"Dinner Talk"

1st Lt. Branwen London
1st Lt. Steven Jonas

(Occurs after "Opening Up" and the day before the two posts with Rinaldi)

****
Outside Bran's Quarters
****

Steven reached her door with little embarrasment. Being seen carrying a dog down the corridors was odd, to say the least, yet Bran had invited him and the dog for dinner, and since he found any leashes in the quarters he had shared with Faylin for such a sort time, he had opted to carry it. He had replicated a new grey, collared shirt to wear, finding that most of what he had was either for more of a date type of situation, or too casual, and had pulled on some dark trousers.

He had always brought a bottle of something when going to a friend's place for dinner, seldon as he did that, yet with the recent drinking binge and recovery, he had opted for a semi home made bottle of some fresh, non replicated orange juice. There was a large orange tree in the Arboretum, and

one of the botanists had owed him a favor. Reaching over, bottle in hand he used one of his knuckles to press the buzzer to announce his presence and waited for her response.

Branwen was dressed in a casual pair of trousers and a jumper. Her long hair was lose, something she never did when on duty. She smiled when he came in. "Steven, welcome." Then she noticed the dog. "What your name, pretty?"

Steven smiled as he saw Bran. She looked so different out of uniform, with her hair down like it was. His name is Kronos, though I don't know if he was named after the Klingon homeworld or not." Steven lowered the animal to the ground and let it sniff around.

"Would you like something to eat?" She asked the dog after petting him and then taking him to the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable, Steven. There are snacks on the table."

Steven moved over to the couch and sat down. He had spent a long time at work, going over reports and the like, and needed the rest. Looking around, Steven couldn't help but wonder how she had managed to get such large quarters. There were like four rooms off of the main area. His, much smaller than these, only had two rooms, the bedroom and the bathroom.

"Nara and Saia are out so we have the place to ourselves tonight. What can I get you to drink?" She called from the kitchen.

"Anything you have that is non-alcoholic." he replied before getting up and heading to the kitchen to hand her the bottle he had brought. "For the host." he said with a smile. "Real orange juice, from real oranges."

"Awww thank you. You know I love organic foods. Shall we drink it now?" She asked. "I am very glad you stopped drinking, Steven." She came out with some glasses.

"I might have stopped but these days, I really really wish I hadn't. It helped a lot previously, when things weren't going so well in my life."

She came back and sat down next to him. "You might think it helps, but it doesn't, not really. It only numbs the pain for a little while."

Steven nodded. She was right. It was all it really did, but sometimes that's all you really want; to numb the pain. "Have you met any of the new Marines yet?" Steven asked, changing the focus of the converstaion.

"Only briefly. It sucks that I'm still on limited duty. But I don't dare ask for more, they say I should be very lucky that they are allowing this at least. Have you? Any problems?"

"For the most part, they have settled in nicely. There were a few issues between the veterans of ch'Rihan and the ones fresh out of boot," Steven didn't think it appropriate to go into the details. It wasn't anything she should have to worry about until she was cleared for a greater duty role. "Yet everything seems to have calmed down, especially with the increased training schedule they are under. Pops and the other NCO's are taking the newcomers under their wings, helping them get adjusted." Steven paused wondering if he should mention the incident with Portman.

"There was one incident yesterday. Private Portman thought it would be funny to make a wise crack about the CAG and my late wife. It wasn't too hard to restrain myself this time as Furji stepped in before anything happened and gave the Private a ten mile run in full gear to cool himself off. Pops and I discussed his lack of discipline and we decided to pair him up with Amy for the next couple of weeks. To see if she can knock some sense into him." Steven grinned.

Branwen groaned. "Some of them just doesn't have a brain. You handled it very well, I am proud of you Steven." She smiled.

Steven shrugged. "I don't think I'm going to deck anyone else anytime soon."

"I would like to get more actively involved, whatever the doctors say, I feel fine. And we should start preparing for the next mission anyway."

"No official word has come down yet, but rumor has it that we are heading after some official that was kidnapped from within Starfleet's headquarters. I don't put much stock in it being true, but just in case, we have three of the more experienced squads busy training on Insertion and Retreval."

"Very good. We are going to need professionals on this." Branwen said. "It is very bad timing with so many fresh troops coming in, and so little time to beat them into a cohesive unit."

"I was thinking that we need to get the Hopper crews practicing for an emergency extraction. Who knows what we might encounter."

"Good idea. And to have them interact with the troops." It felt good to talk about work again.

"As for the other matter, I don't think you're ready to get back into training, but I'm sure the men would be glad to see you back at the morning briefings, and being involved in some of the less physical drills and instructional sessions." Steven knew how she felt. It had been just as he had upon the eve of the ch'Rihan battle after being shot. So he was all for Bran to be getting back into things, if she was up to it that is.

"They need to see the brass. Baile is also still out of the action." She had also promised Victor to do too much. "The morning briefings it is for now. I have started working out at the gym at a very low pace. Very frustrating." She smiled however.

"Swimming is quite an effective way of getting a workout without as much strain on the muscles as you get working out at the gym or running. I'm sure the doc might allow a little acquatic training, if you ask."

"I am sure of it. I will ask him or my physical therapist. She is a real drill sergeant. It is good to get back in the swing of things."

"It's good to have you getting back into things. I never realized just how much paperwork there is when leading a unit. And despite it helping me forget the troubles in my life, there's a limit to how much is too much." he grinned.

"The paperwork I can do again." Branwen said assured. "It will make me feel useful. And now we are going to enjoy dinner and forget about work."

"That sounds fine with me." Steven was feeling better than he had in a while. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"You can carry the heavy dishes to the table." It isn't something she would normally say, but right now it was not a problem to face her limitations.

"Sure." Steven replied. The smells of the cooked food wafted up from the pots and pans and food had never smelt so good. Yet one more thing he was learning about his boss; she was a pretty good cook.

"Can You Date My Widower?"

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi
JAG
& Lieutenant (Jg) Chandrakala Eshe
ACOE IKS T'Kengra

Location: Ten Forward

Swallowing, she had to squelch the desire to go back to her old life. She was starting to have nightmares now, concerning her previous hits, making her hungry once again for the thrill of the kill. It was something that was natural with the transformation, or so she was told. Yet what she didn't understand, was how to bring it up to Terrik. How do you tell someone that you were feeling withdrawals from killing people? She shook her head and lowered it in depression.

Normalcy was a word she was never going to be defined as. That was the reality of the situation. Looking up, she viewed Kala walking across the room. There was someone for Steven, she thought. They were together once....anything is possible.

Taking a seat at the bar Kala leaned over the counter flashing her bright green eyes and her cleavage at the bar tender. With a full smile on her rose bud lips she flicked her hair and winked at the man on the other side.

"What can I get for you?" he enquired simply, unable not to notice her display yet averting his eyes respectfully.

Kala flicked her hair again faking fatigue as she fluttered her eyelids at him. "I don't know…" she replied in a soft flirtatious voice. She licked her lips seductively and leaned in just that bit closer, "Surprise me." she requested her eyes sparkling with playfulness.

'Oh I'm gonna puke.' Jules thought to herself as she viewed the display of feminine wiles. Standing, she chose to walk herself over to the bar, and sit beside Kala. Nodding at the bartender after he was done 'filling' Kala's order, she requested a cup of simple green tea with a orange wedge. As much as she hated to admit it, she was slowly beginning to change into Juliette Rinaldi, and leaving Faylin McAlister behind.

"Hi. Juliette Rinaldi, JAG. You are?" She extended her hand slowly, not sure if Kala would take it or not."

Kala turned a little surprised, she had not felt anyone beside her. She inwardly gripped as the bartender with the cutest butt she had ever seen walked off to attend other patrons. Licking her teeth with mild annoyance she turned slowly to the attention disturber and smiled sweetly.

Taking the offered hand she replied, "Chandrakala Eshe." she said simply. All traces of annoyance gone as she focused on the woman beside her; she wasn't one to be rude to potential friends. And this one happened to be a JAG apparently, those could come in handy.

"Nice to meet you. So, um......how have the pickings been around here as far as men go?" 'Gods.....way to sound cheap Faylin...' She thought yet again to herself.

Kala chuckled and bowed her head for a moment. ~What a question!~ she thought inwardly. Yet then the realization came that if this woman had seen her from across the room and come up to her with an opening line like that… maybe she was being a bit too heavy on the flirting… did she have a sign saying 'desperate' flashing on her forehead or something?

She shrugged in response to the question, "Well, erm… I really ah.." she found herself slightly lost as she stared into the void beside her. ~Wow, this is totally freaky. This gal is an empty box!~ Shifting on the stool for a moment Kala regained her composure, after all it was just like being with her mother.

"The pickings are… well just like that." she replied, "Someone else's left over's. The stories about this ship hold true; everyone has slept with everyone else. It's a mine field." She tilted her head slightly at the new comer wondering if her remark was meant in a snide way to illuminate the fact that Kala was acting like a slut, or was she genuinely interested?

"Eh. From what I've heard, there are a few marines around here that are not half bad." She took a drink of her tea, freshly arrived from the bartender and smiled softly. 'You don't know what I'm thinking....' She thought in a sing song voice. If it was one thing she enjoyed about the necklace, it was to watch the confusion slowly appear on the faces of the telepaths as they realized they could not read her.

Kala smiled slightly and sipped her drink, "I don't date marines." she said quietly over the rim.

"Have you met Lt. Jonas yet?"

She blushed a deep crimson, her face and hair merging into one for a moment, all that stood out were bright green eyes. Coughing a little she turned back to the bar and placed her drink down a so she could take a few seconds to compose herself.

"Yes." she said staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar, "I have met him." she downed her drink whilst holding out her hand to get the attention of the tender, "Another please." she asked wiping her mouth as she placed the now empty glass down. Turning towards Juliette she smiled once more, not really sure what to say.

'Gotcha!' Jules thought as she warmly smiled. "He's pretty nice, from what I've heard."

Kala nodded whilst taking a gulp of her refreshed drink, "Uh huh." she mumbled through. Placing the drink down she added, "He's also a widower."

"Yeah, I know. I was actually trying to help him move on by finding someone for him to get his mind off of....um....what was her name? Oh yeah, Faylin."

Kala nodded slowly as she swirled the drink in her glass. She did on some level feel guilty. She didn't know that Fay and Jonas were an item when she slept with him… but even so, the woman was dead now, and she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps that had played a part in her suicide.

"Would you ever consider.....if he asked....spending some time with him?" Her eyes appeared to have the wisdom of someone who knew the woman's history. All desire to fight with her was over, and she viewed the situation humorous if it wasn't so odd to begin with.

Kala regarded Juliette suspiciously for a moment, wondering just what she knew about what had transpired. "I view Jonas as a friend, an acquaintance, spending time with him is not a problem. But I'm not about to agree to being set up on a date with him if that's what your asking?"

"No, that's not what I was asking. I'm just wondering if you would be open to spending some time with him...with his current situation and everything." She stated quietly. "It would help him out a great deal if there was someone he could talk to."

Kala frowned over her drink, pursing her lips she thought about it. Spending time with the guy she shagged, humm… It would be okay if their one night stand hadn't contributed to the woman's suicide. Kala smiled, "Sure, anything for a friend." she lied.

"Okay, great. Thanks. Hey...um...I have to go meet someone. Thanks for everything." She stood, nodded with a blush, and turned to walk out the door. Steven needed to get over her, one way or another. Because if he couldn't, it would drive her to a place worse then where she was already at.....or so she thought.

"A New Passtime"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

First Lieutenant Steven Jonas
CO - Second Platoon

**** Gymnasium 2 Deck 12 ****

Steven placed the weights back in their storage area and picked up his towel. Reaching up, he wiped the sweat from his face, before dropping the towel and picking up his drink bottle and taking a long drink.

His eyes roamed the huge gym, one of three on the deck. It was practically deserted save for himself and the Bolian trying to run on the treadmill. He looked ungainly running like he was, but Steven didn't mind. At least he was working out and keeping in shape. In the three months since he had started using the Gym, the Marine one being too crowded with Grunts all the time, he had barely seen anyone using it.

He had gotten slack. Being with Faylin for the short time that they had had together before she had taken her life had found him neglecting his usual training in the gym and swimming pool, and he had lost a good chunk of the muscle he had been carefully toning. And though no one had really said anything, except Bran, he also hadn't really been eating well since Fay's death, and it was starting to take it's toll on his body. He had only noticed it himself when he had taken a shower in the morning and saw the effect it had been having on his body. He knew he had to start eating better and working out more and so he had spent the last couple of hours working out.

Seeing the Bolian give up and head out the doors, Steven walked over to the treadmill and started it up, beginning with a nice jog.

As the speed reached a reasonably fast running pace, he finally noticed the man standing at the door.

"Um, excuse me," the man said, approaching the treadmill, "you don't happen to play racquetball, do you?"

"Play what?" Steven asked, unsure of what he just asked.

"Racquetball," Brian repeated, slightly raising the racquet he held in his hand. "I was supposed to meet someone for a game when he got called away at the last minute. I could play with a holographic opponent, but I think live people are much more fun," he chuckled. "Anyway, just wondering if you'd be interested."

"Never played it myself, but I'm always keen to try new sports. Um, you are?"

"Sorry, Brian Elessidil," he replied, shifting the racquet to his left hand and extending his right.

Steven took the outstretched hand in his and shook firmly. "Nice to meet you Brian. I'm Steven Jonas."

Pressing the shutdown button, Steven stepped from the treadmill. "Lead on."

"Well first, we'll have to find you a racquet," Elessidil assessed. He moved to a far corner of the gym, where a rack containing implements for a variety of games hung on the wall. "If we can't find one here, I'm sure we could just replicate one," he said, visually scanning a row of racquets, paddles and other items for tennis, ping-pong, lacrosse... "Aha, racquetball," he said, retrieving the discovery and handing it to Steven. "To the holodeck, then?"

"Sounds good to me."

"So what do you know about the game?" Brian asked as the two exited the gym into the corridor. "Conceptually, it shares some similarities with tennis, so if you're familiar with that you at least have a good point of reference."

"I've seen a few tennis games, my half sister used to teach at a school on Betazed and they often had people playing the game. I think I can pick it up pretty fast."

Brian smiled. "Good, then I'm sure you'll be a quick study."

"So, what do you do aboard the ship? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Well, aside from whatever they tell me to do," he said with a smirk, "I head up the Counseling department with Commander Dallas. And you?"

"I'm a Marine. This isn't a new way of getting me to counseling is it?" Steven joked.

"Hah! No. When I play racquetball, it's to play racquetball. Besides, I'm sure Lieutenant London has made sure that all of you doing just fine. So you said your sister used to teach on Betazed? You spent any time there yourself?"

Steven nodded. "I grew up there. She raised me after my parents died. She's like my sister and my mother, as weird as that sounds."

"Not weird at all. But how did you end up on Betazed? I mean if you're Betazoid, you sure hide it well."

"I don't actually know. My mother was a Trill, my father a Terran. My sister was teaching there and I was placed into her care. Though I have enough troubles of my own without 'feeling' everyone else's." Steven grinned. "And, no, I don't want to go into them. Bran does enough of that already."

"Relax. Remember? I'm off duty.

"So, how long have you been playing racquetball?" He was curious to know just how bad he was going to be beaten. He'd never really gotten into sports; other than running and swimming, but they were only for fitness.

"Longer than I care to remember," Brian answered, chuckling lightly. "When I was in college I used to play with some friends who introduced me to it. None of us ever really got into the Parisi Squares craze; guess you could say we were mavericks, in a nerdy sort of way," he said, laughing again.

"Okay, here we go," the counselor stated as they came to a stop in front of one of the holodecks. "Computer, Elessidil racquetball program." He grinned at Steven. "Ready?"

"Yep." Steven replied. He wasn't afraid of trying new things, and who knew, this might turn out to be better than running around the lower decks like he was used to.

The doors whirred open and the two men took a few steps into the fully materialized regulation racquetball court. As the doors closed behind them, Brian was about to begin the 'lesson' when he stopped and closed his eyes, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and gently pinching to relieve some sudden pressure.

"Are you okay?" Steven asked.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine," he answered, blinking a few times and shaking away the unpleasant sensation. "Just a bit of a headache I guess. But I'm okay now . . . . Let's start teaching you some racquetball," he said, his tone returning to a more normal cadence.

"Where do we start?"

"Just remember, once you learn, there's no going back. You'll be on my list of regular racquetball partners," Brian said, smirking. "That is...if you can handle it."

"If I can survive hand to hand with a Klingon, I think I can handle a little running around a court hitting a little ball." Steven grinned, though if he had had any idea just how tired he would get, he'd have not been grinning.

"Surprise Present"

1st Lieutenant Steven Jonas
Lieutenant (jg) Juliette Rinaldi

**** Marine Barracks Marine Country ****

"Listen up!" Steven called out as he entered the barracks. "The barracks look like a pigsty. Clean this shit up!"

Steven watched as the men and women of the Second platoon slowly began to get up and tidy the barracks up. "Now, Boris!' he called out seeing the tall Bajoran sitting quietly on his bunk.

Boris rose faster than an alleycat with it's tail on fire and began putting away his freshly cleaned and pressed kit. Steven had to smile at how easy it was to get these boys, and girls, to action. It gave him a buzz. One of only a handful he had had in the past month or so since Faylin had passed away.

Turning to another of the new recruits who happened to be leaning up against his bunk, looking at a magazine of dubious origin. "That goes for you too Portman."

"Sir," Portman called out.

"What is it Private?" Steven replied. "Don't you know how to tidy your shit up?"

"Sir," he said again. "It's not that Sir. It's... Isn't this your old girlfriend?" He held out the magazine for Steven.

"She wasn't my girlfriend. She was my wife, Portman. And what kind of idiot do you take me for..." His eyes saw the page he was holding open. It sure looked like Fay. The resemblance was uncanny. He snatched it up from the Marine.

"And, this is the Marine barracks." Her young assistant told her as they walked through the double doors. She knew exactly where she was at. Steven was here, she could sense it. Swallowing the nervousness she felt, Juliette sighed heavily as she stepped through. Her uniform outfitted her new body snuggly, her blond hair hung straight, hiding somewhat the Trill markings on her face.

"Lt.? Are you alright?" He noticed her porcelain skin grow pale as her expression remained emotionless.

"Fine." Jules raised her eyes to catch the gazes of several Marines with arched eyebrows as she advanced. That magazine, she had to hold her lips from snarling. Starfleet was certainly devising some very unique ways of getting even with her. Biting her lower lip, she tasted the strawberry lipgloss with a disinterest as she slowly, yet carefully scanned the area for Jonas. With absent mind, she pulled the chain on her neck out, and started rubbing her wedding rings to attempt to subconsciously comfort herself. It did not work. Tucking the rings back under her tunic, her heels clicked lightly as they approached. He had his back turned to her, and it was taking everything in her being not to run up and embrace him. Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she blinked several times to clear her eyes from added moisture.

Steven stood staring at the pictures. They sure as hell looked like Faylin. Though for the life of him, he couldn't remember when she could had posed for such a magazine, let alone why she would. It wasn't in her nature. Sure, she was a flirt, and had been a wild one liking many a man in her time, but to pose for one of these... It just wasn't Fay. Not the Fay he knew and loved.

Shaking his head in confusion, he failed to hear the new JAG enter for her tour of the Marine barracks, a full half hour earlier than expected.

Her head tilted slowly downwards. "Lt. Interesting choice of literature you have." her voice soft, willowy and much different that the harshness that her previous voice displayed. It was like comparing a summer thunderstorm to a light Spring rain. The comparisons were certainly note worthy.

Steven stopped suddenly, an expression of a school boy caught by the school bully with some inappropriate material in his hands, was clearly visible on his face. "Ma'am, sorry Ma'am. This is going to sound very weird, but the private here was just telling me that my late wife was in the magazine. I didn't believe him and had to check." God how his face was red. How was he ever going to live this one down. Steven saw Portman shaking his head in mock surprise at Steven's statement, and narrowed his gaze on the marine but for a moment before throwing the magazine, Playboy's Women of Starfleet, JAG edition onto the bed. If the date on the cover was to be believed, it had just come of the presses not a couple of days ago and Steven had no idea how it had gotten all the way to the Galaxy so fast.

'He looks so lost.' Juliette thought as he turned around. Her eyebrows furrowed, panic ensued within her as he raised his eyes. 'Oh please don't look straight at me Steve." She offered him a half smile as he caught her gaze. She yet again pulled the chain from her neck, fiddling with the rings on the end. What she was doing was dangerous, by any standards, but as while her physical appearance had changed, her mind was still Faylin. He was her husband.....until death...and she was not dead.

Steven had spent many long nights alone, thinking about Faylin; wondering just why she had done what she had done. It had been weeks since the day she had died, and despite all the hurt, he missed her dearly. Sleeping had been hard. Where her mere presence had once kept the nightmares at bay, they now drove at him with such a ferocity that he had never felt before. If he got more than a couple of hours of sleep a night, he was having a good night. Got how he missed Fay. What he wouldn't give to have her back, in his arms. He blinked, stopping the tear before it could form.

Being in mixed company, she took the professional route. "Lt. Jonas, I have information pertaining to you case...will you please accompany me back to my office so we can talk in private?" She turned slightly, narrowing her eyes at the private who became suddenly interested in the conversation. "This does not concern you private...." Jules hissed.

Steven gave Portman the evil eye. He was a nosey bugger, and hopefully Amy would find a way to put him in his place.

"Right this way." She stated, taking the lead and walking in front of him to her office.

Steven nodded and followed her out of the Barracks.

Upon arrival, she slid behind her desk, then focused on the small gift box that sat on her desk inviting her to open it. Her face, usually rosey, suddenly grew pale. She knew it wasn't from the Captain, Terrik, or Bental for that matter. Something was amiss.

"Got a secret admirer?" Steven asked.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Let me open........." At first, her hands started to shake noticeably as she opened the small card that housed a black rose on it. 'Oh fuck me.' She thought as she opened the small card. Reading the few lines, she dropped it and gasped. Grabbing it from his view, she attempted a shaky smile. "It's from....an old friend."

"An old friend? That doesn't seem like the reaction one would have if an old friend gave them a present." He had heard her gasp, her hands were shaking and she looked nervous. Old friend indeed.

"Yeah...an old........" Placing the note down, she carefully opened the box, the image inside causing her to grow more pale. Looking up at Jonas, she started to silently cry. "If you don't mind...I have to go...."

"Go? I thought we were going to talk about my case. Go where?" Steven reached out a supporting hand, one she brushed away with a slight movement backwards.

"Just..someone I need to see." She gathered up the box and card, then nodded to him. Yet again, he was not permitted to know what was going on with her, or who she was for that matter.

"Is there nothing I can help with?" Steven asked concern showing on his face.

"No, sorry there's not." She stated simply.

Steven felt dejected. It was the second time in a matter of days that she had acted weirdly. Sighing, he rose up and turned to leave. "If that's what you want."

"Thanks though...really." She turned quickly, kissing him on the cheek. "I do appreciate it." Jules turned, muttering. "I need to find him...he can help."

"You need to find who?" Steven asked politely.

"Saul....." She muttered yet again. "He..." Jules looked down at the picture, then up at Steven. "Stay sweet Steven....just...stay just the way you are....I need Saul now..."

"You too?" Steven said, as his shoulders sagged upon hearing his name. Fay had been good friends with him too, and they had been an item at some point in the past, a hot item from the way Fay had mentioned him months ago, but for Juliette to need him... What was so special about him? What was it that made the people Steven liked need him?

"Yes, me too." Her eyes narrowed.

Steven turned again to leave. "I'm not some useless Marine you know. I've seen my fair share of strange and scary situations. Why do people always go to him for help? Just cause he's intel doesn't make him God!"

"He's close to it...." She spat as she turned, unaware of the picture that floated to the floor.

Steven took a step back, weary of the venom in her words. "He's no where near close. If he was, he could have saved Fay from dying." Steven spat back. Then, spotting the picture land on the floor, he reached to pick it up for her. It looked from the angle he had to be a of a young child, though he couldn't tell who. The picture was upside down, though there was a bit of green off in one corner.

"Saul's more than you will EVER be Steven!" She spat yet again. Instantly, her eyes fell to his motion, and with no fore thought, she brought her hands out and shoved him down. "That's mine!" Yanking the picture up, she shot him a look of utter evilness.

Steven stood up. She was definitely not the simple down to earth woman he thought she was. "I was just trying to help."

"Go back to the barracks where you belong....you're not needed in this situation." She hissed with venom, her anger getting the best of her.

Defeated, and angry at how she was treating him, Steven didn't reply, but just pivoted and walked to the door and stepped outside. He wasn't going to stay around while people treated him like that. Fay had done that on the planet, near the end of the war and he wasn't going to stand for it again.

"The Heart of Darkness"

Lieutenant jg Robert Mathieson, MD

Location - Unknown
===============

Robert Mathieson didn't mind a hangover, so long as it was well earned over a night of fine wine or strong whisky. The nightmarish pounding that now lanced through his skull however, was not the result of Bacchus' delights. The old man had experienced it before - the painful after-effects of a disruptor set on heavy stun. Opening his eyes revealed only darkness, and his hearing rang with the thunderous rhythm of his own pulse and nothing more.

He tried to sit up, but the effort brought only the bitter taste of impending nausea and a searing pain in his head that went to the roots of his teeth to the center of his brain. The unpleasant smell of burnt flesh and hair didn't help. ~Don' remember it bein' this bad~, he thought as he recovered from the effort. ~'Course, it's been twenny years r' so, ye old fool. Ye were a younger an' smarter man back then.~

The physician breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm is racing heart and speed the recovery of his nervous system. The very last thing he remembered was being at Olivia Proctor's birthday celebration, about to French kiss the Admiral - it was part of his master plan for career dis-advancement. Kimberly Burton had insisted on his promotion to Lieutenant-JG, with the accompanying responsibilities and paperwork that went with it - she also said that there was no action she could think of that would change her mind. She didn't understand that he *liked* being the low man on the totem-pole. Having just received his thirty-year service stripe with a shiny-red Presidential Citation, Robert Joseph Mathieson was practicing the best medicine of his life - unburdened by forms, requisitions, reviews, memoranda and files.

While he thought that the Galaxy's CMO was an excellent physician and department head, he was also aware that the young woman had a lot to learn.

A moan to his left froze his thoughts and breathing. Clenching his teeth he forced himself to an upright position, fighting vertigo and the rising tide of vomit in his esophagus. He thanked his maker his knees didn't give out as he stood and blindly shuffled his way to the other resident of the darkness.

"Are ye alright? Can ye speak?" he whispered.

The voice was, unsurprisingly, alien - a phonetic mash of 'Z'sounds and glottal stops Mathieson had come to know as Orion. He didn't speak a word of it other than to swear, and he used the opportunity immediately. The Orion's voice had triggered the doctor's Universal Translator implant which, shorted by the disruptor burst, now sent a wave of white noise into the old man's mind.

"Sweet Mother o' Christ will ye can it fer a mo'!" Mathieson grimaced. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he fought against the pain. Whether the Orion speaker understood or went unconscious he couldn't tell, but at least he remained mercifully quiet. The recovery from the pain was quicker this time, despite the event being more intense.

With gentle hands the doctor felt around the Orion, careful not to touch him. The man was lying on a biobed - but an old one, at least a decade out if date. He tried to activate the bed's display panel, but there was no power in the room.

The small sounds he and the Orion were making told him that the room was smaller than Galaxy's sickbay, but not empty - objects of some type were absorbing any echo. Gingerly, blindly, he left the biobed and shuffled hands extended into the void. His hands felt nothing, but the shock of something hitting his face drew a yell and a verbal reaction from the Orion. White noise consumed his senses as Mathieson reflexively groped the tangle of material he walked into.

~LV power conduit. Fistfulls of 'em. Thank Christ it wasn't somethin' else.~ More words from the Orion brought more static, and the old man had to grasp at the dangling wiring just to keep on his feet. "Fer the love 'o Pete will ye shut yer hole?" A grunt followed blissful silence told him that at least the Orion's Universal Translator was still online.

"I'm in th' dark 'ere mate - one grunt fer no, two fer yes: are ye injured?" Two grunts made the doctor feel cold. "Can ye move?" A single grunt.

~Shit. Injured, an' probably seriously. Shit.~

Holding onto the dangling circuitry, Mathieson weighed his options. The Orion was his first priority, but he needed light. Examining a patient's wounds blindly without being able to communicate may well kill him. Leaving him be may well do the same. Of course, if one of these conduits was live the old man would need a doctor of his own.

Or a mortician.

He took a deep breath and once again braved the unknown, shuffling so as not to trip on anything. A wave of relief calmed his nerves as his hands met the cold, smooth surface of a display panel. The doctor followed the panel's length to his left, coming surprisingly to a small access hatch shoulder high. He grasped the handle and pulled the cover free, thrilled and concerned that a luminescent green glow came from the cover's inside suface. ~Luminescent paint! Shit! They haven't used this crap in a decade!~ The faint glow provided only enough glow for a few inches of light, and Mathieson had to shuffle blindly once more back to the Orion, whose appearance confirmed the old man's fears. Some kind of flash-burn had struck the young man in the face - his right eye was gone, the forehead badly burned. He also had burns on his arms, and was missing all the fingers on his left hand. Crude field dressings had absorbed the blood and fluid seeping from the wounds, but had long since met their capacity.

~'Ang on lad. Seen worse. We'll get ye up an' about, but yer piano playin' days 're behind ye." The doctor wished he was as confident as he sounded. No power, no light, no idea where he was, Mathieson felt like a snake-oil salesman giving false hope to the naïve. It came as a surprise when the patient bailed him out.

"Huhhhh….kkuuuhhh… light… panel. To the… hukkkk… hukkkk… hunnhhhh… to… the right... hukkkk… guh." The Orion's Federation Standard was thickly accented, and mixed with his efforts to cough up phlegm, mucous or blood.

In the semi-darkness, the old man grinned. "There's th' lad! Yer my kind o' patient!" He wasted no time in shuffling to where the Orion had directed him, praying to whoever may listen that the man wasn't delusional when someone brought him here. Serious thoughts of religious epiphany crossed Mathieson's mind when his fingers touched a doorframe, and quickly found the light panel to the door's immediate right.

All thoughts of higher powers vanished when the lights flickered and he saw where he was.

"Jaysus!" the old man whispered hoarsely as he took in his surroundings.

It had been a Federation sickbay alright - maybe ten years ago. The ship must have been as old as he was, maybe older - the countless signs of refits and upgrade patches were evident through the butchered and scavenged equipment. Some of the sickbay's architechture he was familiar with as an intern. Conduit circuitry and panels were everywhere except around the biobed the emerald man was lying on - debris and clutter had been quickly cleared around the area.

Remembering his calling, Mathieson went quickly to the Orion's side, confirming what his preliminary findings had told him. The young man had second and third degree burns about the face and hands, and had probably taken in a lungful of superheated air - clear indicators the patient had been in or around a leaking plasma conduit in an engineering area. The Orion's remaining eye was wide as it stared up at the doctor, his breathing now ragged gasps as this trachea swelled from burn trauma.

Looking around the wreck of a sickbay, the doctor could find no sign of functioning medical equipment or supplies. Every storage cabinet had been emptied long, long ago, the shelves now thick with the dust made by torn insulation.

Again, the patient provided his own salvation. At the Orion's hip was a business-like knife in a leather sheath. Drawing the knife, Mathieson cut some of the dangling conduit from the ceiling and peeled back the wiring's polypropylene jacket. The patient's choking sounds were becoming more frequent, and fueled the speed the old man's actions. Finally, an eight-inch of relatively grime-free plastic tubing was available for what would be needed next.

The doctor did his best to clean the blade, and hovered over the young man's head seeing the fear and panic rise in the Orion's remaining eye. As the patient's adrenaline spiked, he began to convulse as is body began to starve for oxygen.

"Easy lad - be still an' I'll be done in a jiff, no worries." The knife's sharp tip was at the base of the patient's throat when the sickbay's door opened noisily with the scream of metal-on-metal. At the doorway, three heavily-armed Orion stared angrily at the Starfleet doctor holding a weapon to their comrade's throat.

Looking up, a wide-eyed Robert Mathieson could only offer "It 'aint wot it looks like" before a raised disruptor re-introduced him to a painful, dreamless oblivion.

Posthumous Promotion

Lieutenant Saul Bental - Terran Chief Intelligence Officer

Lieutenant Junior Grade "Zev Raynor?" - ? Terran Telepath
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

USS Galaxy Corridor

"There you are."

Zev just turned around a corner, to find Saul Bental leaning against the wall with folded arms. The man seemed as though he stood there for quite some time, although that was probably not the case.

"So this morning I got up, checked my manifest, and found out that my assistant chief's status changed from KIA to active. What an unusual turn of events." The Dutchman said dryly. "I suppose 'reporting to duty' is too conventional for you?"

"Well... you know... spending 12 hours in sickbay wasn't exactly my idea of fun and apparently having an organ inserted into your body by crazed Hydran Doctors is something you have to run every single medical examination possible for and -" Raynor paused for only a second for effect and to switch voices. "WHO THE HELL DECLARED ME KIA?! And was there a touching memorial in my honour or is that just asking a bit too much?"

"No, you have to be female for that. And to look good. And to make moves on half the crew." Saul chuckled bitterly. "But Starfleet came up with something better. Catch."

A small coppery object bolted in general direction of Raynor's face.

Zev snatched it out of the air, and looked at the pip for a bit, then at Saul, back at the pip, then at Saul again... and after that little process he managed to muster three special words... "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Yes, Lieutenant, I suppose many of the other crewmembers will ask the same question. Congratulations nonetheless."

"What the hell did I do to deserve this? Which God did I piss off so badly that they actually decided to PROMOTE ME! DAMNIT!!"

"Hey, it's nothing you didn't have before. So what happened on the planet?" Saul inquired, trying to sound somewhat disinterested.

"Well, I sent you whatever I had managed to gather about the whole find out what the Romulans know about their missing fleet over to you, then went planet side to follow a lead in person. That's when the first explosion hit. I hid for a bit while that was going on then later on I managed to distract about two or three thousand Hydrans into chasing me and about a dozen Romulans in a major blood bath... in a open area with a big bomb that kinda blew up in their faces and knocked me unconscious. Next thing I knew I was in a Hydran holding cell..."

"Jesus christ Henderson." Saul murmured. Raynor was always full of surprises. He doubted that Zev lied or even exaggerated. "What information did you give our tripedal friends? And how did you escape?"

"The location of the Muffin Man Sir... you know the one who lives on dreary lane. As well as the identity of the thief who stole the cookies from the cookie jar," Raynor half joked. These were actually the topics of discussion.

"I was lucky that they weren't able to extract any information directly from my mind, their devices kept overloading whenever they tried."

"Now we know they don't have bullshit filters on these devices." The intelligence chief commented.

"However they did attempt to clone me, but because I was raised in such variety of environments and with so different diets and overall different levels of nutrition during my childhood (with some special training on the side) that in the end clone is taller than I am and also has a different overall physical structure, so while we're genetically identical we don't look all that much a like. Apparently I can't be grown in a lab." Raynor paused to let that piece of information sink in. This meant while the Hydran cloning methods were quite good, it meant that they weren't perfect, and perhaps a flaw could be found medically, which would give them a better detection method that comparing brain wave patterns.

"You were cloned." Saul said, blankly. He did intend to have Raynor filtered -quite an irony, since Raynor 'filtered' him and Chava when they returned from Vaden - but operative doesn't often come forward and say 'Hey, I was cloned' during debriefing. Then again, they don't admit having sold the Muffin man's location to the enemy, either.

No matter; Saul was going to screen Raynor anyway.

"I was able to escape by using Eye Contact Hypnosis and turning several Hydran guards and interrogators into sleeper agents, I also basically used the same technique to avoid having them ask any of the really hard questions like access codes. I was actually going to capture the Commander of the base on my way out when my other personality betrayed me, he is now the dominant personality of the clone, completely absent from my mind now. Anyways he screwed up the entire thing. I only managed to get away because of the Romulans timely arrival. I have no idea where Madden is though. Hitched a ride back here after that."

"You forgot one bit."

A big question mark formed over Raynor's head. Well, not really.

"The one where you fired disruptor beams from your ass in order to vaporize any doors standing on your way." Saul told him. "Listen, man, half the skills you claim to have aren't on your file - at least - not the parts I can actually access. And while I don't have a single doubt you have enough huzzpa to perform all these feats, forgive me for having my doubts. And what's that crap about 'other personality'? I wasn't aware people with schizophrenia passed the academy's tests."

He glanced at a device bonded to his wrist. Some poor crewman was trying to figure out why he or she couldn't pass through her favorite corridor; Reason was, Saul set up a couple of force fields to keep the conversation uninterrupted; The crewman will have to take the longer road, with the view.

"Eye-contact hypnosis is something is anyone could learn if they so choose to, human beings have been using it in magic shows since the 20th century. The fact that I have a type of telepathy that allows me to absorb the memories of anyone who dies around me, and the fact that I had to witness an entire Akira class ship with all hands on board blow up after acquiring this ability, I really don't think that there is enough room in the bloody file to cover every single skill a crew of 500 learned, let alone every other skill I've picked up as a result of this god damn ability I have, because the number of people floating around my head is more than 500 I can tell you that much."

"As for the whole split personality thing. I've been forced into semi-regular counseling sessions because of it. Brian Elessidil being the most recent counselor I've been assigned to. He has met the bastard, and I can tell you he didn't have a fun time meeting him," Raynor sighed. He knew that this debriefing was also supposed to weed out any possibility of him being an enemy agent but still he couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed.

"I'm on good terms with counselor Brian. If that's OK with you I'll ask him about his impressions."

"It's not OK with me but do it anyways, no one wants their boss talking to their therapist."

"Yea, it's nasty, but I think it's necessary." Saul said.

"In my personal experience Starfleet will occasionally take gambles on people with promising futures even if they are somewhat questionable. Your here aren't you? Proctor is an Admiral and she can't lead or think her way out of a wet paperbag!"

"Did you actually present Proctor as a person with a promising future?" Saul laughed. "Heh, Mr. Raynor, they DID get to you."

He let the grin fade. "I'm not Starfleet, and I'm not a gambler. I don't do games. I do business. You're a business risk, Mr. Raynor, for the exact same reasons you just lay out. I know it, and you know it. So I'm going to make sure you're a risk I'm still willing to take, and once - and if - I do, you're more than welcome to get back to do things in your own unique style. It's been ages since we had a decent broadcast, anyway."

"So would you be throwing in the brig before or after I go to see my counselor for the whole POW experience as is pretty much standard procedure?"

"Neither, unless you kill him; And I doubt that'll happen, because if there's one thing worse than having your chief talk to your therapist, it's having the therapist literally inside your mind."

"Or you know... having your balls cut off by a woman while your sleeping and having them thrown out the shuttlebay of a moving starship..."

"I hope that's not first hand experience. Otherwise, the new 'organ' won't need explaining."

"Nah… you have to like… not a virgin for there to be any real chance of that happening and so far I've kept with the whole I'm waiting thing. Except with my right hand, but that just another story entirely… anyways I got to jet… I'll see you around." Raynor turned to leave, but before he took a step. "And next time make it less obvious that you've blocked off the section… like would it kill you to have a few holographic people walk by... you know."

And with that Raynor walked off.

"Goin' Stepping"

Savant

-----

I'm goin' stepping. Gonna take these two boots out on the town. Gonna go stepping. Gonna put these heels down hard on the ground. Earth's gonna rumble! Roof's gonna fall! Breakin' up the buildings! Tearin' down the wall! These two feet're gonna wreck the street, ain't no stride that they can't beat; leapin' over the stars and across the sea, ain't nothing's gonna stop in front'a me; Whole worlds're gonna hide when I hit my stride.

Savant hummed to herself in and around the processors of the holodeck. It wasn't in use currently so the AI decided it was best to get her use of it now. Strictly on the down-low.

There was no android here to give her away - not yet at least. The holodeck maintained its yellow gridwork, but within it hung a greyish, translucent ball - replicator stock. Pressor beams held its shape while annular confinement beams and micro-manipulator pressor beams did the detailed work.

You see, the problem with an android was that it could be distinguished from a biological creature quite easily with modern tools. A simple tricorder could end the ruse, and that simply wouldn't do. The increased strength, agility, and durability of a designed frame was certainly desireable, but hiding those traits could be a problem when one was actually trying to blend with the biotics.

Of course, this was all assuming that one was making the android out of synthetics.

Savant was more clever than that. A new mission required a new puppet. Within the amniotic sac of replicator material, new life grew. Not that it was actually alive - heavens, no. The cells which it was composed of were polymer lipid bubbles filled with nanotechnological constructs - the nuclei of the cells were in fact processors, and mitochondria produced power by catching incumbent radiation. The organs that were starting to form mimicked the human body in a beautiful symmertry - or a gross parody, if one was a purist. Still, the program seemed to smile - or the bloom of contentment passed over its local registers, at least. The ruse would be perfect, and she got a new toy.

Bones came now, to hold the differentiating vitals together. They were calcium chlorite, laced with a carbon-duranium weave; within them was stored semi-soluble polymers for repairing any damage the creation might endure on its trip. The skeleton hung akimbo within the bubble of warmth and wetness, slowly filling as the grey material solidified and took shape under the guidance of thousands of microscopic fingers.

Muscles came next - an electrokinetic polymer anchored onto the skeleton with durable tendons that borrowed as much from elastopolymers as they did from humans. Skin and features came as well as the formation accelerated. The reddish grey muscles were smoothed over by olive-coloured skin that held an embedded communications transciever array, and a plume of black hair spilled out from her head - perfect for use as a heat radiator. A small heat pump at the back of the skull would see to that task admirably.

It was a perfect likeness, save one part. There was still no controlling module, no brain. This Savant worked on carefully. The neurons were in and of themselves only marginally useful, as they carried only the most gross manner of information. However, within each ganglial cell there existed a microprocessor, linked together with each beside it in a massive parallel network. A communication controller, with a small embedded millicochrane field generator for accessing subspace, completed the task.

Her eyes opened - fleshy eyes, organic, blue eyes. Clothing came next - not at all what an officer would wear, but something a civilian might - not only that, but a civilian used to tangling with the worst dregs of galactic civilization. Even as it formed on her, her long jacket faded and cracked, and her boots scuffed themselves on their own. The replicator material disappeared in a hum, and the rest bled off of the newborn organic android in moments.

Before leaving, she turned and looked over her shoulder at the empty holodeck - as if considering it a momentous occasion, like a birthday perhaps. However when she left she did so without looking back, letting the doors slide open and closed behind her.

"The Reward"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara
Executive Officer

Lt. Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer

************
Intelligence Center Deck 8,
USS Galaxy
0950 hours
************

"I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Almost like I've done this all before," Iniara commented as she sat down. Of course she had, and only a few days ago. Today she had come to see Saul Bental about a matter other than Kylar Curran, but everything else had been just about the same. The same viewscreens blinking off in the same order as she approached, the same Cadet Lennem escorting her to the boss' office, and nearly the same formal greeting from Bental himself (had to maintain appearances, of course) as she had entered his office.

"It's so odd," she continued, grinning.

"Indeed. We're trying to make our guests as uncomfortable as possible." Saul grinned. "So what's new?"

"No doubt the captain has told you of the planned side trip to the Ivor system, to get our people back." It wasn't really a question. She would have been disappointed if the ship's Chief Intelligence Officer hadn't learned of the mission before even she had.

"I actually asked to join it, but I'm required on board." Saul told her. He had his own reason to go to Ivor Prime, of course, but unlike most of his hidden motives, this time it was purely for the greater good.

"We need a ship. Nothing too big or too fancy, just something that runs and can get us there," she declared. "Every ship that was docked at DS5 is either fused to the station, in need of repair, or otherwise unavailable. And there's nothing we can use in the graveyard either; nothing that wouldn't require a lot of work to resurrect, that is."

"Captain M'Kantu didn't have to remind me that you're the go-to guy in situations like these, but he did anyway. So here I am."

"I'm glad my reputation still stands." Saul said. It was quite often that crewmembers approached him with special requests or favors; It was known all around the lower decks, that if you wanted something you couldn't get on board or in the regular channels, Saul Bental was the address. However, no one ever asked for a ship.

No problems.

"How many passengers?" Saul asked.

Iniara tapped her chin in thought for a moment before answering. "Eight."

"OK, sit tight."

Saul furiously clicked on his console. Available resources appeared, encrypted communication channels were formed, stellar maps came and went. After seven minutes, he already had a direction. After nine minutes, he had one Mr. Bootar on the line.

Mr. Bootar's face didn't appear on the screen. He was someone who had no official relation to Starfleet. In fact, his entire role in Starfleet was based on the fact that he had no official relation to Starfleet. He was the local subdirector of the intelligence collection array codenamed 'The Special Observation Program'.

"Good day."

"Ah, good day." The man replied. His image was not sent over the channel and Saul knew that his voice patterns were modulated in such way that prevented automatic recognition with high probability. There was a pause, during which Mr. Bootar most likely made sure the channel between the Galaxy and his seemingly mundane office was untraceable. "You have some nerve to contact me."

"You're not the kind of person to put these petty things in the way of work," Saul replied. "How are things going with the 'business'?"

"You don't expect me to give you all the details over subspace, I presume? To the point, please, I'm a busy man."

Saul knew he was. After all, Saul worked for him for nearly a year, indirectly.

"I need a warp-capable ship for a mission; you have a ship which has been compromised - The Backbroken's Reward."

"Ah, the ship which you and your merry band of amateurs used. It's available."

"It is in the vicinity of Deep Space 5, correct?" Saul asked, knowing the answer in advance.

"It can reach DS5 within 19 hours at maximum warp. I'll see to it that it is dispatched right away. I am, of course, aware of the situation at DS5."

The voice was uncomfortable. Bootar didn't like mentioning Starfleet-related installations over the communication channels. It was a precaution, just like not saying Saul's name or rank throughout the conversation was a precaution.

"Good day."

"Good day."

The line went dead.

Saul raised his eyes from the screen. A lot was not said over the line, not just Saul's name. For example, Saul was confident that Bootar was tempted to call him 'serial cover blower', after his actions arguably compromised Special Observation Craft #074, and later the mission on Vaden caused the Special Observation Program to declare the 'Backbroken's Reward' as a compromised vessel never to be used on Clandestine operations.

It was a good thing the man couldn't spill his heart out.

"I got us the same ship that myself, Chief Jayce and the rest used on our operation last year," he told the XO. Iniara, as COO, was aware of the mission taking place, but of course didn't know the details. "The ship is a merchant ship, not exactly new and unarmed. It can also get quite crowded. But it's reliable, and it's available. What do you say?"

"Sounds good," Iniara replied. Actually it didn't sound all that good, but it would have to do on such short notice. Besides, they would be returning with the Bonestell, which was no doubt more spacious. She briefly wondered if the ship would fit in the cargo bay of an Oberth-class. And if so, that would make it a very crowded ship indeed.

"So tell me what I need to know about this ship. How big it is, how fast it goes, whether the replicators have actually been programmed to produce edible meals...you know, the usual stuff."

"Replicators?" Saul blinked innocently. "What replicators?"

"Oh." Iniara chuckled. "Really?"

"Let's just say the mission commander should ensure she has a good cook on board, and plenty of fresh food." Saul smiled broadly. "It's a merchant ship, Iniara. In some ways, it is far below the standards Starfleet officers are used to. In others, it'll surprise you."

Saul's gaze wandered about. Iniara, he assumed, lived through worse conditions, but some of the other officers would complain. That's what happens when you grow in Starfleet's warm embrace, instead of in the real universe where transport vessels are optimized for cargo, not for comfort.

"It's not too long." Saul continued. "Forty five meters over four low decks. A considerable part of it is dedicated to propulsion - I think the warp core can kick up to warp 6.8 with empty cargo holds. It has spacious cargo holds, less spacious crew quarters. Two officers' quarters with two beds each, two crew quarters which makes the marine barracks seem like Hilton Risa. Each couple of quarters shares a bathroom. No armaments, but SFI engineers upgraded it so that external weapon modules could be easily fitted. Finally, it currently carries a splendid array of detection countermeasures and sensors. After all, its main purpose is to pretend to be your everyday cargo transport, and we worked hard to make sure of it."

"Then I will try to bring it back in one piece," Iniara replied, grinning. "Seriously though, thanks for doing this on such short notice. I don't suppose there's anything you need in return?"

"That's how you know me, Iniara?" Saul smirked. "No, and I'm certain you'd do the same for me."

He threw a lazy glance at his table. "Come to think of it, though, there is one thing. There's this renegade Starfleet officer who according to my sources was last seen heading to the vicinity of Ivor Prime. His name is Lieutenant Commander McCauley. He served on the USS Akula when it crashed onto Trill. I'll send you the details."

"I'll keep an eye out. And good luck with your own ambassador rescue mission." She mirrored his smirk. "See you soon."

Saul nodded grimly. He was reluctant to share his private hunt for the terrorist with anyone aside from Commander Corgan, but this was an opportunity that overpowered his natural caution.

"Behatzlaha, Commander; And, I assure you, we'll still be in one piece when you get back."

"The easy way or the hard way..."

With Captain Darren M'Kantu, Captain of the USS GALAXY. Also included are unauthorized appearances by various members of the bridge crew.

Previously: A daring raid by an unknown enemy resulted int he kidnapping of the Borg attache to the Federation. The USS GALAXY was sent to Barzan to investigate the only lead and retrieve the drone at all costs...

Location: Barzan

"Captain! We have a prrroblem!" Ensign Nieca Rey'ol purred, her auburn fur standing on end. The sensors on the tactical arch began to scream out in alarm before the GALAXY had even dropped completely out of warp near the planet of Barzan.

"I have seven light fighterrs and one crrruiserrr in orrrbit."

Captain M'Kantu folded his hands in his lap, crossed his legs and flashed a calm smile to the Catain tactical officer.

"Lets not get too excited, Ensign. Open a hailing frequency. Let's see if we can't solve this the easy way and get back to Earth before anyone even realizes the that Three of Four is missing." he said, then addressed the open channel.

"Attention unknown crafts, this is Captain Darren M'Kantu of the Federation starship GALAXY...." he started, his rich voice resonating with confidence.

Reyol hissed.

"The seven diplomats fighterrrs have just powerrred up thierrr weapons!"

"RED ALERT! SHIELDS UP!" M'Kantu ordered, both feet now planted on the floor, his body posture no longer relaxed, but anticipating action. He glanced over his shoulder at the Tactical officer. "The hard way it is then."

Enemy phaser fire lanced through the darkness of space. Captain M'Kantu ordered all hands to brace for impact and as if on cue, the mighty starship shuddered with the concussive force of the weaponry.

The attack had done little structural damage, however Darren knew well enough that if left unchecked, the strange vessels would succeed in doing some degree of damage to the GALAXY, damage that they could ill afford if they had any hope of staving off the Borg.

"HELM! DEFENSIVE MANEUVERS!!" the Captain ordered.

In the helm chair, Lt. Dobryn smoothly brought the ship into a graceful portside arc while she ship rocked again under the enemy phaser fire.

To M'Kantu's right, Commander Corgan in full combat gear, gripped the arm rest of the First Officer's chair a little tighter. The highly decorated Chief of Security was not known to sit idly during a fire fight.

"Sir, I recommend deploying the Vanguards." he said, the muscles in his jaw clenching as the ship rocked under phaser fire again.

"Agreed. Alert Commander Rex. Scramble the Vanguards and secure this space immediately." M'Kantu ordered, then turned his attention to the science station. "Finding the drone is our primary objective!"

Within moments, the Vanguard Starfighters spilled out of the belly of the GALAXY and instantly began to engage the enemy craft in a deadly dogfight.

"I think I have the drone, Captain!" Ensign Analei Morganth said, a hint of a French accent lacing her words as she spoke.

"I need to know for sure, Ensign. There is an awful lot riding on this." M'Kantu said.

"Tetrion particles in the atmosphere are skewing sensor readings somewhat, but I am near certain that the drone is still on the Barzan cruiser." she said referring to the larger craft on the fringes of the battle.

MKantu had to only look at Commander Corgan and it was enough to move the veteran into action. Without a word, Corgan departed the bridge and headed for the transporter room.

"Tactical, fire at will! Target the warp drives and shield generators of the Barzan cruiser." M'Kantu said then activated his communicator. "M'Kantu to Corgan, as soon as the shields drop, get your Hazard team aboard and find that drone!"

"Beans and Latrine Duty"

1st Lieutenant Steven Jonas
Private First Class Amy VanDuren
Private Jonathan "Rabbit" Portman

**** Marine Barracks, Marine Country ****

Steven stormed into the barracks, his breathing ragged and his heart racing. His thoughts were in turmoil after the vicious verbal assault the new JAG had laid on him. Not only had he found out his wife had posed for a men's magazine, but that the new JAG thought him a worthless good for nothing Grunt. All in all it had been a shitty day. One he wished he could forget fast. But before he could do that there was something he needed to do.

"Where is it Portman?"

'Sir, where's what, Sir?" John replied with almost child-like innocence. He knew damn well what the el-tee was after.

"The magazine, Portman. Where is it?" He was going to get that filth out of the hands of the Marines. They didn't need to see his late wife parading around in skimpy clothing.

Rabbit nodded and reached under his pillow for it.

Steven snatched it out of his hands. "If I catch you with this issue in here again, you'll wish you had never been born. Do you get me private?"

Jonathan nodded. "Sir, Yes, Sir."

Steven turned to go.

"You might want to check out page 57 before you destroy it sir."

Steven turned back to face the private. "Why in God's name would I want to do that?"

"Cause she's in there." he said, "The new JAG."

Steven snorted in the private's direction. "Like I said... If I catch you in here, I'll give you latrine duty for a month." Steven turned again, but paused to add a final thought. "And just to make it interesting, I'd make the chef cook up beans for the first couple of weeks."

Steven rolled up the magazine and tucked it under his arm. This sort of stuff, at least the ones with Fay in them, were not the sort of material he wanted the platoon to have access to. He turned to go.

Portman nodded, and waited until the el-tee had left the barracks, before pulling his second copy from under his bed. Damn that new JAG was fine.

"She's gorgeous." Amy said coming up to him as he walked towards his office.

Steven turned and apprised the recently promoted Private First Class. "That she is. Though I'd prefer to have Fay as the JAG." Steven chided himself mentally for talking about Fay to one of his subordinates. It wasn't a subject he wanted them talking about. His life, and the brief marriage he had had with Faylin were his business and not theirs, yet sometimes he just couldn't help it. Sometimes the words just slip out under the radar. He sighed as he played with the wedding band Faylin had given him. Though he had taken it off when in the brig, he had found that it comforted him to have it close. Part of him felt that he ought to keep it on, to kept her memory alive. It was the right thing to do. Despite the pain she caused in her death, he owed her that much.

"You miss her greatly, don't you sir?" She said as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

Steven nodded, trying to hold back the tears yet again.

Amy just patted his shoulder as she kept pace with his large strides. "Do you think she might give this Marine a go?"

"Excuse me, Amy?" Steven spat out.

"Sorry sir, I was talking about the new JAG. Do you think she might go out with me if I ask her?"

Steven sighed. "I have no idea which way she likes it. This morning, I would have suggested you go and ask her. But now, I'm not so sure." He left it at that, not delving into the details of how she went off at him for trying to help. "She's quite temperamental."

Amy saluted and turned back for the Barracks. 'I wonder if she likes Pink lingerie' she mused.

Steven left the Marine to her thoughts and headed for his office and the masses of paperwork that lay stacked in his todo tray. The new JAG had brought more thoughts of his late wife to the surface. Thoughts that were just going to make his grief that much more unbearable. Perhaps he'd head to the Holodeck to find yet another thrill seeking adventure that might help ease his pain. Perhaps another round of base jumping, or jet boat sprinting might be on the cards.

"Mustering" Part II

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO
Lt. Savant, Fleet Logistics Officer
Sergeant First Class Thral, Marine Demolitions
Lieutenant (JG) Victor Krieghoff, Security Officer
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief of Engineering
Ensign David Walker, Navigation Officer
Lieutenant Junior Grade Jonathan DarkSky, Intelligence Officer
Turan Trelar, Civilian Engineer

************
Crew Lounge 13
Deck 21, USS Galaxy
0900 hours
************

"Thank you all for coming," she began, meeting eyes with each person (and pig) at the table. "Well, shall we begin?"

The question of course was a rhetorical one, but it did at least give Iniara the opportunity to stall for a moment, leaving her time to determine just how forthcoming she should be with this group. "As you are no doubt aware of by now, last night's excitement on Deep Space 5 was no accident. It seems that the destruction of the USS Rhode Island and the ensuing chaos was merely a diversion created by a group of pirates. This allowed them to take control of an almost decommissioned Starfleet vessel, the USS Bonestell, and abduct at least two dozen sentients from DS5 as well as the few crewmembers who were still aboard the Bonestell during the attack. In addition to an Ambassador and several members of Rear Admiral Proctor's staff, several of our own crewmembers were also abducted."

Iniara paused a moment before continuing. "To complicate matters, as of a few hours ago Galaxy has been ordered to Barzan, so we will not be able to deal with the situation from here. Captain M'Kantu has asked me to form a small team of a... fairly unofficial nature to track down these pirates and get our people back. Hence my earlier message about a 'training mission'."

"Participation in this mission is purely on a volunteer basis. If you do not wish to participate, speak now or forever hold your peace."

The novelty of having the ability to decline a mission was interesting to Victor, but not interesting enough to actually do so. Not when individuals that had been given to him had been taken without permission.

It had been a decade or more since Thral had been on an "unofficial" mission. Back in his original stint with special ops they came every other week, but since he'd gone back to a line unit they were few and far between. Thral merely gave a toothy grin in response.

Turan scrutinized the fellow volunteers. There didn't seem to be any pattern why they had been chosen. They were all coming from different departments and besides the three Terrans they were all of different heritage. Probably every of them was an expert on a special field of work. But which field of work did they chose an engineering trainee for?

Savant, for her part, only smiled faintly. She was honestly more interested at the flush of colour on her new android's cheeks and the faintly cool sensation of the table against her hand. Processors elsewhere catalogued and analyzed the Commander's speech for dissection later.

"Good." Iniara smiled after a long moment, thankful that no one had bowed out. The team was just about the perfect size, with a good balance of skill sets among its members. "Now, before I inundate you with endless details, are there any questions?"

"What do we know about the individuals responsible for the theft and abductions?" Victor asked quietly.

"Well, they're Orions, that much we know," Iniara replied. "Admiral Proctor was beamed aboard the ship during the station evacuations, but was recalled to the station before they could leave the system. According to her there were at least half a dozen of them, though that number may be higher."

As she spoke she made her way to the other end of the table, activating the small view screen mounted in the wall closest to them. It was nowhere near the size of the ones in the Conference Lounges, but it would do. "Sensors are still tracking the vessel, and they seem to be making a return trip-- back to Ivor." Iniara paused, calling up a map which showed the area between Deep Space 5 and the nearby Ivor system. The Bonestell's position was marked with the familiar Starfleet delta, a crooked red line showing the path it had taken since its departure.

"Shortly after the attack, Station Operations picked up a small unregistered vessel heading away from the station at warp. They were able to track the vessel, and use its warp signature to pick up the trail and determine from where it came." She pointed to the second icon on the map - a large blue dot connected to the end of an erratic blue line - and then traced its path with her finger all the way back to the Ivor system. Savant leaned in to watch the display while her myriad agents released out through the Federations' information network, gathering any disparate data that would be useful. After all, what if the datanet wasn't easily accessible?

"Now, what these pirates are planning by stealing Starfleet property and abducting its citizens -- including the Ambassador to the Ivor Prime colony -- and then returning to Ivor itself..."

"I don't suppose we know which Orion Syndicate they belong to, do we?" Victor asked. "Some keep prisoners alive to ransom, some to sell as slaves, some execute them after 'entertaining themselves' with them, some to pick their brains for saleable information, and some several of those. It would help if we knew that there were actually people - that would be recognizable to us, anyway - to rescue."

Thral squinted at the registry numbers of the unidentified freighter since for a moment they looked familiar and then searched his memory...they were familiar...possibly. "Sirs, I think I recognize those transponder codes. That's the Orion Freighter Strahl, Captain as I recall is a particularly ugly Orion named Lenat. My first tilt on the Tarawa was to rescue some scientists and civilians from the Einstein that Lenat and his crew had taken on Pharos V. If memory serves they fall primarily into the first two categories as the hostages did appear to be in preparations to be sold and were restrained in that fashion. I could be wrong though, that was twelve years ago."

"For the sake of the captives I hope you are right, Mr. Thral. Although, just what are the Orions doing taking a stolen Starfleet vessel to a Federation colony? Unless..." Iniara trailed off, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she considered the possibilities.

"Alchemy of the Throat"

Lieutenant jg Robert Mathieson, MD

Location Unknown
==============

Light began as a small blurry white point that seemed impossibly far away in absolute darkness. As the dim brightness slowly grew and sharpened, the murmur of angry alien voices grew from a painful silence, accompanied by a thunderous rhythm Lieutenant Mathieson knew was his pulse.

~Bastards. Another fekkin' stun hangover. I think I'd prefer t'be dead. Be quieter that way.~

The rhythm extended to almost every nerve in the old man's body. His teeth, his eyes, his hands, feet and spine all throbbed in agony as blissful unconsciousness abandoned his senses. Two sets of angry, bloodshot eyes stared down at him from angrier faces. Even their frowns were making too much noise.

"Why the knife?" came a question from the larger green blur that sounded like an amplified Klingon opera at close range,

"S' th' only… kaff… sharp thing aroun'" Mathieson managed to croak. "Boy's … breathin' tube's closin' up. Christ! Izze dead?"

There was an incredibly loud exchange of alien whispers before the voice shattered the doctor's mind. "He breathes, but shallow. Irregular. You can save him?"

"'At's wot I was… tryin' t' do!" The weak outburst was a mistake, and Mathieson paid for the effort with a wave of unbearable pain. Teeth clenched, he let the agony fade before another - quieter - statement. "Couldn't do it t'save me life. One o' you lot'll have t' do it. Got a… kaff… kaff…medikit …'re somethin'?" A coppery taste flooded his mouth from the last coughing fit, and he hoped that nothing serious was ruptured.

"Or something."

"Right." The old man took a deep breath and actually prayed that one of the men who fired a disruptor at him was good with a knife. "Wotever cleanin' agent y'got… kaff… clean yer 'ands, then th' base o' yer man's neck, yer scalpel - ye got a scalpel?"

"We have."

A failed attempt to sit up brought a rush of bile. ~Shit! I'm fekkin' useless! Probably a light stun that time an' I'm still out o' it.~ A few breaths and Mathieson was almost confident he wasn't going to vomit. "Clean the crap out o' everythin'. Includin' that tube I 'had in me 'and. Clean everythin'. Yer man can be saved, but if ye don' clean everythin' 'is life won't be worth livin when an if 'e wakes."

The sounds of Orion whispers and cleaning filled the human's senses as his vision slowly cleared. There were two of them now, and both were bent over their comrade's throat, but that was all he could see. They were big and green - his vision was so bad that they could have been Gorn - but they were working, and the sharp smell of alcohol that spread into the small bay suggested there was some hope.

"Now the best one 'o yer wiv a knife's got t' cut inta yer man's throat at the base, jus above where that round depression on th' top o' th ribcage is." The doctor's pulse had gone from a painful waltz to an almost unbearable tango as his nerves rose. "Nothin' too big, maybe th' width o' yer index finger, Yer friend there can peel th' wound open a bit so ye can put th' tube in."

The tracheotomy couldn't have taken any linger than thirty seconds, but to Mathieson it was one of the longest waits of his life. Virtually blind, unable to move, he was helpless to assist the dying man who was now at the mercy of his friend's knife skills. ~Orions. Wi' disruptors. I'm guessin' they're not part o' 'Liv Proctor's caterin' staff. Well done, ye old fool - another place ye shouldn't be in!"

Mathieson's thoughts were interrupted by a long wheezing sound like air being deflated from a pneumatic tire. The patient's lungs were deflating, and seconds later a shallow intake of air through the tube said that the man was still alive.

"Woderful. Bandage up th' wound wi' a clean dressin'. Wrap it tight-like, but don' interfere wi' his breathin'." The steady thumping that had threatened to burst through the doctor's skull was fading in both tempo and volume. The view wasn't any better though - the bigger of the two Orions not hovered over him - the flash of white near his mouth was either a smile or a threat. "Well done, old one - you've proved your value. We'll see if that holds at auction time."

The old man gave up his attempts at sitting, knowing that even in his best there wasn't a damn thing he could do against two well-armed guards - not physically at least. He closed his eyes and started to review his experiences with Orion physiology and anatomy. Nothhing physical, but as the saying goes - there's more than one way to skin a Ferengi.

'At's wonderful lad", he murmered. "Best news I 'erd all day."

"Mustering" Part Three

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO
Lt. Savant, Fleet Logistics Officer
Sergeant First Class Thral, Marine Demolitions
Lieutenant (JG) Victor Krieghoff, Security Officer
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Assistant Chief of Engineering
Ensign David Walker, Navigation Officer
Lieutenant Junior Grade Jonathan DarkSky, Intelligence Officer
Turan Trelar, Civilian Engineer

************
Crew Lounge 13
Deck 21, USS Galaxy
0900 hours
************

"For the sake of the captives I hope you are right, Mr. Thral. Although, just what are the Orions doing taking a stolen Starfleet vessel to a Federation colony? Unless..." Iniara trailed off, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she considered the possibilities.

"Money," Victor stated flatly. "Money, or a debt of some kind - those are the only reasons anyone directly connected to an Orion Syndicate would do something like this. Normal procedure would have been to try and suborn sufficient Starfleet personnel through bribery or coercion to do it for them. A direct theft of this nature... that means someone is getting paid, or possibly, discharging a debt. The Syndicates aren't known for honorable behavior, but they have to keep their word when given or no one will do business with them."

"Hasty and panicky decisions, more likely." Jonathan got up and worked the monitor's controls, bringing the stellar field of view out "Look at where Ivor is located. It's in a position to create a buffer zone between the Federation border and other empires currently not friendly towards us. Given the recent Hydran/Romulan incident, it's likely that they've begun to panic: the colony there is not an official Federation colony, something they made a stink about some time ago. My thought is that they are afraid for their continued longevity as a peaceful and pleasant existence and want more support from the Federation. Given the current regime in control of DS5, it's likely that they've been clamoring for any amount of additional resources and have been... rejected, to put it mildly. The ambassador that was abducted happens to be our relation to them." This was why he was here, Jonathan mused. Visual and Field Intelligence - He was a master at putting pieces together and coming up with the whys, hows, and whos to a given scenario. Most of it was conjecture, granted, but 9 times out of 10 he was close enough to the mark for his theories to be useful.

He returned the projection to its original view and returned to his seat "As for the Orions. Ivor isn't restricted from dealing with them, given their non-Federation status, so we can't officially fault them for that. When the pocket is lined properly most Orions are trustworthy businessmen. Lenat hails from a Cartel that, though it deals in slave trade, is relatively honorable. However, most people forget that unless everything is detail specific, most Orions will look to see how they can further themselves during the pursuit of their current contract. Also, once the contract is complete, everything's fair game right then and there. Let's pray we get there before something bad happens."

"That still doesn't explain the Orions stealing the ship in this fashion," Victor pointed out. "A theft this obvious, this traceable, is anathema to the Syndicates - they don't want to be forced into direct conflict with Starfleet."

Turan waited a chance to speak. There was something bothering him. The Quentite giant didn't want to cut someone of the other volunteers short so there was plenty of time to brood over the current situation. "May I have a question, Ma'am?" he addressed Iniara and without waiting for an answer continued, "If I didn't get things wrong this is not an exercise as it was first announced. There is a Hazard Team for this kind of problems. Don't get me wrong Ma'am. I feel really honored to be taken on that mission but why did you ... or they choose us, a bunch of bloody amateurs instead of them?"

Iniara remained silent for a moment, thinking how best to answer Turan's question. The Quentite was unofficially attached to Engineering, but officially he was still a civilian, and as such was not always privy to the same information as a Starfleet officer. "Well, to put it simply..." She frowned as the door chime sounded abruptly. "One moment."

While the Commander strode off to answer the chime, Savant decided to put her conjecture forth for Turan. She smiled at the man and commented, "I think that there's a few reasons. Our absences won't be as noticeable, for one. I also think that we're a lot more competent than we let on."

At nine thirty, half an hour late, Dhanishta strode up to crew lounge 13 and depressed the chime. She waited outside tapping her foot on the floor and her finger against the padd she was carrying in unison. She had received the message -Your participation in an off-ship training exercise of a slightly unconventional nature would be most appreciated. If you are interested, please report to Crew Lounge 13 at 0900 hours - frankly she wasn't interested in an off ship training exercise of any nature. She had had enough 'adventure' lately and had managed to have several off ship experiences, enough to last a life time. The message was so bizarre that she had actually thought it an error. That was until she got a message 'telling' her to report to the crew lounge. Slightly irritated she waited for the door to open and was seemingly speechless when the first officer of the Galaxy appeared upon the other side. Her eyes trailed from the padd to the XO and back again while her annoyed expression faded to one of slight embarrassment.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," Iniara greeted the woman, her own expression halfway between amusement and annoyance. "Won't you join us?"

Nodding slightly Dhani side stepped her commanding officer, still unable to find her tongue and scanned the others in the room. There were a few faces she recognized; Turan, Thral and Victor... oh crap Victor! Smiling meekly Dhani took the only seat left, which just happened to be next to him. Nodding briefly to the faces that she didn't know she kept her head down, sinking into the seat hoping not to be noticed, even though she knew that was out the window already!

"As I was saying," the XO resumed, "Galaxy has been ordered to Barzan. We can't leave behind the Hazards, or any other official team, to deal with this situation. But if a group wishes to go on a training mission, and in the process they happen to solve the problem at Ivor, well...nobody can complain. Not officially."

"I presume we will be shifting to DS5 immediately, Commander?" Victor asked, knowing the Galaxy's imminently scheduled departure time would not allow them the time to plan something like this. "Perhaps we should consider adjourning to pack essentials and establish a time and place to meet before affecting that transfer?" He knew how long it would take him to pack - he had kept bags that were always packed for situations like this since his assignment with the Attendant - but the others were an unknown quantity.

Iniara nodded. "Galaxy is scheduled to depart at 1200 hours, which gives us just under two and a half hours. Get your gear together and head over; I'll comm Station Operations and have them reserve some space for us. Plan to meet again around 1500 hours, location to be determined. Any last questions?"

"Ah just one question..." Dhanishta said raising her hand slowly as confusion washed over her face, "What exactly is going on?"

"Rescue mission. You just volunteered to be our engineer." The XO replied, a slight grin crossing her face.

"I'll take care of gathering up the equipment and weapons load-out for the mission rather than depending on DS5 to supply it," Victor volunteered. "I've already got gear packed, so it will be easier for me. If you have any special needs in that regard, let me know now, or in a message up to thirty minutes before departure and I'll see what I can do." Volunteering to handle that also meant that he would be certain that it was done correctly. People often forgot glaringly obvious things when they were rushed.

"Being a ranger as long as I was I always keep some appropriate things for such a mission. Even got a couple new toys I picked up while playing insurgent on Romulus. I'll be there." Thral replied. Even Artie seemed excited at this one.

DarkSky piped up from his quiet corner. "I'll see what the 'Smartboyz' up higher in the chain of things know about the region and who precisely we can expect to be dealing with. As for toys, the Men In Black might have a few nifty gadgets of their own to contribute. See what I can do, no promises."

"Alright, sounds good. See you on the station. Dismissed." Iniara sighed softly as the group began to disperse, then quietly added to herself, "Now to find a ship."

"Building A Mosaic Of Faith"

Principal Character

Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

He was gone again.

It was, Angelienia decided, odd. She was sad, because he wasn't here with his strong hands and arms that always seemed so gentle when he touched or held her, wasn't here to say the things that she found so funny even though she knew that he wasn't trying to amuse her, wasn't here to simply *be* here, comforting in his presence, giving her peace and security and joy and frustration and everything else that went with her loving him. But at the same time, even with all of the sadness and emptiness that came when he was no longer there to fill her life, she was also happy. Happy because he was a part of her life, happy because he did hold her and touch her and speak to her and fill up the emptiness inside her that she'd tried for so long to fill in all the wrong ways - and, oddly, happy because he was gone.

She wasn't certain that she could explain it to anyone, that happiness, but it was there and it was real. She hated it every time Victor left, every time he was called away from her for a mission or to help a friend... but she was also happy, because each time he returned, they grew closer.

He'd gone to Mirusa VI and come back alone, opening the way for them to be together. He'd gone to DS5 during the Diparthu Crisis and started to dance on his return, which had been the opening needed to let them start their relationship. He'd gone to the planet settled by those damned Jem'Hadar to rescue crewmen and come back disconnected, allowing her to help him find his way again, which had drawn them closer. After he went to help Major Rex with a problem, he'd held her for the first time off the dance floor. And after he'd returned from Romulus he'd held her as she slept for the first time... and they'd kissed.

Maybe, she told herself, just maybe, this would be the trip from which he returned to her and they took the last step, the one that led to their truly becoming a couple, to their becoming lovers.

The thought of that warmed her as she sat in Victor's chair and listened to the soft sounds of the jungle or forest or wherever it was that he had playing in the background again. A jungle she decided, listening to the faint cries of birds and small animals and the sound of the vegetation moving in a slight wind. The forest sounds were... drier... somehow, and she heard more wind and fewer animals than in the jungle.

She wasn't certain why Victor had chosen to have sounds like this playing in the background while someone was in his quarters, but she thought it had something to do with his being more comfortable in natural surroundings, where there were no people living by complicated rules of behavior and conduct that he sometimes found difficult to understand. In the wild, the creatures that lived there didn't have rules like that - theirs were simple and direct, occasionally brutally so. Victor would understand that, since there was a part of him that was just like that.

Or maybe it because the animals that he hunted lived there - conversations with him had revealed that he did that for relaxation. There were pictures on the walls of him in the woods with something that he said was a chemical propulsion rifle (Angelienia privately thought that it must fire structural beams it was so large), but, oddly, no pictures of him posing with dead animals like she'd seen on or two others with. He'd said when she asked about it that he wasn't hunting them to take pictures of their dead bodies, but rather, was hunting them so that both he - and they - would be alive.

She hadn't been certain about that reasoning, but he'd seemed to think it made perfect sense.

He was like that sometimes, she'd come to realize. When he used a special tone of voice, he was speaking about things that he understood or believed on some level that she couldn't see, or understand. They weren't terrible things (at least none of the ones she'd discovered were), but sometimes they were odd.

He believed that he was a monster for one, and she knew that wasn't true. He was many things, her Victor - and the sound of that phrase 'her Victor' was so fulfilling that she repeated it several times to savor it - but a monster wasn't one of them, no matter what he believed. Imposing, yes; brooding, yes; ill-adjusted socially, yes; often frightening, yes. But a monster... no, that he wasn't. She knew that because she loved him and she wouldn't, couldn't, love a monster.

He also believed that the Divine - his term for the Power that guided the universe - hated him with an utter and all-consuming passion, and that was simply absurd. If that were true, then they would never have met, would never have become close, and would never be what they were on the verge of becoming. So many good things had happened to him and because of him in the few years that she'd known and watched him that she knew, if anything, the reverse was the truth. He'd met and made so many friends, had saved so many lives she didn't think he could count them, had saved the Galaxy herself at least twice, had been recognized for his bravery and efforts by Starfleet, and had found a home on the Galaxy.... No one hated by the Thousand Gods would have been so blessed.

As soon as she'd thought that, it came to her that she'd never considered herself to be a blessing from the Thousand Gods before - or that she, herself, had been blessed by them.

She was, though, she decided after some thought. She hadn't been especially religious - many Ktarians weren't - she'd only paid lip service to the Thousand Gods as a child and later as an adult, but hadn't really performed the ceremonies or actually prayed in years. Since before the Dominion War, in fact, when what had passed for her faith was broken in the destruction of Betazed and the death of her younger brother, the only family she'd had left family. But now... maybe this was a sign, maybe Victor was a sign from the Thousand gods that it was time for her to return and find her faith again. After all, if she could believe in Victor as much as she did, then she obviously had rediscovered her capacity for faith....

Perhaps it was time to revisit the Thousand Gods and make another worship mosaic in their honor? She'd always liked that as a child, even if she hadn't really believed in the Thousand Gods that the mosaics honored. For her it had been about placing the myriad of colored stones and tiles and the shapes and the colors and patterns and the joy of creation... a joy that had died on Betazed along with all the other intangible joys within her that perished with her brother's death.

She'd found joy in creation again, though, when she'd started to sew the costumes that she and Victor wore while dancing. It had been awkward at first, but in a surprisingly short time the skills that her mother had taught her - as well as all the comments about how Angelienia would find someone that she wanted to garb in clothing made by her hands no others that had fallen on deaf adolescent ears - had returned. Now, sewing for herself and Victor was the joy that her mother had told her it would be, and the pride she took in seeing him wear clothing she'd made expressly for him and no other was, as her mother had also told her it would be, there as well.

Perhaps she should make a small worship frame and make a mosaic in honor to the gods, it would fit over by the desk without any intrusion into the room's space and....

She stopped and looked around the room, recognizing that she was - and had been - seeing it as not Victor's space, but *their* space.

That revelation was enough to make her stop for a moment and think. She spent more time here than she did in her quarters and had things stored here that had never even seen the inside of her quarters. She even found her feet directing her steps here when she wasn't concentrating on going somewhere else, even when she knew that Victor wasn't going to be present. And now she was thinking of putting up a prayer mosaic frame here and you only did that in one place:

Home.

If this was where she'd thought of placing the worship frame first, without even a moment's hesitation, then this was... home. She smiled as she looked around the room with its plants from twenty worlds and sounds from the jungles of a planet that she couldn't even name, much less decide if she'd been to, and let that realization sink in. She was home.

The Thousand Gods hadn't just blessed Victor with a home and with her... they'd blessed *her* with him and with a home at the same time.

Angelienia laughed, a soft, purring sound that filled the room and seemed totally in keeping with the jungle noises that were playing in the background. She was home, even if she hadn't known it, not really, until just now. Just as she'd watched Victor slowly waking up and coming to life in a very real way as their relationship had progressed, she'd been doing the same thing... and she hadn't noticed, hadn't realized it. She was alive again; alive in away that she hadn't been since before the Dominion War, perhaps not for years before the War even.

For that gift, she decided, she would have built a prayer mosaic the size of the Galaxy if the Thousand Gods had asked it of her.

Since they hadn't - something that she was sure they took amusement at her relief over - she would build them a small one to start with and see what her fingers and her heart created to honor them. Prayer mosaics were good that way, since once they were done you left them until you wanted to offer up another prayer, and then just picked up all the pieces and started over in a new way. Each one was unique and different, even though there were proscribed color and tile-shape sets to be used for certain festivals, there were no proscribed patterns so that mosaic was specially crafted for the Thousand Gods,.

With her smile still on her face, she moved to the desk LCARS and opened Victor's mail to check and see if his Aunts had sent another message while searching the Galaxy's replicator pattern archive to see if they had a good pattern for a prayer frame and tileset. There were two frames that would do; she chose the plainer one, since the Thousand Gods didn't care about the frame, only the mosaic, and a full array of tiles and stones. She flagged the patterns for all of them, filed a request for the frame and tilesets to be replicated on one of the large Operations replicators with a flag on it to denote it as religious worship material and thus bump it ahead of purely recreational material.

While she waited for confirmation, she scanned Victor's mail headers, her eyes stopping when they reached one titled 'Hazard Team Volunteers Requested' with an 'Urgent' flag. She knew what the Hazard Team was - the Security Department's all-purpose team to handle rescue missions, anti-terrorist operations, and other dangerous missions deemed too risky for a standard Away Team, but not yet meeting the clearly-defined requirements before a Marine detachment could be sent in - but she'd thought that it was fully staffed.

A short check proved that she'd been wrong: over half the team had been wiped out due to transfers after the Battle of Romulus. All that remained of the team's last incarnation were the Commander himself, and Lieutenants Marsh and T'lan. Checking the message again, it appeared obvious to her that the Commander was hoping to entice Victor into volunteering, but had sent it too late to reach Victor before he'd agreed to go on the rescue mission led by Commander Tarin.

Whether he would agree to it when he got back was another thing entirely; despite everything she knew about Victor, Angelienia wasn't certain at all that he'd agree to join. He had, after all, declined to volunteer at least twice before if she was correct about the number of teams Commander Corgan had assembled in the past. It wasn't, she was certain, from a lack of desire to help protect the ship and her crew - he did that in ways that most of the other crewmen couldn't, with his flesh and bone and blood every day. More likely, it was because he assumed - not necessarily inaccurately - that he'd be more of a detriment than an asset on the Team.

She knew that Lieutenant T'lan, being Vulcan, wasn't one of the people that Victor's presence affected, but the same couldn't be said of Marsh or the Commander, or likely any of the others that might apply. Knowing the kind of teamwork that being a successful fighter pilot required, she could easily see the greater necessity for it in something like the Hazard Team, and the effect Victor's presence would have on that teamwork. Given the stress of the types of missions that the Team would be undertaking, without more of a buffer between himself and the other members of a team, he would be more detrimental to the team's unity than helpful.

Unless, of course, he had that buffer.

Angelienia looked at the message for a long time, and then keyed in a response, appending her service jacket to it. If the Thousand Gods had been generous enough to give her everything that they had, well then she owed it to them to keep that faith alive and do what she could to help the people around her. The Hazard Team would be more effective with Victor in it, more capable of helping others - so she would volunteer and help give him the buffer he needed to make that happen. It wasn't much, but it would be something.

That, she thought with a sudden smile as she realized she was repeating one of her mother's favorite sayings, was how one built a mosaic of faith to the Thousand Gods; one piece at a time.

"Seer" - Part Two

Captain Daren M'Kantu
J. Andrus Suder, apc

****

Someone had once said that hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

"Fuck," Andrus thought.

He should have realized that it was too easy. He should have done his homework and probed M'Kantu's mind further. But how was he supposed to know this? Who would have even thought of it?

It was still doable. He'd just have to pass M'Kantu the information, pick up the keys to the shuttle craft, and get the hell out of there before the Captain could send either Victor Krieghoff or Saul Bental after him. The information was still valid after all - he'd checked that to be sure - just not ... exactly ... what either of them had thought.

Still a hell of a way for a man to find that kind of thing out though.

Andy placed the disc on the desk and started to push it over to the Captain.

Daren looked at the disc for a moment, sighed, and looked up again. "I'm going to have to alter the terms of our agreement at the last minute I'm afraid," he began. "Not with regards to your safety or anything like that - but with regards to when I can allow you to leave the ship. The Galaxy has been ordered to pursue unidentified kidnappers who snatched the Federation Borg Attaché to Barzan - all leaves are cancelled, all personnel recalled except those remaining to pursue the missing scout ship and personnel. I can't let you leave at this point or you'll be picked up by Admiral Proctor's security personnel for 'desertion.'"

There was a pause.

"Barzan!" Andrus exploded. And for some kind of Borg drone attaché? The man couldn't be serious. "You can't be serious!"

"Do I look like I'm joking, Andrus?"

Andy answered with a searing Betazoid epithet, hard to do actually since the Betazoid language wasn't designed to be anything but beautiful. Then he drew in a deep breath. "Do you have any coffee, Captain?"

"Always." Daren moved to the replicator and requested a cup for Andrus, then another - strong Tanzanian tea this time - for himself. He was supposed to be cutting back on the coffee.

"This Admiral of yours is somewhat of a beast from what I hear," Andrus said conversationally. There were still opportunities here, he knew. Anything involving the Borg meant for sure that there would be times when a missing Librarian would be the least of the Captain's worries. Only he wasn't so sure he wanted to be a lone man in a potential sea of enemies. And he wasn't really sure of where he would be headed anyway.

"I don't think you'd like explaining anything to her, no," Daren agreed as he handed the cup over. "And before you ask, no, this isn't a manufactured crisis - I was XO of the Yamaguchi at Wolf 359." The horrors of that battle, the futility of everything he'd done and tried, the fear for his wife and child all flickered through his mind again. "If I were going to make something up to keep you here, it wouldn't involve the Borg."

"I believe you," Andy replied after taking a sip of coffee and reading M'Kantu's mind. He tried not to blanch at some of the Captain's more vivid memories. "Our deal will hold until after this incident then?"

Reluctantly, his eyes on the isolinear chip with the information lying on the desk between them, M'Kantu nodded. "You may continue to hold the information until then as security, if you wish."

"I wish," Andy said dryly. He took back the chip. "Captain ..."

"Yes?"

He shouldn't say anything, he knew that, but this information was going to hit the man hard when he finally read it. "This is none of my business but if you haven't told your wife everything about... certain things, well, there's no time like the present."

"She knows," Daren started flatly. "I told her before you ever came along."

Did you, Andy wanted to ask. Did you really? But that would give away his hand and when your own future was uncertain, you didn't throw away your resources lightly.

"Understood, Sir," Andy said with an easy going shrug. "So Barzan, huh? Guy I knew tried to buy a wormhole there once."

Daren blinked. "A wormhole? Back during the Gateway Crisis?"

"When it was up for sale."

"Ah, likely not then. Did he? Buy the wormhole, I mean?

"Yeah," Andy said. "Turned out to be a lemon though. If that will be all, Captain? I'll return to my library duties."

"That's all," Daren confirmed. "Try to stay out of trouble."

Andrus didn't reply. It was too damned easy.

{{OOC: First part adapted from a post by Dallas}}

"Spotted Vendetta - Part 1, The Handkerchief"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence, USS Galaxy

* * * 2382, Trill * * *

Lying wounded in the muck, Ensign Wellsy looked up, at the most freightening sight he'll ever see.

Eclipsing the sun was his tormentor - a woman in black. Her dress was a combination of black with white trim and manteau, now slit by each calf, an act she inflicted herself before she attacked Wellsy. Her coif hid the majority, but not all, of her jet black hair. Brown eyes and olive skin, an impassive face that hid unknown passions, and a gleaming silver cross.

Her hands held the disks that stung, cut and tormented him, first severing his thumb as he tried to use his phaser, then his wrist to disarm him of his weapon. What surprised him the most was that they returned to her hand, these coin sized ceramic disks. They disappeared into the folds of her sleeves.

He begged for his life. He pleaded. He wept. But the nun remained unbent as Andorian steel.

"I am Paretti. I was sent to kill a traitor. You are that traitor. I must kill you."

"NO! DON'T!" Wellsy flinched, shielding Paretti with his blood stained arms, whimpering before her withering, looming sight, "Please, it was McCauley! He put me up to it! He owed lots of money and Thomas promised to pay his debt if he sabotaged the ship. He threatened me to do it! He'd kill me if I didn't!"

Paretti fingered her silver cross, which gave an artificial chirp. "An accomplice?"

"He's dead, man! They offed him! Made me do it! I swear they'd kill me if I didn't!"

The nun snatched up her crucifix, snapping off the bottom end and flicking both pieces into into her fist. She snapped the wrist, a cruel glittering arc like amber threads fluttering in the air, literally cutting the sky as it crackled.

Then that thread swept down on his arm, leaving a cauterized, steaming stump and his arm, from fingertip to elbow, severed and sizzling.

His howl of pain split the sounds of fleeing birds as much as Paretti's weapon cut the sky.

Wellsy gritted his teeth as pain washed over him in sickening waves. His sobbing and groaning prevented him from saying more, the overwhelming agony his only focus as the horror of the sight of his gory stump the only thing he saw. His mind was too overwhelmed to save himself.

"Monomolecular lash." Paretti explained, watching Wellsy writhe, "A dangerous weapon if not wielded right. Can cause more harm to your surroundings than your target."

Paretti brought the lash down on Wellsy's leg, splitting it in the middle from foot to kneecap.

"We have confirmed Mr. McCauley's death. What we haven't confirmed..." She flickered her amber, crackling strand over her head. It whirled and twisted in intricate loops, narrowly missing herself and scorching the ground as it whirled around, kicking up a spiral of dust around her feet. And as unemotional as a Vulcan, she snapped the lash upwards...

Then sent it down in a sweeping, crescent moon arc.

* * *

Deep Space 5 was tense. Pacing through one of the circular avenues, Saul could sense the thick air of uneasiness. People crossed his path, grumpily going on their private business. The variety of sentient life forms often puzzled him, here on a station commanded by one of the most xenophobic officers in Starfleet. But they all had something in common nowadays. With the station sabotaged, and most of its defense marooned with the Triad not too far off, Saul could understand.

He, however, carried himself with confidence. His shield, he felt, was the crowd. With a worn-out black shirt and jacket, and ragged olive pants, he was undistinctive, creeping through the masses like a panther in his own home turf.

Saul entered the Jottoly market, a bustling and colorful area which Proctor probably never honored with her presence. The air was filled with the aroma of spices, the buzz of bots, and the calls of the peddler. Saul exchanged words with some new and old acquaintances, scrutinized some hand-sewn coats, and bargained with a stand owner who sold naturally-grown Betazoid food.

Satisfied, he filled his bag with his latest purchase. Miramon invited him to dinner, and while Saul was an awful cook he was sure that the Bajoran would forgive him for not participating in the sacred act of food preparation if he'll bring some fine fresh groceries.

As he turned to head back toward the central lifts, his mind wondered to the galaxy around him. The intelligence reports flowing to his department from all the branches of SFI were troubling to say the least. There were times he wished he could be in his old post back at SFI HQ, to shout his opinion in the face of some dumb, high-ranking analysts who sat in their comfy chairs for too long and had no idea how the real universe operated.

But no, he thought with a thin smile, transferring to a ship was a good idea. The best. And not only in terms of his agenda, but his career seemed to skyrocket as well. Plus, in the end, he always enjoyed a good adventure and the Galaxy was full of them. For example, today they were due to depart to Barzan, where--

Saul's sharply snapped out of his revere, as someone moved behind him. He spun around, his free hand instinctively reaching to his thigh. He didn't claim to posses the senses of a predator like some other Galaxiers, but kids on Utrecht III who didn't know when they were stalked often didn't make it to their 18th. birthday.

His eyes encountered only an empty stall, decorated with alien linked chains. He frowned, his nostrils twitching a little as he picked the remote smell of alcohol. Sadly enough, it reminded him of Nara.

He turned around--

And saw a face he knew too well, for the first time.

"Youmphhh!"

His exclamation was blocked by handkerchief that was shoved into his face. His eyes rolled in their sockets, and his muscles suddenly lost tension.

The man who drugged him rushed forward to catch him. There was no one around to see them, and even if someone did they'd think that the intelligence officer was some sort of drunkard.

The man thought to himself that it would be quite ironic - him, helping a drunk Starfleet officer. Then, he noticed the bag, and picked it as well. It's been a week since he last ate fresh food, and a day since he had any type of food.

He lifted the bag, then reached for Saul's pocket. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he reached into Saul's jacket. There, he found what he was looking for. His gloved hand closed on the Starfleet commbadge, and then he threw it with disgust into the empty stall.

Not unlike how he threw his own commbadge, two years ago.

"The Sins of the Father"

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi JAG

Guest

Location: Juliette's Quarters

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

"Faylin......" His voice was soft from the console, the resemblance to his daughter was un canny. From the soft brown hair, to the dark eyes, to the high cheekbones.

Her eyes were misty already, all it took was one word from her biological father and she was flooded with emotion that could not be contained with in her heart. "Daddy........why are you contacting me?" She spun in her seat slowly as her blue eyes sought answers.

"I wanted to see you...it's been years baby."

"Don't you call me baby....Daddy...I was never your baby...I was your...I did your dirty work."

His face hardened somewhat. "I didn't hear you complain."

"What? You didn't hear me complain? You taught me to kill daddy....kill and not feel a darn thing except dark pleasure from it. How did you find me?"

She already knew the answer to that. IS always had, 'their ways.'

"That's not important, the most important part is that....I found you. Fay honey, I have to warn you....we are coming. We had someone on the inside the whole time. Someone that you don't know."

"Well gee." Juliette's voice turned overly sarcastic. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place...so I didn't have to go through all this?"

"It was still needed....I want control back of IS." He stated calmly.

"Wait a minute...we? Who's we?"

He chose not to let that information free. "Fay, you don't need to know. I'm just warning you that....."

Her anger flashed in her eyes. "You formed another sanction of IS didn't you?" She paused as reality hit her in the head. "Oh my god dad.....I'm the pawn." Juliette leaned back in her seat, placing her hand on her forehead in exhaustion. "I take the fall. I was set up all along to take the fall. You..."

"Honey...you arn't the pawn..."

She stood. "Dad, I'm ALWAYS the pawn. I was the pawn when I was fifteen and you and mom needed to get the McAlister's out of the way. And, I'm the pawn now.....It's a brilliant plan."

"Honey......"

"Don't you honey me." She snorted, then turned and took a drink of her coffee. "So....you used me...to get Starfleet to do your dirty work. To take out Ramierez and the others."

She sighed heavily, the coiled up emotion within her wanting to escape through tears. Yet, she held them back. She couldn't let him see her cry. It was a sign of weakness. Assassin's never wept. As her blue eyes continued to harden, the battle raged within her. "Daddy.....you know what this means, don't you."

"Yes. You....are still IS. It is in your blood Faylin. You will always be IS."

Jules stared at the screen for a mere moment, her mind flicking back and forth as to what the proper response would be.

"Faylin.......come back to us. To your mother and father....your family. IS is your family. Anything you want...it's yours."

"Anything I want? I gave up my life for you. I gave up my looks, I testified against people that I had known all my life, I'm judging these people, I gave up Steven. I gave up my husband....for what? FOR NOTHING!"

"Not nothing Faylin. For IS.....for the Inner Sanctum."

"Oh....damn the Inner Sanctum."

"Faylin, you don't mean that."

"Don't I?" Juliette paused, a new look in her eyes. Although to her father, it was one he had seen numerous times that made him have delight in his soul for his offspring. She was coming back....she would be second in command. She........

"Faylin........."

She leaned slightly over in her chair, outlining his facial features on the console. "Dad....."

"Yes Fay?"

Her face remained stoic as she spoke the few words. "Run Daddy."

"Why?"

She stood, that old look shown through despite the new face. "Because I'm coming for you...." Flicking the monitor off, she stood from her seated position, focused her thoughts in her head, and made the choice.

That choice, was to end IS once and for all.

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