landed on her hand. Wasn't the first time, but happened at a bad time. She would handle it cooly, but upon looking over and realizing the person rummaging wasn't an engineer, she started off with, "Who authorized that you can do that?"

"Looking around a tool box? I think Jesus did... he's outside talking to Prince of Darkness discussing the end of year reports, if you want to ask him..." Raynor responded with an almost automatic sarcastic remark, not taking his attention away from the box. "Or is this about the whole accidently stepping on your hand thing? I'm sorry Nara, but your kind invisble down there..."

She half smiled realizing who it was but that soon turned to a full on scowl as she hissed at him, "Don't remind me! And where the hell have you been? Seems forever ago we've had one of our bump ins."

Where had Raynor been? Jeez she must of been pulling triple shifts not to know... so of course Raynor put it as causally as possible. "Well you know here and there. A Hydran Holding Cell on their formerly secret base on Remus then Romulus for a week or two to recover... then after making my way back here Sickbay for the last 12 hours... been listed as MIA for a while now..."

She frowned. "Are you too angry to have a drink sometime to talk about it? Not as a counselor of course. Hardly as a friend even. I just have this fetish to see how people suffered."

"Well if you put it that way... how about... No?" Raynor spoke turning his head to the side, but keeping his eyes on her. "That just sounded very twistedly wrong... and angry isn't exactly how I would describe it, more like tired..."

She looked at him strangely, "Ok, I thought I knew how to handle you. Would you rather a friend? I mean you always seemed a surface type person. The one with a clown mask. I treat you like that. You seemed ok with it. And if you're tired, shouldn't you ask for some R&R? Instead of rooting? What are you looking for anyway?"

"Handle me... uh... let's just say I've been through one of those slightly pesky life changing experiences which I really don't want to talk about at the moment with someone who apparently gets off on other peoples probelms. R&R... No. It's one of those things where you have to work it off... The tools are needed to build a new gun, I lost my last two on Romulus... Kiki will be missed, Bambam not so much..."

"I think I might be reaching my mid-life crisis... or maybe just that time of the month..." Raynor joked weakly. It was unwritten rule never to joke about "that time of the month" with women. They generally weren't that kind about it.

Nara sighed, "I wasn't serious about the fetish. I was trying to get a smile out of you. Well, ok, life-changing. I can understand that. I'm here with you, though. I won't push, but when you need someone to talk to..." She cleared her throat, "Anyway, I can help you find what you need."

"A girlfriend?" he asked in mock-confusion. "Oh the gun... right... well I'm looking for something that will spit bullets out at velocities that will punch big holes through forcefields... and still maintain a pistol like form..."

Nara raised an eyebrow, "Well..." She stood as she answered, "We don't keep that stuff out in the open. We keep that stuff in a supply closet. Come with me."

"We have closets on this ship?" Raynor joked as he followed. "When did that happen?"

Nara couldn't help but smile. He was still sarcastic. She opened it and picked around handing him bits and parts. "I'm not a weapon expert, so if I'm forgetting something, let me know."

"Well technically... I'm not an engineer so, you know... I'm planning on going through a bit of trial and error with this til I get what I'm looking for... by the way, thanks for the help."

She muttered, "Where's Conzalas when you need him." A sudden memory hit her of her right-hand man during the Sakarian Civil War. He knew weapon structure and technology inside and out.

"Not here? So anyways... playing curiousity here... aside from the ship being a total mess... which is actually normal now that I think about it... what's new?"

"Faylin's dead. Eve has amnesia and should now be called Valentina. I got to be in charge of Engineering for awhile, but that doesn't change my status around here. All I can think of now." She looked at something a bit before shrugging and handing it to him.

"And Conzalas is still on Sakaria. But he could build a mean gun."

"I'm actually looking for a gun that gentle and cute and cuddly and nice until you get into bed with it then it just turns into a fucking animal..."

She looked at him, "I'm sure when you said gun, you meant girl. Try Allison, though I'm sure that'd be illegal since she's gotta be Samantha Widdlestien's age."

"No I mean gun..." Raynor stated blinkingly. "My female troubles are an entirely different story. And who the hell is Allison? Fresh Meat? Come to think of it... what would happen to Widdlestien if she got laid... In fact I wonder if she's started masterbating yet... also I wonder how disturbed I must be right now to even ask that question out loud... but you know..."

Raynor stopped for a moment to consider... "I'm not quite myself anymore..."

"And you call ME twisted. And yea. You mentioned life changing before." She handed him something else, "Need a power supply."

"For a projectile weapon?" Raynor considered it for a moment. "Well it is nice to have extras... I guess... and what the hell is wrong with asking about a teenagers personal growth? Look at me... I turn eight this year... I mean come on..." and then Raynor thought about that for a moment... "Holy crap I have a birthday this year... awesome... that doesn't happen often..."

She turned to look at him again, "What's this now?"

"I'm a Feburary 29th Baby... meaning I only have a birthday once every 4 years... it kinda sucks but you know what you going to do... your born when your born..."

She let out a laugh and shook her head, "The power sour...projectile? Gimme that back then."

Raynor let out a small laugh. "So hows my Boss monkey?" he asked refering to Saul he would have to report in to him fairly soon. "Does he have a shocky stick waiting for me?"

"Why would he?"

"Because traditional punishments don't seem to stick too well with me... and well I should of reported to him already instead of picking out parts here... with you... you know..."

"I'm sure he'll just poke your heart out."

"Anyways... I'll try out these parts and see what I come up with... Thank you again... but I must fly off..."

She nodded to him, "Run into you later I'm sure Crazy Man."

"Not so crazy anymore but yea..."

He walked off with a box full of spare parts that could be fashioned into his new weapon... somehow content with that conversation.

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head before getting back to a monkey's job.

"World's Finest, Conclusion: No Place..."

Elissa Skylark
Stranger From a Distant Planet

Aerv tr'Ahalaen
Terror of the Night

= Up and Away =

This world did not break, even when she left it, ascending through clouds that held a majestic quality and took her breath away. She kept going, just to see how far she could. She'd escaped the atmosphere, and was flying in the deep black of space. She was not cold, her lungs did not burn, and everything seemed quiet and peaceful in a way she had never felt. Turning back, she looked upon the Earth, marveling at how real it all felt.

It would have been so easy, to fall back down and embrace this life... one that seemed to hold no great pain, no great challenge. She could do anything, it seemed, even more than she would have imagined on her own.

Her heart craved it, but her mind rejected the image. And there was something about the lack of reality that she could never live with. A life of meaning, of purpose, would not be found even in the greatest of illusions. She turned away from Earth, and sped through the inky blackness, past the moon and the asteroid belt and Jupiter, until finally she came upon Saturn. She hugged the rings, wondering how so much detail could have been accomplished in a facsimile.

And there was Titan, on the horizon. She flew toward it, determined yet filled with a sharp pang of regret. She landed on the surface. It was cold, with no signs of life... undeveloped. But the view in the sky was the same. Some things were never affected by the passage of time.

In her gaze danced the rings of Saturn, and eyes deepened with memory and tears. She'd missed her parents, even when, for a short time she couldn't remember them. As a girl, she'd watched the night sky hoping to escape to it, not content to be in one place for too long. Her time on Titan was brief but unforgettable, even when her mind had been made to forget such things.

Whether her captors had intended to leave some memories intact, she was not sure, but now everything that had been denied her had returned... and soon everything that had been given was about to be taken away.

She was surprised to find she could breathe normally. She felt the weight of gravity pull at her cape, and the escape of air, as if a hole in the universe had opened. Maybe, she thought sadly, she would keep the costume. As a reminder of what the impossible felt like.

Hugging herself tightly, she spoke to the wind, "The game's over."

"And I was just getting used to the rules," a familiar voice said from behind her - she knew it was Aerv before she turned around. He gave her a quick, confused smile as he looked over the barren planet, quite confused. "Hey."

"Let me guess. Bat Shuttle?"

tr'Ahalaen grinned but shook his head. "One minute I was in the library, searching for a flaw in this world...the next...." He took a deep breath and exhaled, "I mean...I have to admit I was never really good at the whole science thing - but I'm pretty sure that, given the complete lack of a breathable atmosphere here, I should be dead."

"Yes, just one more flaw." She turned to him. "Aerv, when did you finally come to your senses? I'd been fighting it all along, somehow, but I had to... come here. To remember."

"On the boat when I thought you... when you were playing catch with that rocket...."

She nodded. "Makes sense. If you had memories like I did, stray ones, then perhaps... but how would that have triggered... oh." She looked down. She had needed some powerful emotion, a childhood memory, to snap her out of it. His time with her, that meant, had been powerful for him. Enough to let Aerv escape his own guise. They had at least one shared memory, and despite even these strange circumstances, Elissa managed to blush. "Oh." Smiling softly, she turned away from him. "I was born here, on Titan. Look, they got the sky right. How did they get the sky right?"

"I have no idea. But they were very thorough," tr'Ahalaen replied with a slight frown, "I looked at some of the more obscure passages of the Bible, the Koran, the Tao, Shakespeare, Shelley, Khayyam, Gibran...they were all accurate."

"Illegal memory ciphers, telepathy maybe?"

"Excellent guesses, Ms. Skylark...however, inaccurate...."

Aerv looked to his right to see a new figure materialize as if out of thin air...no - as if a door had opened between reality and illusion. They were indeed on a holodeck then...though what the alien before them had to do with this tr'Ahalaen could not begin to imagine. The Rihan stepped forward, his voice cold, "And who are you, Vorta?"

"The name is Nahuel, Ambassador...and I am afraid I have been your host for some time now - reluctantly, of course. You see, the two of you are on a...black market holoprogram called 'The World's Finest'." He smiled at Elissa, "That would explain your powers, my dear - you see, the Network Providers, in their wisdom, have decided to...obtain certain individuals, reprogram them, and then put them in a variety of different holographic situations in a live show. There is a new story every season...yours happens to be based on an ancient Earth tradition called 'comics'."

She nodded slowly...now that the faculties of her memory had returned, Elissa had recognized the icons, if only vaguely. Her questions, however, were far from completely answered, and Nahuel seemed to pick up on her expression, a raised eyebrow and arms folded tightly while she stared at him. She felt herself harden in reflex, knowing she did not like him.

"You see, previously the Providers used to operate a show of a more...gladiatorial nature," the Vorta gave them his most sincere smile - it was not very impressive, "They were called the Gamesters of Triskelion once...but Starfleet shut down their operation. And rightly so, I should think, blood sport is so...messy and it lacks a certain...romance, don't you think?"

"I try not to deal with subjectives more than I have to," she said evenly, staring at him like a bird of prey might study a threat. "I recognized their symbol on the crates when I was in the 'warehouse'... but it's only now that I remember it. I wonder, Mr. Nahuel, if you're familiar with the sort of laws that have been broken. The trespass of mind and body. Or the ramifications that are like likely closing in on you as we speak."

"She means me," Aerv supplied helpfully.

Nahuel gave the Romulan a wry smile, "No...I am quite certain that she does not."

"Then she should."

"Really, Ambassador, if you should harm me physically, you would only be compromising your best chance of escape. I am, after all, on your side here." The Vorta paced away from them, heaved a dramatic sigh, and turned back to face them, "Long have I struggled with my conscience...and long have I tried to do the right thing by stopping this...this 'show'. But there are few places for one like me to go, you know...and I fear I have long been a coward."

tr'Ahalaen shook his head, "For one who says so little, you talk a lot, Vorta. It is trying my patience."

Skylark cleared her throat. "What do you propose?"

"You will not find the Providers. To seek justice is meaningless...and indeed, what is justice worth anyway? One can go many leagues without finding it...and when one does find it, it is at times quite hollow. Of course, you may try if you wish. That is not my concern. I, as an unwilling accomplice and key witness, want amnesty from prosecution."

She shook her head. "I can't give you that guarantee, and I'm pretty sure Ambassador tr'Ahalaen won't."

Nahuel looked over at Aerv, "Ambassador?"

The Rihannsu, for this part, said nothing for a moment and then asked, "What else do you want?"

"A home on a distant world...some place tropical, I think. A small shuttle. Ten bricks of gold pressed latinum. And a contract."

Elissa's face contorted. "A what?"

"A contract. Well, of course, the two of you don't realize it...but you have become entertainment stars overnight. This was the highest rated season of 'World's Finest' - and that is saying something. And when news of your kidnapping, reprogramming and confinement to a holographic world breaks...well, this show will be syndicated, I imagine, and you will be sensations in the mainstream media as well. I want exclusive rights to you - a contract for your services in the entertainment industry, to be rendered some time in the future."

Elissa spoke in a quiet voice, glancing over at Aerv nervously. "Define 'sensations.'"

The Vorta ignored the question. "So...do we have a deal?"

She held up a pointed finger. "One moment." Elissa placed herself between Aerv and Nahuel and leaned forward, whispering faintly. "What do we do?"

Aerv tr'Ahalaen shrugged. "We have no options. well...no viable ones. If we do not accept his offer...well, then he could just leave us here. Inside a holodeck program that we cannot shut down...well, this would be our world."

"I can't live like this. I want to go home." She looked across the lifeless landscape of Titan and breathed deeply. "Or, at least, back to my life."

The Romulan smiled at her, "Most of my life is a fabrication...and I am always forced to wear masks - but this whole body armor business is quite uncomfortable." Looking over at the Vorta, tr'Ahalaen nodded, "We have a deal."

Elissa nodded in agreement, studying Nahuel warily.

"Excellent. Follow me then...we must hurry lest we are detected...and I do so need to get in touch with a company willing to make action figures...."

=The End=

Truth Part 4

Valentina Kyznetsova (Formerly LtJG Eve)
LT Saul Bental
LtJG Naranda Roswell

Writers Note: The "Truth" posts take place as Galaxy is departing Rihannsu space. I apologize for the delay in getting this last part out to all of you. Enjoy :)~ ~Eric

========

The scape melted into reality without so much as a 'cherio.' Valentina's violet eyes slowly regained focus, and once she had the world back in perspective she cocked her head to the side. "Uh .. did you do something different? All I saw was blackness."

Nara frowned and shook her head. There wasn't as bad as side effects as usual, but she still felt the need to sit a moment, catching her breath and letting her mind settle.

After a few moments, Nara turned to Boris. "Is Saul still out there?" She turned to Valentina, "You have more than you know caring about your welfare. With that, you really will be ok. I'll tell more later."

"He should still be out there." Shtazai told her, looking confused.

Nara nodded and stepped outside. "Saul?"

"Yes?" Saul inquired. He was idly slouching against the wall. reading a booklet that quickly turned black as soon as Nara came into view.

Rubbing her neck, she looked up at him, "It's safe for me to say now that she has a few...people in her mind. She doesn't know them, but they protect her. I spoke to the one called Guardian. It's not sure if bringing Eve back is safe, if even possible."

Saul narrowed his eyes. "People? What people? In what way are they occupying her head? Are they entities like the Dithparu? Or artificial being, perhaps?"

Still a tad tired from the mind trip, she nodded, "Artificial I believe."

"Any way to make sure?"

"I think whoever did this to her installed them. They seem benevolent except when they think someone is a threat to her. It threatened to kill me but once it trusted me I have quite a repritoire."

Saul slanted his eyes toward the door. "Don't tell her I said it, but I don't think the people who turned her into Eve are any better than the Borg. What are your recommendations?"

"I'm not sure why they did it to her. I recommend teaching her who Eve is, tell her what we know about her cybernetics. But I'm not a counselor or anything."

Saul seemed reluctant. "I may have to... consult the people who brought her into intel. If that happens, she might be subjected to a lot of suffering. And the sad thing is, suffering may be the only choice. What's going in her head is risky."

"Let the suffering be the last resort. The Guardian let me know all it could. It trusts me. Maybe if I knew better what to ask..." She trailed off and sighed looking up, "Saul, she's my friend. It's strange entering someone's mind, even just the foyer, but everyone whose mind I visited I have a bond. I understand them. I have a sympathy for them. Even Baile. Eve especially. She's vulnerable. Valentina is also vulnerable. Tread softly."

"You don't understand. I don't TRUST this guardian. For all I know, the facade you were shown hides somethinh entirely different."

His warrior princess could be too naive at times. It was part of her charm, of what attracted him to her, but on occassions like this it was a setback. Of course, when compared to Bran she was a hardened, realistic cynicist with two feet planted well into the ground.

"I'll consult with the Captain." He told her. "For now, let's go inside."

"Well, should we tell Eve about the Guardian?"

"Not yet."

Nara nodded and shrugged, "You're the boss," as she moved toward the door.

Back inside the room, Valentina was sitting on the couch, a glass of water in hand. This experience had been different from the previous instances when Nara had done ... well, had done whatever it is she'd done. Boris Sh'tazi (sp?) was still there though she's not paied him any attention since he'd first arrived. When the door swished open she nearly jumped in surprise. As Nara and Saul filed in she stood, looking towards them expectantly.

Nara smiled at Tina as she waited for Saul to talk.

Saul sent a hidden frown in his girlfriend's general direction, then faced Valentina.

"We have some leads on what happened to you, but nothing conrete yet." He told her. "You're in no immediate danger, and with your permission we'll keep looking for ways to understand exactly what happened to you. In the mean time, I'll see to it that one of my men will always be ready to escort you whenever you want to go. I'm asking you not to wander around without escort, since we don't know what might happen, and also it IS a military ship after all."

She looked at Saul, wondering if she should ask now or later if she could be included in those "men" of his.

"I'll cooperate," Valentina nodded. It wasn't unreasonable, what he said was going to happen. After all she didn't know her own way around yet, a chaperone would be helpfull. That and she was in no position to argue; if she declined Tina figured he'd keep her locked in her room. "Is Nara one of your people?"

"Not exactly." Saul said, fondly patting Nara's shoulder. "Nara is an engineer whereas I am... we are intelligence officers, you and me."

"I take it that means she can't show me around then," Tina replied.

"Of course she can; Problem is, she's on duty from time to time, and I wouldn't want to confine you to your quarters while she's on duty. But we'll work something out."

She thought that over for a moment and then nodded. "So, what's next?"

What's next, indeed.

{{OOC: Takes place prior to Proctor's 258th. birthday}}

"Nobody Expects"

Lieutenant Saul Bental

It's been, as always a rough day.

The cherry on top of the ice cream was of course his encounter with Lieutenant Rinaldi, which may or may be not be a spotted reincarnation of Faylin McAlister. But that was not all. Nara was moody, probably over Saia or the regular 'I-always-get-waste-extraction-shifts' engineering rants; His department was understaffed and too tense, and overwhelmed with useless intel data following the outcome of the battle; And when he got back to his quarters he found out that a deal with some Ferengi merchant he worked on for two months went rotten, and the small-lobed bastard Droz signed with another contractor.

Not learning from the lessons of the past, Saul tried to relax a little watching some Monty Python sketches, and soon was sound asleep...

* * *

"Saul..."

"Huh?"

"Saul..."

He opened one eye. "Yea?"

"Trouble at the bridge." It was Nara. Wearing a 19th. century sailor costume. For some reason, it didn't strike Saul as strange.

"Oh no - what kind of trouble?"

"One on't the enriched Trillithium relay conductors gone owt askew decreasin' phase-shift amplitude, and pass'd to foreign custody."

"Pardon?"

Nara tried again. "One on't the enriched Trillithium relay conductors gone owt askew decreasin' phase-shift amplitude, and pass'd to foreign custody."

"Listen, princess, I don't understand what your saying."

Nara rolled her eyes, somewhat irritated, and spoke up with an exaggeratedly clear accent. "One of the Trilithium conduits has gone out askew, its phase amplitude decreased, and it passed into alien hands."

"What on Bolarus does that mean?"

"*I* don't know." Nara snapped. "Lieutenant Grey told me to come here and say that there was trouble at the bridge, that's all. The price of our relays got reduced because it was bent, so some Ferengi simply bought it."

"A Ferengi bought part of the bridge?" Saul raised his brows. "Why, I didn't expect that kind of Ferengi acquisition."

All of the sudden, a jarring chord filled Saul's bedchamber. The doors flew open, and a well-dressed Ferengi holding a goden-tipped walking stick entered the room, flanked by two other Ferengi. Unknown to Saul and Nara, the noble Ferengi was the Grand Nagus himself. The Ferengi to his left was a pilot on the Galaxy that went by the name of Taev; He had goggles pushed over his forehead. And Droz the merchant was just Droz the merchant.

Grand Nagus: "NOBODY expects a Ferengi acquisition! Our chief weapon is deceit... deceit, and greed... greed and deceit... Our two weapons are deceit and greed, and ruthless bargaining... Our *three* weapons are deceit, greed, and ruthless bargaining... and an almost fanatical devotion to the rules of acquisition.... Our *four*.... no... *Amongst* our weapons... Amongst our weaponry... are such elements as deceit, greed... I'll come again."

The entourage turned around and left Saul's quarters altogether.

Saul and Nara exchanged glances.

"I didn't expect a kind of Ferengi acquisition.", said Saul.

The jarring chord echoed and deafened their ears once more, as the Ferengi burst in.

Grand Nagus: "NOBODY expects Ferengi acquisition! Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as: deciet, greed, ruthless bargaining, and an almost fanatical devotion to the rules of acquisition, and nice big earlobes - Oh damn!"

He turned toward Taev the pilot.

"What?"

"You'll have to say the bit about 'Our chief weapons are...'."

Taev looked horrified. "I couldn't do that..."

The Nagus harrumphed, and bundled the other Ferengi outside again.

Saul hesitated for a moment. "I didn't expect a kind of Ferengi acquisition."

*JARRING CHOARD*

Taev: "Er.... nobody... um..."

Grand Nagus: "Expects..."

Taev: "Expects... Nobody expects the...um...the Ferengi...um..."

Grand Nagus: "Acquisition."

Taev scowled, his brow even more furrowed than usual. This was not going too well.

"I know, I know! Nobody expects the Ferengi acquisition. In fact, those who do expect -"

Grand Nagus: "Our chief weapons are..."

Taev: "Our chief weapons are...um...er..."

Grand Nagus: "Deceit..."

Taev: "Deceit and --"

The Grand Nagus slapped Taev on his head with the golden walking stick.

"Okay, stop. Stop. Stop there - stop there. Stop. Phew! Ah! ... our chief weapons are deceit...blah blah blah. Daimon, read the charges"

Droz untied a small scroll, and cleared his throat. "You are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates commit heresy against the holy rules of acquisition. 'My old man said follow the--' "

"That's enough." The Grand Nagus turned to Saul. "How do you plead?"

"Not guilty." The Dutchman stated.

Grand Nagus: "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Diabolical laughter filled Saul's quarters, as the two other Ferengi joined the high-pitched and somewhat annoying laugh.

"We'll soon change your mind about that!" Taev told the Dutchman.

"Deceit, Greed, and a most ruthless--" The Grand Nagus barely contained himself, his body practically vibrating. "Ooooh! Now, Cardinal -- the tricorder!"

Taev produced a plastic-coated toy tricorder. The Grand Nagus looked at it and clenched his pointy teeth in an effort not to lose control. He hummed the Voyager theme just to calm himself down, but it only irritated him more.

Grand Nagus: "You... right! Scan them!"

Droz also produced a tricorder, and the two Ferengi began scanning Saul and Nara from bottom up and top down in wide motions. The tricorder hummed, producing unrealistic blue rays courtesy of low special F/X budget.

Grand Nagus: "Right! How do you plead?"

Saul and Nara: "Innocent."

Grand Nagus: "Ha! Right! Daimon, increase evilyon particles emissions."

Taev and Droz stood awkwardly, shrugging their shoulders.

Taev: "I..."

Grand Nagus: "I *know* these things do not emit evilyons. I didn't want to say anything. I just wanted to try and ignore your crass mistake."

Taev: "I..."

Grand Nagus: "It makes you all seem like tiny-lobed Borg."

Saul: "Sorry to intervene here, but I don't understand what we're accused of."

Grand Nagus: "Ha! Then we'll make you understand! Droz! Fetch...THE TERRIBLES!"

A jarring chord boomed as Droz the merchant held out two extra-fluffy Tribbles.

Droz: "Here they are, his richfulness."

Grand Nagus: "Now, tall ones -- you have one last chance. Confess the heinous sin of generosity, reject the works of the altruistic Feder -- *two* last chances. And you shall be free -- *three* last chances. You have three last chances, the nature of which I have divulged in my previous utterance.

Nara: "Listen, we don't know what you're talking about."

Grand Nagus: "Right! If that's the way you want it -- Daimon! Poke her with the fluffy Tribble!"

Taev and Droz stepped forward, carrying the rather pathetic torture. Saul and Nara giggled as the Tribble furred tickled them.

Grand Nagus: "Confess! Confess! Confess!"

Taev: "His earfullness, it doesn't seem to be hurting them."

Grand Nagus: "Are the Tribbles particulary horny?"

Taev: "To the extreme, his wealthiness. My leg has never been s--"

The Grand Nagus snatched the two Tribbles and hurled them away. "Hm! These Hummons are made of harder stuff! Daimon Dorz! Fetch...THE CAPTAIN'S CHAIR!"

*Jarring Chord*

*Zoom into Droz's horrified face.*

"The... Captain's Chair?" Droz validated, terrified.

Moans and grunts could be heared as Taev carried the Galaxy's Captain's chair into the room. It was decorated with pink and purple cushions - probably courtesy of some enlisted girl at security who wanted it to look Zarky.

Grand Nagus: "So you think you are strong because you can survive the fluffy Tribbles. Well, we shall see. Taev! Put the Lieutenant in the Captain's Chair!"

Taev and Droz roughly pushed Saul onto the Captain's chair. Saul reached for the handles, beaming at Nara.

"Looks, princess! I'm Captain Price! 'Hey 'mate! No worries mate!'... I'm Captain Bhrode! 'I'll flay your mama and use her skin for my new leather boots, Commander Thomas!'... I'm Captain M'Kantu! 'Allah says raise your arms, Allah says lower your arms, raise your arms--- ha! I didn't say 'Allah said''... I'm Captain Henderson! 'Hey, Commander, would you like to see very top secret tatoo I have here between my--"

He was interjected by the Grand Nagus, who tried to bend over him - a difficult feat when you're shorter than the man in front of you, even after that man sat down. To compensate, he leered.

Grand Nagus: "Now -- you will stay in the Captain's Chair until gamma shift, with only a cup of Raktajino at eleven."

He glanced aside, at Taev. "Is that really all it is?"

Taev: "Yes, Lord."

Grand Nagus: "I see. I suppose we make it worse by shouting a lot, do we? Buy, Dutchman!. Buy! Buy! Buy! Buy!"

Taev fell to his kness, and emptied his pockets. Out came three bars of gold-pressed latinum, and semi-eaten Gagh.

"I'll buy it!"

"Not you!"

* * *

Saul snapped onto a sitting position, the universe rotating around him.

"Oh man." He murmured, lying down again and buried his head below the pillow.

"Beginning Again... Again"
By Ensign Iana A. Et`Kal, Counselor, USS Galaxy

Location: DS5/Bonestell (Takes place around the timing of "Oldest Plan in the Book")
Soundtrack: "Bother" by Stone Sour

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

Words that had a meaning once didn't hold meaning at all. She thought they did, but apparently she had been mistaken.

The guest quarters she had been pegged in where cold, small, and lonely. Sitting at the desk with a hand on the screen she was reading, her face took and un-Vulcan look of sadness. Lines in her forehead were predominant and her chocolate eyes looked pained. Her other hand was pressed against her forehead with her fingers laced through her thick, dark hair. Eyes turned glass and tears running down her face, she looked up towards the wall and tried to force back the tears that wouldn't go away. It was one of those moments she wished she had fully embraced Vulcan logic and lack of emotion. The pain would not have been as strong.

After everything she had gone through in the past month, this was the last things she expected to receive after being dumped off onto Deep Space Five. The transmission in front of her contained her marching orders from her marriage. Apparently, she was the only one who had meant 'for better and for worse' in the wedding vows. Apparently, she was the only one who meant 'till death do us part.'

It wasn't enough that she was just demoted, transferred off her ship of almost five years, and stuck on a station here waiting for her clearance to get to the Galaxy. She was obviously such a horrible person that her soon to be ex-husband thought it would be a great idea to divorce her. She knew she screwed up on the Horizon, but if the shoe was on the other foot, she would have stood by Michael. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have.

Wiping the tears away from her face, she looked at the transmission again. To try and save herself more pain through this transition, she tried to follow the advice she would probably give a patient. Dwelling on the past would not allow her to focus on the present. Pressing her thumb against the screen, she digitally signed her name to the document, "Michael Moriarty, I release you from your wife that you apparently aren't man enough to face. I won't let you make this more difficult for me."

"I did what I did, and I would do it again. I saved lives even if my ethics are in question now," She said to herself. That was the only way she was going to be able to begin again... again. Later, she would mourn for her second defunct marriage. Determined to rid herself from the distraction that was her life, she tried to make herself presentable so she could leave her quarters.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she paused to take stock. Still in uniform, her eyes couldn't help but stare at the place where her old pip had been. "Ensign Iana Et`Kal," She commented to herself and bit her lip giving a glance of slight disgust and disappointment, "Starting back at the beginning..." Had she stayed on the Horizon longer, Iana was pretty sure she would have been a Lieutenant soon. No dwelling. Time to move on. So she did, and left her quarters.

Apparently some party had been going on or gone on for Admiral Proctor... a woman Ens. Et`Kal never met before and never had the opportunity to. After all she was just an Ensign visiting the station until her paperwork came through. Not having any patients and having nothing else to do that particular day, she went to one of the remote establishments of the station. A drink of some form was definitely in order.

Sitting at the bar, she looked around and people watched. It was what she did. It helped her strengthen her skills as a counselor by trying to read people and situations, and it somewhat helped her strengthen her mental abilities. Her telepathy powers were more Vulcan than Betazoid but she sometimes, if trying hard enough, could produce ebbs of empathic abilities. Not that she necessarily wanted it, being a contact telepath was enough, and many of her patients seemed uncomfortable at the idea of a telepath in the room.

As much as she wanted to lose herself in a really good glass of Betazed wine, Iana felt it would be improper especially if she got put on her ship sooner than later. The waitress tried to make small talk with her, presumably to gain a larger tip, "Et`Kal you say... the name sounds Klingon. How did a Vulcan end up with that name?"

Iana politely smiled having heard the comment dozens of times over her years off Betazed, "My family name on Betazed was originally Retakalaxanna... over generations it became truncated which I am grateful for." Sitting alone at a small table, slowly sipping on a cup of herbal tea, she watched the people come and go. Seeing the interactions made her forget about her problems for a time. There were dinner dates with a range of feelings going on. Some couples had a very strong sense of discomfort which read clearly from their body language. Some couples were putting off hormones stronger than a Betazoid woman ready to mate. People were... interesting.

The next series of events were alarming and unexpected. Some sort of explosion that she could tell occurred. It was large enough to tear part of the station apart. The event didn't make her panic like some of the civilians in the area. Being on the Horizon in enough fire battles, she was used to it even as a Counselor. This put her mind into the mode of battle, of protection, and of calming the people around her. There was an order for everybody to evacuate. It wasn't her station or her job on DS5, but she said to the group of five or six around, "Everybody go out the side exit. The emergency transporters are that way. Listen to me and focus!"

She started pushing people in the right direction. A young woman was panicking near her not knowing what to do, Iana put her hand on the woman's shoulder and an hand on her arm, "Ma'am, listen to me, you're going to be fine. I'll get you to one of the emergency transporters. Don't focus on all the other people, just focus on me and come with me."

It was hard for a panic stricken person to do. There was a lot of noise and confusion. Iana could block it out. Star Fleet training told her to do so; however, it wasn't always that easy. Logic told her to do so, the mental training both her parents gave her when young helped her keep her focus. Et`Kal led the woman to one of the emergency transport areas. Instinct to her to go back and help others off the station; however, Deep Space Five personnel wouldn't let her do so.

"Ensign, this is not your station. You need to go, now," A lieutenant told her before pushing her onto a transporter. Iana opened her mouth to protest, her better judgment made her want to help. Of course, when she reached the ship who was transporting her out, she wished she had argued to stay and aid the evacuation more.

It happened so fast that she has no time to react. Besides, there were too many guns and she didn't want to be responsible for anybody else getting hurt. Needless to say, Iana wasn't very appreciative of the weapon pointed between her eyes as she was transported over.

'Great. This makes my day so much better... divorce papers, ship explosion, and taken hostage... what's next? Somebody's going to blow up Vulcan or Betazed?' She thought to herself as her arms were restrained and figured she'd probably be better off not asking herself how the day could get any worse.

"Eternal Vigilance."

With Admiral Robert E. Lee Price, former commanding officer of the USS GALAXY, current chief of Starfleet operations.

Also included, commanding officer of Starfleet Security Commander Arnold Morgan (NPC).

Stardate: 60701.1.....Moments after the stroke of midnight. Location: Starfleet Headquarters, Earth

It has been said that when a man is falling to his death, his life flashes before his eyes. As Admiral Robert E Lee Price flailed helplessly towards the screaming New Year's party goers lining the conrete patio below him, he found that he had only one thought in his mind's eye.

Only one image that suddenly filled his reflexive thoughts.

The USS GALAXY.

His former ship, soaring the cosmos millions of light years away - too far to swoop to his rescue.

He closed his eyes as the wind whipped past him and then, mere inches away from hitting the concrete, he found himself feeling not a deep calm that those resigned to a fate beyond thier control feel, but the familiar tingle that accompanied ones molecule's being disassembled by a transporter.

After what seemed like an eternity later, the Admiral found himself rematerialized safely yet uncerimoniously sprawled upon the floor of the Security Department, deep within the bowels of Starfleet Headquarters.

Price took a moment to orient himself and regain his equilibrium.

"Cut that a little close there, Mate." he said to the rugged Commander standing before an enormous bank of video monitors each displaying a variety or images ranging from standard security camera angles, to ultra sonic and infra red imagry and some that the Admiral couldn't even comprehend.

"I figured you needed a couple more gray hairs, Bob." the prematurely silver haired Morgan said, toothpick clenched between his teeth. "Just to help you look as distunguished as I do."

Price had known the man for nearly 2 years and had even attended a couple of Morgan's legendary barbecues but in all that time, he had yet to see him in any other attire but his Starfleet uniform with that little sliver of wood firmly in place.

The Bolian medic that had been on standby wasted no time stabilizing the Admiral, waving tricorders over his body and taking inventory of injuries while Commander Morgan placed a headset upon his head and began toggling various switches on the mammoth arch before the main view screen.

"What can you give me here, Admiral?" Morgan asked, transforming into 'full business mode' as easily as the Enterprise's Data could activate and deactivate his emotion chip.

As he spoke the enormous tactical screen split into three sections; one containing a two dimensional schematic of the 42 floor of Starfleet Headquarters Complex that bathed the room in an eerie emerald glow. The second and third were showing a digital feed of cameras from the two deployed respose teams signified by crimson blips coming into the map from different angles and moving in a systematic fashion towards what was left of the former USS Galaxy commanding officer's current office.

Price began to move his head in reply but the Bolian medic held his skull steady with a large blue hand and a grunt of disapproval.

"I couldn't tell you how many, Mate. There was an explosion and I was tossed ass over tin cups." the Admiral said.

"What about the drone?" Morgan asked.

Price sighed heavily.

"I couldn't tell you." he said "And that's what has me concerned."

The comm crackled to life and a whispered voice, carring a tense edginess in its tone, called out:

:: ALPHA/BRAVO IN POSITION ::

"Copy Alpha/Bravo." Morgan acknowladged. "Be advised. Possible multiple UnSubs still on the premisis. Scans show no life signs. No sign of the drone either."

:: ROGER THAT. INITIATING BREECH. STANDBY::

Morgan and Price watched the monitors as the screens showed the Starfleet Security Commandos lobbing flash bang grenades, then charging systematiclly into every corner of the room until they finally could be seen lowering the barrels of thier phaser rifles.

:: THERES NOTHING HERE COMMANDER. THE DRONE AND WHOEVER DID THIS ARE GONE. ::

Morgan threw down the headset.

"How do you loose a goddamn Borg drone in the middle of Starfleet headquarters?" Morgan bellowed.

"Commander!" the slim woman to his left called out from her station, "We have an unknown vessel streaking away from Earth at full impulse! Sensors indicate the presense of 4 individuals. One of which is definitly a Borg! Fighters are moving to intercept!"

"Open a channel!" Morgan ordered. "Attention all pilots, this is Morgan. It is imperative that ship does not to leave the system. Fire at will and target it's propulsion systems and shield generators. I want that ship dead in the water in the next 5 seconds!"

::COPY THAT, COMMANDER ::

As the defense force began to rain crippling phaser fire upon the small furiously dodging craft, Morgan turned to his transporter operator.

"Keep a lock on the drone. As soon as the ship's shields drop, I want that thing beamed right here." he said. The operator nodded crisply, never removing his eyes from the read outs on his console.

Price, now helped into a chair, exchanged glances with Morgan the gravity of thier situation passing unspoken between the two men.

On the viewsceeen before them, the unknown craft suddenly altered its coarse hard to port and increased it's speed pulling away from it's persuers. A short distance ahead of it, space itself seemed to ripple and swirl then suddenly rip itself open in a brilliant cacophany of light and energy.

"A worm hole...." Price whispered.

Morgan was already on the comm ordering all ships to continue persuit through the anomoly.

All eyes watched the escaping craft vanish into the unknown and then before the lead Starfleet fighter could clear the event's horizon and follow, the wormhole collapsed on itself and the hapless ship. A brief and agonizing scream ripped across the communications net and then the fighter, trapped in the flux of energy exploded.

Morgan watched the remaining fighters move to evade the burning debris until nothing remained but barely recognizable, twisted hunks of metal.

"What... the hell.... was that?" Morgan asked astonished.

"That was what the BORG will concider to be an unprovoked attack." Admiral Price said grimly. "Summon M'Ral and the command council, Mate. Let them know that we may have just witnessed the beginning of a war."

"Faysmell"

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi
JAG

Lt. Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Location: Rinaldi's Quarters

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

"Computer, Chicago....any track." Jules closed her eyes and sighed as she replicated a glass of white wine as the music started. Chicago was one of her favorite groups, and had helped her relax against the inner storm she had brewing deep within her.

Sitting on the couch, she swirled the opaque liquid in it's glass as her thoughts swirled around the IS cases that had started to stream into her office. All with the same charges, leading the pack an Admiral David Ramirez. A slight snarl crossed her lips as she viewed the padd resting on the small end table beside the couch. She was actually going to head the panel that would sentence him to his doom. As a JAG, Fay was known to enact the harshest penalties that the law would permit her to. That, was not going to change. She knew the worse penal planets, and had no problem sending anyone in IS straight to the worst one known to the universe.

The chime to her quarters caught her attention, forcing her out of her legal day dream. "Enter." She simply stated.

The opening doors revealed none other than the Galaxy's chief of intelligence, Saul Bental.

"Lieutenant Rinaldi, how're you?" He inquired politely. "You've asked me to show you around the shuttle bay - I've got time just now, and even had a friend 'arrange' us a shuttle. Care to join me for a trip around DS5?"

"I'm fine thank you." Jules replied in kind. 'Shuttle bay?' The Trill nodded solemnly, turning to place her glass down on the small end table. With that accomplished, Rinaldi focused her attention on Saul before walking out of her quarters.

The way to the shuttle bay was silent, with each respecting the other's space for the moment. She was positive that if the contents of his mind were allowed to escape, several questions concerning her and what happened would be floating upwards right above his head. The woman could tell that he was acting somewhat different to her, as if his perception of the old Fay inside the new body had disappointed him in a way. She was not positive if this was true or not, but something about his essence now set her ill at ease. Perhaps, it was the knowledge that he might know her true story now, and she caught herself worrying about how he would respond to her once privacy was enacted between them.

Slipping into the shuttle, she found a seat, avoiding at all cost, Saul's gaze that he casually threw her way. This new emotion of anxiety was new to Juliette. She never used to feel anxious around Saul, why now? Clearing her throat as he took he seat beside her, she brought her hand up to her neck. Something felt wrong....her voice felt scratchy. "I always did like shuttle rides." Rinaldi offered as a small way of opening up dialogue between them. She permitted herself to look at his profile, and inwardly she sighed. Now more than ever, for some strange reason, she really wished she was the Fay he recognized before he knew the truth. It was said, that the truth would set you free, yet Jules felt more trapped than ever before.

Saul indulged her with a meaningless reply, and after a short conversation with the shuttlebay operations officer they off to space. The small vessel, dwarved even more by the presence of Deep Space 5 in the background, began to accelerate into to void.

Saul put several odd cube-like devices on the seat next to him, and with a fast gesture reminding Jules of magicia shows she saw as a little girl, he activated them.

He set the shuttle on autopilot, and turned to look at her.

"Convince me that you are you."

The blue eyes narrowed for a moment. "Convince you that I'm me? I understand that from a purely......." She cut herself off, realizing that if she continued, she would reveal who she was. However, knowing Saul, the words would fall on death ears. He needed proof, and she was about to give it to him. Instead, she turned her attention to the cubes. Studying them for a moment before she made her move, her mind calculated the order that they needed to be in to reveal the secret that they held.

Gently reaching out with purpose, she picked up each of the cubes. Tilting them a certain way, they revealed their individual messages. Each, containing something that happened in her past. Whether is was an event that included Saul, the name of someone she killed, or just some obscure random fact, they each fell into a certain chronological order.

The first cube, when tilted revealed. "General Tilton" She smirked slightly as she placed the cube down in the third spot. The others were linked with information that fell before their time, and after their time. When connected properly, all cubes would flash instantaneously four times. Watching them as she linked the last two together, the flashing began in a set pattern. Turning slightly, Rinaldi blinked once. "Is that what you were looking for Saul....or is there something else that would solidify my identity for you?"

"Tell me something that only the two of us would no, and your 'ex-colleagues' wouldn't."

She grew silent, recalling the time they had spent together, and attempting to come up with something that only the two of them would know about. Raising her head slightly, Rinaldi's facial features softened. "Three years ago, we had been together for four weeks....it was your birthday. I had no idea what to get you. So, while you were at work, I accessed the replicator information and discovered that you had a 'thing' for fresh squeezed orange juice." Rinaldi paused yet again. "So, that day, I had a huge crate of fresh oranges delivered from your favorite grove on the Southern tip of Florida. And when you came home, I had cooked your favorite type of lamb, then offered you a glass that I had squeezed myself from those oranges. The name of the grove was Hudaks. And, I also remember, ordering the orange flower water that the grove made....just for you. I went around smelling like that big fat fruit for a week because you enjoyed the scent so much."

"And I called it--"

"Faysmell." She chuckled at the memory.

"Faysmell." He smiled, as though the sweet odor suddenly filled the cabin. "Branwen told me the funeral was impressive. I wouldn't know. I didn't go there, to see Jonas weep and all the rest mourn and pretend to know you. I went to one of the shuttle bays, with a can of orange juice, and watched space throughout the whole thing."

Her face fell instantly with her eyes falling to the floor beneath her. "I needed to come clean. For Steven, for myself."

"I felt dirty, two. I knew that whether you were truly dead or not, I failed you. If you died, it would be a death I should've stopped; And if it was an elaborate plan to escape, I didn't do enough to help."

"Faysmell" Part 2

Lt. Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence USS Galaxy

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi
JAG USS Galaxy

"I felt dirty, two. I knew that whether you were truly dead or not, I failed you. If you died, it would be a death I should've stopped; And if it was an elaborate plan to escape, I didn't do enough to help."

"You didn't fail me....how could you when you didn't know? You couldn't have known really. In all honestly, this was something that even 'Saul Bental' couldn't solve. As much as I respect you, this was bigger than both of us put together. I had no choice, I didn't know where else I could go."

"Space, Fay, should've been your camouflage blanket. You should have vanished, at least for a year, to take your chances among the throngs on the outskirts of the Federation. There are so many places out there; They just can't watch them all. But no, you had to come here. You'll get yourself killed for real, and this time I won't even have the benefit of doubt."

"I didn't have a choice Saul. They wanted me back here. Do you think I enjoy this? Being back?" She turned to face him.

He spread his arms. "You tell me."

"I don't. To see Steven almost every day. To be married, but not. I attempted to come clean, yet here I am, having to lie to everyone again. It's a lot to handle. Especially when there's the ramifications of what happens after people eventually find out. You did, just because I trust you with this information. I can't tell Steven...it's too risky."

Saul nodded with agreement. Objectively, he was better than the marine in maintaining Rinaldi's secret.

"It sucks Saul. Imagine just up and leaving Nara, not telling her where you are going, what you are doing, lying to her constantly, then expecting her to still love you in return."

"I don't have to imagine it." Saul told her. "I've been doing it to the poor woman ever since we got together."

"It's not fair." She wondered when exactly that morality had attached itself to her. "It's not fair to Nara, it's not fair to Steven....I hate the person I've become, was..is..."

"She knows what she got herself into. We have this settlement, me and her. She knows I'm not telling her everything, and she accepts it."

"I see." Her thoughts concerning Nara had not changed, despite her changed appearance. Something's were better left un said, a lesson Rinaldi was quickly learning.

Her voice suddenly grew quiet. "I finally found someone that accepted me, that loved me, and actually 'married' me...only to leave yet again. Why can't I just be normal and boring? I'm dead. He's not my

husband any longer. I'm supposed to move on...." She sighed heavily.

"I really screwed the pooch this time."

"Not totally. You did one thing right - you went off the enemy's sensors. That was the right thing to do. Though I've got to say, when Captain M'Kantu summoned me and told me about... you... for a second there, I wanted them to--"

He stopped. It took all he had not to turn his head away.

"Wanted them to what Saul? Let's be honest with each other here now...okay? I don't need protected any longer...at least when it comes to things between us. So, please...tell me."

He shrugged. "I don't trust anyone. Not completely. I assume that Nara is in love with me, and that Miramon, Nyoko and Brian are good friends.But there's no such thing as trust, just calculated risk - and if anyone I took a chance on ever turns on me, it only means I took a wrong bet. That's also what I felt when I woke up that day on earth and you were gone. Bad investment. Compoundable losses."

Saul narrowed his eyes.

"But, when the Captain told me the sweet girl I shared my bed with was an assassin, it was the closest thing to betrayal I felt since leaving home."

It was an understatement. When he left M'Kantu's ready room, he was mad. At himself, for not realizing who she was, WHAT she was. And at her, for not being the person he thought she was.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. To tell you I did what I had to for survival, would be the truth....but, at this point, there's nothing i can say to restore that sweet nature you believed I had. I was anything but sweet. See, I knew...I knew if you found out, you would be hurt. I didn't want that. I should have just stayed in IS and kept my mouth shut."

"I didn't think you were all innocent and sweet; I just thought the worst thing you could do is move along to the next guy, not kill."

"For me Saul, there is no true redemption. I lost you, now it appears twice." She grew quiet yet again. "If you don't mind...I'd just rather go back to the Galaxy now. There's nothing I can do or say anymore, other than I'm sorry."

"Faysmell" Part 3

Lt. Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence USS Galaxy

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi
JAG USS Galaxy

"For me Saul, there is no true redemption. I lost you, now it appears twice." She grew quiet yet again. "If you don't mind...I'd just rather go back to the Galaxy now. There's nothing I can do or say anymore, other than I'm sorry."

Saul nodded, and directed the shuttle back toward the Galaxy.

"You haven't lost anything, Fay-Fay. I'll help you to get out of this alive. I still think you're a good bet."

"Panther, I wouldn't be placing any credits on me just yet. I'm a mess, inside and out. It is comforting to know that, despite everything i did to you, your still here for me." Looking out the side of the window, her face grew pale. "Um, let's get our asses out of here now... please."

"Y--"

Saul never managed to finish the sentence. The ship suddenlly rocked, sending the Dutchman into the air. He gasped, reaching forward to block the inevitable collission with the navigation console. His shoulder connected with the corner of the console, sending a pulse of burning pain down his arm.

Slowly, Saul brought himself to a crouching stance.

Grabbing her seat, Rinaldi hung on for dear life as the shuttle rocked. "Saul?" Noting that he was indeed awake, but a little sore, she found her way over to the pilot seat, the one he was sitting in. She caught his look at her, then smirked as she took over. "You look suprised that I know how to do this." Jules stated as she pulled the shuttle to the left, avoiding debris from the explosion.

"Not - surprised - at anything." Saul murmured. He balanced himself against a nearby railing, peeking outside through a porthole. Deep Space 5 came into view, explosions and plasma leaks visible around its docking ring.

Something smacked into the tail end of the shuttle, causing it to fish tail, which resulted in a furrowed forehead as Rinaldi straightened the shuttle out. Staying silent, her focus was getting back to the Galaxy as well as getting Bental checked out in sick bay. "Are you okay?"

"Will be."

"Your getting checked out when we get back, no exceptions." Her voice was gruff, full of meaning and command as she attempted to miss large part of what looked like a torso as it came floating towards them. She was not able to, the thud from it smacking into the shuttle made her grimmace. Finally, she was able to guide the craft into the Galaxy's shuttle bay, wondering exactly what had happened on DS9. Her first concern had been making it back safely, her second concern was Saul. The destruction came in last. "Let's go."

Emerging from the shuttle, she turned, noting a random pattern of red splotches on the side of the shuttle. Curiousity got the best of her. It was definatly blood from something. She found herself staring at it, smirking at how messy the random pattern was. Part of her, felt a longing for darker days as he called her out of her wanting to touch the liquid. "I'm coming." Slowly, her head whipped around as she came up beside him, escorting him to sick bay.

"Comparing Notes"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy
Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counsellor, USS Galaxy

Set prior to the explosions on DS5

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

Ten Forward, USS Galaxy

Picking at the replicated salad on the table before her Kimberly munched absently as she waited. Ever since her last meeting with Miramon before all hell broke loose on ch'Rihan, and the follow up conversation with Dhani of all people, she had finally gotten around to making another appointment with him. Looking around the room, somewhat quieter than usual for an afternoon, she idly listened to the tones of the surrounding conversations nearby, not eavesdropping on the subjects, but listening for the tones used and the emotions behind them.

Random conversations as she had been taught were a good gauge of general morale, as people who were talking freely were not worried about what a professional shrink was thinking about them.

Lost in thought, and more concerned with the people around her she failed completely to notice Miramon as he entered.

The Bajoran had been surprised when the CMO had suggested they have their meeting in the beating heart of the ship's social environment. That said, he had been feeling a little hungry anyway, and since he had finished working for the day, Ten Forward seemed like as good a place as any.

Admittedly, not particularly private, given that most of the crew usually tended to gravitate to the large lounge area at one time or another, so it might not necessarily have proven suitable for discussing the mental health of another crewmember, but clearly the CMO wasn't worried about it, so he would play along for the moment.

Entering Ten Forward with his usual clipped pace, he headed automatically for the bar, not stopping to look around and see if he could locate the doctor. She might not have been eating, but she wouldn't begrudge him a light snack before he had opportunity to return to his quarters and cook something both tastier and more filling. He hated replicator food, but his tastebuds would have to stand secondary to the demands of his stomach for the moment. He stopped once he reached the bar, putting his hands palm forward against the smooth edges, letting them dig into the skin slightly. One of the bartenders came over and looked directly at him with an amenable expression.

"What'll it be, Lieutenant?"

"I'll have Iced Tea of any variety, and chicken chow mein, light on the peppers." he replied.

It took a moment, but both the food and accompanying beverage were inevitably placed in front of him, sitting neatly on a brown serving tray, which he could then use to walk his meal over to wherever he was to sit. He thanked the bartender softly, then picked up the tray and turned around, his deep blue eyes scanning the room to see if he could locate the person he was here to meet. He picked her out of the many people in the room quickly enough, since she was sitting alone, clearly enjoying whatever it was that was sat in front of her.

A slight smile curling his features, he directed his careful steps over to her table, carrying his tray with both hands, one on each side to keep it stable and steady. He moved over to the over side of the table, observing the fact that she had yet to notice his presence.

"Mind if I sit down, Doctor?"

Looking up with a slight start Kimberly nodded immediately, "Please, have a seat," indicating the chair opposite.

"Thank you." Propping the tray down on the table opposite the one that the CMO had obviously brought with her, he pulled out an appropriate chair and sat down on it with a fluid motion, tucking his legs immediately under the table itself and pulling the chair forward so he was sat in a comfortable position close to his food. He picked up his chopsticks and brought them together between thumb and forefinger, resting the one nearest his thumb on the middle finger of his right hand, crooking it in order to provide support for the odd eating utensil.

"Now then, compare notes, was it?"

"Yes," Checking around to make sure their wall table was reasonably separated from possible eavesdroppers she picked up a PADD and checked it before passing it over, "the first was this young lady," indicating the file for Lieutenant London, "there's been a formal request for a complete psych evaluation and assessment, as well as a more recent addition by myself after ch'Rihan. I've already got one report on record and another in process however this one calls for a reasonably independent review to be carried out if possible, so I was wondering if you might have time to sit and have a chat with her, my training is more as a therapist, whereas you I believe have a slightly psychoanalytical lean to your training if I'm not mistaken?"

The Bajoran skewered some noodles between the two chopsticks, but left them in the bowl as his other hand reached out and picked up the PADD. He glanced over it, then looked over the top to the Chief Medical Officer, a fair eyebrow raised slightly.

"Not Psychoanalytic in terms of the Freudian school of Psychology, but moreso in the general sense, yes. I'm sure I can find time to pester her for an appropriate appointment. I take it you'll be responsible for one of the reviews you mentioned? If so, I'd like a copy of your report before I sit the Lieutenant down and have a chat with her. Probably wouldn't hurt to poke some holes in your review process."

This last was noted with a light tone and a soft smile of amusement, although he quickly hid it as he brought the chopsticks up and tasted the noodles. They were lightly flavoured with the sauce he had requested, and while not quite as good as fresh noodles (at least to his sensitive tastebuds), he had tasted worse from a replicator.

"'My' review process?" Kimberly asked with a sarcastic lilt, a grin and a raised eyebrow, "we'll see, anyway a copy of my assessment is attached, let me know if there's anything else you need, and thank you."

"Yes ma'am. Next?"

Munching on another lettuce leaf Kimberly kept her voice down as she continued, "and the other thing, I was thinking of our chat about your other enquiry," reaching over she tapped the PADD she had given Miramon and brought up a note on Dhanishta Eshe, "as I said, at the moment I can't really discuss any personal information, however I realise there might be some issues you may need to know regarding her medical history, some of that I might be able to discuss, if you could give me some idea what you're looking for I can gather the notes." She offered.

"Mainly with regards to the episodes concerned Lieutenant Suder - the empathic echo she suffered in Engineering and the later coma. Also, if you any information, whatever you've got on her during the Dithparu incident. Any related materials would be good, too."

Nodding, "I'll look at the files and see what I can release, I'm sure you understand that though Doctor/patient confidentiality normally prohibits the sharing of information, there are some things that being relevant I can share," thinking for a moment, "again I'll get my notes together and prepare a file for you.. Perhaps we should discuss that one somewhere quieter?"

"That might be for the best. I doubt the Lieutenant would appreciate anyone accidentally overhearing us and spreading word of her particular issues around the ship." The Bajoran offered an amused smile as he spoke now. "Gossip is one of the fuels this ship runs on, at times. Certainly it's more freely available than antimatter, although potentially just as dangerous. What would you suggest?"

"How does over dinner sound?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

The laughter in Miramon's voice was clear enough now for even the CMO to detect it. "I just sat down to eat, Doc. And while it's not home cooking, it's food nonetheless. Or is this your subtle way of suggesting that I don't eat right?"

Smiling back she shook her head, "Whether you eat right or not will be a discussion for your next physical," she assured him, "but no, I meant later this evening?"

"Sure, we can do that." Miramon agreed. "It depends whether you prefer replicated food or home-cooked meals."

"I have to admit, I normally live out of the replicator, cooking was never a skill I learned. Though my young ward likes to cook occasionally she's banned me from the kitchen. I appear to have a talent for incinerated meals," she admitted honestly.

"So does my older brother, but he lives in a Bajoran Monastery back home, so none of us have to worry about his cooking. I, on the other hand, did learn that particular skill. So, my quarters later on? Have any preferences regarding the kind of food you'll consider palatable, or should I surprise you?"

"Your quarters sounds fine," she agreed readily, "and no, no preferences. Surprise me." she offered with a smile.

"Is that an order, Doctor?" Miramon asked with a slightly sardonic note to his tone. He knew fully well what she meant, and was inclined to oblige her, but there was no reason he couldn't be a little playful himself. It only felt fair.

"Just a friendly suggestion," she said with a smile, feeling a warm satisfied glow at the prospect of being able to spend a little time getting to know him, "surprises are nice," prodding her subconscious, she reminded it to get out of the gutter once they were done here and remember to do a search for the information he would need, and would be allowed to read.

Thinking about Sara-Jayne also she decided to lift the 'grounded' rule that had been more or less enforced since her little jaunt to Tru'haran a while back, she'd been bugging her to let her spend a few nights with her friends. "Nineteen hundred hours sound okay?" she asked.

"Perfectly. Gives me time to gut my quarters and bring in the cleaning staff," Miramon observed dryly. "I cannot promise that the food or the company will be of the standards you are used to, but at least you'll be able to see the floor, which is more than I can say for some of the private quarters on this ship."

~ Can't be worse than mine! ~ she thought with a chuckle, "Well I'm sure your cooking will be better than mine, and as for the company, I'll let you know." Standing she smiled, "Until later then."

Miramon nodded, and watched the Doctor depart, his deep-blue eyes fixed on her retreating back. It seemed he was going to have an interesting evening ahead.

"Lashing Out"

Major Corran Rex
2nd Lieutenant Steven Jonas

OOC: Takes place before current events, the day after Faylin's "death".

****
Vanguard Flight Deck
****

Steven looked around, trying to find the CAG. "Hey buddy," he called out to a crewman. I'm looking for the CAG?"

Looking in the direction the crewman pointed, Steven found his target. He nodded in thanks as he prepared himself for the end of his career. At least it'll be worth it, he thought.

As he stepped closer to the CAG, he felt the anger within rising. To think that the man before him and Fay had slept together just hours before she had thrown herself at him was eating away at him. That she had been so loving and caring, saying nothing, showing no feelings of guilt or even remorse. He couldn't comprehend it. "Hey, are you the CAG? He asked as he tensed up.

Corran set the toolkit down on the nearby parts creates that were stacked alongside Vanguard One. "Yeah," he said absently, just as he started to turn around..

As the man turned around, Steven swung at him as hard as he could. The feeling of satisfaction as his fist connected with the Trill's jaw made it all worthwhile. Watching him stumble backwards pleased him greatly. He knew that he'd go to the brig for it, that the deckhands would probably attack him for doing what he did, but he didn't care. He just wanted to lash out.

And he had.

The Trill blinked in suprised as he staggered backwards , catching himself on one of the footholds on his fighter's wing - the craft was nestled in it's lowered dock at the moment - when instinct took over. And the instinct naturally was, when struck, to strike back.

Steven staggered backwards from the blow. So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that he hadn't seen it coming until it was too late. Steven slipped to one knee at the impact to his jaw. Shaking his head to get the cobwebs out as he rose to his feet, he stepped forward, prepared to strike him again.

Hands grabbed his arms, pinning them to his side. "Let go of me..." he shouted as the CAG stepped forward again. Steven closed his eyes and braced for the next blow. A blow which didn't come. Opening one eye, he surveyed the man before him.

"Major!" Sergeant Ko'ren, a Stagnorian, called as he moved to keep the senior pilot from striking the offending officer again.

"I'm alright, Sergeant." Corran replied, composing himself. He felt the blood begin to trickle from the corner of his mouth, and wiped it on the back of his hand as took an appraising look at the young Marine in front of him. "Someone call Security. What the hell's your deal, kid?"

"You deserve that, for what you did." He spat at the Trill.

Corran moved just enough to step out of the way of the incoming spittle, his eyes tracking it as it landed on the deck. Then his eyes met Jonas' once more. "Kid, you need to calm down, or I'm having you sent to Sickbay instead. You need to explain yourself, mister, and you need to do it fast."

Jonas just stared at him hatefully.

Corran simply folded his arms and returned it.

"I eh... I don't know where to start. I needed to vent. And you were the target." Steven paused as he tried to figure out what to say to get himself out of the mess he was in. "You slept with my wife."

~Wouldn't be the first~ Vorrin said in the back of the Trill's joined mind.

~Not now, Old Man.~ Corran mentally replied by reflex. To Jonas, he replied aloud. "I haven't slept with anyone's wife lately, Lieutenant Jonas, so you must be carrying an old grudge. That doesn't explain this."

"Does the name Faylin McAlister mean anything to you?" Steven spat at the ground before the Trill.

Corran's eyes tightened at the mention of McAlister's name. "I'm sorry for your loss, son." the Trill said, with genuine compassion. "And yes, I did sleep with her. But she was single at the time - or she gave every indication of it, at least."

"Yeah, I know that. It's just..." Steven's head slumped forward. "Do whatever you want. I've got nothing left to live for anyway."

Security arrived not long after. One of the deckhands approached with them, clearly explaining everything that had happened. When the lead officer - Lieutenant T'Lan - arrived, the Vulcan looked expectantly at Major Rex. "How do you wish to proceed, sir?"

Corran locked eyes one more time with the young Marine. He felt bad for the kid - who wouldn't? - but still.. "Mr. Jonas here is under arrest on the charge of assaulting a superior officer, Lieutenant. Take him to the brig. I'll see to notifying his superior and the Captain."

Steven doubted Bran was going to be too happy at all with what he had just done. And Baile, if he was up and about, Steven had no clue as to what he'd say about it. Steven knew it was wrong, that the CAG had had nothing to do with her betrayal of his trust. It had all been Faylin, yet she was gone and he needed someone to be angry at. As he stood being held by the Security officers, he realized that it wasn't the Trill that he was mad at, but himself. For believing that Faylin ever really truly cared for him. It had all been an act. He could see that now. Yet there was nothing he could do about it. Not now anyway.

"Wait one." the pilot said, just before the Security officers hauled the Marine off. He placed a hand on Steven's shoulder in a strangely paternal gesture. "You've got my sympathies, son - you really do. But if you're going to be a Starfleet Officer, you need to learn that there are things you don't do. Slugging a superior's one of 'em." Rex finished, before stepping back and nodding to T'Lan.

"I don't want to be a Starfleet Officer," Steven replied as he was being led away. "I don't want to be a Marine, or anything. I just want my Faylin back. But I can't have her back. She's gone. Dead! And now thanks to finding out about your tryst, even the memory of her is tarnished forever. I have nothing left in the world. So do what you want. I don't care anymore." He didn't care that tears were starting to flow, or that he was being carted to the brig. Everything in his world had already crashed down around him. There was nothing left.

Corran just shook his head as the depressed Marine was carted off, and wondered, just for a moment if he should be notifying Karyn or Brian, in addition to Jonas' superior and Captain M'Kantu.

"Damn melodromatic kids." the pilot muttered under his breath as he turned around to resume his work.

"Creature of Jealousies"

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik, Counselling Officer
Lieutenant JG Juliette Rinaldi, JAG Officer

Set an hour after "Comparing Notes", prior to the explosions on DS5

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

Miramon Terrik's Quarters, Deck 9, USS Galaxy

Miramon had no idea, when he thought about it, why he actually owned quarters. Since he'd come back to the ship after his intense period of retraining, he'd been reassigned twice, on a temporary basis. Firstly, Starfleet had sent him over to serve under Brian aboard the USS Exeter, since they'd lost a large number of senior staff and were in need of counsellors (which was a scary thought in and of itself), and then later transferring to the USS Delphina in order to keep an eye on Faylin McAlister while she obtained a new identity for herself.

Sufficed to say, his service record was beginning to look odd.

But since the Delphina had stopped in at DS5, he and Lieutenant Rinaldi had transferred back to their proper assignment, so he'd figured it was safe to go back to his quarters. He had extricated his cat from the care of Lt Pike, who had been kind enough to keep an eye on the furball while the Bajoran was absent. Apparently Ziggy had been a perfectly pleasant cat in Maggie's care, but had proceeded to smash a perfectly good pitcher of Iced Tea since returning to Miramon's care, which suggested that either he and his former subordinate had some differences in how they perceived feline mannerisms, or that the cat was simply being vindictive.

For the moment, though, she was sleeping, so Miramon had taken the opportunity to spend some time unpacking. He wasn't sure why he was bothering, since every time he did so, Starfleet decided they were sending him somewhere obscure, thus ensuring that he needed to repack everything. Hence why he had left the unpacking for a few days, just to be sure that nobody was going to reassign him just as he was getting comfortable.

And since he had no idea what the ship was going to be assigned to do next, he could only hope it would be something vaguely relaxing. Maybe some deep space exploration, or maybe even mapping out a few hitherto unexplored sectors. Something quiet, without the threat of the ship being blown into a dozen pieces. Not that it was likely. Someone at Starfleet HQ had a rather sadistic sense of humour when it came to giving out ship assignments...

Her hand reached out and rang the chime to his quarters, like so many people before her and after her, she came for comfort and to talk about the revelations that were shared between her and Saul on a certain recent shuttle experience. Gaining permission, Jules walked casually into his quarters, noted the cat that sat on the sofa lookingcontent and smiled at Terrik. Although smiling, her eyes held a certain confusion.

"I told him." She stated simply.

Miramon looked up from his unpacking, holding a coat-hanger in one hand and a uniform jacket in the other. His expression was somewhat speculative, indicating that he was thinking, but nonetheless had no idea what she was talking about.

"Told what to whom, Juliette?" he asked, using the name she had adopted when her identity had been changed. He was still used to calling her Faylin, but back aboard the Galaxy, he figured he'd better not refer to her as such.

"Saul. He knows."

"Ah, yes. I remember now." The two of them had discussed that eventually aboard the Delphina, before arriving at DS5 to rendezvous with the Galaxy. "How did he react to that revelation?"

Jules reached up and scratched the back of her neck. "Are you aware of the thing he does where he just stares blankly....and you can't really tell what he's thinking? He did that. Then, we took a shuttle ride, I had to prove to him who I really was, and then the true communication started Terrik."

The Bajoran smiled slightly. He was tempted to make a sarcastic comment regarding Saul and his lack of any particular piloting ability, but restrained himself. Which was not to say that the comment he did make was any less sarcastic.

"When Saul looks like that, you can't tell what he's thinking because he's either not thinking at all, or doesn't know what he's thinking any better than you do. I wouldn't worry about that too much. But you're not really answering my question. What did he say?"

"He feels betrayed by me. That I didn't feel I could come to him when I needed help."

Ah, this was definately familiar territory...

"Sounds like a spur-of-the-moment reaction to me. Contrary to what I usually have to say about him, Saul is a smart man. He understands better than anyone aboard this ship the need for discretion on occasion. Give him a little time to digest the idea that you're still alive, and he'll feel differently."

"That's the thing Terrik. He states that, and then not a moment later, he's telling me that he thinks I'm still a good bet, and that he wants to help me." Jules sighed her eyebrows furrowing as she plopped herself down beside his cat who just looked at Rinaldi with a certain interest reserved for felines. The two exchanged a longer look followed by the feline speaking her mind concerning Juliette invading her space. A long low meow escaped, which resulted in the two narrowing eyes at each other. Turning, Jules lowered her head, staring right at the cat. "I don't like cats." She spoke directly to the animal. The ginger colored beast stayed silent, offering only a disgusted look that screamed 'you're not worth my time'. Clearing her throat, she turned her attention back to the counselor. "So...I'm confused."

Miramon watched the little exchange with a slightly amused expression, then shrugged when Faylin presented him (and the cat in question) with her opinion on the matter.

"Well, I'm allergic to cats, as it turns out. If you were confused before..."

His voice trailed off gently, simply letting her imagination fill in the gap there. He offered her a soft smile to indicate that he was joking, then turned his mind to the more serious matter at hand.

"As for Saul, he probably does want to help, you know. Despite the simple fact that I can never be sure what he's doing at any given time, he's pretty reliable. And that's coming from someone that spent quite a while in his company while behind enemy lines. If he says he wants to help, then he probably does."

"Well, I guess further discussion is needed on the topic. I'm not sure how he can help, other than keeping me under cover." Her eyes widened somewhat. "Hey, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Not having my permission has never stopped you before, Fay, so go ahead," Miramon noted, somewhat sarcastically.

"Do you think....or have you ever heard of Saul going outside a 'relationship'?"

The Bajoran's blonde eyebrows raised quite significantly at that one, his eyes widening and his expression telling her pretty much what she needed to know, whether she realised it or not. He wasn't really quite sure why she'd think he would know anything like that. Bajorans were not telepathic, and even if they had been, Miramon was still fairly certain that there were some things man was not meant to know. The details of Saul's sex life had to be included in that category.

"I've not heard of such a thing, no, but then, he's only really been in one stable relationships since I first met him. And, frankly, I had quite enough trouble pestering him to get that far. The last thing I'd want to do is pry around and find out whether he's staying loyal to Naranda."

She nodded, not wanting to continue this particular line of questioning any further. It....would bring about suspicion. "I thought your job was to pry counselor." A coy grin crossed her mouth.

"Maybe a little. But we prefer to let people tell us their problems of their own accord. I'll only pressure someone if there's the possibility that somebody could be hurt if I don't have sufficient information to act on."

"Terrik...I need advice on something. You are aware that Saul and I were involved....a while ago. right?"

The Bajoran shook his head. "No, I wasn't aware of that, but it wouldn't surprise me. Are you suggesting this might be something you'd wish to try pursuing again?"

The highlights of her blond hair flashed under the lights of the quarters as she lowered her head slightly. Her gaze met the floor, then slowly came up to meet Terrik. Her mouth pulled tightly before opening to speak. "Terrik..........."

Miramon almost smirked at that one. He wasn't usually a person inclined towards smugness, but occasionally he couldn't help but take a moment to enjoy being right. And Faylin perhaps had forgotten the first rule of psychology: what a person didn't say was often as revealing as what they did say. Okay, he wasn't necessarily sure he liked what that meant in this instance, but he'd made an assumption and being right on the button. That was at least something.

Even so, he remained silent, letting Faylin carry on. Presumably she had something on her mind that she wanted to offload.

"Okay, yes. I want to pursue something, and I've tried. He's too hooked on Nara....or....I don't know. I'm not one to judge other's relationships...but....from what he's said..... He keeps things from her and he's content having her be oblivious to what he's doing. I just don't get it. I don't get how she could be content just having a relationship like that. It's like...he's holding on to her for the hell of it because it's safe."

"That's possible," Miramon admitted. "Nonetheless, it is their choice to keep it that way. You haven't done anything about this, I assume?"

"No! I haven't tried anything since I've 'returned' and in all honesty, I don't believe I'm going to. What I did when I was 'Fay' was just attempt to push him into my arms, forcing him to remember what we had. And now that he knows what I did, we had nothing. I think the realization has hit him that he did not know who I really was, and I know more about him now...than he knows about........well, that's not true."

"Well, right now, both of you need to adjust to the fact that you're Lieutenant Juliette Rinaldi, not Faylin McAlister. If he didn't know who you were before, he really doesn't now. And it's very possible that you don't either."

"The bottom line is, that yes, part of me is still very attracted to him...he will always be my Panther. But, the 'reality' is that he is involved, and as much as I want to reach out to him again, I just can't knowing that he knows who I really am and I realize how much I've hurt him. So, I just swallow my desire and need to reach out and...." And for the first time in front of Terrik, Rinaldi blushed.

That was, he felt, cause for another slight raise of the eyebrow. True, he never expected to understand Saul at times, but things like that just went completely over his head, and he expressed as much to Faylin but a moment later.

"Panther?"

She smirked. "It's a nick name. He calls me Fay-Fay and I call him Panther." She noted his expression that was bordering on nauseated. "Should I get the waste recepticle basket for you?" Without warning, the cat, who had chosen to hate Faylin, was resting on the back of the sofa by her head woke up. Growling, the animal suddenly stood on her back legs and proceeded to bat the living hell out of the back of Jule's head repeadily. Turning, she grabbed her head, and focused on the devil cat. "Do you mind? Shoo! What is with that beast Terrik?"

Miramon grinned, then walked over and picked up the cat, holding it still with both arms and stroking it softly in a calming manner.

"Cats are, from what I can determine, territorial creatures. My sofa apparently is not my sofa so much as hers. And lacking prior permission from the cat, you nonetheless sat down. I figure that's her way of saying you're overdue with your rent."

"Do me a favor...don't tell Saul any of this? I'm embarrased enough as it is with him and recent events."

The Bajoran narrowed his eyes and have Faylin a slightly depracating look. "Counsellor confidentiality, Lieutenant. Nothing you say to me gets repeated to anyone unless you give your express permission beforehand." Miramon offered a slight sigh, and his voice softened slightly. "You should know that by now."

"Miramon, I would like to consider you more than just your average everyday counselor. Your my friend first and foremost now. That's why I stated that....Okay?"

He nodded. "I understand, and I appreciate that, but nonetheless, what applies at work goes for every other time, too. Besides," Miramon grinned, "Saul is not the only one that can keep secrets. And I keep bigger ones than this."

She giggled. "Terrik, please. Let's not get into a I have a 'I've got the bigger secret' contest. Cause, I'd win hands down." And with that, she stuck her tongue out at him.

Miramon chuckled. It was typical of Faylin to be so off-hand. Apparently it was something that Lieutenant Rinaldi had picked up off of her, too.

"Well, if we played that game, they'd not really be secrets anymore, since I'd have to tell you the ones I have to prove that they are more substantial than whatever you have hidden away in that head of yours."

"We'll have to play that game when we are very drunk. That way, by the time morning rolled around, we wouldn't remember what we told each other the night before. But then, that would never work, because you don't get drunk...do you?"

"I'm Bajoran, Faylin. We drink in moderation, for the taste. The idea of becoming intoxicated to such a degree is something that, in my experience, is completely the purview of Humans and Klingons."

"Yeah, that's why Humans and Klingons can throw awesome parties. I've been to a Bajoran hosted party.....never....again." She stated with a slight smirk. "Anyway, for the time being, I have my first case coming up and it's a doozy."

"Would it be too bold of me to ask what it concerns?" Miramon asked, again with the raised eyebrow.

"Rex has charged Jonas with assault of a superior officer...and guess who the confrontation was about?"

"Faylin McAlister, I would assume. I don't know what you did to provoke those two to argument, though."

"Yep. Jealousy is an evil beast.....and I should know. I'm experiencing it a bit myself these days." She rose off the couch, signaling her desire to depart. "I better go Terrik....I actually have a job to do...go figure."

"Ironically enough, so do I. Once I've finished unpacking, of course." He smiled at her gently, primarily to indicate that he was half-joking. "I suppose I shall be seeing you later?"

"Sure...just let me know when."

The Bajoran's smile widened. "Yes ma'am."

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