"Aching for Combat"

First Lieutenant Steven Jonas

****
Steven's Office
****

He had heard nothing about the status of the Hazard team and their mission to board the ship, in the hopes of retrieving the Borg drone. And it was grating on his nerves. At least they could send a small progress update informing the Marines if they were going to be needed or not. Just sitting and waiting was not something that Jonas liked to do. Not when there was potential enemy combatants over on the ship.

To make matters worse for Steven, he was currently dressed in full combat gear, awaiting the call to deploy. And for some reason, despite the normal temperature of his office, it felt like a sauna. He'd changed the temperature down a couple of times, and even had replicated a couple of glasses of ice cold water, but nothing had done the trick.

Ripping the gear off his torso, he placed it down on the small couch in the corner, next to his rifle and pack. He sighed contently as his upper body began to feel the cool air that permeated the room. Running his hand through his curly mop of hair, he made a mental note to get a haircut when he got back; if they ever got to go that was.

Returning to his seat, he picked up the PADD and re-read the last couple of paragraphs of the report he was writing on the physical fitness of the unit. Bran had the mental aspect of the unit covered and would likely be writing that up at some point for Baile, but it was his job to ensure that they were in peak physical conditioning. Which, truth be told, was something that was currently lacking with himself. He knew that without a doubt.

He had slacked off in the month since he and Fay had gotten together, and the month since her death. No more was it apparent than the game of Racquetball, his first try ever of the sport, that he had had with Brian. It had been a pretty one sided affair with the experience and fitness of the Lieutenant Commander showing the Marine up easily. He had gotten a few good shots in, but with his lack of fitness, he had been easily cleaned up. It had only taken a minute of gameplay before Steven had had to call a timeout to catch his breath. The clearest sign that he was unfit.

He was keen to try the sport again. Steven knew he just needed a little more time in the gym and running around the lower decks before he'd try it again.

He had written a fairly glowing report on the fitness of the men. They had been training so hard that they were all in pretty good shape, himself excluded. It was the other report he was worried about giving to Baile. That a third of the men had failed at their last target practice session was appalling and Steven was going to have to look at addressing the problem when they got back to the ship.

Leaning back in his chair, Steven pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it between the thumb and forefingers trying to quell the headache that was beginning to form. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers with his free hand he pulled out a small container and popped the lid off with his thumb. Raising the container to his mouth he tapped the side softly letting a couple of capsules slip onto his tongue. Taking a swish of water, he swallowed feeling them slide down his throat, and waited for the relaxing feeling that he knew wasn't too far away. Replacing the cap, he placed the small container back into his pocket.

Within a couple of minutes, Steven began feeling euphoric, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. The headache had gone away, as had the nervousness that had been filling him up.

All he had to do now was wait for word from the Bridge that they could deploy and everything would be groovy.

========
Barzan Cruiser Main Bridge
========

The atmosphere within was thick with tension. None present wished to die today, yet with the aproach of the Galaxy herself some deaths were inevitable. Thus, they had prepared acordingly. Seven fighters were deployed to screen the cruiser from the Galaxy's own anoying gnats, piloted by the best operators this side of space.

"Fighters!" The cruiser commander, an individual known only as Grishn, addressed the com. "Advance and engage at will. May your souls shine as bright as the stars!" A finger stabbed the arm of his chair, cutting the line as the fighters surged forward, lances of phaser fire stabbing at the Galaxy's shields even as the great starship began to swing under Lt. Dobryn's care. "Weapons!" The officer at the station snapped to. "Bring the Lance Batteries online and prepare a full spread. Maximum capacity. HELM!" This one didn't turn, her focus needed to keep the Galaxy within the correct firing arcs. "Align the Galaxy directly forward, and keep her there." The helmswoman nodded and worked her board. The cruiser swung around, pulling Galaxy back into alignment with her nose. "Lance Battery prepared!"

To an observer, the movements of the Galaxy and the Barzan starships apeared as a lazy dance, a ballet of drunken chaos as each strived for the utmost domination of the Theater of War. The fighters were similarly engaged, in a much faster tango that spoke more of frenzied Pirana than gracefull swan. However, all of that was about to change.

A port opened in the nose of the Barzan cruiser, revealing a black maw aproximately 8 meters in diameter. The cavity within began to glow, a deep blue that intensified in strength and briliance untill it was almost star white. Crackling energy surged through the forward sections as the pent up energy within the internal capacitors reached their limit and were then discharged in a brilliant streak of cosmic energies. The bolt seared out, striking the Galaxy's shields. It apeared to stop for but a second but the amount of power poured into that single bolt was to much for the shields to completly contain. A thin shaft pierced the protective bubble, spearing a hole 1 meter wide through the starboard nacelle, the remaining energy discharging harmlesly on the inner surface of the shield bubble on the other side.

"Aww FRAK!!!!" Grishn turned to his tactical officer. "You couldn't wait 2 more seconds?!?! It would have sliced right through the saucer!" The officer worked his board frantically. "I'm sorry Captain! The capacitors wouldn't hold the charge any longer. If I'd waited they would have completly melted down!" Grishn growled but turned back to the screen. Rather life than death. "Prepare for another round, and this time you better get it right."

The return fire from the Galaxy, damaged as she was, still shocked everyone to the boots. Drive plasma was leaking from the punctured nacelle and yet they still fought on. Admirable, if they hadn't been the Enemy. Oh well, you can't always choose who you like and who you don't. "Bring us around!"

"Think Outside The Box And Be Quick About It!"

*****Main Engineering, USS Galaxy*****

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!"

Nara jumped to her feet, her now sore wrist ignored as she read over the consoles. She jumped around, tapping in commands as she shouted, "Shields at critical! GET ON IT!"

She made a quick note to look into the weapon that did this damage. It was amazing really. But it could also do more, she figured. Engineering was in panic mode. Whatever hit the Galaxy hit them hard.

Someone had come beside her. She made not move to figure out who it was, but the idea he gave had her attention. It was out there. It was inventive. She liked it. She nodded, "Do it."

She worked as everyone else did to get the shields prepared, letting whoever that ensign was take a few others and get to work on an idea she hoped would save their asses.

Then the figurative rain when you think nothing can get worse.

"Wretas to Roswell"

Nara quickly tapped her badge, "Here and in the middle of an emergency, I'm sure you know."

"Saia's been badly hurt."

Nara froze for a second and shook her head getting back to her mode. The survival mode. Which made her sound quite cold, "Is she being cared for by a medic?"

"Yes, but..."

Before she could finish, Nara snapped, "Thanks for letting me know." She hit her commbadge quickly to cut the counselor off.

Her eyes watered as she worked. She couldn't cut that out. She couldn't push it to the back of her mind.

She hit the console, "Damn it!"

She bit her lip till it bled suddenly having the wrist quickly remind her it was injured.

She gulped, collected herself and in a few moments was back to how she was five minutes before. Except now with a throbbing wrist and pounding headache she ignored with the nagging worry and intense desire to see Saia.

"Chaos in Engineering"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Acting Chief of Engineering
NPCs (Played by Lori & Eric)

*****Main Engineering, USS Galaxy*****

Nara shouted out over the den of Engineering, "Has that plasma leak been plugged yet!"

"We have to cut plasma to that nacelle completly ma'am!" a voice shouted from across the chamber. "Whatever that was missed the coils completly, but it still fuzed enough components into junk that we can't lock it down on site."

There was a flurry of activity, and after a few gut wrenching moments the starboard Power transfer Conduit leading from the warp core dimmed, the flow dampened down to nearly nothing - enough was shunted through to feed the EPS taps strung along it's length, taps vital to the survival of the ship in a combat environment. From without one could see the nacelle itself dim, it's power cut at the source. The Great Bird was winged, but still very much in

Nara frowned, "How are we doing?"

"Core is stable. Whatever that was didn't produce any feedback," came one. "Starboard ventral shields are nearly gone," came another. "15% and holding. Barely."

"We need those shields! Get them up! NOW!" Nara was working on that herself. They looked unwilling to do so.

A rating hustled over to her, depositing a PADD in her hands before scurying off back to wherever it was he had come from. The contents of the PADD weren't pleasent. Getting the shields back up to even 50% would take considerable time and effort and probably wouldn't happen during the course of this battle.

Then the world turned upside down. Red icons and danger alerts flashed across nearly every board as a second Lance blasted through the Galaxy's shields. The cruiser was more nimble than the Galaxy and was able to take advantage of those weakened shields - the blast, nearly full power, dropped that last 15% and cored a 4 meter wide hole through the starboard side of the saucer, straight from bottom to top. Emergency bulkheads slammed shut at the points nearest the breach, and emergency forcefields snapped on where they were still available.

Nara's heart nearly beat out of her chest, and her body was pumped full of adrenaline, "Get SOMETHING on starboard!"

Narry a soul maintained their footing after that impact. "There's nothing to starboard, primary AND backup generators are fried!" someone yelled, the panic evident in their voice. "Dorsal shields are getting hammered from the residual energy impacting the interior of the shields.""

"Someone get to work on those generators! It doesn't look like we're retreating."

No one replied - the shields were a priority and no one needed to be told to get damage controll on them pronto. "Lieutenant!" A cadet this time, pasty faced and wide eyed. All the signs of their first actual combat outside simulations. "The Cannon is offline! It looks like the capacitor EPS feed junctions were shorted out by the last hit."

"Saturn!" Nara called to Emma and nodded to the cadet, "Get him working on the Cannon."

Emma walked with the Cadet quickly, explaining ways to get the powersource connected again.

"But I TRIED that!" He whined.

Emma put a hand up "Hush! Listen to me!" She continued.

A phaser strike from a fighter interrupted the pair, simply because the console next to them went up in a shower of sparks and fragments.

Nara was busy. Exploding consoles only caused her to glance. Emma at least was alright as Nara saw her standing. She would take care of the boy. Nara still busily worked at the shields.

Emma poked at the boy, "Cadet!"

The boy opened his eyes and moaned touching his arm. "I'm down."

Emma stood holding his arm to get up a she rolled her eyes, "No. You're singed. Now, let's get to work."

That moment the cadet learned to take pain.

Meanwhile things were progressing as well as could be expected considering the damage the Galaxy had taken. Starboard shields were back .. if one could call 10% online. But protection was protection nonetheless, and someone had worked a miracle.

In the back of Nara's mind, she wondered if Savant was the angel of the day. Again. regardless, the frenzy didn't calm as Nara called for reports.

The reports rolled in. Things were looking grim for the Galaxy. Only two hits from that mega cannon and already systems were in critical condition. A shudder was felt and someone could be heard thanking their diety that Dobryn had kept the Galaxy out of the way of a third strike.

"Who the hell is flying and can they PLEASE TRY to avoid getting hit!"

Someone poked their head out of a bulkhead. "Ma'am, I think they are doing what they can. After all, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Methinks Lt Dobryn has been apropriately shamed and is taking measured to prevent the Captain from throwing her off the bridge." An exageration to be sure, but a little humor helped in a crisis. Morale was as important as everything else.

Nara just gave the woman a look that could melt the very bulkhead before looking at her console and getting back to work again.

The engineer shrugged and dove back into the innards of the starship.

"Triage"
By Ensign Travis Rollins, Medical Officer
With Various NPC Characters

*****Sickbay, U.S.S. Galaxy*****

The klaxons were sounding and the ship shook violently as T.J. stood at the main door sickbay. Casulties were rolling in from every part of the ship. With his tricorder out, Travis scanned everybody as they flooded in.

Alot of the patients that came in were walkin in on their own. Some were being brought in by a fellow officer. Others were being brought in on stretchers from the feild medics.

"Get this one over to Bio bed 8, he's a red" T.J. said as he looked at one of the nurses that was workin with him. The crewman that he had just looked at had multiple 2nd degree burns across his upper torso and face, as well as a fracture of his left Femur.

Going to the next person that came in, T.J. quickly scanned. -Distal Fracture of Radius. Blood Pressure 162/72 Pulse 80 Respirations are 28- read the tricorder. "Green, have a seat and somebody will get to you."

"Dr!" shoted one of the nurses.

Just lookin at the crewman that had come in, T.J. knew that he was bad. There were visible lassurations across his body, as well as plasma burns. Giving a quick scan, the tricorder beeped violently. "This man is going into Hypovolaemic Shock! Trauma bed 5, and start a 20 gauge and 14 gauge iv. Give him Norman Saline and start typing for a transfusion!"

"The One No Cage Can Hold"

PO2 Liam Burke, Easily Seduced Engineer (Mike)
CPO Michael Barker, Easily Angered Engineer
Ensign Kyle Matheson, Easily Excited Engineer (Lori)
Lt. Marcus Edwards Savant

with the rest of the captured Bonestell Crew

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

<USS Bonestell, Cargo Bay>

"Burke, wake the hell up!"

A gruff voice and the distinct feeling of a sharp jab from someone's elbow were the first things that Liam Burke's senses recorded after the sedative induced sleep he'd been in. The next thing he fealt was an added weight on his wrists and ankles as he started to sit up slightly and his eyes fluttered open. He found himself in a large room, which he quickly discovered was the nearly empty main cargo bay of the Bonestell. Well, nearly empty of cargo. In the room with him were the other 6 engineers that had been left to lock down the Bonestell before she was taken back to the scrapyard and a few other people he didn't recognize. All, including him, were wearing magnetic wrist and ankle restraints. As he looked around, still a bit dazed from the poison that had been used on him he said,

"What happened. I was just about to finish locking down the envrionmental systems when this Orion girl came in...oh shit"

"Oh shit is right Burke.", the gruff voice, that of Cheif Michael Barker who had been in charge of the lockdown. "The Orions gassed us all and took the ship. And all because you couldn't keep your pants up!"

"Cut the man a break, you know about Orion women, they mess with your head. This one time on Alvenda III..." an older man dressed in party outfit said from the other side of the room. When he interrupted the man Burke had no idea that he was interrupting a member of Proctor's staff, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment to him.

"Shut it old man, your stories aren't going to be of much help to us right now unless it involves a way to get us out of these restraints and to somewhere we can take back the ship and preferably before they kill us."

"That's highly unlikely cheif. They're more likely to sell you to some Timonium miner on Miana VIII. I hope you'll enjoy digging out rocks for the rest of your life.", the old man replied.

"Who the hell do you think you are, some sort of Orion expert?", Barker snapped back

"I should hope so since I was in Intellgence for a decade before joining Admiral Proctor's staff. Lieutennant Marcus Edwards at your service."

The cheif slunk a moment as he realized that he was being an idiot in front of, but Edwards seem to forgive him as his tone of voice stayed level.

"Now, what I think we should do is find a way to finish locking down the ship and if I'm not mistaken there's someone that's still free that might be able to help with that. Savant, can you hear me?"

"Who the hell is Savant?" Burke said quizzically.

A voice came as predicted through the local shipboard speaker. It carried all the surety o the computers' voice, but seemed to have a more natural quality. That being said, it was still clearly artificial. "I can hear you, sir."

Burke started looking around trying to find where the voice came from. He looked confused and was probably totally unaware Savant was on board. "What was that?"

A young ensign was sitting against the wall, messing with some wire he had happened upon when the voice came. He stopped and looked up and then over to Burke. "Sounded like someone talking."

Edwards grinned a bit as he said, "Everyone meet Savant. She's an AI designed for logistical operations though she has some other uses. Her program was sent here to determine what could be salvaged from the ship. She also may still have access to the Bonestell's computers. Do you Savant?"

The ensign against the wall stood and looked at Edwards, "An AI?"

Her responce was full of candor and amusement; the program was small at the moment as it had lost contact with the rest of its architecture. As a result its houghts were more prototypical, more feral. "I could hardly exist at all without access to the computer, now could I?"

Barker looked up in amazement, but figured out where the Lieutennant was going with this. "So you think your 'friend' here could help us finish the lockdown and keep the Orions from getting...wherever it is we're going?" "Precisely", Edwards replied

"Hot Damn!", the Ensign exclaimed

"Well, first things first, do you have any idea where it is we are going?" Burke said looking in the general direction the voice was coming from

The voice was coming from nowhere in specific, but when Burke began searching Savant decided to solidify the voice. A viewscreen lit up with the friendly avatar's face, and its voice came from there. "Based on what they've inputted into the primitive navigation interface, we're headed to Ivor Prime, Sir."

The ensign let out a laugh and clapped seeing the face, "We're saved!"

Edwards' brow furled as he realized what might be going on. He'd been in on some of the meetings where Proctor had been being badgered to send ships to that world. Colonists could have taken matters into their own hands and hired the Orions. He ignored the ensign "Interesting. Very interesting. So Savant, what we need you to do is to try and lock out the control systems. Up to it?"

Savant beamed a bright smile at the Ensigns' cheer and proclamation, then answered Edwards. "I could try, Sir. I haven't access to most of my processing registers so I'm not entirely up to full capacity, but I can still out-compute the best biological on the block."

"Anything we can do to help speed that up?", the ensign asked.

The image on the screen shruged, still looking happy, "Some extra processing space would be nice." The young man nods and gets to work taking off a panel to move about some parts. Edwards nodded in satisfaction as Burke tried to crawl his way over to a panel to assist as much as possible. "Do what you can though I'm sure the Orions locked us out. Thanks for your help Savant, and do try to make sure the Orions don't know you're here." Edwards said lowering his voice.

She nodded and replied with a laugh, "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm expendable, you aren't. I'll do what I can sir." and the screen deactivated.

"Green Web of Deciet"

Lenat - Orion Mercenary Captain
Erissa - Orion Mercenary Engineer/First Mate
and the rest of Lenat's Merry Band

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

<USS Bonestell, Bridge>

Of all the things Lenat hated about this particular assignment, the one that was bothering him the most right now is that the captains chair on this old Federation bucket wasn't nearly big enough for him. His chair on the Strahl was quite large for the bridge of such a small ship and was covered in the richest fabrics from across the quadrant. This thing on the other hand was barely big enough to hold the massive green frame of the Orion and seemed like it could collapse beneath it at any moment. Hence he was growing rather grumpy and was in a particularly rotten mood when Erissa stepped on to the bridge.

"Lenat, I thought I finally got all the lockdowns out of this thing, but somehow they seem to be reactivating themselves. I don't know whats doing it!"

A deep growl escaped Lenat's mouth as he spun suddenly to glare at Erissa. "What! Did you not make sure the prisoners were secure!"

"The engineers all still sealed in the cargo bay as you ordered and all the ones in the brig are all accounted for. I just talked to Levek on the way up here." Erissa responded with a hint of indignation in her voice.

"And you made sure the computers in the cargo bay were disconnected from the main computer core." Lenat replied still growling.

"I cut the access lines myself while the humans were still asleep! I don't know what the hell is doing it!" Erissa was getting more then a little annoyed as she spoke. As Lenat was getting up to come yell at her in her face the helm console blinked out. The Andorian mercenary manning it tried futiley to regain control. Lenat pounded it himself and then half spoke, half growled to the blue skinned pirate.

"How long until we reach Ivor!"

"An....an hour. Maybe less." the Andorian replied poorly attempting to hide his uncertainty.

"Erissa, if Relk can as much as stay awake get him on a console to help you regain control of this ship. You have twenty minutes. Get to it." , the look on his face and the rage in his voice told Erissa that it was pointless to protest, it would only get her bloodied up too. She simply slid into the turbolift and barked. "Sickbay".

"Out of the frying pan...PLUS an OOC!.."

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. Arriving at Barzan, the GALAXY is engaged by the Barzan defense force. An away team is sent over to the largest cruiser where sensors show the missing Borg drone..

Location: Barzan

=/\= "OH SHIT!!! IT'S A DECOY!!! THE DRONE IS NOT HERE!!!" =/\=

Hearing those words from the away team broadcast over the comm system, Darren M'Kantu leapt reflexively from the Captain's Chair to his feet, an icy feeling of dread knotting up his stomach. The Vanguard Squadren had been successful in disabling the small enemy fleet with minimal casualties. Darren had been holding his breath while the Away Team slipped aboard the Barzan cruiser and closed in on what they believed to be the missing Borg drone.

It had all been easy.

Waaaay too easy.

"Transporter room! Get them back now!!!" M'Kantu bellowed.

"Gravimetric shifting and tetrion particle bombardment from the wormhole are still keeping me from getting a lock!" Chief Jenson reported from the transporter room. The Chief had been working the transporters for so long, it was widely believed that he actually helped install them in the ship.

If he said he couldn't get a transporter lock, M'Kantu knew that no lock was to be had.

On the gigantic view screen the Barzan cruiser could suddenly be seen venting icy blue plasma coolant from vents in its port and starboard sides.

"Sensors reading an unusual energy build up!" Ensign Analei Morganth said, nerves causeing her to speak in her native French tongue. Fortunately the universal translators seamlessly translated her words.

"CAPTAIN TO AWAY TEAM!! GET OFF THAT SHIP NOW!!!" Captain M'Kantu ordered.

Brilliant red and orange sparks cascaded from the Barzan cruiser as it buckled upwards. Slightly aft, the cruiser's cargo section broke free and began to descend into the planet's atmosphere. The remainder of the cruiser exploded, sending a violent, jarring wave of energy rippling across the GALAXY's shields.

The bridge crew held tight to their positions as the ship shuddered momentarily.

"M'KANTU TO CORGAN...." Darren said, receiving a long and lonely silence as a reply. "M'Kantu to Corgan. Respond, Commander."

Again silence was his only answer.

Darren turned to the Catain manning the Tactical arch behind him.

"Can you tell me where our people have been taken?" he asked.

"I can pinpoint them within 2 miles. Best I can do frrrom here with the sensorrrs acting up the way they arrre. I am assuming that once on the ground, ourrr people will be able to betterrr see what they arrre dealing with." Ensign Nieca Rey'ol purred.

MKantu turned to Counselor Elessidil, acting Second officer.

"Send in the Marines. I also want an away team down there. Any able bodied man who can fire a phaser and are familiar with rescue operations. The Borg drone may be our top priority, but I will not let our people be taken like that."

"He has changed"

Baile
London

It felt.. strange to be back. The surroundings were still the same, the people still the same, but he was no longer the same. He sat on the bench in the gym and looked at his hands. The awakening had been brutal and confusing to say the least.

He shook his head ruefully. Regrets wasn't really his style. All regrets had gotten him was a ghost in his head and now that it was gone he missed it.

Branwen had been working out, very slowly she was getting her strength back. At the end of our training period she saw her boss sitting on the bench. After a slight hesitation she walked over to him. "It's not easy, is it?"

The headache had dulled into a bearable pounding. He looked at her. The dark goggles he wore hid the silvery eyes that were his now. That was the other strange thing. He was.. off.. with the surroundings. Impressions overwhelmed him. Smells, sounds, colors and as a result he felt almost blind and deaf. "What is?" he asked her, sounding slightly confused.

On a whim she sat down next to him. "Getting back in the swing of things, sir."

He shrugged. His arms were more toned than ever which even he found unsettling. He had never been one to develop toned muscles, just mass. But somewhere along the way that had changed. 'along with the rest of me' he thought grimly. "Killing enemies ain't brainsurgery. Hit hard, hit first." he replied although he knew that wasn't what she had meant.

"Yeah." She smiled. "It's easy." She sat next to him silently for a while, wishing that for once he would lighten up, for both their sakes.

"Going to tell me what's really bothering you or are you going to sit there and get all cuddly?"

"I just wanted to help you get settled, sir. And I still want what I wanted from the first day we met, to get along better with you, somehow." Branwen said honestly.

"Get along with me better? No one gets along with me.. Not even God." the Marine chuckled but his voice had a bitter tone to it. The pounding in his head started to grow in strength. He sighed and ran his hands over his bald head and removed the goggles. Hell, it wasn't like his headache got better when he wore them.

She gasped. "Sir.... your eyes! What happened?"

The light stung. He blinked a few times as the world lit up in array of colors. A few smart replies almost escaped him, but in the end he just shrugged. "Damn if I know.."

"Sir." She touched him lightly on the arm unsure of how he would take it. "Does it hurt, sir?"

"Only when I'm alive.. " Baile grinned, a grin that was part him and part.. Whatever he had become. King of Killers. Why the hell had Maya called him that?

"I am sorry. You seem different some how since you returned, sir." She observed him. Nicer, she thought but didn't say it.

Baile let his hands rest on his thighs. He sniffed the air to catch Branwen's scent but the only thing that happened was that the headache pounded even more. He grimaced. "You don't know the half of it.." he said slowly and stood up. The energy inside was starting to come back again. Along with the headache. So much for surviving only to die later. Some days he truly hated the gods.

"Sir." She took a deep breath. "Why don't we step into my office for a bit and talk." Probably he would break her other arm now.

"How about we don't?" he responded to her invitation. The smell struck him a second later. It wasn't fear. God knew he had had enough of that stench. No, more like caution. The kind of caution needed when near a unknown beast. He sighed. He had done not much else but to hurt people the last fifteen years. How did one stop? How did one become a better person?

"We can talk somewhere else, if you like, sir. Please." She finished softly,curious at the subtle change in him.

"I appriciate the gesture, London. But unless you can explain why I survived a Hydran plasma bolt smack in the chest and why I've not a single bloody scar then there's not much we can talk about." Or why he had woken up in Hydran captivity or how he had managed to escape.

"What did the doctor's say about that?" She asked. "Do they have an explanation for your eyes?"

He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. "Not much other than they aren't mine." Baile pulled his shirt off. Nothing showed that he a mere week ago had a hole in the chest big enough to park a shuttle in. Even the tattoos were intact. That was probably the thing that freaked him out the most. "That bolt should have passed straight through me. I wasn't even wearing armor. The fucking thing shot me not ten meters away. There's no way in hell that bolt could have dissipated that much in that short a distance."

"you are human aren't you?" Bran watched. She could not explain this either. "I mean you are not a cyborg or something."

"I think the docs would have noticed twenty pounds of metal inside of me..." he commented with mild sarcasm. But human? He doubted it.

"They don't have any explanation? What do you think yourself?" She asked him. Without realising it herself, she was for the first time ever relaxing around Baile.

Sensing the shift in her attitude he decided to let the poor woman be just that. A little more relaxed. There would come a time when she'd look at him differently, but that didn't have to be now. "You know doctors.. tests, tests and more tests... and as far as what I think.. I know someone has pulled a number on me." He shook his head, not sure why he was telling her this. Maybe he missed Maya. "Every sensory input I got is fucked."

"So they just don't know. When can this have happened? How much time were you gone?" Bran asked him.

He trained the alien eyes on her. "You sure do ask a lot of questions, Grasshopper." He was not in the habit of talking about secrets. Never had. Why he had told her as much as he had was still a bit of a mystery. 'Goddammit Maya..' he cursed the ghost of the woman he had once loved. And killed.

"It's my job." She smiled at him. "Do you remember?"

"How can I forget?" he replied with a grim smile although the tone of his voice didn't match the seriousness of his face.

"Then tell me everything that you remember." Right now it just felt like talking to any other client. There was such a different feel about the man.

The marine shook his head. Enough had been said for now. "Get the men ready. I've got a feeling we'll be called upon soon enough." As soon as he had said it he wondered why he had said it. As far as he knew there was no real need for the marines at the moment. Baile shuddered slightly and decided he had to keep an even firmer control on himself than now.

"Yes sir!" She said. Branwen would not give up trying to get him to talk. But it could wait until later.

"Jarring Pickles"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Acting Chief Engineer

*****Main Engineering, USS Galaxy*****

"I KNOW, but we're working on it and from you say it's more interference that actual functionability!"

Nara talked to an operations officer who had come down as she was tossed a bit to the floor again by the energy ripple they had no idea was coming. "Speaking of requests, can I make one? How about some fucking warning that we're being hit!" She stood and went back to her console.

"You have access to sensers as well as we do, Lt."

Nara sighed, "Yea, kinda too busy keeping the ship together. Whatever. It was said out of frustration. We are working on communications and teleporters. Our main priority are the shields. Can't well talk to anyone if you've died in an explosion or been sucked into space, can you?"

"You're attitude is appalling."

"I'm a bitch. Sue me. Rather you hate me than haunt me if you die under my watch. Are we done?"

"Just get it fixed, Lt."

Nara clenched her jaw, but gave a curt, "Aye." and watched the officer leave. Nara turned to one of the greener cadets; figuratively and literally. He looked like he was about to be sick. She had a job pop in her head for him, "Cadet, keep an eye on the readouts by the door. Find the connection and keep track of incoming hits. Yell out 'incoming' if a hit is coming toward us."

Her attitude was quite curt, cold, and snappy when she was in this mode. She didn't care. She had a job to do and she'd spent enough time thinking about it when she wasn't trying to keep her troops alive or a ship from blowing up. She had come to the conclusion that she'd rather pay for her poor attitude rather than mistakes made because she was distracted by trying to be nice or accomodating. Most of the other engineers understood this side of her. It wasn't personal and when she was off duty, she was rather quite friendly.

She was not so rigid she didn't listen to ideas or walk past a seriously injured crewman. There had been several times that day she'd checked pulses, asked status and either shooed them back to work or called sickbay. Few too many times, she had to call for the body bags.

It's just when she had the weight of the world on her shoulders that she was a terrible force that one dared to recken with.

"Shields aren't responding!"

Nara raced over and resisted smacking an ensign as she tapped a few buttons and snapped, "Make sure you're on the right module, Ensign."

In all her career, she'd yet to hit another crewmember, though there had been many times she wanted to. There had been a time she hit Saul, and other things she wished weren't in her mind, during the Dithparu invasion. She had fought hard in vain, but maybe not in vain, because she could at least say she fought.

K'Erin would be proud, she liked to think.

Now was a fight to keep the USS Galaxy from being a heap left in a ship graveyard to be ransacked by Ferengis.

After-Abduction Analysis

Report By:
Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

What are the effects and gains of abducting a drone out of SF Command? Who benefits from these gains and effects? Out of those people, who has the resources to pull it off? And why was a Barzan at the scene of the abduction? These are the questions that need to be answered in figuring the bigger or smaller picture here. And these will be tackled in this report.

Effects/Gains of Abducting -Disrupting the stability between the Collective and the Federation leading to Conflict -Drone may regain Individuality -An active connection to the Collective is in the captors hands -Access to Borg Implants, most importantly nanoprobes -A poster drone to beat on…

Who Benefits? Powers in Conflict with the Federation -Section 31 -The Triad -The Dominion -Rogue Elements of any Ally where there is a History of Conflict -The Terran Coven

Conflict between the Collective and the Federation has two immediate effects, as well as the possibility of a third. Weakens Starfleet Forces more and more over time, and diverts resources away from any other endeavors we are currently pursuing, the third effect which may occur is our assimilation and/or destruction. Section 31 can gains from this because it means we can't concentrate hunting them down.

We currently in conflict with the Triad, and thus benefits to them are fairly obvious. The Dominion while not seemingly actively involved with us, harbors bitter memories of the last war. All of these are fairly obvious beneficiaries from this incident.

We cannot rule out Rogue elements from now allied powers from which we've had a history of conflict. Cardassians, Romulans, and even Klingons are on the top of a very long list. Though such elements resources are usually limited

And final for powers that we are in direct conflict with there is recently revealed the Terran Coven… information on which is questionably pulled from recently recovered Section 31 files, about a secret Terran power, that harbors a bitter grudge against the Federation for some unspecified incident some hundred years prior. The specifics about this organization is unknown, but from the questionable information gathered, they seem to hold military power which is more of a mercenary force for hire it is possible that these mercenaries may have been used to break into Starfleet Command, though nothing can be proven.

Aside from the obvious politic upheaval, the Drone itself is an active connection to the Borg Collective, and may be used to try gain access to a greater amount of knowledge, and technologies which may be later turned on us. At the very least, the Drone's captors will have a large supply of nanoprobes which if successfully reprogrammed can be used to augment soldiers into more advanced combatants.

Enemies of Powers Allied to the Federation -The Reman Ascendancy

There is also the possibility that the enemies of our allies have taken this action against us for the simple reason of wanting us too distracted with the major threat of the Borg, to help our friends and allies. The Reman Ascendancy may be preparing an operation against the Romulan Empire, using the abduction to stir up trouble so we would be unable to lend aid to the Romulans unlike last time.

Enemies of the Collective and/or those wishing to become our Allies -Anyone Facing Assimilation

Let's face it, anyone who isn't in an alliance with the Borg is not going to feel safe against them… hell most Federation planets don't feel safe and we are in an alliance with them. But if Federation were to go to war against the Borg… suddenly the Borg is wasting resources on us is the very least of what any organization can hope to achieve. A common foe is fertile ground for starting alliances… "My enemy's enemy is my friend…" and all that jazz.

Family/Friends/Comrades of the Individual Drone

Often forgotten by many whom face the Collective is that most individual Drone was at one point or another individual with friends and family, with the exception of those Drones that were bred in Collective Birthing chambers. Also generally ignored by many enemies of the Collective is when a Drone is separated from the Collective it regains individuality, and can in some capacity resume its life.

Businesses

As mentioned earlier, the Drone is a connection to many Borg technologies which could be invaluable to any number of people. As such anyone looking to make a lot of money on the "open" market might view stealing the drone from the relatively unguarded Starfleet Command a tempting target, not caring for the long term political effects.

Hate Groups

There is a large amount of hatred directed at the Borg from within the Federation itself, and many within Starfleet would prefer open war with the Borg than this sitting on our hands ceasefire we have currently. Resentment for assimilating friends/family/loved ones… to many is the essentially the same as killing someone. There is a lot of anti-Borg media out there. Those itching to perform acts of violence against Collective for the simple reason they are Borg. Having a poster Drone for member to get rallied against would be powerful in such an organization's hands. More as a symbol than anything else…

Who has the resources?

Pretty much anyone in the above list… which is the problem… Despite the supposed security around Starfleet Command… any of the above groups could get the necessary intelligence, or simply have the brute force to pull off that kind of stunt, given enough time to prepare. But we simply don't have the time to investigate them all at once, so those in power need to pick the most likely candidates based on prior intelligence, as well as fitting the current profile of the attack, and launch a full investigation into their activities as of late.

Why was a Barzan there?

There could be any number of reasons mentioned above, but it could also be part of a standard low-level misdirect tactic designed to make us put more pressure on the Barzans. The Barzans might not have anything to do with the abduction and real culprits are at large light years in the opposite direction. It could also be the work of a renegade group within the Barzan Government. Lack of information on current Barzan affairs makes this difficult for anyone to fathom the reasoning behind this, and we should probably take a closer look at the Barzan Home world, and outlying colonies.

All of these things need to checked out, if conflict between us and the Collective is to be stopped.

off: takes place during the battle with the Barzan

****

"Seer - Part Three"

J. Andrus Suder
Samantha M. Widdlestein

****

Designated Shelter #4 USS Galaxy

No one wanted to be in a library during a disaster.

Even with modern technology, (i.e. shelves that came with locks) library patrons still managed to get clubbed in the head by airborne books, not to mention there was always the possibility of getting flattened by a toppling shelf of encyclopedias even if the shelves had supposedly been bolted to the floor.

Naturally dying in your own library would be pretty damned ironic (or maybe just pathetic) so Andy was now waiting in one of the designated shelter areas and trying to see which would last longer, the battle or Samantha Widdlestein's lungs.

"So, I'm just wondering whether I should keep going with this whole pirate story for my Victor Savage character," The girl continued. "I mean, pirates are SO last year and I want my story to be original which isn't easy when every Tom, Dick, and Kirk are pushing their crappy little pirate stories off on people while my legitimate pirate stories are being overlooked simply because they have the stigma of being labeled as pirate stories in a time when the market is being, if you'll excuse the pun, pillaged by pirates."

Samantha sighed. "It's quite a shame really because Victor looks pretty hot with an eye patch."

"Kid," Andrus said after a moment. "Anyone ever warn you about the effects of oxygen deprivation?"

"All the time," She replied. "I try not to reply with a comment about their influence on the bozone layer but sometimes I can't help myself."

Andy wondered if the replicators were still working. He'd kill for a cup of coffee right now.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "I just thought that *you* could appreciate this, being surrounded by books 24/7 and all."

"I read history books, Sam."

She rolled her eyes again. "Pirates are a part of history. Duh."

"Not interesting history," Andy retorted. "You want something different; try writing a love story set during the Earth-Romulan war. Terran woman meets Romulan man but will their love survive the Battle of Cheron?"

"I don't know," Sam said doubtfully. "There doesn't seem to be a big market for Romulan and Human pairings."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Romeo and Juliet effect? Duh!"

Oh god, Andy thought then with a mental shake of his head. I've entered the world of Sam-speak. Well, if he was this far ...

"Hell, Sam, you could even make the Romulan a time traveling hero that comes back in time to save her from dying at the hands of conspiring Human and Romulan forces."

The girl's eyes lit up. "Oooh, I like that!"

Andy couldn't help but laugh as he 'read' nearly ten different story arcs that worked their way through Samantha's head. She was a bit of a brat but kind of reminded him of Wise's youngest sister. "So, you're going to be a writer, huh?"

"Oh, no," Samantha replied seriously. "This is just a hobby, something to do while I'm waiting for my acceptance to the Academy."

Andy tried not to gape. "You? In Starfleet?"

Samantha's eyes narrowed in a familiar way. Ah, Andy thought. That's right, she's friends with the security chief from the Miranda. Sam also sounded like 'Rel when she asked him what was SO unbelievable about her being joining Starfleet; the coldness of space had more warmth than her tone.

"It's just hard to picture, Samantha," Andy told her honestly. "You're what my dad would call a firecracker. Bright and luminous but also going off in a million and one directions. I would think that you'd find Starfleet ... boring."

"Well, I won't," She huffed.

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"I've wanted to be in Starfleet since I was two!" Sam insisted. "I plan to be cross-trained in several different departments, except counseling, just in case I have to save the day if everyone else gets altered by alien DNA."

Andy wouldn't argue that; weird alien DNA alterations happened more often than not.

"I could be the youngest Captain ever," Samantha continued. "I even figured out how quickly I could make admiral if I wanted to!"

Admiral Widdlestein. Now that was a scary thought. "The question though is do you want to?"

Samantha glared at him; she thought loudly about using one of her Hirogen stilettos.

Andrus held up his hands. "I'm not saying that you couldn't be in Starfleet, Kid. I just wouldn't be surprised if you found something you liked better or wanted to try before you joined up. Most people end up in different places than they intend and it's not like they'd ever tell YOU no, should you decide to delay it a few years."

"That's true," Samantha admitted, even though she still looked annoyed. "I'm a genius after all and the word 'no' doesn't really apply to geniuses."

"Or people who keep knives up their sleeves," He added.

Samantha smiled. "Damn straight. Well, if you're not going to support me in my future career path the very least you could do is advise me on my new story. Um, the Earth-Romulan war was when exactly? Oooh, and do you think we could work in my Klingon raised heroine somewhere if we're not using Savage? I still don't know how I'm going to make a Romulan sexy and Savage with pointy ears is definitely out of the question. Ooh, do you think ..."

"Sam, do you think the replicators are still working? I'd love a cup of coffee."

"Going There"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: USS Galaxy, Pre "The Barzan Planning Session"
Soundtrack: "Hurt" By Johnny Cash (or Nine Inch Nails, i'm partial to both).

He was focused like a phaser all day for the inevitable clash. If it wasn't the planning itself, it was the preparation. James couldn't believe that he was doing this himself, but it was really happening.

The Borg were his greatest nemesis, and he was planning on rescuing one.

~"What is wrong with them?"~ James thought to himself, not believing that he would seriously be rescuing the Borg drone. When the orders finally came down, as he guessed they would, he was expecting someone else to be put on the mission. Starfleet knew his background with the Borg, a less than ideal mixture of post tramatic disorder and berzerker rage. James kept thinking, ~"What is Starfleet thinking?"~

Most likely like Starfleet a million parsecs away and James in his security office with only his pile of drained coffee mugs to keep his brain fueled and working, it was a matter of convenience that, as far as he knew, both parties were not too thrilled about yet had no choice due to availability. For all intents and purposes, the USS Galaxy was the representation of Starfleet during this crisis, be it diplomacy or a little bit of strongarm tactics to get their drone back. That meant, thanks to the downhill shit rolling theory, that it landed on him to make things right.

It was well known that what happened to the drone could or could not trigger war between the Federation and the Borg, giving James the feeling of inadequacy. Sure, when it was just a mission he could handle it with aplomb, but the fate of his people and the quadrant... he started to feel very small under the weight of that responsibility.

The galaxy could have done better.

Is was then later decided, between himself and his LCARS screen, that he could only do his job and let the galaxy make what it will of it. If he succeeded, that was one small job done with big, successful reprocusions. Therefore he focused on the managable task of how to track the drone, rather than the huge job of 'how do I save the Alpha Quadrant.'

Even the small job was giving him a big, fat blank. Maybe the Alpha Quadrant problem was easier after all.

A beep eminated from the door, rudely awakening him from a sulk session. His first reaction was to hit the intercom on his desk and snarl something to do about the death of said individual that dared to interrupt him. He was, if anything, well known for turning a foul mouth into a deadly weapon. Maybe the poor ensign or T'lan would finally stop worrying about him and wish he was dead. Carrying through would take a very venemous diatribe, but he felt in his foul state it was doable. He would die, Starfleet would bring in an actual professional, the drone would be saved, the Borg and Starfleet would give him a commendation, peace would reign for another thousand years and the galaxy would be saved.

That problem was easier to solve!

His finger was about to slam down on the button, but he was halted.

Someone was on the other side of the door, but the plea was in unassuming, squeaky pitched, tiny wimper in the tones of a southern Andorian shen female's voice.

=/\="James?"=/\= Pleaded Mika on the other end, =/\="Please answer. It has been five minutes. T'lan said you were in here. Please answer, please?"=/\=

"Holy crap!" James hand recoiled from the comm as if it turned as white hot as an overloaded EPS conduit. He had just about turned his girlfriend from beloved to reviled in a second flat. Swallowing the hastily loaded insults down his throat, his finger twitched cautiously, tapping the button. "I'm here, sweetie. What is it?"

Over the comm, Mika sighed with relief. "Honey, I just wanted to see that you were ok. You left in a hurry last night and when you didn't come in for breakfast... I had to come see you. I was told you have been here all day. Will you come out and see me?"

~"Sh*t!"~ Corgan bolted out of his seat. He checked his chronometer, and it was well into the evening. ~"Oh my god! Was I really here for that long?"~ He pecked at the comm, and crooned apologetically, "Oh... I... I'm so sorry baby... I didn't realize its been that long. I really am sorry, I promised to have breakfast with you, it's just that work has caught up with me..."

"James!" Mika cracked like a whip, "Stop apologizing to me and let me in. I do not care that you are late, I only want to know why. Will you let me in please?"

"Oh.. oh! Sorry! Come in, come in!" James opened the door. With a woosh, Mika was ready in front of them.

She had not looked well either, though it wasn't due to her dress. The opposite was true. She had on one of her favorite Andorian silk robes, bright orange and saffron yellow with the image of kingfishers stitched in the fabrics, a long silken sash reaching from shoulder to waist crossing her chest. She also had some jewelry, a tiny gold teardrop pendant on her neck and brass earrings. Even her makeup was lightly dusted on, paling her turquoise skin to a baby blue, and her a chilly glass. Even these perfections didn't hide the sleep in her eyes or the way her antennae drooped as if weights hung on the end. Two trays of covered dishes were in her arms.

"Are you alright baby?" James got out of his desk to embrace his sweetheart, "Didn't you sleep well?"

She confessed with a yawn, "I did not. I could not sleep because I was worried about you."

He was about to hug Mika, but a tap and clatter at his stomach stopped him, gentle only because Mika felt it uneconomical to thrust it in his lap. She wheeled away from James, setting the trays down on his desk; one on his side, and one on hers.

"I could not sleep because I was worried about you.&#65533;" Mika repeated, less sullenly and more forceful, "Because you did not let me know if you were alright, because you did not say a thing to me. I was scared for you, James! I have never seen you that upset before, and I have seen you go through too much over the past year and a half."

"I'm sorry." James said, "But it is kinda personal..."

"I am not satisfied with an 'i'm sorry'." She pleaded, "James, what is so upsetting that you cannot let me know about it? Do you not see that I want to help?"

What was he to tell her? James never wanted to upset Mika in any way. To tell her what he was sheltering her from was more than just a fear. It defined him as a person, the person he became, she loved, and he strived to be. It was a trauma that set his life in motion and made him who he was. Worse yet, it was something that would follow him the rest of his life, and if Mika was serious about being together with him, would have to share that pain and be witness to what that trauma did to him for the rest of their lives. James would have done anything to keep Mika from being upset, and now it was a matter of her being momentarily rebuffed to save her from a lifetime of this?

No, James reasoned, she would only get both.

"Sit down. Lets have breakfast, and i'll tell you about it." James slid her seat out, bowing and taking her by the hand, leading her into the chair.

She stifled a giggle, and it wasn't because of James archaic manners. "It is dinner. Salisbury steak. One of your favorites."

James eyes lit up as his mouth watered. The Salisbury steak reminded him that he had only coffee for the past twelve hours. He opened his tray and there it was! Salisbury steak, steaming and delicious, with a side of greens and mashed potatoes.

He said, "But Mika, you hate Salisbury steak."

Her dimunitive face held back a certain sly deception. With one dainty hand, she uncovered her tray, and revealed her dish.

James guts decided to do a full on retreat.

He was staring back at her meal. Southern Andorian Sandcrab, in p'teek sauce. Everything about the meal made him want to projectile launch his dinner out the airlock. The creature, a crab and lobster hybrid with insect mixed in with good measure, was a boiled concoction in a pungent white sauce that smelled like fermented vegetables and the contents of a Klingon's stomach after a gagh and bloodwine consumption contest. The fact that it was intact, its eyes still popped outwards like twin conning towers, gave him pangs of queasiness.

Mika started by cracking one of the suction pods. Even the noise made his stomach lurch.

"I know it is customary for my people to eat the same meal as every other guest. I will forgo that pleasantry. You are not, as you humans say... off the hook." Mika warned slyly, "Now, tell me what has upset you?"

James didn't have to ask where to start. He already knew, his story taking on a linear path, all the way down and back up again, just like his life.

He started his story at his cadet cruise, back in the time when he was just a cocky officer to be, aiming for Red Squad, looking forward to going back to Earth to see his girlfriend (at the time) after his big adventure in space. The big adventure was a sojourn inside the solar system while the Thunderchild was in shakedown after an upgrade, but he didn't care. At the time it was a big step, his first chance to show what he could do on an actual starship. He was ready to please, his supervisor and then chief of security glad to use his as slave labour to test the cadet's limits on how far he was going to go to please. The arrangement worked out amiably

Then the alert came that the Borg were invading the Federation once again. Just one cube, but it was already smashing through the defenses like before. Far from being a massacre, the cube came in with such speed that the Federation was caught by surprise, and at the time The Dominion War kept most of the fleet away, so it was a scratch fleet of various ships cobbled together into a fighting formation. Thunderchild was part of that formation. Soon, James the cadet went from gopher to soldier. Still the prospect of action excited him when he was too young and dumb to know better. This was the adventure any cadet envied.

The adventure turned into hell in a hurry. The fleet was being ravaged, the lead vessel destroyed leaving the rest of the fleet headless. The Thunderchild was a wreck at that point, the ship turned from pristine to twisted before James knew what was happening. Combat wasn't supposed to be like that, it was supposed to be like the propaganda films he watched in the weekly holovids or the news service. It was supposed to be about brave people giving a pearly white smile while rebuilding a planet or men and women giving a tough snarl before tromping off to conquor an enemy position, and there were never any casulties. Everyone came out alive, or those that died died to to sacrifice themselves for their team and the Federation. It wasn't supposed to be twisted bulkheads, smoke, screaming, sparking, dying and suffering, with the smells of burnt silicate, blood and excrement. War was supposed to be heroic, but not on the Thunderchild.

Scared as he was, James was in a hurry when he collected his phaser. He had potential with it, his hand eye was superior to all his classmates, and he had been using weapons to hunt on and off during his teen years and childhood. He thought he could handle a phaser well enough, but didn't know there was a difference between hunting alien deer and facing off against armed combatants. It never occurred to him. Even with the sights and smells, James rushed with his superiors to face the threat because there was nobody else. It was them or the Borg would flood the ship. The cadet pips didn't excuse him from combat emergencies like this. He had to help.

The security team, himself included rushed to what he thought would be their glory. Scary as it was, if he survived James would be the envy of many people. He would be the hero like those men and women in the films. He didn't want to be, but he accepted what was to happen; there were worse ways to get respect.

The team was caught by surprise when the Borg opened up with disruptors. They were zombies to James, pale and gray like death, their beetle black metal carapaces glowing with the reflected red alert lights. How they came to neutralize their opponents, a snatch, an arm lashing at the neck, and tubules punching into jugulars to necrotize the flesh, the security officers veins turning black and putrid as nanobots raced through their bloodstream, it had a horrifying effect on the young man. He had seen phaser hits, grisly, smoking, charred, but they were photos and holodeck simulations, none of it real. This had a different effect, a sickening fascination of something unnatural.

Then the drones turned on his team, their march as relentless as their phasers were useless. James, his bowels turned to water, tried to remember how to work his phaser. Shouldn't it have been easy? Why were his fingers shaking? Why were the Borg advancing on them so rapidly, not running but not slowly walking either, so relentless. Phaser fire lanced at their bodies, sparking off the metal plates and leaving molten red holes, the drones lifelessly slumping over.

All but one, a drone with a massive claw and intent on assimilation. The phasers didn't turn him into slag. They dissipated into a green forcefield, a rather unfair way to fight. Frantically, the security officers tried to reset their phasers before the drone came too close.

Too late to run, the drone took out his first victim. Before too long, the drone was forgoing assimilation, its claw rending into the officers, disruptor firing into more, tubules punching into necks and assimilating.

The cadet was, for all intents and purposes, frightened out of his wits while he watched his teammates die. His body wouldn't do what his mind demanded. It screamed flight, fight, escape, kill, and did none of these things. It was as if he forgot what to do, his phaser a useless lump as he felt the futility of escaping.

The claw closed around his neck, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall. He felt the edge of his vision go red, the air in his lungs turn into a painful burning. The drone's one eye, lifeless as it was, stared through him as he looked into his, seeing an uncaring void of a thousand thoughts turned into one, looking disdainfully at the one insignificant individual, destined to become one with the Borg. The tubules coiled to launch as the drone jerked James' head to expose his neck.

Though the cadet didn't know how, his finger found the trigger of his phaser. With a crackle, the stink of burned metal and flesh crowded out the precious air that was left. The drone gave a look of astonishment, slumped over, and collapsed.

James, still caught in its claw, went with it on the floor.

He didn't remember a lot of the rest, but he had the battlefield as company. The dead around him, the sounds of destruction and the dying, it was with him for hours, and with a laugh he even remembered sleeping through part of it. Or was it fainting? He didn't know.

Days later he was in a hospital. It was only minor injuries, so they let the cadet go.

The months that followed were a downward spiral for the young cadet. He couldn't sleep properly at night, always waking up from nightmares. He became withdrawn, surly and reclusive. He started to miss classes, and do poorly in others. Soon his application was withdrawn from Red Squad. His girlfriend, fed up with the changes he had undergone, left him for many other people. He used music to express his anguish, but it didn't cure him of his malaise. Drugs had to be used to keep his head level, and even then it wasn't enough. Multiple suicide attempts brought the young cadet to the attentions of councelors, who only seemed to describe more drugs and less solutions.

The only classes he did excel in were all about his revenge. Not on the Borg in particular, though that would be a good focal point for it, but against a galaxy that allowed this horror to happen. He entered the war as a near dropout, but a perfect candidate for the shock battalions in the Dominion War. The Jem'Hadar and Cardassians were good practice for his uncertain future. He came out of the war as a sniper of high regard, known for his coldblooded viciousness and ability to survive the worse the war had to offer.

His new assignment on the Galaxy left the killer with an uncertain future. It seemed the Federation was at peace, and he would be left with nothing. The Federation were not interested in hunting its enemies, most certainly not interested in another war with the Borg. It left James lost and unsure what to do with himself, seeing no future with closure or happiness as he first arrived on the Galaxy. But so luck would have it, he found the Borg again, his nightmares manifested. This time he didn't run or freeze up. This time he knew what to do. He flung himself at the Borg, cutting a swatch of destruction before him, the very personification of death, blind and in rage. Many died to his phaser, his crewmates introduced to the horror the sullen youth brought with him.

It had been many years until he was to even out into the man Mika knew, but at that one pivotal mission, during a harrowing fight where his phaser was useless and he had only the butt of his rifle to use, he killed a drone and didn't stop when it was dead. He pummelled, and pummelled the corpse of the drone. Brackish blood, the exposed brain, gore on his uniform, his weapon, his hands, and it wouldn't stop coming down on its head even as the rest of it spattered against the walls and stained the carpets. He was blind with madness, the culmination of years of desire for restitution for the hurt he felt, recompense for the way the Borg violated his sense of youthful security, coming down like a rain of blows from a riflebutt on a Borg's skull.

Afterwards, all he could do was cry. He found himself at his most savage, howling at uncaring stars and a universe around him, finding no comfort in his revenge. It cumulated into one moment, and it gave him nothing of what he wanted or needed.

There was no closure for those years lost, no matter how much he killed, leaving him to ask... now what?

The years did pass. His act cleaned up. Eventually his mind realigned itself to something normal. Without being so bloodthirsty, seeing the futility of being so suicidal in his goal of revenge, he plunged his energies into other things. Command, responsibility, love. The lost years left his growth stunted, but he tried to make up for it. Eventually the demons didn't bother him so much. He had become normal.

Didn't bother him so much, but didn't go away either. Some nights he would still wake up, his memory reminding him that he was still so vulnerable.

All this he told Mika, and it took the better part of an hour. She left he meal alone, enraptured by the story, not saying a word.

"I... I did not realize...." Mika stammered.

James silenced her gently, "It's ok. Its a lot to take in." He conceded with a shrug, "In a way, i'm flattered that you give a sh*t. But you have to understand that this is going to dog me the rest of my life. Are you sure you're prepared for that?"

Mika ignored the question. "You are scared to go on this mission?"

"I suppose I am." James nodded, his head sinking down to stare at the floor. He removed his glasses, wiping a sleeve over his eyes, "I don't want to see the Borg again. They are the only thing that I really, really fear. I fear what they can do to me. I also fear what i'll do to them. They scare me like nothing else! What is going to happen to me if I meet that drone? Will I turn into that bloodthirsty monster or will I turn into that scared cadet?!"

Quaivering, James uttered, "Nothing else compares. Nothing."

Snorting loudly, James turned away, his head in his hands. He didn't want Mika to see the tears that freely trickled down his face.

"Nothing compares, baby." He hiccupped, finding it harder to disguise his crying, his voice cracking, "Nothing compares."

Whisper silent, Mika came over to cradle James in her arms. Sinking into her, James let himself feel his grief for the first time in years.

"Combat Preparedness"

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce, Tactical Officer

They had been on course to Barzan, and apparently they had made it. The Red alert klaxons could be heard going off for the first few minutes, until the bridge decided they were sufficiently annoying. Miquelan jumped out of bed quickly, pulling his uniform on with the speed he had been accustomed to on the Vigilant. He was out of his bedroom within two minutes.

On his way out the door, Ensign Dar'ce noticed his roommate, Ensign Anders, running back into his bedroom. He hadn't been wearing boots.

Miquelan ran to the Battle Bridge, his current duty station during Red Alert conditions. Though the ship could no longer separate, there had to be an auxiliary command center in the event that the main bridge was incapacitated for some reason. When he got there, the rest of the stations were just being manned. It was an efficient operation, this ship.

Miquelan watched the battle rage from his repeater screens, while also keeping an eye on the fighter squadron. The Galaxy was taking a beating, but so was the Barzan cruiser. Once the shields were down on the cruiser, the Hazard team had transported aboard.

It was a trap, and the Hazards were crash landing on the planet. With the Barzan battle group out of the way, the captain could be heard giving orders to the effect of search and rescue operations. Red alert was maintained.

"Elessidil to Ensign Dar'ce. Report to the main hangar deck. Stop by the armory on your way. They'll know what you need."

"Aye, sir, on my way."

The ensign turned his station over to a crewman ready to relieve him and headed to the armory. He crossed the hall and took the turbolift down to deck 38, where the main armory was and appropriated his armor, weapons, and extra ammo. He then proceeded back to deck 4, where the main hangar deck was.

"You're late Ensign," came the call from some unseen voice.

"I was on deck 8; the armory is on deck 38. It's not technically 'on the way,'" Miquelan shot back. "At least I'm here."

Miquelan joined the group surrounding Commander Elessidil. There was a small Terran on one side of him, and an engineer on the other. He got there just in time for the briefing.

"Forming a Team"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Acting Second Officer

Lt. Naranda Sol Roswell
Acting Chief Engineer

[OOC: Occurs during and immediately following "Out of the Frying Pan..."]

=/\= "OH SHIT!!! IT'S A DECOY!!! THE DRONE IS NOT HERE!!!" =/\=

Elessidil had barely returned to his seat when the message came. His first thought was that it must have been a damn good decoy. But telepathy at a such a distance was inexact at best; the incorrect assessment shouldn't have been much of a surprise.

Still, a part of him felt pretty stupid for thinking he'd actually picked up on the drone. Even if whomever set up the decoy had thought to take into account telepathic sensing, something inside was already at work, telling him he should have done better. And in front of the captain, no less.

~Indulge in your insecurities later, Brian,~ he thought to himself.

The situation was rapidly deteriorating. The uncertainty of the status of Corgan and his team hung in the air like a fog, even as the captain called out orders in a last-ditch attempt to get them safely as the Barzan cruiser broke apart before their eyes. The Galaxy rocked in response to the shock wave that followed the explosion of the the part of the cruiser that hadn't fallen toward the planet below, and Brian held on to his seat, hoping things hadn't really become as dire as they appeared.

"M'KANTU TO CORGAN . . . . M'Kantu to Corgan. Respond, Commander."

His inquiry to Ensign Rey'ol hadn't provided any reassurances.

"Send in the Marines," M'Kantu said, turning to his now acting second officer. "I also want an away team down there. Any able bodied man who can fire a phaser and is familiar with rescue operations. The Borg drone may be our top priority, but I will not let our people be taken like that."

"On it, Sir," Elessidil replied, his training as a command officer kicking in. He sent the order to Lieutenant Baile to activate the marines; they would be the brawn behind this mission, clearing the way for the away team to find, treat and rescue the others. He then focused his attention to the matter of forming that team.

"Captain, with your permission I'd like to head up the away team myself," Brian requested, deciding his telepathic abilities would be a useful asset. M'Kantu looked at him for a split second, obviously considering whether he wanted to risk losing another of his senior officers. But whatever doubt was in the man's mind was immediately eclipsed by the need to find out if Corgan and the others were even still alive.

Responding to a quick nod from M'Kantu, Brian's first thought was to get someone from Engineering involved. He knew there wouldn't be many to spare, given the ship's condition after the surprise attack, but someone would have to assess the condition of the cruiser's remnants, and -- dare he hope it -- know how to handle a borg drone, should their target have actually been on board and somehow ended up damaged but among the survivors.

=/\="Elessidil to engineering....=/\=

Clenching her teeth, she tapped her commbadge, "Engineering. Roswell here."

She hated saying nothing more than being on it or such. She kept the word, 'trying' out of the conversations. Screw trying. It needed DONE. Problem was, she wasn't a god or a Q. Savant couldn't even keep up with it and she was what Nara secretly proclaimed an angel. It's all she could say though, because what they asked for was often what her and the engineers were already working on and few times did the person actually offer any new suggestions on how to go about it. The name calling sounded vaguely familiar. She almost guessed it was one of the counselors she'd seen, but whether that was true or not, it turned out this guy was actually in command somehow.

=/\="Lieutenant, we've lost contact with Commander Corgan and his team, and the Captain's ordered me to get an away team down to the planet to try to locate them. I need someone from engineering. Who can you spare?" =/\=

"No one." Was the first thing she said, but soon added, "What are the necessary skills for the mission, sir. Almost all of them are capable of diagnosing and fixing things, but what other auxiliary skills do they need to survive and help accomplish the mission goal?"

=/\="This is primarily going to be a search and rescue mission, but there may be other surprises in store for us, so I need someone who can wield a phaser and keep their wits about them." =/\=

Nara immediately thought of herself. Being a foot soldier again sounded awfully appealing and less stressful than being an engineer, oddly enough. She had adrenaline rushing through her in either case, and it was better to punch an enemy than a console. Still, she looked about. She didn't want to relinquish control, either.

"I'm acting chief, but I've also been a foot soldier in a war. I can't think of any other engineer that could do that better than fixing this ship right now. I'm needed here, but I can't think of another engineer that would be put to better use than they already are." Perhaps she was being egotistical. At least it would appear to seem she was highly confident. "Can we justify me leaving my post based on that assumption?"

The question had numerous possible angles and arguments, none of which Brian felt there was time to adequately debate. He'd have to just go on instinct.

=/\="I don't think so. Engineering's got its work cut out for it and someone needs to be on top of that. You're more urgently needed here."=/\=

Nara saddened a bit, but easily pushed it aside, making a quick decision, "I'll send Lt. junior grade Emma Saturn. I can't recall if she's had any combat experience, but I know her well enough to know she won't choke under pressure and will submit to authority, but not blindly. She'll be the reason among emotional chaos. Where should she meet you?"

=/\=""Shuttle bay one, equipped and ready to go in twenty minutes. Elessidil out."=/\="

"Mad World : Going Nowhere"

Artim Shivar - Scared Kid (both time periods)

"Ring Leader" - Juvenile Mafioso (Inspired by Tim) "The Family"

=============================
<<2384, USS Bonestell, Brig>>

As time went on and Artim began to realize that, unlike last time he'd been kidnapped by the Orions, rescue wasn't going to be quick in coming. Hell, it might never be coming, though knowing what he did about M'Kantu he wouldn't just leave them to rot so easily. That and it appeared that Proctor's aide was amongst the abductees and knowing what he did about her, she'd invade hell itself to save one of 'her people'. However, neither of those were comforting thoughts at this point. He's spent most of his time curled up in the corner of his cell, thinking, remembering things. Remembering things that happened centuries ago...things that scared him as much as he was scared right now...

<<Juram IV, Winter 2007, Somewhere near the Shivar Estate>>

Cold...hungry...that's all Artim could remember being...well for a long long time. Since all the adult skilled each other off and left only children like him they had to pretty much fend for themselves. Since he was so familiar with the terrain, something his fatherhad seen to, Artim stayed close to home most of the time, but, well, food was getting scarce. He'd heard from a couple of older kids that there was a camp not to far away where some big kids had gathered and were hoarding food. They seemed scared to talk more, but Artim didn't really seem to care. He'd went there to find out what was going on and was getting close...very close. He 'd brought his gun along though...just in case

Walking through the woods all of a sudden he heard a rustling and then a snap. Before he could react he was being pulled up into a tree, caught in a snare of some sort. The force of being pulled up caused the gun to fall from his grip as he ended up dangling upside down...staring at several 10-11 year olds, well, they were all really about 50 like him, but it didn't matter, they were bigger and somehow they didn't seem too interested in helping him down nicely...

"Where you been Arty?" asked the Ring Leader. "We've been looking all over the place for you. You haven't been avoiding us have you?" He let out a little snicker before getting down to business.

"Because if you've been doing that... it means you haven't got your permission fee... and if you don't have your permission fee well... I can't be responsible for what happens next."

Artim looked down fearfully at the big kid and cringed in fear. As much as he tried to avoid it a tear escaped his eye. He knew something bad was about to happen and he also knew that there was equally little he could do about it. What was more curious was how this person seemed to know who he was. Still, the fear was too great and all that escaped his mouth, with a slight whimper as he hung there was…

"What....what do you want with me?"

"Why you of course Arty." the Ring Leader said with a sneer. "I've heard so much about you. That you're so smart. That you have a big house and your own private hoard of food. Why don't you share Arty?"

Well, that was true but it didn't really change much. Artim still looked down at the bigger kids, scared. His tone still indicated great fear.

"Leave....leave me alone." , Artim was half crying, half screaming when he spoke, tears running down his cheeks.

"Now Arty, I'd be letting down my family here if I didn't ensure people like you shared like a good little boy. So what'll be Arty, you going to share or do we have to make you earn your food like everyone else around here."

Artim didn't respond. Well, not verbally. While still struggling in vain to get out of the net, he continued to scream and cry. His face was wet with tears and was redder then a cranberry. The Ring Leader simply looked up and shook his head. One of the big kids grabbed up Artim's gun and shot at the rope holding the net caused it to fall from the tree, sending Artim to the ground with a hard thump. He tried to crawl away in an attempt to get him to safety, but two of the much larger boys tackled him before he could make it more then a couple meters.

"Take him back to camp and put him with the others. Oh, and Bruno, would you be so kind as to shut him up. I'm rather sick of his crying." the Ring Leader said non-chalantly as he took Artim's gun and admired it for a moment before shouldering it. At the same time the boy who was pinning Artim pulled a set of handcuffs out of his pocket and started cuffing Artim's wrists while another stuffed a wad of cloth in his mouth, causing the child's screams to go silent. Artim kept struggiling, but the weight and strength of the older children kept him from geting away. Once he was bound and gagged, the two big kids yanked the still crying but now muffled Artim to his feet and started blindfolding him. As his vision went dark, Artim could only think of one thing...his father.

"Business As Usual, Part 2"

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
Lieutenant Junior Grade Jonathan DarkSky, Intelligence Officer
Turan Trelar, Civilian Engineer

************
Deep Space 5
Deck 57
1400 Hours
************

The muffled tapping from the head of the table abruptly ceased the moment the chrono clicked over to 1400. Sliding her padd from her knee onto the table Iniara uncrossed her legs and stood, eyes moving quickly over the members of her team. There were two officers missing, she noted, and the Tellarite Marine had brought his pet again. She filed those tidbits away, to be dealt with later.

Grabbing the stack of padds she began a slow counterclockwise circle of the table, handing one to each person at the table. "These padds contain several pieces of information relevant to our mission. Information on the Orion Lenat and his crew, a list of known abducted personnel, basic technical information and schematics on the ship we will be using, etcetera."

By this point Iniara had returned to the head of the table. She dropped the two extra padds next to her own and then activated the room's display screen. "First, let's take a quick look at the abducted personnel," she instructed, calling up a mosaic of file photos, "and then we can move on to the details of the mission.

"According to transporter logs, fourteen people were beamed from DS5 to the USS Bonestell. Fifteen if you count Admiral Proctor, who thankfully was recalled using her emergency beacon before the ship made its escape." Iniara's expression darkened for just a moment; she wasn't thankful that the Admiral was unharmed so much as she was thankful they wouldn't have to rescue her, and that they would be leaving her behind in a matter of hours. "In addition, there were seven or eight members of Bonestell's crew still aboard, which brings us to a total of 21 or 22 people."

At five minutes past the time for the start of the meeting, with a few stragglers not yet in attendance, Victor tapped some instructions out on his padd, requesting a location for the missing personnel, and when it displayed, he forwarded it to Commander Tarin's padd to prevent interrupting her.

Iniara met Victor's eyes for a moment, silently nodding her thanks while at the same time suppressing a shudder. "Most important to Admiral Proctor is of course the return of Ambassador J'aeln, as well as a Lieutenant Marcus Edwards and a Commander Veziran," she paused, a frown crossing her features as she confirmed the name, "Solas, both members of the Admiral's staff. Several of our crewmembers were also abducted: Ensign Artim Shivar, microbiologist; Doctor Robert Mathieson, medical doctor; Pilot Aristi Ferguson, Saber Squadron pilot; Ensign Iana Et'Kal, new transfer to Counseling..." She pointed to each of the faces as she rattled their names off, enlarging the images as she did so.

"Other than the Ambassador and Proctor's aides this seems to be a pretty randomly selected group. Several humans, a Vulcan, a Vulcan/Betazoid hybrid, two Trill, a Miran, a Bajoran, a Cardassian. None have very high security clearance, or would be privy to particularly sensitive information as part of their regular duties. Which of course leads to the likely conclusion that they *were* selected at random, and will probably just be sold as slaves."

She clasped her hands behind her back, looking out at the group once more. "Any questions or comments before we move on?"

"We're going to be presenting ourselves as pirates, correct?" Victor asked. At Iniara's nod, he continued, "That means we will need clothing and equipment appropriate to the situation. Lt. DarkSky and Sgt. Thral may already have weapons appropriate for such a scenario, but I suspect the rest of the crew do not." He looked around questioningly.

"Oh I still have a collection of stuff from the old days and some stuff I picked up on Romulus during the guerilla phase of the war. Probably have some extras." Thral perked up suddenly when he heard his name mentioned. Otherwise he was doing what a good senior NCO should and listened to the plan. Artie seemed to behave as well, which was odd for him. Not even an oink out of him.

"Oh, I've got a few toys that might be appropriate.: Cutlass, flint-lock pistol, eye patch." It apeared sarcasm was an overtone rarely absent from his speech. "But seriously, yes. I do have some equipment that Lt Bental was thoughtful enough to allow me to continue possessing."

"Whatever suits you, Mr. DarkSky," Iniara replied, trying not to sound too confused. One of her first glimpses into ancient Earth culture had been a 2D video called "Cutthroat Island"; at the time she had assumed it was a historical record of some sort. Ever since then, separating the reality of Earth history from the exaggerated ideas of its entertainment media had been a bit of a problem for the Bajoran.

As the others spoke, Victor keyed in a query on his padd and received confirmation that his Intelligence Warrant was still active. Lieutenant Bental obviously hadn't gotten around to checking on it and deactivating it. "I have the replicator patterns for a variety of blasters and other weapons suitable for such an impersonation and will deal with having them replicated. If anyone has a specific preference, tell me after the meeting."

"Despite your clearances, Lieutenant," DarkSky replied, suddenly quite serious, "it might be more apropriate if I handled the actual replications. It won't look as suspicious for an Intelligence officer to be making such demands with restricted patterns. Especially with as anal as Admiral Proctor can be, no pun intended."

Victor nodded in acknowledgement. DarkSky was correct on both counts - it would look less noteworthy coming from the Intelligence officer and Victor had no desire to come to Admiral Proctor's attention. "Agreed, Lieutenant. If it will speed things up for you, I can still gather the requests and provide you with the patterns?"

"Sounds good," Iniara answered for him. "Detailed personnel files for each of these people are on your padds; I suggest you at least familiarize yourself with them. Now to our next order of business: we have a ship, and it will be arriving at approximately 0600 tomorrow. That's the good news."

"Business As Usual, Part 2"

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
Lieutenant Junior Grade Jonathan DarkSky, Intelligence Officer
Turan Trelar, Civilian Engineer

************
Deep Space 5
Deck 57
1420 Hours
************

"Sounds good," Iniara answered for him. "Detailed personnel files for each of these people are on your padds; I suggest you at least familiarize yourself with them. Now to our next order of business: we have a ship, and it will be arriving at approximately 0600 tomorrow. That's the good news."

She turned to the viewscreen once more, calling up a very basic MSD. "This is the Backbroken's Reward. An old merchant ship, occasionally used by Starfleet for missions when a military ship just won't do. She's about 45 meters long, four decks tall. Max speed of warp 6.8. No external weapons as of yet, but there are weapons mounts. And plenty of sensors and detection countermeasures."

Iniara took a breath before continuing. "Two sets of officers' quarters and two crew quarters, which means we'll be doubling up. May I remind you all to pack only what you need, and to bathe regularly. This is going to be a tight fit." She paused again before delivering the final blow. "And there are no replicators, so I hope one of you is a better cook than me."

Victor looked around the room, and when no one spoke up, offered, "I can cook. If no one else wishes to, I'll handle acquiring supplies for the galley."

"I also was official platoon chef de cuisine back in the Rangers where replicators were a luxury we frequently lacked. Hope you guys can handle mama Ortig's old Eltick stew." Thral said with a grin.

"While you two go about playing Cookie, I'll also see about scaring us up some capital class munitions." DarkSky looked to Iniara. "It won't be anything flashy like a Mega Battle Cannon, but a few torpedoes is better than flying unarmed-- I don't care how well we can see and they can't. A bite as bad as your bark never hurts in my book. All I need are exact specifications on the Reward and I'll get to work, Ma'am."

Iniara tapped a few keys on her own padd, sending the data his way. "Done. Try not to go overboard with the requisitions; I don't want Admiral Proctor asking more questions than she already has."

Victor looked at the specifications for the ship while the conversation about weapons continued. It was small. Too small - especially with two individuals with Betazoid heritage included in the crew. "Commander," he began into the silence that signaled the end of the previous phase of the conversation. "I can foresee a problem with the vessel that has nothing to do with the weapons systems or the food."

"Oh?" Iniara turned toward him, already fairly certain of what he was going to say.

"She's too small, Ma'am." At Iniara's look, he elaborated even though he'd thought the reason for the statement was obvious, "On a vessel this size, there isn't enough room for the rest of you to get away from me. As much difficulty as my presence is obviously causing most of you here and now, on this ship it will be worse, much worse. Especially for you, Commander, and for Lieutenant Eshe, since individuals from Betazoid racial stocks are more strongly affected than most others by my presence. It may be desirable for me to not proceed further on the mission given the difficulties my presence will present."

"What is desirable and what is necessary are not always compatible. No, you're too valuable to leave behind, Mr. Krieghoff," she told him, before addressing the group as a whole. "As I said before this is-- for the most part-- a voluntary mission. If anyone feels they are not capable of serving with Lieutenant Krieghoff in confined areas for an extended period of time, they may leave now."

"I'll bunk with Lieutenant Ma'am," DarkSky interjected before any of the others could respond. "I feel the vibes like everyone else," he said, turning to Krieghoff. "I believe I'm more than capable of withstanding a spot of discomfort for the sake of the team. Wouldn't want to drop in uninvited and have our heads screwed on wrong at the same time. It's bad for business."

"Sir, I've been around all sorts of things that have creeped me out more then your...abilities. I'm fine around you and if Artie has a problem with it I'll shove an apple in his mouth."

The pig finally protested as he heard the notion of the one of the preperations for being roasted. He let loose a loud squeal that anyone who spoke pig would recognize as someting along the lines of "Like Hell!" Thral merely tugged on his leash and quieted right down.

After a long moment, when she was sure nobody was going to make a move for the door, Iniara continued. "Remember, we're Starfleet. Adapting and succeeding in less than ideal situations is what we do."

She deactivated the viewscreen and slid back into her chair, crossing her arms on the table's surface. "Alright. We have a ship, we have a crew. We have supplies, and weapons, and a plan of attack. Now all we need is a cover story..."

"In a Pretty Boy's Mind"

Lt. 8-ball Hunter

(Slight backpost-before the Galaxy arrived at Barzan-and I promise, I am working on actual plot related posts too. This just needed to get out.)

8-ball sat slumped at a back table in Ten-Forward, eyeing her non-alcoholic drink with great distaste. Normally, this drink would be a non-issue. Normally, she'd be spiking this drink with a few nips from her good ole partner in crime, Eddie. (Eddie was her pet flask, and his name changed biweekly. Last week it had been Ted, but she had gotten bored of Ted).

However, Eddie/Ted was running on E today, due to a surplus of nights that begged heavy drinking. Nights like ones where she woke up screaming. Nights like ones where her nightmares persisted past sleep.

So, no alcohol. And God, did it suck. 8-ball was convinced she'd start having DT's if all she had to drink was this Starfleet crap.

Today had started out as a good day, meaning no nightmares and no flickers of Azra. In fact, she hadn't run into Azra in three whole days, and she was starting to hope that the dead girl has just decided to move on. Eh,
8-ball's not losing her mind fast enough; I could be walking through walls here; this is boring, etc. etc. 8-ball wasn't stupid enough to actually believe any of this crap, but she couldn't quite keep herself from hoping, all the same.

What had made today a singularly fucktastic day was not the dreams or hallucinations, but, in fact the telepathy. The sudden, psychic, spastic power that 8-ball blamed all on the Dithparu. She was suddenly able to do things that not even all full-Vulcans could do: non-touch telepathy. She could pick thoughts from almost anyone.

The problem was that she couldn't control what thoughts she picked, or whose they were, or when they happened. So she'd hear things that people didn't say and comment on them and get into all sorts of trouble. Like today, when she just HAD to pick up on a thought from one of the only people she actually liked in Sciences. 8-ball then proceeded to insert foot in mouth, and the ensign started to totally freak out. She was on of those intensely private people, which meant that she and 8-ball saw eye-to-eye on almost nothing. However, she was a good worker, actually competent, and not a drama queen, which was more than could be said about most of the Sciences staff,
8-ball included. But then 8-ball had to go and freak her out, just to add a little more chaos to the workplace.

What 8-ball needed to do was go talk to someone, a Vulcan or a Betazoid or SOMEONE with psychic ability who could help her control her own wonky powers and establish some sort of normalcy in her life. This is what 8-ball needed to do, but she didn't want to do it because she had her own secrets to be buried, and she couldn't afford to have some telepath loosen them up. Nobody could know about Azra. She'd just to have to figure this out for herself.

8-ball took a sip of her unsatisfying drink. ~Yeah. Right. It's THAT easy.~

Maybe not, but there had to be a trick to it. When she was stuck on the Jem Hadar world, she had managed to keep up a psychic connection with Nara for a few minutes. . .incredibly convenient, as it turned out, since they were running for their lives at the time. She could DO this; there was some way she could figure out this wonky fucking power. Maybe all she needed to do was practice, play a little, work in her mojo.

8-ball's eyes fell on a Security officer that was sitting alone at the bar. Immediately, she knew what kind of guy he was, though this had to do with mounds of experience, rather than psychic wonder. This was a guy who was fucking gorgeous, and he damn well knew it-not too arrogant or cocky about it, just confident, relaxed, charming. He had blue eyes and fair skin and better hair than any man had a right to have.

~Okay, Pretty boy~ 8-ball thought. ~You are now my test subject.~

8-ball pushed her drink aside (it was useless anyway) and concentrated hard on the Security officer. ~Pretty Boy, my name is 8-ball. I'm sitting waaaay over here behind you. Turn around and ask me out. Turn around. Come on. Turn around.~

Pretty Boy failed to turn around. 8-ball sighed, frustrated. She leaned forwards, elbows on the table, and stared harder at the officer.

~Hey, it's me. Me, 8-ball, wannabe telepath, Chief Slut. I'm sure you've heard of me; I've slept with six different guys in your department alone. You could be lucky number seven, if you'd just turn your FUCKING HEAD around. . . .Come on, Pretty Boy. I'm offering cheap and tawdry sex here. You don't get better than that. So turn. The Fuck. AROUND.~

Pretty Boy did not turn around. 8-ball sighed, stood up, and walked over to the bar. She ordered a drink and sat next to her security guy, who had turned his head to look at her. It was the look of someone admiring a pretty girl, wondering if he should go for it, if he'd get lucky. It was decidedly NOT the look of someone who had found the source of a bunch of mentally suggested one night stands.

"Hi," Pretty Boy said casually. "I'm John."

"8-ball," 8-ball said, "but we don't have to get into names. I was just going to think of you as Pretty Boy."

Pretty Boy John raised an eyebrow. "Flattered," he said, "but doesn't that nickname kind of imply that all I am is a pretty face?"

8-ball raised her own eyebrow. "You mean you're not?"

Pretty Boy John looked wounded. "Hardly," he said. "You should see my manly chest. My manly chest blows my pretty face right out of the water."

"Intriguing. Are you offering to show me this manly chest?"

"Maybe. Are you offering to come to my quarters for a viewing?"

"Maybe," 8-ball said. "First, I want to try something kind of weird."

Pretty Boy John looked amused. "Is this weird in a kinky, sexual way?"

8-ball thought about that. "No," she admitted, "but if you let me try this, I'll be happy to do all the sexual, kinky tricks that I do know on you."

"Well," Pretty Boy John said, "how can I refuse an offer like that?"

"Good." 8-ball put one hand to the side of his face, feeling the baby-soft smooth skin, and closed her eyes, concentrating.

"You're not going try a Vulcan mind meld or something, are you?"

"Not exactly. Shut up." 8-ball crunched up her face in concentration, bit her lip, and finally opened her eyes. Pretty Boy John was looking at her but appeared more bemused than genuinely freaked out. "Find what you were looking for?" he asked.

"You don't have a sister named Judy or Julia or something, do you?"

". . .no. . ."

"Then, no, I didn't." 8-ball scooted off the bar stool. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

8-ball raised an eyebrow. "You remember who I am, right?"

". . .yeah. . .8-ball. . ."

"Then let's assume we're going to your quarters to fuck and leave it at that, okay?"

Pretty Boy John blinked and then shrugged. "Okay," he said, and they left.

***
(Thirty minutes later)

"Oh, fuck. FUCK."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

8-ball tried to push Pretty Boy John off of her, but he wasn't moving. "Get off, get off."

Pretty Boy John just held on tighter. "8-ball, what is it? Are you okay? What's going on?"

8-ball closed her eyes tightly, and put her hands to her head, trying to stop the wave of mental images that were intruding every spectrum of her brain. "8-ball?" she heard faintly and it made her snap.

"Your sister's name is Lila," 8-ball said. "She's two years younger than you and lives back on Earth. You used to have a dog named Peanut Butter, and when he ran away, you cried for two days. Your dad is a lawyer; your mom doesn't work. You use way too many hair care products. You grew up in a picket fence home, back on Earth, somewhere in Montana, and that's where you walked in on Lila having sex with YOUR freaking girlfriend. Now get out of me, get out of me, and get OFF of me, dammit."

Pretty Boy John promptly fell off the bed.

8-ball closed her eyes and groaned.

~God, I need a drink~ she thought.

"Search and Rescue" -- pt. 1

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Acting Second Officer

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce
Tactical Officer

Ensign Vortas (NPC, Mike M)
Counterintelligence Specialist

Lieutenant J.G. Nyoko Yuuri
Tactical Analyst / Military Intelligence

Lieutenant J.G. Emma Saturn (NPC, Lori C)
Engineer

Lieutenant J.G. Tesseract Cho (NPC, Kylee)
Security/Field Medic

Standing in front of the runabout he would soon be piloting, Brian Elessidil looked at the small group that had assembled before him, every man and woman among them fitted with phaser rifles, high-sensitivity tricorders and other equipment that would aid them in their mission.

"Okay everyone, this is the deal. The captain wants us to go down there and find Commander Corgan and his team. We have a general idea of where they are, but nothing exact, nor do we yet know what kind of resistance we'll encounter. As you're already aware though, we're expecting the worst. We'll have marines securing the perimeter of the target area and providing general back-up, but we're still going to have to watch out for ourselves. Our objective," he said with some emphasis to make sure it was clearly understood by everyone, "is to find the away team, deal with any injuries and get them out of there. We will defend ourselves if we have to, but we'll leave the fighting to the marines as much as possible. Are there any questions?"

Miquelan Dar'ce rechecked his rifle for the third time. It was in great working order. He felt his belt, touching the four extra power packs. He did a mental check; everyone was excited, though the gamut of emotions was available for the sensing. This was a crew accustomed to achieving an objective. Miq was glad to be on their side.

Vortas calmly shook his head no. He wasn't sure why he was asked to join this team but then again, given the circumstances his abilities might come in...handy. Didn't much matter, was better to be useful then assimilated up here.

Tess didn't have any questions, either. Well, none that the Commander could answer, at any rate. She understood the mission. She understood her role in it. She didn't understand why anyone would want to kidnap a Borg in the first place, or, for that matter, why she couldn't make her mother understand that the collapse of her first marriage wasn't entirely her fault, that her husband actually did have something to do with the problem. But these were questions better directed at God, who, in general, was more confusing than Starfleet Commanders.

"Yes, I have a question."

The soft voice came from somewhere between Vortas and Miq, and somewhat closer to the floor. Much like Vortas, Lieutenant Nyoko Yuuri had no idea why she was there. Or rather, she had a pretty good idea: it was because both Commander Todd and Lieutenant Raynor were baka.

Todd told her that this would be a good opportunity to gain field experience; So Nyoko told her that she wasn't a field operative, and the ship was loaded with marines just for that job; So Todd told her that they need someone with both intelligence and tactical training, to analyze the situation and gather intelligence in real time, because little is known and bla-bla-bla; So Nyoko told her that the new ensign was already going, and that this was the most bakabakshi thing ever since the Captain decided that 8-Ball Hunter would make a decent department head; So Commander Todd told her that the universal translator could translate 'Bakabakashi'; So that was the end of it.

She took a sneak peek at the new Tactical guy, just before speaking up. He didn't know it yet, but the cheerful Japanese decided to nickname him 'horny' in her mind, for obvious reasons.

"Sir." She began, "What DO we know about the area of operations, and the expected resistance?"

"Not nearly as much as we'd like," Elessidil replied. "Orbital scans were of limited success and needless to say we're not exactly going down with the Barzan government's blessing. We know the specific area where we think they crashed is fairly rural and only sparsely populated, but it's close enough to some more important population centers that the Barzans could get some of their own forces there in short order. And of course, we know the issue with the atmosphere," he added, referring to the respirator packs they'd all be supplied with.

Tess nodded. Primarily, she worked as Security officer on board Galaxy, but she also had field medic experience, as well as a vivid if not slightly unsettling imagination. She could picture exactly what would happen to a crewmember unlucky enough to lose his respirator pack. She did not intend to be that crewmember. She was afraid of death (she wasn't a Klingon, for Godsakes) but she was especially unimpressed with the idea of dying due to toxicity and suffocation.

Emma sat calmly. Nara and her butted heads many a times, but they respected each other. So that's what brought her to the conclusion Nara had motives other than dislike sending her. Emma would rather be in Engineering, but, being as arrogant as she was, knew Nara chose her for her calmness. She was cold and detached. Nara was cold but she was also emotional. Emma was far from a Vulcan, but she also had a much better control of her emotions then her peers.

Brian scanned around the group one last time. "This is basic search and rescue; we're in, we're out with as little disturbance as possible. Each of you has been asked to be part of this away team for a reason, so stay focused and do what you're here to do." He then gestured to the runabout's open hatch. "Let's go."

"Where in the World is Saul Bental?" part 1

Ensign Hoda Arles
Security Officer

Fingers wiggled the loose flap of skin. A small sting coursed up the nerve-endings with each brush of the fingerpads against the raw flesh. The pain wasn't enough to actually bring about an end to the irritation, and the torn bit of dry skin was more aggravating than the discomfort. Occasionally the fingers would stop, soothing the region around the wound, caressing the neck until the muscles stopped tensing and the blood pounding through the arteries returned to a sedate rhythm. Then they began again, cell by cell removing the offending piece.

A regenerator would have healed it in a moment. Given a day without picking at it then wound would have closed naturally. But Hoda was thinking. And when she was thinking, her hands always searched out her face and neck for any form of imperfection. Growing up in a world without mirrors, in an environment where vanity was shunned and denied, it was the only way she'd been able to know her own appearance. God wouldn't care, but human pride was a tough thing to shake, particularly during adolescence when some internal paranoia clicked on and made the young woman overly conscious of her looks. So her hands had begun to learn every contour, every pour. Each blemish received the careful inspection of her fingertips before any drastic measures of picking and scraping were taken.

Much of that youthful paranoia had vanished, but the habit remained. Anytime Hoda sat still, her hands found her face. It would start innocently enough, her chin propped up by the palm of her hand, but her fingertips would begin to wiggle over the skin. Inevitably, they would find some area that wasn't quite smooth enough. That was what had happened today. She'd been sitting at her desk, her eyes locked on her screen, the Federation insignia bouncing jovially around the perimeter like pong ball, waiting.

A sharp hiss of indrawn breath cut the silence. She had at last torn off the offender. Pink tinged the underside of her nail. Her uniform collar now rubbed against the abrasion, but the discomfort had a satisfying edge to it.

Her hand swept to the other side of her neck, but found nothing. As it continued its search, her eyes fell upon the padd that sat lonesomely on her desk. Her current assignment was neatly and succinctly laid out. Lieutenant Saul Bental was missing. Her task was to find him.

Hoda knew next to nothing about the Galaxy's Chief of Intelligence. She'd done her homework after getting the report, reading through his file, but something told her that the dossier she had authorization to view was far from complete. Or perhaps that was the old stereotyping of intelligence officers talking. Either way, the information the file possessed gave her precious little to go on. Not that she truly expected it to. It was unlikely that a nota bene clairvoyantly indicating his disappearance would be appended at the bottom.

What she did know was that a few days ago, shortly before all leave had been canceled and the Galaxy had set course for Barzan, the lieutenant had taken leave to frolic - or whatever intelligence officers did - on DS5. He should have been recalled when the Galaxy prepared to leave. More accurately, he 'was' recalled, he simply didn't follow the orders.

While the tone of her assignment had been carefully neutral, Hoda gathered that this was not a normal occurrence for the lieutenant, nor was it an anticipated action.

So far as Hoda could see, foul play, personal injury or crisis, or new orders had detained him.

Personal injury/crisis was the easiest to dismiss. While something may have happened to him or a loved one of his, he would have had time to contact the ship by now, or the doctors on DS5 would have seen to it. She would still make a formal inquiry with the station's sickbay, just in case something fell through the cracks.

New orders also seemed unlikely. If they were official, then why wouldn't at least the captain have been informed? Why waste the resources and man hours searching for someone who wasn't, in fact, missing? Unless it was a campaign of misdirection? Stick a lowly ensign on the case, unlikely she'd come up with anything, but at least there'd be an official report indicating effort had been made?

Hoda shook her head. That thought was already making her head spin. Too much double-speak in intelligence work for her tastes. Just say what needed to be said and have done with it. What was so hard about that?

That left foul play. The possibilities here were infinite. Who wouldn't want to get their hands on a Starfleet Intelligence chief? Culling the list from 'everyone' down to 'someone' was going to be a lot of work. A 'lot' of work.

But she couldn't start until someone from DS5 got back to her. She'd been on hold for over an hour and, patient as she was, she was beginning to grow restless.

Hoda's fingers found a small bump behind her left ear and set to work.

"Where in the World is Saul Bental?" part 2

npcs are our friends...

==========
DS5
==========

"Bloody hell these uniforms itch."

"It's the same uniform it's been for the past few years, man, chill out."

"I'm telling you, they changed the formula. They did something in the replicators and messed with the synthetics. Now it's all itchy."

The taller man fiddled testily with his collar. As his finger dug in, trying to alleviate the irritation, his crewman first class insignia stood out clearly under the corridor's artificial lighting. He was Terran with lanky blond hair whose tips swung greasily over his shoulders. Tan eyes that never quite managed to look alert rolled back as his finger found just the right spot to scratch. With a satisfied sigh he rolled his shoulders back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Better."

"Wuss." His companion barely managed to come up to his hip in height. He was squat, with foreshortened arms and legs and a head that would have been grotesque in its size were it not for the dashingly comely visage it held. The eyes were a lively blue beneath neatly managed jet black eyebrows. Curly ringlets cascaded from his crown, carefully coiffed to showcase a devil-may-care look that made the ladies go week in the knees (he knew - he was at eye-level with most of them).

"Why are we down here anyway?" the Terran yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth as he strolled at a languid pace, having learned to adapt to his partner's shorter stature.

"Because someone has to? Just because no one ever comes down here doesn't mean we can forget about it. Station was designed to have it for a reason." The midget, Emril, was walking in a weaving pattern, sinuously curving across the deck as he progressed forward. His gave shot up and down, from side to side, as though expecting to find something at any moment.

"Dude, you're making me seasick."

"You ever been on the sea?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it makes you sick?" Emril paused, his hands on his hips as he looked up at Jan.

"Would you just quit walking like that? You do it every damn day. My neck gets a crick just watching you. Look, why don't you look low and I'll look high, okay? That way you can walk in a straight line and I won't have to report you as drunk on the job."

The two continued on once again, lapsing into silence. There was little to see down here. A few market stalls had been erected with overflow wares or, but the traffic this early in the morning was light. An antigrav trolley took up most of the corridor, laden with fresh fruits and vegetables that had just come in off a shipment. The stall owner, a middle-aged Betazoid female, was inspecting each piece of produce as the trolley was unloaded.

"Hungry?" Jan asked, slackening his pace.

"We're not supposed to eat on duty," Emril replied dubiously, even as his stomach rumbled encouragement at the idea.

"Drunk and disorderly," Jan smirked as he began investigating the wares.

Battling with his sense of duty, Emril scuffed his boots on the deck floor while he waited for Jan to make a selection. None of the other stalls were very interesting. To the left a Tellerite sat selling hand-embroidered slippers. The right hand stall stood empty. Another trolley trundled up the corridor, making space a premium as two burly Betazoids joined in the unloading process. Emril, not in the mood for whatever short-joke might be forthcoming, dodged aside into the empty stall and helped himself to a seat on the bench.

Perhaps it was how the play of light and shadows worked out, or due to his own short nature, but Emril's eyes were drawn to a spot on the floor. Discarded in a corner lay a Starfleet commbadge.

"Jan, forget the food! We have a problem!"

"Starboard Ventral Shields: Work In Progress"

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering Specialist

Ensign Terence Leighter
Engineer

*** Deck 36, At the rear of the ship, Jefferies tube 36-5878 ***

The chaos of battle had lessened and Michael was pleased it had. Working in the midst of a fight was always a risky business and could have an adverse affect on doing a job right. Especially on Ensigns fresh out of the Academy, like the one Michael was working with at the moment. Their job was to bring the Starboard ventral shields back to acceptable strength, at least more than they were operating on now which was about 10 to 15 per cent.

"I still can't believe it. It pierced the shields in seconds and then it went right through the Starboard Nacelle! Doesn't this say anything about our shield technology!? I mean, if they can do this... And how the heck did they get their hands on that weaponry anyway!?" Terence went on and on, not able to stop talking about what happened some 5 minutes ago. It scared the shit out of him. Not really surprising really. "Now look at us. Ventral shields down to only 15 per cent, several others are weakened, and one Nacelle shot to pieces. We're a near sitting duck!"

"Calm down Ensign, we're not doomed yet. This ship has suffered greater damage than this and still pulled through in the end. It's not as bad as it looks. So, lets think positive shall we?" Michael tried to sound as confident as he could. He understood why Leighter was nervous but this was not the best of times to let your emotions get the best of you. "Okay, the two ruptured EPS conduits have been replaced and are ready to receive Electro Plasma. How are you doing at your end."

Terence looked over his shoulder to the Civilian Engineer. "Almost done here. I replaced the main Processor module but there are still some optical data-paths to the sub-processor unit that are severed." Strictly taken he should be giving the orders to him and not the other way around. Someone at Engineering had thought otherwise. The lack of time had prevented him from asking why he had to take orders from a civilian, but that became clear soon enough. Experience and Technological know-how were the keywords.

Michael nodded. He turned around in the somewhat cramped Jefferies tube and crawled towards the Ensign. Once he sat next to the 22-year old boy he look at the spot where Terence was holding his Micro Fuser. "Wait, wait, not so fast." Michael reached for Terence's hand to stop him before he went to far. "That last connection you made is wrong. It should go to first output of the other sub-processor, the one named Mod/U1442-B. We don't want to come back here and fix things again because of a feedback loop, do we?"

It didn't take long before Terence noticed his mistake. ~$#%$...Damn!~ He mentally kicked himself for not paying enough attention to what he was doing. "Eh, right. Sorry, I..."

"No, don't apologize." Michael patted him on the shoulder as he crawled passed him. Everyone made mistakes and one shouldn't analyze them for too long. "Just don't make the same mistake twice."

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