"Spotted Vendetta, part 2 - Evidence"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer

Also featuring parts by Commander Corgan and Commander Henderson

Saul was already awake for twenty minutes when he first opened his eyes.

His first and most obvious realization was that he is alive - and that's more than one could expect given the circumstances. He was tied up with metal shackles, lying uncomfortably on his stomach with his arms behind his back. There was dust as far as the eye could see. Could space stations get dusty? Probably yes, since he was quite sure he was still on Deep Space 5. The space around him resembled the narrow rooms occupied by poor guests on the lower decks of the station.

From his 'luxurious' location, Saul could spot the legs of a field bed, a synthetic carpet, and the start of a low table. The room looked deserted, temporary. And indeed, it was. Saul assumed that the current resident didn't quite register with his full name nor did he intend to overstay his welcome.

"You weren't supposed to see.", He was told.

A boot came into view. Not rushing toward Saul's face, but swinging back and forth.

"Boker tov." Saul greeted, turning toward the voice. He felt stiff.

McCauley, he saw, couldn't even afford to alter his face with simple plastic surgery. But, the two years that passed since his most updated photo was taken, made him look a decade older.

'Well, he didn't look too brisk and happy the first time I saw the bastard.', Saul reckoned.

* * * 2382, Trill Orbit * * *

The encrypted remote conference continued, and now Saul finally reached the main cause of that gathering.

"All right.", He cleared his throat. "You can all see the manifest on the top right corner of your screen. Our first 'suspect' is obviously the Captain. Bolian, Forty-Eight standard years old, goes by the name of Zedbi Geliba."

A team from the Galaxy was trying to determine out who maliciously crashed the USS Akula onto the heart of Trill, the capital city of Leran Manev. Down on the planet, many of the Galaxy's officers were helping in the relief efforts; But up here, the officers had only one interest - to nail those who dared to do such an atrocity.

They discussed the Captain for a short while, and Corgan summarized it quite well: "Who knows. I'd put him under 'maybe'."

As Saul wrote James' recommendation down, the security chief flipped over to the next file. His eyes widened; this one was much more interesting. "Lieutenant Commander Chris McCauley, Chief Navigation Officer. He has enough authorization to aim the ship and override the safeties. His record is... spotty. Before the war he was an Engineer aboard the USS Haida. He has a reprimands list a mile long. Fighting and alcohol consumption mostly. One is listed as a 'diplomatic incident'. He's old by most standards, a solid 56 years.

"Eight years older than his Captain.", Saul interjected, "Jealousy could kill."

James continued, "He was once before listed as lazy and prone to argument, hard to motivate, could raise a fuss at the drop of a hat... but transferring from second in command of Engineering to Navigation the reports lessened. Looks to me like he was dissatisfied with his job, among other things. Also says here he had credit troubles... how in the hell do you manage that in the Federation is beyond me... and he was divorced ten years ago. Looks like a man who has multiple reasons to betray Starfleet, don't you think?"

"Sounds like a man that shouldn't be admitted to service.", Saul muttered. Then again, Saul himself with his shady business-on-the-side was probably not the ideal Starfleet officer either.

"Maybe not, but at the time Starfleet wasn't very choosy during the war." Corgan pointed out; he was one of those almost washouts.

"Certainly. If you'd like my opinion, this is where we start one angle of our search. As an analyst, I'd start with his creditors... Which I took the liberty of doing," Petty Officer Stuart said. A few questioning looks were directed her way. Questioning looks that were silenced by the following recognition that she wasn't representing herself at the moment - but rather, she was the eyes and ears of Commander Henderson within the intelligence department.

"McCauley was a gambler." She said. "He liked to do it on shore leave, and usually blew most, if not all of his paycheck. His real credit problems started about seven years ago, when he was on Risa just after the Dominion War. He was a Lieutenant JG at the time, and according to his psychological profile, he had 'seen things on Cardassia that had rattled him.' He seems to have entered a high stakes game of poker, and lost big. The total at that point amounts to 450,670 credits."

"For a junior officer, that's pretty much unrecoverable. He tried to gamble for the money, but drove himself deeper in dept. Eventually, the gamblers sold his debt to a corporation based on Rigel VII. Rigel VII, as we all know, is the headquarters of Omega Corp," she let that sink in.

Saul took advantage of that moment, "Rigel VII is the house of half the slime on the Galaxy..."

Stuart continued, "Omega Corp is technically regarded as one of Orion pirate cartels. In reality it's a semi-legitimate business that also dabbles in weapons dealing and information brokerage. SFI has availed itself of their services in the past," Stuart continued, revealing more knowledge that she shouldn't have had. "Right now, I'm looking into the investors and known clients of Omega Corp, to see if there's a connection to anyone who would want to see this happen."

"But if you want my current best hypothesis, here it is... Omega Corp is contacted by one of their better paying clients. This client wants to disrupt Trill society, perhaps to cause a civil war that they could gain from, either through a power grab or through weapons deals. Omega Corp decides to call in their debt with McCauley. The man's proven himself unscrupulous before. All debts are canceled, possibly with a line of credit established, if he hijacks the ship and crashes it into the symbiosis commission. From there, details are sketchy. If you want my guess, he slave rigged the ship to the helm and had the crew beamed into the cargo bay sections that we haven't been able to access yet, where they died. He probably had Orion help. Thoughts?"

"If you wanted to destabilize Trill, that's the way to do it." Corgan whistled, impressed with the plan, "Put us in a hell of a position too. We either destroy the ship or let it blow up. Either way, the Symbiosis Commission will be destroyed. If that doesn't piss off the Trill enough to separate from the Federation, nothing will. We have a good motive, but there isn't enough proof. Do we have proof positive?"

"Nothing yet, unless something came up on the black box.", Saul glanced at Cora, who remained quiet. "But a helmsman is indeed one of the only people who could pull such an act."

* * * Present Day * * *

"Actually, it's a good think you found me. It was looking for you." Saul stated casually.

"I realize that." Came the dry response.

"Was it worth it?"

"What?"

"Killing all those Trill." Saul knew that he logic dictated that he would form a more friendly interaction with the subject before dropping the bomb on him, but the question was waiting for two years to be asked.

"Go fuck a Targ." Chris McCauley said.

"It wasn't, was it?" Saul persisted. "Because debt or not, here you are, on the run for two years. And if not for the Section 31 coup, you probably would've been killed by now, by the hands of some SFI agent or a bounty hunter. So all these lives, for nothing."

"I never beat a fellow officer while I was sober, boy. Don't get me started."

Saul frowned. "How honorable of you."

"Why, boy, you'd do anything else if you were in my place?"

"Yes." Saul replied, honestly. "I'd report to my superiors that I was approached by a hostile factor, and we'd think of a way to counter their plot. That would make you a hero. Instead… this."

Saul wanted to gesture at the mediocre chambers, but it was rather difficult with his hands tied up.

"Ha. You know what my last Captain told me when I approached him about my debts and trouble? 'Starfleet is not your sugar daddy, solve your debts yourself.' There was no one to talk to."

"I think nothing is worth it." Saul said. "I did some pretty nasty things; I still do. But something like this… it doesn't let go, once you did it. It keeps chasing you, haunting you. And someone always will. If not me, then some righteous young Trill looking for vengeance."

"Yea, it keeps haunting you." McCauley chuckled bitterly. It sounded like a broken steam engine. "Even if you didn't do it."

"Oh, you're innocent then?"

"I didn't do it."

"You were approached by Christopher Thomas' cronies."

"And I told them I'd do it, but I had no intention to. What do you think I am?"

Saul struggled onto a sitting position. "As far as I know, you're the butcher from Trill." He responded. "Now, since you're the one holding me and not the other way around, I could say 'Oh, how stupid I was, of course you're innocent, let me go.' But you and I know it would be a lie."

"So I should kill you?"

Saul noticed that McCauley's tone became unsteady when he said 'kill'.

"I rather not."

"I want you all to leave me alone." McCauley said simply. "I didn't do it. I didn't stop it, but I didn't do it either."

Saul considered telling him that this made him an accomplice, but then another idea came in mind. What if McCauley was telling the truth? If he wasn't then Saul would just have to play it out and try to escape before McCauley realizes that he have no choice but to kill Saul. But if indeed McCauley didn't do it, then… he could be perfect.

Oh yes.

"So who did it?"

"I don't know." McCauley shook his head. "I hoped that they wouldn't risk contacting another officer on board; Apparently, I was wrong, but it was too late to change it."

"Prove it."

McCauley tilted his bald head.

"Prove it, and I'll help you." Saul repeated.

"By what? Turning me to the hands of 'justice'? So I'll spend my life in a penal colony instead of here. No thank you, boy. You probably don't understand how Starfleet justice works. It's a nasty thing. In many ways, it's much more draconic than the old Earth military organizations it replaced. Or they'd just hand out my head to Trill as a scrape goat-"

"No." Saul stopped him. He was gaining control of the conversation despite his clear disadvantage as being the captive and not the captor. "Prove it, and I'll get everyone off your back, and even assure you an interesting future. No more running away. No more crappy rooms in the rectal part of slimy space stations."

McCauley rolled his eyes. "And how are you going to do that, boy?"

Saul smirked slyly. "I'm more than a pretty face with a black collar and a couple of pips."

"No, you're no pretty face at all. Another fragging debt collector."

Saul's eyes glinted dangerously. "Christopher McCauley, I'm offering you your final chance not to spend the rest of your miserable life as a haunted beast. Take it or leave it."

A bet. A bet where both the house AND the gambler can win. McCauley must've been extra careful if he survived these last couple of years, but a sworn gambler wouldn't deny such a marvelous bet when presented to him. And if indeed he was innocent, Saul was going to make it worth his while.

The elder man contemplated this for a while, and finally spit on the floor. "I need a drink.", He mumbled.

"No." Saul said, and for the first time he felt like the day could end well. "What you really need is evidence."

<<This is a backpost to a day before the Miranda left Starbase 01>>

"Keeping in touch"

Lieutenant Major Man'darr Maivia
Battalion Officer; 101st Marine Battalion
USS Miranda
&
Lieutenant Branwen Londan
Furies XO
USS Galaxy

It had been a few days since she talked to her boyfriend, and Branwen had been very busy getting back in the hang of work. But sitting in her quarters alone that evening without her roommates she suddenly missed him very much. So she tried to get a connection to the Miranda, not sure if the ship was still within range.

Man'darr was at his home in Hana, on! the Hawaiian Island of Maui, having just come back from a long, relaxing swim at the beach when the familiar beeping of an incoming message emitted from a nearby console. He walked ove r and pres sed the activation panel. "Lieutenant Major Maivia?" asked a young blonde woman, who se eyebrows lifted at the si ght of the shirtless Capellan.

"Yes?" Man'darr asked.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but there is an incoming communication from a Lieutenant London aboard the USS Galaxy."

"Put it through."

"Aye, sir," the woman responded and a moment later the image of Branwen London appeared on the monitor.

Man'darr gave a slight smile. "Hello Branwen. It is good to see you again." "Hello Man'darr. I missed you." She said simply. "How is life?"

"Its been as good as can be expected. It is lonely coming back home. Is everything alright with you?" He wondered as she didn't seem too happy or thrilled upon seeing him.

"You are not on the Miranda?" She was surprised. "Sweetheart, what happened?" Suddenly she was very worried about her boyfriend.

"Nothing has happened. I decided to take some leave time to visit my home on Earth while the Miranda is docked at Starbase One. It is just...difficult coming back to a home that is no longer occupied."

"I don't even have a home away from the ship." She said softly. "I didn't realise the Miranda was still on shore leave. I wish I could have joined you, I miss you."

"Yes, but we will be departing shortly. I am only here for one more day and then I will be back aboard the Miranda. I miss you as well and you are welcome to my home, even if I am not present."

"Awww, thank you. Have you decided about your career yet ? Last time we talked you didn't really know what to do."

"Captain Jii of the Miranda has reassigned me as battalion officer with the Miranda's Marine Detachment."

She smiled. "You have become a marine! We are both marines. Congrats." "Thank you. I just hope I am able to perform better here than in Operations."

"I am sure. And I can always advise you." She smiled. "I have been a marine for a bit, you know. I am so happy. Just wished we could spend time together."

"Thank you, but I am a warrior...I do not think I will need your advice. I wish for time together as well." Man'darr wondered if getting into a long-distance relationship was for the best. He hated not being with Branwen, and although she had done nothing wrong, he was still wary after Dr. Hamilton had gone behind his back to see another male.

She noticed something in his face and in his voice. "What is it?" She asked softly.

Man'darr let out a sigh. "It is just that I would feel better if we were not separated. I would feel better if I could watch over you and keep other males away."

He was jealous, Branwen found that very heartwarming. Somebody cared that much about her. "I would feel better as well if you were with me. But don't worry, there is only one man for me, and that is you." She said softly.

"That is good to know. What is going on with the Galaxy?"

"I can't tell you over an open channel." She said regrettably. "But I can tell you we will be going into action very soon. So I just have to find a doctor and annoy them until they clear me for full duty."

"I see. I hope you are careful and take care of yourself this time." "Are you implying that I didn't last time?" She said playfully.

"You worked until you were completely exhausted and was badly wounded. So that would have to be a now," Man'darr said with a grin.

"Allright, allright, I WILL be more carefull this time, promise. Next shoreleave we will be together right?"

"I hope so. I should be getting back to packing and heading for the Miranda before it departs. I still have to check in with the Detachment Commander and get to know the troops under my command."

"Sure I won't keep you any longer. But stay in touch when you can. I will do the same. I'll miss you, love."

"I will, and I miss you too." With that, Man'darr dwitched off the monitor and began to pack his belongings.

"The Heart Of The Machine"

SCPO. Renora Loret, Tactical Analyst
With Enlisted Tactical Crew of the USS Galaxy

Tactical Control Suite, USS Galaxy

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

[Red Alert! Shields Up!!] Came over the comm system.

The display in front of Renora illuminated as a replica of the panel on the bridge and the shield status illuminated. She looked around…where the hell was everyone. Nieca was on the bridge, she knew that, but still…there should be someone here. Yuuri or Warbeck…hell…even Bishop, slimy little toad that he was.

[Brace For Impact!] The ship shook around her.

The time for looking around was over…

Renora turned her attention to the Trill warrant officer sat at one of the central consoles. "Warrant Officer Xor?"

"Yes, Chief?"

The two had a very strange understanding warrant officers were between NCOs and commissioned personnel but there was a degree of overlap. As a result of this Xor and Renora had come to an understanding about their roles within the unit. This generally seemed to centre on them not stepping on each other's toes and referring to each other by rank.

"Make sure Ensign Rey'ol has everything she needs up there, get ready to reroute power to the shield systems if we need it."

"Aye, Chief."

The ship shook as another volley of fire impacted onto the shields, some people lost their footing but most stayed where they were. Being aboard a ship like the Galaxy, you became used to combat.

The door hissed open and two tactical cadets, one Terran and one Bolian, came running in and up to Renora. "Cadets Han and Benil reporting, Sir…Ma'am…"

Renora had a feeling in they were expecting a commissioned officer. "I'm not a 'Sir' cadet…I work for a living." Renora replied with a wink "Chief will do for now." She looked around. "Torpedo control, report."

"All Systems gre…wait…one of the aft torpedo tubes shows a inoperative seal."

"What? I thought we were in dock to get rid of problems not acquire new ones. Shut it down until a repair crew can get to it, last thing we need is to blow a hole in our own hull…it's far more sporting to let the enemy try and do it."

"Aye, Chief. All other systems check out. Torpedomen standing by."

Renora turned towards another crewman, "Phaser control."

"All gunners show ready, Chief. Systems all A-One."

"Excellent." She returned her attention towards the two cadets. "I'm glad you're here to see this. I think having an appreciation of what happens will do you no harm at all. She turned towards her console, which illuminated and made a 3D representation of the enemy ships together with the Galaxy and her fighters and various bits of tactical information on all of them. "Let's see if what they teach you at the academy is so straight forward out here. Recommendations?"

The Bolian, Benil, spoke first. "Out flank them with the fighters and attack from two fronts?"

"Might work, unless they have addition fighters on the main ship, in which case our pilots will get caught in their own trap. How about you Han?"

He looked over the data a little longer before suggesting, a large volley into the capital ship, destroy essential systems and weaken the hull?"

"Any other day yes…but we're here to get the a hostage of that ship, we don't want to do any more damage than is absolutely necessary." She felt a little sorry for the two of them, slightly crestfallen. "Don't worry, we all have our own ideas…all of them valid in some right, that's why we have several people up the bridge, isn't to make sure all the possibilities are covered as much as anything else. I'll tell you something else too…that's a lesson they won't teach you at the academy."

[Tactical. Fire At Will!!] The comm bleared again.

"Alright, you all heard the Captain!" Renora roared. "Target their propulsion and tactical systems…and for the sake of the Prophets watch that friendly fire on our own fighters! The last thing I want is Major Rex coming in here complaining that we blew a big hole in his shinny new star fighter."

"Non-Destiny"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Acting Chief of Engineering

*****Main Engineering*****

The spot on her finger burned. She didn't quite notice, let alone care. The spark from the console did relatively minute damage compared to the arm and abdomen burns on the ensign she had to have two other ensigns take to sickbay.

Strange blessing: it was the only console that exploded so far. Structural damage was being repaired as fast as possible.

There was no need to check on resources; they were ripped into as needed without warning. Replicators in crew quarters wouldn't be much good but for a simple H2O combination. Transporters were locked from site to site that only higher level authority codes could use. There was no need for off-ship teleportation. As of yet.

In complete war mode, Nara shouted, tapped consoles and kept her mind on facts and what needed to be done. Most of the people in engineering knew by now that this was how it was. Get to work or get out of the way.

*****Night before hell broke lose; Nara's room*****

No need to describe the first bit of the dream. It concerned Saul, so the reader can use their imagination.

However, what happened next could be shocking.

"Naranda Sol Roswell, will yo..." Saul knelt on one knee holding a box. Before he could finish his proposal, a huge bat swooped and grabbed him in his claws.

Nara jerked up and blinked at the light and winced at the loud music she somehow couldn't sleep without.

After turning the music off, she wondered why she dreamt what she had.

Saul being abducted by a giant bat wasn't the issue.

She had to admit she had a fairy tale dream of her and Saul.

But she was too much of a cynic to hold much stock in fairy tales. It would never happen. She would never see him on one knee, unless perhaps to get his head chopped off because his little business venture ticked off the wrong person.

Nara, at times, went over these things in her mind. She was still young and had a romantic relationship with a dangerous man. Isn't that the dream of women her age?

She knew that for the best of Saia she needed to find a nice dedicated man. One that would promise to protect and care for her and Saia.

Saul made no such promise. That was the deal. If Nara were to get in trouble, Saul would make no special effort to save her.

He did care for her. Though helping her through her issues with sex were likely also selfish on his part. Yet, if all he wanted was sex, he could have a regular rendevous with 8-Ball. Or even Faylin were she alive.

He chose Nara to be the only woman he'd sleep with. They had romantic evenings and all that. They were friends. They talked and consoled each other. Saul would at times have to figuratively slap Nara in the face when she was going too far into herself.

But there were no promises. No commitment.

In the back of her mind, she always wondered when he would find someone else or when he wouldn't return to the ship.

Even if he were announced dead, she wouldn't quite believe it. Even if his body was shown to her. She knew somehow, he'd find clever ways to not really be dead and be off galabanting.

Still, she'd have to say goodbye.

*****Back to present*****

"Shuttle techs are in all shuttle bays, just in case."

Nara acknowledged the information and continued working.

In the back of her mind, she told herself she wanted Saul to have a ship to come back to if he chose to return. Lack of all promises her female heart dreamed of, she owed him, and all the crew, at least that.

"Business As Usual, Part 1"

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

************
Deep Space 5
Deck 57
1325 Hours
************

Victor stood at the window of the Conference Room the mission team had been assigned in and looked out into space in the direction that the Galaxy had departed. He didn't miss Romulus and he things he'd done and felt and seen there, but he did miss the sense of knowing that the people he'd been given to watch over were alive that he'd had there. Still. if he concentrated hard enough, he thought he could feel the faintest ghost of a whisper of a spider web's touch that told him that his charges were alive and well. At least, the ones he knew the best, anyway.

He turned and looked around the room once more. Then, because he had nothing else to do but wait since he wasn't supposed to be here for another 30 minutes, he turned back and lost himself in the starfield outside. He'd been to DS5 before, and there was little here to hold his interest. and a great deal to be said for staying as low-profile as he could to avoid drawing the attention of Admiral Proctor. She would, he thought, either try to expel him from Starfleet or try to transfer him to her personal Security detachment if his understanding of her was correct. Better - and easier - to wait here, since he had no desire to face either of those prospects.

Savant was the first to join him in the conference lounge - she had little reason to dawdle, after all. The artificial intelligence was all too aware of the activities of the station and didn't need an android to discern them. The conference lounge made a nice storage location until it was needed; until such a point it could serve as a decoration for the room and an interface for those who entered into it. Or those who were in it already.

Savant was by definition a social creature - it was a computer program designed to collate information and present it in a meaningful manner. By the fact of this nature it often found itself considering people for their own sakes; Victor Krieghoff made an excellent specimen. Something about his neurochemical makeup didn't seem quite right, and his behaviors were positively skewed as a result. Fortunately, the deviation was predictable, and could be normalized with little analysis. Information-gathering would be needed, however.

"Good morning," she spoke cheerily to the Lieutenant, even as analysis processors came online. "Looking forward to this?"

It was the android. More correctly, Victor supposed, it was the mobile interface unit used by the artificial intelligence currently assigned to the Galaxy. His reading of the Lieutenant's security update file led him to understand that this was not the AI's core program housing, which made a certain degree of sense. Commander Data of the Enterprise had been suspected of having backup copies of his personality engrams and memories stored elsewhere in case of disaster - this was just the same idea carried forward to a more sensible conclusion. He'd had no contact with the AI since it was transferred aboard, and consequently knew little about her personality, but he supposed that treating her as a Vulcan was as safe a response as any. She would, not being alive in the biological sense of the word, at least be unlikely to flee the room screaming.

"That would depend," Victor replied, turning to face Savant and nodding once in greeting, "on what it was you meant by that question. The meeting is necessary, since we have to have a plan of action in order to retrieve the kidnapped crewmen and the stolen ship, so in a sense, I'm looking forward to it. I'd certainly rather that the mission itself wasn't necessary, since it means that I failed to do my job with regards to protecting the people Starfleet gave me to watch over, so no, I'm not looking forward to it in another sense. The chance to retrieve the kidnapped crewmen before any irreparable harm is done to them though, now that I am certainly hoping for." He paused and considered his response. "Or were you speaking of something else?"

Before Savant could respond, the doors to the room swished open, and Jonathan stepped inside. Clad in naught but black and gray clothing of a more civilian nature, the combadge on the left lapel of his jacket and the PADD he carried were the only things that hinted to his Starfleet duties. "Its 'casual day,' at the office, didn't you hear," he quipped, the facetious nature readily evident in his voice, though his overall demeanor was completely serious. The nature of his dress 'explained,' he took a seat at the table, scooting the chair back enough to prop his combat booted feet up on the table, left over right. Scant seconds later the PADD was up and he was perusing the contents as if nothing was amiss.

To DarkSky, nothing was.

Savant smiled at DarkSky as he entered - the Lieutenant didn't seem in the most whimsical of moods, despite his statement. "I left my change of clothes for later," she quipped in return before replying to Krieghoff.

"You're very thorough, Lieutenant. I was referring more to your general sense of being and emotional reaction to the excursion at hand, actually. But you make good points." No doubt he was putting his brain around the fact that she wasn't behaving like an emotionless drone at present - though he was very quick to recover, so she suspected any lag to be minimal. "I look forward to it. I don't often get the chance to have a vacation."

Whatever they were going to encounter during the rescue mission, Victor doubted that the word 'vacation' would apply to it.

"Conference lounge" showed the small transparent sign next to the two winged door engraved in different languages. It took much time to decipher the topmost and largest to words written in Starfleet standard, and there was still plenty of time to be spent so Turan continued with the next rows. There was one line he recognized as "vaS" - the Klingon word for conference hall. The other writings were indeed much harder riddles. Indeed the tall Quentite wasn't even able to guess which language they were written in.

Accidentally Turan crossed the door opener sensors range and the two wings swished away. There were already three of his team mates waiting: the android with definitely female Terran features, the security Lieutenant, and the one in black whose name Turan forgot. There was something strange with that guy. Memorizing things was one of the things the juvenile Quentite was familiar to. And he really loved to memorize. The Starfleet standard dictionary, the much thinner Klingon one, Vanguard wiring schemes, the DS5 deck plan, several cooking recipes - all those things had found a place in the Quentite's long term memory during the last months. His newest acquisitions were less than ten minutes old - a map of the Ivor solar system and a guidebook about the Ivor planets written in a kind of "Karl May"-style. Again, Turan tried to remember the black dressed guy's name. Nothing, just a white - or black - spot in his memory.

Turan entered the lounge. "Good morning" he shyly greeted the others.

Victor nodded to DarkSky, "Lieutenant," and to Turan, "Ambassador." The Quentite was another individual that Victor hadn't spent much time around, and he had no idea how his presence would affect the man, so he remained where he was and let the Ambassador select his seat in whatever comfort range suited him, before turning back to Savant to see if she was going to continue with him or one of the others. She did so.

"Good morning Lieutenant, Ambassador. How about you? Are either of you looking forward to our trip?"

"It get's me away from the Proctologist, and that's all about this trip that I'm looking forward to." DarkSky looked over lazily to Savant as he spoke, his attention diverted from the PADD in hand momentarily. "Rescuing ground-pounding imbeciles from their poorly thought out plans isn't my preferred mission, and chasing after Orions in a stolen starship just smacks of shoddy management on to many levels to be serious." He smiled, a sarcastic yet cheeky grin, and turned back to the PADD. That he had so blatantly issued a slur against a superior officer, and an Admiral at that, didn't appear to cross his mind.

"You know, you should really check out your present company before making a crack about ground pounders." Thral said getting a bit of a grin on his face as he walked in the room carrying his traditional heavier then normal pack. "Besides, it was more often you black shirts that screwed us over."

However that wasn't all he'd brought with him. Trailing not far behind him was Artie, the pig he'd introduced the company to before. He wasn't just going to leave him on the Galaxy to be assimilated, was he?

Oh ... this man in black was sounding so funny, Turan thought. And with a little bit of good will it was easy to misunderstand him. Looking up from his multifunctional wrist display Turan took a breath. "Oh, we have to chase after the Orions in a stolen starship? Where are we going to steal it? That all sounds like real fun. When I volunteered all I intended was to get out of the carry-the-toolkit-role for a few days. So we are going to become pirates, too? Cool ..."

That was, Victor decided, as good an indication as any that the ambassador hadn't encountered actual pirates or seen the aftermath that they left behind.

"Actually, our ship was obtained through perfectly legal means," Iniara answered, having caught the last of Turan's questions as she stepped through the door. "But don't forget that idea just yet."

The Bajoran crossed the room, setting a stack of padds at the head of the conference table. The small chrono embedded into the table's glossy surface read 1354. Deciding to be nice, she slid into an available chair and decided to wait patiently for the rest of her crew to show.

Thral, slightly annoyed by this point merely plopped down in a chair and waited for the serious part of the discussions to start. In the meantime he stroked Artie gently behind the ears, something to which the pig gave a contented squeal to.

And not to pull your halo down
Around your neck and tug you off your cloud
But I'm more than just a little curious
How you're plannin' to go about makin' your amends ...

****

"The Noose" - Part Two

Lt. Ella Grey, SAR pilot

****

There was no smile on my face. I felt like I was going to be sick.

Obviously, the man didn't smile either.

It was too much for me to take. I'd expected to feel vindicated by this, alive, happy.

I hadn't expected to feel sympathy. I hadn't expected to feel wrong.

I looked away but Daro was suddenly there, his blood-coated fingers firmly holding my chin. I could see bits of the man under Daro's fingernails.

"If you want this, Ella," Daro Cole told me. "You have to watch."

****

The dogfight had been underway for less than five minutes when Ella got the first call for a pick-up.

Time to get your head in the game, Ella thought and pushed all thoughts of the past away.

She said a quick prayer to no one in particular - just a general prayer that all the extra hours she'd put into training would pay off and that she wouldn't screw up - and then was cleared for takeoff, free of the ship a second later and suddenly in the middle of a real battle.

It was almost surreal. All of these years Ella had always been inside the ship during the battles, her job being to keep the ship from falling apart, hulls from breaching, warp core from overloading, etc.

She had the urge to yell at the Barzan to stop trying to blow holes in her ship.

Ella dodged a Barzan fighter, grunted about how well the aliens were doing for a people who supposedly had no space technology, and made her way to the officer in distress. A quick tap of her fingers and the vanguard was onboard, her first in-flight transport successful. She might have 'whooped' if the vanguard's fighter hadn't chosen that moment to explode.

"Whoa," they both commented; her voice flat and his slightly winded.

Ella circled back around, beamed him back to the ship - probably so he could grab another fighter and head out again -, and headed back into the fray as Rex called her for another pickup

"I'm on it," Ella said briskly over the comm.

More dodges, more banking. She got to the pick-up and the vanguard materialized about a second before another hit from the Barzan destroyed the damaged fighter.

"Glad we don't have to pay for these damned things," She said cheerfully to the other pilot.

There was no response. A quick peek told her that the woman was unconscious but, at least Ella hoped, breathing. Ella frowned as she darted away from a vanguard in pursuit of a Barzan fighter. While medical training had been a part of the whole SAR package, she couldn't help the woman *and* fly the damned ship. For once she found herself grumbling (like Corran) that the squadron needed a full staff.

At least once they got back to Galaxy, she could ...

From out of nowhere, the ship was hit. The force of it made her teeth clench and she braced herself to keep from flying out of her chair. She heard the sound of a body impacting and winced.

"I'm hit," Ella announced over the comm. She tried to keep her voice calm even though panels were beeping and flashing and she had the nasty feeling that things were about to get worse.

And she was right. The ship began to dip.

There was no response from either Vanguard or the Galaxy. Probably the comm had been fried along with whatever components needed to keep the ship in space.

Mama said there'd be days like this didn't even begin to cover it, Ella thought.

"It wasn't weapons fire," She told them, just in case. "Some sort of energy field? I'm losing ... I can't make it back to the ship. Going to have to try to land."

"MAKE IT STOP!"

Featuring Valentina Kyznetsova (Formerly LtJG Eve)

~~~~~~~~

The ship was shaking again. She could hear without hearing, the impacts and explosions from the weapons being used against them. The soul of the Galaxy groaned in agony as it was violated by the indescretions of an alien force. The lights were dim, her quarters bathed in the murky red of the Emergency Warning Strips, but she could still see it all with clarity. Booted feet tromped by at random intervals, crew racing towards this or that. Most of them were engineers, she mused, fixing things as they were broken. Behind it all, however, behind the stark reality she could see and touch, she heard THEM.

The sweet, honeyed, aluring Song that was the ever present teltale of a Borg in the vicinity. It didn't matter if there was one drone, or a fleet of Tactical Cubes, she could still hear the Song. Itpervaded her every waking moment, disturbed her thoughts, and intruded upon her dreams. She wished DarkSky hadn't had to go. She knew his sort, he was the kind of person that would simply sit there and listen as you told him everything; in the end he would still be your friend, no judgements made. Whoever was outside her door now - if there indeed was someone any more - wouldn't be that kind. DarkSky was a rare breed.

The Song wouldn't stop. She asked it to go away, it wouldn't. She tried to will her mind closed; she didn't posess the skills. She cried, begging for it to stop! It was everywhere, in everything, and nothing would make it stop Make It Stop makeitstpomakeitstopMakeItStop "MAKE IT STOP!"

Valentina Kyznetsova, the young frightened woman who had once lived the life of Eve, stood stock still in the center of her quarters, unaware that she had even screamed out those three words. Her eyes were wide in shock and the Song was momentarily banished from all perception as she regarded her room. There was damage all around and she could explain none of it, not even the pain in her throat. The bed was dishevled, desk broken, dents and holes in the bulkheads and walls, respectively. But what shocked her most was the door, to be precice it was the left hand door half, aproximately 5 feet off of the floor.

The hole it contained in that spot was mimiced on the other side by the PADD she could see embeded in the far wall.

As Tina looked on in shock, the insidious song returned with a vengance and the bliss of unconsciousness spread it's black wings, embracing her into the abys.

Even there, the Song would not stop.

A Collective Responce
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third of Four in jeapoardy.

Current location does not coincide with assigned coordinates; Sector 001.

Dispatch Second of Eight, Primary adjunct to Unimatrix 04 .

~~

State objectives: Determine Location - Third of Four.

Eliminate Resistance.

Retrieve Third of Four.

Standard asimilation protocols in effect.

~~

Resistance is Futile.

Nasty Little Green Men

Lt. jg Robert Mathieson, MD

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

"Get up old man!"

When Mathieson only groaned in response, his stunned senses were shattered by three hard consecutive slaps to his face. "Get up! NOW!"

The doctor was pulled up to a sitting position by something cold and metallic fastened around his neck. Forcing his eyes open, a blurry nightmare of green faces greeted him. "Our Engineer - can you do anything more for him?"

"Dunno", Mathieson managed through a painful coughing fit. "Lemme see th' lad."

Shakily, and after two failed attempts, the old physician managed to stagger to where the injured Orion lay on a biobed almost half a century old. The man's skin, no longer a healthy shade of emerald, had faded to the color of boiled cabbage, and beaded with perspiration. Mathieson was about to take a closer examination when he noticed that his hands and fingers were smeared dark with grime and dried blood. "Shit! I'm bleedin' filthy! Anythin' I can use t' clean up?"

The Orion who had waken him, a surly powerfully built male, pointed at an emergency medical kit at the foot of the biobed. "Just what's in there."

"Right" Mathieson grabbed the bag and was unpleasantly surprised at just how light it was. What was in the kit was even less pleasant - if the ship they were on was old, then the medical supplies they had were even older. Gauze dressings. Tension bandages. Steel scalpels and scissors. Ointments and unguents that had dried in their tubes. Sterilizing liquids that had mostly evaporated through plastic containers so old that the outsides were ready to crack.

With great care, he emptied some of the alcohol onto some of the gauze and worked manically to rid his hands of their filth. When they were as clean as he could possibly get them, the Englishman returned to the injured Orion Engineer and placed a hand gently on the man's brow. "Yer lad's burnin' up. Infection mor'n likely." He took a close look at the last-minute tracheotomy done to save the man's life. The skin and tissue had reformed tightly around the makeshift breathing tube making a good seal, and the man's chest rose and fell gently - that was a good sign. A bad sign was the swelling and discoloration around the incision - angry and red, the wound bore the classic signs… and smell… of a ripe staff infection that was now coursing through the Orion's body. "'E's doin' alright fer bein' in a cesspit, but we're needin' t' get 'im to 'opsital quicklike. Temerature's spikin' fast - it'll boil th' poor lad's brain if it continues fer much longer."

A fast-paced exchange of Orion happened between the remaining three emerald men. Mathieson didn't speak the language and his UT still seemed inoperative (but mercifully silent), but he had been around the block in bad neighborhoods more than a few times and a few words sprang out. 'Money' was frequent, along with 'danger' and 'contract'. The one word that made his heart sink was one the smallest, weasel-like used while pointing at him.

'Slave'.

~Bloody 'ell - th' bleedin' fekkin' Syndicate~, Mathieson thought as the exchange became more heated. ~Balls 'o brass fer nabbed folks off a Starbase - an' nickin' a mothball starship by th' looks of it. Wonder oo' else they nabbed? An' why? An' what the bleedin' 'ell's this thing?" The metal band around his neck suddenly became noticeable again, and he carefully felt the outer diameter with his fingers. ~Circuitry?~

The Orion privateers stopped their conversation and the large, burly one addressed the doctor as if he read the old man's mind. "That's your new lot in life, leech. Let me demonstrate." The green man picked what looked like a communicator from his belt and pressed a brass stud at the side. Instantly, doctor Mathieson was on the floor writing in a hellish agony as one-hundred thousand volts coursed through his nervous system. Prone amongst the dust and debris from the old starship's deconstruction, he spasmed and screamed uncontrollably as the Orion's laughed.

"That's a mild setting, old one" the leader chuckled mercilessly. "Just a taste so you know to behave. Keep our Engineer alive, and there'll be no need to use it again."

Mathieson could only twitch and moan after the voltage had been turned off, the intense agony a fire-branded memory in his psyche. But while the old doctor was helpless physically, his mind remained focused on the Orion's crooked, sadistic smiles and the sounds of their cold laughter.

~Taste, eh? I'll give ye somethin' t' taste, alright. Laugh while ye can, lads - some nasty medicine's headin' yer way.~

"Invasive Borg"

(Set just prior to arrival at Barzan - Apologies for the delay)

Lieutenant Commander Vladimir Malgin - Chief Surgeon
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

Sickbay
~ ~ ~ ~

Borg.

The very word was enough to send a shiver up and down your spine.

Though every encounter so far with the Borg had resulted in their failure to assimilate the Federation, many of those encounters had been costly. Thousands of lives, dozens of ships, and a dread of what was to come next. Encounters such as Wolf 359 were still fresh in the memories of many. And while Voyager had managed to evade, defeat and even negotiate with the Collective on several occasions, their situation was without a doubt, unique. From information Kimberly had read since her elevation to a senior staff position, Voyager had taken advantage of circumstances in the Delta Quadrant unlikely to reproduce themselves here.

And their very method of assimilation was to her beliefs an abhorrent act, a mental and physical invasion that would leave you completely powerless to do anything but the will of the overpowering Collective. So much more was known about them since Voyager had returned from its seven year journey, and with the drone they had freed and brought back as well, this Seven of Nine, their information was increasing. But would it be enough for their next encounter with this repulsive, cybernetically enhanced amalgamation of races?

Opening the files she had available on the Borg and their technology she began reviewing the data available on them, in case the Drone they were on their way to 'rescue' needed medical attention. ~ What an absurd thought! ~ She muttered to herself silently, ~ I should be looking into how to remove her from the collective, not heal her so she can rejoin it! ~

"Let's just hope this is the only Borg I'll ever meet!" she said aloud as she read. However, the more she read the more she realised that she would be needing some help. Her xeno-surgical skills were good, but this level of cybernetic invasion was going to require an expert.

Tapping her commbadge she hailed the Chief Surgeon. "Burton to Malgin. If you have a moment, could you come by my office, I'd like to have a chat with you about our current mission." She asked.

"Malgin here," replied a bored voice with more definite Russian accent, than usually, "Should have guessed, that you calling should have something to do with our current mission... Alright. Expect me in your office in about five-ten minutes. Malgin out."

Having closed the link, Vladimir sighed and clapped his hands. "Finally!" muttered Russian, "At least some valuable thing for me to do. Should've thanked Borgs for this possibility. Hopefully however..." he snickered, "Better if these thanks stay indirect. One face-to-face meeting with these metal guys was pretty enough for me..."

There were of course few more remarks, concerning Borgs, but most of them were obscene (despite, quite deservedly) and Russian, so we'd evade mentioning them, for our readers' sake. SO, getting back to our flow, we should mention, that Vladimir's arrival at the Chief Medical Officer's office took less than ten minutes. In fact, just four minutes later, with a chime from the door, Malgin entered the Burton's office.

"Lieutenant, arrived by your request. Good afternoon. Hopefully, I didn't make you wait?" he asked straight from the doorway.

Looking up from the file she was reading Kimberly smiled and indicated a chair, "Not at all," she assured him, "thanks for coming by. I was hoping to get your thoughts on our current mission, namely, the Borg." She ended with obvious distaste. "Would you like a drink?" she offered, indicating the replicator.

"You'd expect, that I drink mouthfuls of vodka?" came a smile in response, "I am not your ordinary Russian, so I think, that I'd just take a juice. Apple-peach mix would be the good variant."

Stepping up to the food slot she ordered up some drinks as she talked, "I've been looking over the information we have on the Borg, mainly physiological. I'm leaving the sociological and psychological for now. We have one kidnapped Borg to rescue apparently, and the Goddess alone knows what condition we'll find it in." Putting drinks down on the desk after they had materialised she slid a PADD over after his drink, "Now I'm a qualified surgeon, but some of this is beyond me," she admitted honestly as she sat, "there's a level of nano-technology and cybernetic interfaces here that needs someone like you. Assuming a worst case scenario, what would you need?"

"In the worst case scenario, Lieutenant, I guess we all shall need either few hundred coffins, or few hundred tons of TNT or plastite, to blow up the borg-infested USS Galaxy..." Vladimir coughed, seeing that Chief Medic didn't support or accept his enthusiasm, thus he had to change the tone, "Sorry, lieutenant. Let's just hope that this kind of 'worst case' never happens. As for yours-meant case, I think that current capabilities of our sickbay and surgery operating theatres are well-enough. At least by my expectations. The only thing, that I'd request would be, that no one bothers me, while I am at work and that I have Carte blanche on my actions."

"Well, considering we are talking just one Borg for now, and we actually have to bring it back alive what we'll do is get an isolation ward set up with as much security as Engineering and Security can manage, and I would suggest perhaps you get your team together and prep them now. Take whomever you need, just let me know who so I can get cover if needed. As for carte blanche, well, as far as keeping the Borg alive and as long as you're within regulations, no problem. Just keep me posted at all times if it does end up in sickbay. Okay."

"Alrighty. Where should I sign our deal?" Vladimir made a gesture in the air, which looked like handwriting, "I am almost all the time within the Regulations, to say the truth. Only when it is necessary for the life of the patient. As for the team... I think I can assemble a good gang'o'medics around here. I shall submit a list to you. Would you like me to contact Security and Engineering, concerning maximum security isolation?"

"Please, I'll leave the details to you," she offered with a smile, "just keep me posted, okay. As for signing," chuckling lightly she shook her head, "we'll save that for later." Sliding a PADD across the desk she tapped it lightly, "I took a moment to compile this, it's everything I could get my hands on about the Borg, including data and observations from Voyagers Doctor and the drone they brought back with them. Barring classified material this is about as up to date as the information gets on the Borg. Have a read when you get a moment, I'm going to put together a memo for all staff on the basics. I doubt, or should I say I hope we don't need it, but with these things you never know. Other than that, how is everything?"

"Seemingly all is fine then. Personnel is fine, they just need some tuning from me, which I shall give them in the most suitable way," Vladimir snapped his fingers, "I have nothing to complain. Well, even if I DID have something, I'd first attempt to solve it myself. So seemingly we are finished here?"

"Regarding the Borg, yes. Regarding our next staff meeting I'd like you to sit down before that with Doctor Mathieson please. I'd like for the two of you help me draw up a training plan for our Medical EPP personnel that the senior staff can all agree to. We have a consistent amount of staff that ignore EPP protocols, a lot of new staff to add and some that have moved around. My draft is on the PADD," nodding to the device she had passed him a moment ago, "if you two could cast your experienced eyes over it and get back to me I'd appreciate it. Thank you."

Russian took PADD and nodded, "At least you can expect, that my eyes do the through scan. If there is anything, which I deem unsuitable, I shall let you know immideately. EPP is always important, especially, when lives are at stake. Thanks for confidence in me. Anything else?" He prepared to stand up.

"Nope, that's it for now." she replied with a sigh, "Let's just hope the one Borg we're preparing for is the only one we'll see. Thank you Commander."

"You are always welcome, Lieutenant," came a quick response from surgeon, as he strolled to exit loaded with PADDs. Seemingly, Vladimir has found at least a little work. Little did he know, that, apparently, one Borg is never enough...

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