"Alone"

With:
Kylar Curran, Chief Liaison Officer (In Captivity)

Proconsul Omar
Aendah Sharien T'Riasau

Naked and alone in the dark, Kylar Curran shivered.

He'd lost count of the days as they passed, his fingernails long worn down to the cuticles. Not even a sliver of light gave him any sense of density or parameter of bearing in the fetid cell he'd been imprisoned in. Not a sound, not even a whisper of air.

Not that he was in any prolonged sensory deprivation. Every so often the plate hatch above him would slide open and burn him down with a brilliant light that seared his eyelids. They'd toss him down some lumpy crust of bread with a container of liquid that tasted like waste fluids. He'd tried to go on a hunger strike against his Romulan captors, but after being subject to a not-so-gentle force-feeding and subsequent addiction trace to whatever it was they'd been feeding him, he couldn't deny the hunger any longer.

He tried to kill himself several times since then. Cramming the breadstuff down his throat in large chunks to force himself to choke, slamming his head against the stone walls... all were averted. And now he was moved to a smaller cell barely large enough to fit him. It was no more the size of a large coffin. Three meters long by two meters wide, and a meter-and-a-half tall, he supposed. He knew he could get on his knees, but definitely could not stand. Curran wasn't sure if he even remembered how to walk, it'd been so long.

Even as he tried to sleep in the cramped quarters, he'd retch at the ever-present smell of his waste that didn't make its way to the drain at one end of the cell.

And in all the time he could remember being here, not once did they ever continue to interrogate him. It was as if they'd forgotten he was there, other than to feed him as if he were an animal in its cage at a zoo.

He'd known the Federation wouldn't make any attempt to retrieve him, in the interests of maintaining relations with the *Romulan* Star Empire. Oh, he was sure the Diplomatic Corps had entered him as a request, and the Romulans entertained it, but it was all talk. Bureaucracy was predictable in so many ways. His fate was sealed before the sides had even met. Discussion of his situation was only a political pleasantry.

So he drew his filthy knees to his chest and continued to drift, the only anger remaining in him that of irritation in dying in such a weak and dishonorable manner, if they ever decide to end his life.

The hatch grated open above him, at which point he raised his eyes, blinking away the searing heat of mal-adjusted eyes still rimmed with their piercing blue irises, as he did ever time someone decided to remember to feed him. The only dignity in his life he would have remaining would be to face his jailor as he (or she) peered down the barrel of a disruptor at him. He would face his end with pride, never having given in to those would break him.

He didn't reach out with gnarled and worn hands as he knew they would hope he would do when they threw down his food.

"Holy frack you stink, Curran."

And a gloved hand reached down for him.

****

Four months previous

****

"You'll have your data, Proconsul. I've already begun arranging it in the event the Vice-Legate isn't agreeable."

"Very good." He nodded at the Aendah, his aging eyes bereft of anything but cold and clinical calculating measure. He would have his rewards. Curran should have been able to protect his son on the Galaxy, but failed. Worse yet, he'd failed to bring the killer to ch'Rihan. Damned Federation. By the Elements, he would have his vengeance. He would avenge his son. He would watch the Federation burn.

Proconsul Omar curled his lip in a subtle snarl, careful not to let the female see his contortions. If she had the barest of hint that this was personal... good help was so hard to find. Killing her twice was not as easy as one would think. With the government and its various committees and branches in turmoil, definitive alliances were not assured.

Sharen T'Riasau's reflection showed her bent over her computer terminals instead of out the transparent portal as he had been. A pair of Centurions entered the room, encompassing the Kelvan's form as he lay across the gurney, each taking a side to wheel it out of the room.

"I'll leave it to your discretion then, Aendah. Four veraku. I highly anticipate what advantage we'll have after he breaks. This is to remain between us until then." Omar clasped both hands behind his back, lifted his chin, and immediately backed up and out the door, honor guard falling into step behind him as he exited.

Once the door closed behind him, T'Riasau looked up from her terminal, and activating the one next to it along the workbench. Raven-black eyes, impenetrable depths, maneuvered to the left side of the security cameras console, verifying Omar had left. Squatting to her knees, she reached under the bench with her right hand, depressing a switch for three seconds, then releasing it.

One last check of the records of the unaware Proconsul's visit to verify they'd been deleted and scrubbed off the rods on completion of the transmission, and all that was left for her to do was wait for orders.

"The List"

Lt. JG Tesseract Cho (NPC)
Lt. 8-ball Hunter

(takes place shortly before Search and Rescue)

Tess didn't know everything and was often reminded of this by others, sometimes by her ex-husband, more frequently by her mother. There were things, however, that she knew, and knew unequivocally, and she was in the process of organizing these into a tidy, comprehensive list. The List of Things that Tess Knew went, more or less, like this:

1.) Chocolate is beautiful.
2.) Moms are impossible.
3.) Marriage sucks.
4.) Menstruation sucks.
5.) Kicking ass is fun.
6.) Kicking ass, and getting paid for it, is even more fun, and
7.) People are less likely to believe you can kick ass when you were christened with an unfortunate name like Tesseract. Though it is fun to prove them wrong.

These were the fundamentals of life. Tess knew them, and knew them well.

However, there was one more rule that she had failed to put on her list. One she knew but had consciously, or unconsciously, ignored for the sake of, well, something. This was the Unspoken Rule that was essential for survival:

Never look for trouble while serving on the USS: Galaxy.

Looking for trouble while serving on the USS: Galaxy was a little like beam balancing on the edge of the Grand Canyon: the end result of you going SPLAT was inevitable because, frankly, you were a moron. Only a moron looked for trouble while serving on a ship as psychotic as the Galaxy could be, and Tess prided herself on not being a moron. Maybe not an academic but certainly not a moron.

Tess knew not to look for trouble.

Because trouble was going to find you anyways.

The issue with this seemingly simple rule was that sometimes, as a Starfleet officer, you felt obligated to make things more complicated. Not because you enjoyed complicated, God knows, but because sometimes complicated was the right thing to do. Sometimes you had to go look for trouble because you felt a sense of duty.

Sometimes a sense of duty would come to bite you in the ass.

Case in point: this away mission. Search and rescue for the first away team who had crashed. Now, strictly speaking, this wasn't something that Tess needed to do. Nobody had ordered her on the mission; nobody had voiced the opinion that she could be of service. She had no obligation to this mission. . .and the best reasons in the world for not going.

Because, when on the USS: Galaxy, you learned a very important thing. Non-Senior Staff were like chess pawns. They were the first to get eliminated.

It wasn't a planned thing, not diabolical. There was no evil mastermind genius arranging for the deaths of certain officers. It was just true that the Senior Staff had a better survival rate, as well as their close friends and girlfriends and boyfriends. Having a good relationship with the Senior Staff wasn't a bought and paid for ticket into I'm-Invincible land, but, statistically, crew members with no connections didn't do as well on these away missions. And Tess was a good officer, but the only times she talked to her boss were about shift changes and new policies. She was a foot solider in the grand scheme of things. It didn't bode well for her life expectancy.

The other thing to think about was that Tess was a security officer. Yes, she had obligations to the missing crew members, but she also had obligations to the safety of the NON-missing crew members, and to the survival of the ship. There was nothing wrong with staying onboard. And that wasn't even trying to justify for a not-so-unreasonable fear of death; Tess very honestly believed that she'd be doing her duty on board or on the planet.

Besides, it wasn't like she couldn't get killed on the Galaxy, too. If that was the case, no one would ever leave, except the stupid and suicidally brave.

Tess knew all this and believed all this, and yet. . .yet. . .

Yet she felt obligated to go. Because she had been planning on joining up with the Hazard Team, only a knee injury had kept her out, and she wanted to let it heal before working it even more. So it healed and the Hazard Team crashed and she hadn't been there, and that was probably part of the problem, that "it could have been me" feeling.

But there was more to this obligation, more than just a misplaced sense of guilt. Ultimately, it really only boiled to one simple thing: there were people, her people, her fellow officers who were hurt, and she wanted to go help them.

~So much for number eight on the list~ Tess thought.

Once fully decided on her plan of action, Tess left Security to go volunteer for the mission. As she rounded a corner in one of the corridors, she ran straight into another officer.

"Sorry," she said, stepping back, and Lt. 8-ball Hunter apologized to. Tess might not have been on close terms with any of the Senior Staff, but she wasn't deaf either; you'd have to be, not to have heard the stories that had revolved around the Chief Science Officer. Right now, though, Lt. Hunter didn't appear to be feeling particularly flirtatious or frivolous; she looked she had a massive headache, quite possibly that would end with her brain exploding.

"Lt. Hunter?" Tess asked. "Are you all right?"

Lt. Hunter nodded and walked past. Tess watched until she was out of sight, shrugged, and turned to head around the bend again. She stopped suddenly with one foot in the air.

There was a child a few feet ahead of her.

It was a Trill child, a girl, probably only about nine or ten, and she looked oddly. . .filmy, and indistinct, as if there was a white veil encircling the air around her. Tess opened her mouth to say something, although she wasn't entirely sure what she would say, and the Trill child disappeared, as if she had never been.

Tess stood there for a few minutes, head cocked slightly to the side in thought.

~New Number 8 on my list: When about to volunteer for a potentially dangerous away mission, don't mention little ghost girls in the hall.~

Tess felt fairly confident about this new rule.

Perhaps, eventually, she'd make an even 10.

***

8-ball walked until she was out of eyeshot from the Lieutenant she had just bumped into. Then she stopped in the middle of the corridor and held her fists to the side of her head. She may not have been a part of this away mission, but there were things going on, and she had stuff to do. What she emphatically did not need was a dead child haunting her every step.

She closed her eyes, so she couldn't see, but Azra's voice was louder than ever.

~8-ball, 8-ball.~

~Why did you have to kill me?~

~Why did you have to let me die? Huh, huh?~

~8-ball, please.~

~8-ball, you're worthless. How could anyone have entrusted a child to YOU~

~8-ball~

~Help me, 8-ball~

~8-ball, 8-ball-

~SHUT UP!!!~ 8-ball screamed in her mind, opening her eyes almost involuntarily. Azra was there, but then she flickered and disappeared, as if she was never was. As if she might never come back.

8-ball couldn't even bother to hope for that anymore.

~Stay away, Azra. Stay away. Go haunt someone else for a change.~

8-ball had no idea that soon, she wouldn't be the only person seeing ghosts.

"Where in the World is Saul Bental?" part 3: CSI

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

"This would be a lot easier if we had a body."

"That's crude, Jan."

"I'm just saying... a discarded commbadge and that's it? That's hardly anything to go on." Jan leaned back against the bulkhead, chewing the inside of his cheek. "With a body, at least you know that there's been a crime, right? I mean, the commbadge could have fallen off."

Emril shook his head, craning his neck to watch as the pair of scientists investigated the empty stall. "They tell you whose badge it was?"

"Nope. Just told me to stay down here and do crowd control." Jan pointedly looked up and down the empty corridor. "Huge crowd I'm controlling, alright. Christ, I'm hungry."

"I'm sure it won't take them long. As you said, there's no body." Leaving Jan to mope over his empty belly, Emril approached the scientists.

Both were intently sweeping the area with an ultraviolet device. They moved carefully, stepping in what looked to be a complicated dance, progressing steadily toward the stall from the center of the corridor. To Emril, who knew how to fire a phaser, apprehend a trouble-maker, and do all the rough-and-tumble aspects of security work, their slow pace seemed an agony of uselessness. Why sweep the corridor for...whatever. The commbadge was in the stall. That's where they ought to be looking.

"Finding anything?"

A Cardassian woman looked up from her scanner, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand as she focused on her interlocutor. "Not yet."

"You guys sure are taking your time. Who was he?"

"Pardon?"

"You know, the guy whose commbadge I found."

The scientist, bearing the rank of lieutenant, paused for a moment before answering. It wasn't wise to bandy about the fact that an intelligence chief had gone missing, particularly not on a station the size of DS5, for a whole host of reasons. On the other hand, the crewman looked guileless and the curiosity was a natural one. She was about to give him an answer when her partner, a stooped Bajoran, gave a non-committal "hmm".

"What is it? Find something?" Both the Cardassian and Terran came over, attempting to read the scanner's display.

"There's some fluid here. Grab me that sample container."

A specimen was carefully scraped from the fibers of the deck carpeting and placed in a sterile vial. Once sealed, it was inserted into a rectangular box. A minute of processing later, they had an answer. "It's egg."

"Well that's no good," the Cardassian sighed, turning back to her own scanning, the security officer entirely forgotten.

Emril ran a hand through his curly mop of hair, gazing back and forth between the empty stall and the produce stand. At a guess, it looked to be a distance of about twenty-five yards. He paced forward, coming to a halt just past the first wall of the empty stall, yet still standing in the corridor. At that angle, anyone standing at the produce stand would have to be looking directly his way and positioned about two yards from the stall in order to see him, for at this point on the station the corridor curved.

Leaving the scientists to their own devices, Emril determined on another route of finding out what happened.

"Excuse me."

The Betazoid woman peered over her counter, past stacks of lettuce and viticultural products, to see the short man. "Yes?"

"Do you sell eggs here?"

She nodded toward a small refrigeration unit in the corner that housed an assortment of perishables, eggs amongst them. "Sell any recently?"

"Course. Lottsa people like eggs. You like you could use some milk, though."

"Funny. You keep a customer list? Receipts? Anything like that?" The words came out a little awkwardly, as Emril still hadn't gotten the hang of operating in a money economy as many of these small traders did.

"That's private." Her defenses were up now and she had that look in her eyes like any moment she was going to start reading his mind.

Emril naturally distrusted Betazoids. Not only were they taller than him, but they took on extra stature by their ability to know what someone was thinking or feeling. He didn't care what sensitivity training they went through on Betazed, the concept still weirded him out, and he lacked the intimidation quality to bluff them off. "This is for official station business." He tried to sound in charge, but the feat was made difficult by the fact he was staring up at her chin. He was certain the station had the authority to request those records, but his ability to act in the station's name as a lowly crewman second class was in doubt. Hopefully, the woman wouldn't pick up on that.

"The commander can come by and get it himself if he cares so much."

"He could, or we could just hack your records anyway, foregoing your cooperation. You trade here under our good graces. Station business demands that we promptly receive that information for the past week, or you will find yourself on the next transport out of here and all this lovely produce you had delivered this morning will go to feed my hungry friend." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Jan.

The woman looked from one man to the other, then at the two scientists who were absorbed in their investigation. "You'll have it by the end of the day."

"Where in the World is Saul Bental?" Part 4

Ensign Hoda Arles
Security Officer

==========
USS Galaxy
==========

Once upon a time, schedules were regular. The work day was nine to five. If you had business dealings with someone thousands of miles away, you could count time zones and recognize that your nine am was their four pm. It made video-conferences a pain to organize, but at least the relationship was firmly set.

Now, with space stations and starships running on regulated Federation time, it was always the same hour, no matter the light years in between. Ostensibly, this made things easier. The trouble was that the old work day had not been retained. Individuals worked in shifts, shorter in duration than the old nine to five, making catching someone at their desk less reliable.

Of course, that's why communications officers existed. They could relay an incoming message to the recipient even when they were in the shower. But who would hurry a subspace transmission from a lowly security ensign?

Hoda had been composing a list of what she knew and what she didn't when someone finally got back to her, on a secure channel.

"Ensign Arles? I'm Lieutenant John Coleman. I've been assigned to work with you on the current situation."

Hoda sat up a little bit straighter in her chair as she regarded the man on the other side of the screen. The young man, perhaps only a year or two her senior, wasn't yet a full lieutenant, but the way he spoke suggested he held some responsibility on the station. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and blinked slowly at her as he awaited her reply.

Part of the ensign wanted to badger him about being kept waiting so long. A highly ranked officer had disappeared and none had seen fit to answer her with alacrity. She bit down that impulse though, a hand seeking her pocket to touch the prayer beads in a bid for fortitude. "Have you any news on the whereabouts of Lieutenant Bental?"

"We were able to find the lieutenant's commbadge on one of the lower decks. It had been discarded in an empty stall."

"Stall?"

"That portion of the ship serves as a small market area for some of the less frequented merchants. The stall where his commbadge was found was decorated with alien linked chains."

Hoda stared blankly at the man. Was that supposed to tell her something?

Coleman pressed on. "The commbadge bears the lieutenant's prints plus a few partials, but it would be impossible to say whose they are. There was also," the lieutenant paused and glanced away from the screen, as though consulting his notes, "egg and chloroform discovered in the vicinity."

"Chloroform? I'm not familiar."

"It's a chemical solvent, long since replaced by more efficient, less unstable compounds - or so our science chief tells me."

"Was there any sign of a struggle, any witness to what happened?"

"None that we have been able to identify. Ensign, I will be up front with you. This is a busy station, with a lot of people going in and out. The chances anyone saw anything are more remote than you might think. I've assigned two men to canvass the station, but I make no promises that they'll turn up anything. Has it occurred to you that the lieutenant may have chosen to leave of his own volition?"

"I cannot speak for the lieutenant's motivations, therefore I must assume that he did not until proven otherwise."

Coleman sighed and sat back in his chair. "We will do our best for you and your lieutenant, ensign, b-"

Hoda held up a hand, begging permission to interrupt. "I appreciate what you can do," and an end to the excuses. "I will need a full list of all station personnel and visitors for the past week, the names and crew for all ships and transports that docked with DS5 and all out-going manifests. To start."

"You're asking for a lot."

"A Starfleet intelligence chief disappears on your station and you're grumbling over encrypting and forwarding a few files?"

The man had enough sense to look chagrined. "You'll have it by the end of the day, ensign."

"Thank you." Hoda smiled.

"When The Tables Turn"

Lenat - Orion Mercenary Captain (Mike)
With Mercenary Underlings

Grand Marshal Agatha Marcel (Eric)
With Obligatory Peon Grunt Enforcers And Other Ivorian Underlings. (Herzog written by Mike)

Unauthorized Appearances by some of our abductees.

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

<<USS Bonestell, Bridge>>

Lenat was worried, probably for the first time in his life. Well, at least the first time in a long time. He had thought this contract he'd taken from the Ivorians to hijack an old starfleet ship and deliver it for whatever reason they wanted it would be easy. Hell, he thought he'd be getting a nice bonus from the people he'd captured. Now he had a ship he barely had control of with no way of getting it back. Worse, the Strahl had gone ahead and landed on the planet's surface as planned totally oblivious to their plight. Lenat liked to think he had a plan for everything. This was only the second time in his memory he'd been caught without one and time was running out to come up with one.

"Sir, I managed to get us in orbit of Ivor, barely. We have two small craft rising from the surface on an intercept course. They're attempting to hail us."

Actually he was out of time. Doing his best to hide his lack of confidence, Lenat took a deep breath and replied in his usual firm tone,

"Stall them. Tell them main communication is down and we'll have to wait to talk. I'll meet them in the shuttlebay...we can open the shuttlebay right?"

"I think so." the mercenary at ops said without really knowing the answer.

"Good, Kaz, you have the bridge. Have Levek, Thok, and the Nausicaan meet me there.", Lenat said as he headed for the turbolift. At least if something was going to go horribly wrong like he thought it might, he'd have his three nastiest thugs with him. He looked to his hip and made sure he disruptor was there and charged. Hopefully he wouldn't need it.

<Shuttlebay>

"It's about time, Lenat." The powerfull voice, full of asuredness and authority, boomed out of the shuttle's hatch before the speaker even stepped out. A tall, lithe woman, Agatha Marcel was as imposing as her voice suggested. "You contract stated you would be in system, ready to hand over controll of a starship two hours ago." Never mind that the contract had been ratified by one Melanie DeBou, the previous High Marshal. Such a tragic death, indeed. "I believe we paied you and your rabble more than enough to acomplish this one small task."

Behind her, a coterie of huge men filed out of the shuttle: six enforcers that apeared ready and willing to die if Marcel told them too. A variety of weapons, as leathal as they apeared, were brandished in their hands.

"My apologies Grand Marshal, it took longer to get moving then planned. And as I recall, your predecessor only paid half our fee.", Lenat said confidently, though he definately was a bit uneasy. He figured the power could wink out at any time, but hopefully they could get through this.

"If the ship meets with your approval we'll be on our way."

"It does not." Her voice was thunderous, yet surprisingly calm and quiet. One can definitely benifit from a history of singing: it pays to know how to effectively project your voice. "Partially operational, lacking in armaments and shields. Severely outdated technology - Captain, do you really think this hulk could stand up to even a single vessel of today's standards?"

"Was the best I could do! You really think we could have overridden the security blocks on a newer ship?" Lenat responded. Of course they couldn't even handle the interlocks on this old Oberth. "Besides, she's been upgraded. Was in a couple battles of the Dominion War."

Agatha sighed, disgusted. Everything had been in the Dominion War, but little tubs like this had probably been on picket duty or simply there as a damage soak to pull fire from more important ships. "Bring the prisoners up to the shuttlebay, Captain. I'm not so stupid as to believe you came off as empty handed as you'd like us to think." She snaped her fingers once and four of her meat shields stepped forward. "These will acompany you, non-negotiable."

Lenat didn't need to snap his fingers in response, the two bulky Orions and the Nausican muscle he'd hired stepped between Lenat and Agatha's thugs without so much of a signal. Lenat was furious. "That wasn't part of the deal! Our contract allowed us to take whoever we found on the ship as a 'bonus'."

"I am altering the deal, pray I don't alter it farther." A mufled report could be heard emanating from the shuttle, and a bullet impacted the deck at Lenat's feet. "My man in the shuttle will keeping tabs as well. Don't fuck with me and you'll live."

Lenat growled as he reached for his communicator. This Ivorian was a crafty one, she'd make a good pirate actually. Keying the communicator he said, "Erissa, round up our guests and have them brought to the shuttlebay."

"What?", Erissa's voice cackled through the communicator, clearly confused.

"Just do it Erissa. Our employer requests it.", Lenat responded

"Understood." Erissa replied.

A few moments later the various prisoners had been herded into the shuttlebay, their wrist restraints having been connected by thick metallic cords. Lenat said with a huff, "Happy now?"

Seconds later, the whine of transporters could be heard. Once the Grand Marshal had disembarked, a number of other shuttles had aproached, and were now disgorging their passengers into the starship. At least a dozen apeared in the shuttlebay, and the rest were placed where the rest of Lenat's crew were, with emphasis on engineeering and the bridge. Agatha smiled, though there was little humor in her expression. "Now, captain, I trust you and your crew will cooperate fully." Not waiting for his reply, she nodded to one of the new arrivals. He was a huge bull of a man, far exceeding the Grand Marshal's bodyguards in sheer physicality. The fact that he towered at least two feet over the majority of the assembled only helped him 'inspire' cooperation in his charges. "As you did not make any ill-thought actions, I shall honor my word: you and your crew will live." As Agatha spoke, her slave driver indicated to his men; Lenat and his crew soon found themselves strung up with the rest of the prisoners.

A look of horror shot across Lenat's face as he realized he was being double crossed. He figured this job was just too easy, but he didn't expect this to be the complication. However having been on the other side of this process many times he knew not to put up any resistance and simply permitted the restraints to be put on him. The Nausican wasn't so accomodating but the large human who'd arrived with the shuttle had about as much trouble subduing him as he would have had subduing a gerbil.

Ignoring the curses, pleas for sucor, and in general everything else that came from the assembled, Agatha began to walk the line of prisoners, inspecting them critically. The Ambasador was released from the line, and Matheson was slated not for the slaves, but her own infirmary. "I recognize a surgeons hands, I used to be one," she said, simply. "Place all stock in your Hippocratic Oath, Doctor. It will be the only thing that will leave you unharmed and capable of performing your duties and keeping your comrades alive." Though she trusted no one, Agatha knew she could at least trust in his Oath. Besides which, a guard would be kept on him at all times. She made note of several more of the prisoners, mostly for their technical capabilities. "You can learn a lot about a person, Lenat, simply by studying their hands."

When she came to Artim however, that's when the house of cards shattered. "Herzog, this one rides with me." Her aura was furious, but besides her eyes it was impossible to tell. She strode over to Lenat, ripping a dagger from one of the slaver's belts as she went, only to drive it into the Orion's back. Her years as a physician had served her well, nothing critical had been hit, but the wound would still be damaging. "Apply a field dressing, but he is not to be seen in the Infirmary."

Lenat winced in pain and muttered a curse in Orion as the knife plunged into his back. He didn't cry out though, trying to maintain a false aura of strength for his men.

Coming back around to the orion's face, she looked him in the eyes. "Are you afraid of death, Lenat? Sounds like a personal problem to me." The Ivorian woman smirked. "Slavery is one thing when you deal with adults. They are mature, sensible beings that usually know when to sit down and shut up. Children, on the other hand. Enslaving a child is, quite simply, wrong. Herzog!" She turned from Lenat and made for the shuttle, the Ambasador, Matheison, and Artim in tow as Herzog, her slave driver, and his men prepared their aquisitions for their new duties.

"But he's no..." Lenat tried to appeal as he saw Artim being lead away with the Marshal, however his speaking was met with a swift punch to the gut from Herzog. Lenat would have fallen were he not chained to the rest of the the prisoners. Artim couldn't help but look back and wink a bit as he boarded the shuttle. Once the Marshal had left Herzon turned to his newly acquired guests and grinned devilishly as the rest of the Orions were being herded in.

"I have good news and I got bad news for you all. The good news is that you all have just won a cruise. The bad news is I'm your activities director and I doubt you're going to have fun."

"One Last Hope"

Lt. JG Juliette Rinaldi

The shuttle that contained the hazard team gently found it's space within space, which to Jules, seemed ironic with the mission that they were on. All of them, for one drone. Something deep within her told her to give one last look at her bottom, because she was going to end up kissing it goodbye sometime soon.

As the craft bumped slightly, she felt that ever so familiar energy swell up within her. It was overly warm as the collective body heat of her and the others slowly raised the temperature of the shuttle to a level that was growing to be a tad uncomfortable. Sighing, she let gaze fall from comrade to comrade. Some ignored her totally, others offered tight tired smiles in return. None of them were comforting to her. No one would ease her fears like seeing Jonas again.

Smirking slightly as her gaze fell to her knees, she expelled another breath yet again. When did she become so weak over the years? She had fallen for a man, and had started to rely on him emotionally. Not good. That was the number two rule of IS agents. Never, ever fall for them. The number one rule? "Never get caught." She muttered.

Hearing an auditory "What?" from the person beside her, she looked to her side in his direction. "Nothing." She sheepishly replied. "Nothing at all."

She had only broken rule number two twice in her time in IS. The first was Saul. The second was Steven. She hated to admit it, but those two men would always have a piece of her. That was, until they found out who she was. The harsh reality was that they would likely never speak to her again. For if they did, she did not give them enough credit as men. Jules did not credit men with anything other than lovers. She had reserved herself even in Steven's case. She loved him, God knows she did. Yet, Jules would not let herself be fully relaxed around him until her one last secret was exposed.

That secret, was about to be laid bare sooner than she would have hoped..................

(OOC: Read this post-- particularly the middle-- if you are looking for a quick rundown of what has happened with the side plot so far.)

"Countdown to Piracy" Part 1

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO, USS Galaxy

********** 0345 hours **********

Unlike most mornings, Iniara was wide awake the moment the computer began its efforts to rouse her with its disturbingly pleasant voice.

Blame it on unfamiliar surroundings, she thought as she pulled herself into a standing position. "Computer, cancel alarm." Ignoring the pleasant chirp that followed, the Galaxy's XO shuffled her way to the shower.

"Awwww man, a sonic shower?" Her protestations were quickly drowned out as the device started up, producing a steady hum that scrubbed away dirt and foul moods with equal precision.

********** 0402 hours **********

Pulling on a fresh uniform, Iniara slid into the small room's lone chair, activating the desktop console. She needed to send an update to M'Kantu; best to do it now before things got hectic. Besides, by sending a message this early, while Delta Shift still reigned supreme and Olivia Proctor was still asleep in her bed (visions of humanoid sugarplums dancing in her head, no doubt), Iniara minimized the risk of the overbearing Admiral catching a whiff of the message. By no means was the risk gone, but at least it was minimized.

She cracked her knuckles and set to work composing a short message.

TO: M'KANTU, DAREN R, COMMANDING OFFICER, USS GALAXY-A FROM: TARIN, INIARA, EXECUTIVE OFFICER, USS GALAXY-A TIME: 60702.11.0403 SUBJ: TRAINING MISSION UPDATE

Captain:

Final preparations for training mission have been completed. Delivery of ship is anticipated at 0600, departure from Deep Space 5 will be at 0900.

Seven participants confirmed for mission: Lt. Cmdr. Tarin, Lt. Savant, Lt. Eshe, Lt. JG Krieghoff, Lt. JG DarkSky, Sgt. 1st Class Thral, Turan Trelar. Ens. Walker has opted out, citing inability to work with Lt. JG Krieghoff in close quarters. Station transporter logs indicate his return to Galaxy shortly before departure.

Due to the nature of the mission this will be my last communiqué until our return.

She sent the tiny packet on its way, sighing inwardly as she flushed the console's buffers and shut it down. Iniara hated sending such vague and incomplete reports to her captain, but such was the necessity when Deep Space Five's relay stations were involved. Then again, she had no way of knowing if Admiral Proctor was reading any or all of Captain M'Kantu's messages she could get her hands on. Proctor seemed to have a personal vendetta against the man, and Iniara had no desire to exacerbate the situation.

The Admiral knew very little of the so-called 'training mission', and Iniara wanted to keep it that way. As far as Proctor knew, Lieutenant Commander Tarin and a handful of Galaxy personnel of varying rank were departing in approximately five hours on a civilian vessel for a short training mission. That was all she needed to know about this seemingly routine, boring, ordinary mission. She didn't need to know that their 'civilian vessel' was actually on loan from SFI and was pretty tricked out for being such an apparent piece of junk. She didn't need to know that members of Iniara's team had been falsifying records in the Federation criminal databases, or that they had been replicating a wide variety of non-Starfleet issue projectile- and energy-based weaponry, or that the seven people participating in this mission were doing so under the guise of a pirate crew, and that they intended to out-pirate the pirates who had stolen the USS Bonestell and return triumphant with it and the captives before Proctor herself even had a chance to organize her own magnificent rescue.

No, Iniara concluded, Admiral Olivia Proctor did not need to know any of that. Especially that last part.

Iniara's gaze drifted once more to the room's single bunk, now serving as an impromptu table for a trio of duffel bags. The first, a semi-rigid bag done up in drab Starfleet grey, contained no more than a pair of spare duty uniforms. The second, mostly brown and nearly worn out, contained two sets of civilian clothes and a few random odds and ends in various stages of disrepair. She had dubbed this one her 'pirate bag'.

The third, much smaller, black, and almost completely concealed in shadow, contained the few weapons she had requested. Krieghoff had delivered it late last night, stopping just long enough to hand her the bag and leave. He could probably sense how uncomfortable she felt when meeting him alone in a dark hallway, and had made his visit mercifully brief.

Iniara shuddered, rubbing her arms to calm the waves of goose bumps coursing down her arms. The aura she picked up from him alternately terrified and fascinated her. Looking into his eyes was like looking at the focusing crystals for a dark and terrible energy which could consume her soul without a second thought if it so chose. And somehow she was going to have to live with that for days. Weeks, maybe.

Iniara shuddered again. "Computer, time," she called out abruptly, her voice wavering only slightly.

"The time is zero four thirty one hours."

"Access information on civilian vessel 'Backbroken's Reward'. What is the estimated time of arrival?"

"Estimated time of arrival is zero five forty seven hours."

She needed a diversion, something to eat through the next hour and sixteen minutes, something to get her mind off Krieghoff and his creepy aura. Iniara pursed her lips and exhaled, the sound something like a pitiful whistle. Pushing herself into a standing position once more she exited the room, striding purposefully from the hallway into the station beyond.

After all, there had to be something to do on this heap.

"We Are Past Helping"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: USS Galaxy

James didn't know how long he cried. A single tear or a full out bawling session complete with fits and hiccups wouldn't have mattered.

What he did feel was ashamed.

Ashamed that he revealed that side to Mika, letting someone in on his vulnerability that he hid from everyone. To the outside world he was James Lionel Corgan, the killer of many, tough, snarling, trash talking, foul filthy mouthed father of all the badasses, breeder of bastard children and a threat to every man's daughters. Or he was the gentle, humanitarian with the sagely advice, or the wild, free spirited musician, the responsible commander, the loyal friend.

They were all fostered in some way to hide his perceived weaknesses, and when it came to another dreadful meeting with the Borg, his fears turned his artfully crafted defences into nothing in the span of a single teardrop.

James didn't want to admit to anyone that there was one thing that could turn the brave man into a coward in a hurry, and he spilled it all to the person he felt he had to stay strong for.

Her fingers through his hair, stroking and comforting him, made him want to jump back.

"God, i'm scared." James whispered uncertainly.

Mika continued to stroke his hair, silent except for her breathing. The silks of her robes rustled, felt smooth against his cheeks. He wanted to look up at her face, and imaged that it was a predictable response. It would wear a mark of concern, but deeper in that face would be love and caring. He wanted to imagine it was scorn and contempt for being so feeble minded, falling apart thanks to a bad dream, but he knew sweet, loving Mikaiu did not think in those terms. A lack of any cold heartedness, a weakness as a diplomat, made for the best companion.

"How can you look at me like this?" James swore self defeatedly, "I can't even stand up to my own fears. I can't even protect you from them. Why would you want to put up with this the rest of my life and yours? To hear it everyday when I wake up, to have me mutter all about it until we grow old together. Why would you want such weakness? Mika, worst yet is that I didn't tell you sooner the extent of all this... I tried to protect you from it, but it couldn't stay hidden, as much as I wanted it to. Hell, I even thought I got rid of it for good, started sleeping normal, the nightmares gone. But they are still here, and when I even hear about the Borg... I just... I can't keep it up! I'm so sorry you have to see this, so sorry that being with me will mean being with all this."

"Shhhh...." Mika petted James head, the other hand forcing his chin to raise up. Though he tried to avert his eyes, he looked up at Mika and saw that same loving, caring smile he so predicted. He almost wished for content, rather than try her patience with his traumas, so that she would go away and not see it again, but it was not the case. Her eyes held no fear. "I am not worried about what you will do to me, my dear. I know you will not intentionally cause me harm, but I am worried about you. If you keep this pain to yourself, you will hurt people around you and you will harm yourself more."

"And if I keep it to myself?"

"Shhhhh..." Soothed Mika, "Do not. You are not weak in front of me."

"Heh..." James chuckled as a hot, salty tear ran down his cheek. The laughter came hesitantly, but it was there. It was a funny thought to him, to think that the person he could reveal his weaknesses too, with him being so concerned about his image, didn't care a wit what he looked like or how he presented himself. It almost made his stony silence for the entire mishap seem a comically wasted effort.

"You forgive so much from me. I don't deserve you." James said.

It was Mika's turn to laugh, "You flatter me too much, dear James."

He let himself go from Mika's lap, and felt oddly refreshed, even joyful. The fear and dread that came with his thoughts about the Borg were still there, and like a frightened child he took baby steps towards it, shied away when it got too strong to take. The problem existed, he still had an assignment to do, and he was still afraid.

Somehow, the fear seemed not too big to take on. Being so scared seemed so absurd.

"My god..." James guffawed, "It's just one freakin' borg, and it's on our side! I can do this assignment. What am I so afraid of?"

Mika had her all knowing smile put away in reserve. When it did come out, it was as if she was a sage observing her student make his first revelation, and she was pleased by his progress. "You should not be distracted by this fear."

James said, "It is still there. I'm scared shitless of being near that Borg."

Mika counterargued, "But you know it is there. You acknowledge it. That is enough. The rest... leave to the two of us. Just know that I'm not scared. Is that enough?"

James had to think about what she said, and answered, "I think so. Yes. Are you sure you won't mind me waking you up in the middle of the night when I scream?"

She answered with a shrug.

He clapped his hands together. "I really should get back to work. I still have to figure out how to rescue a Borg drone, but the more I look into it, the more I realize that I spent too many years hating them and not enough years studying them! There is so little I know about the Borg aside from how to take one down, and going through these technical manuals isn't helping me. Damn... I used to have such a technical mind and yet looking through all this theory turns my brain into mush. What the hell am I supposed to do with it?"

Mika said matter of factly, "Ask an expert."

The suggestion went off like a current of electricity to his temple. "Wait... OF COURSE!" He slapped his forehead, "Why didn't I..."

"You also tend to have too much pride." Said Mika.

"Eh?!"

"Just like your problems with the Borg, you have a hard time admitting when you need help." Mika remarked, "But I am afraid you know more about the Borg than I do. I was never high ranked enough to deal diplomatically with the Borg... and trust me, the Federation Diplomatic Corp did even before the last encounter..."

"What the... they did?"

"Of course we did!" Mika closed her eyes and tilted her head peculiarly, executing her piece of information so casually it might as well been a talk over coffee and biscuits, "And I will tell you the stories of how the FDC could have ended the Dominion War a year ahead of schedule. But for now, you need an expert, and I just so happen to know one."

"Oh yeah?" James perked up his interest, "Who?"

"I so happened to meet these people during a reception." Mika narrated, "They arrived from a deep space voyage, a dangerous one at that, and this person encountered the Borg on many occasions. When I was Ordos' assistant, he joined many such receptions, and I was able to meet many well known personalities. However... I forget her name. It was Scandinavian Terran, and her friend was some sort of Native American. I think it was... Sven?"

"That's a guy's name." James corrected her.

"Wait..." Mika pursed her lips, a finger on its tip, trying to remember, "No, that was her other name. She used it more, but I liked her human name better. It was... Annika. Annika Hansen, and her companion was Chakotay. Facinating those people, they were on a ship named Voyager... though it was a little under the press because of all the post war reconstruction..."

"Hold it!" James mind snapped to attention, "Did you just say... Voyager?"

Mika nodded her head, "Mmmm hmmmm. What of it?"

"As in the USS Voyager. Intrepid Class."

"Yes."

"The USS Voyager."

"Yes." At this point, she was being very patient.

"As in the USS Voyager that had more first contacts, more milage on its warp engine, more freak accidents, more photon torpedoes expended than any other ship, more shuttles destroyed than her own freakin' compliment, more of everything that makes our jobs much more interesting and therefore outpaces every other ship in terms of accomplishments from the birth of the Federation until well into the future?"

"Yes."

"And you knew people from this ship, heard their stories, and got to meet them. Not only that, you got to meet the Federation's foremost Borg expert and her husband to be."

"Yes. Dear James, what are you getting at?"

At that, James jaw began to drop when he realized the extent of her connections. "You know a couple of crewmen from the USS Voyager?! Why didn't you tell me?!"

Mika shrugged, "Escaped my mind."

"Something like that doesn't just escape one's mind! That is amazing Mika! You know one of the few humans in the Galaxy that was rescued from the Borg and two heroes of the Federation that survived going from one end of the galaxy to the next and it just escaped your mind?!?!"

Mika nodded her head, "Yes. In my former work, my master and I met so many celebrities that they tend to blur. Tee hee... I am so sorry."

"I wish I was so cursed...." James lamented.

"You will be if you stay with me, my love. Now listen to my story, or you will not get your precious clue. During my time at that reception, I did get to hear their stories. Late during the reception, I was able to talk to the couple, and I had the nerve to ask her about how she gained her knowledge. Being lightheaded on synthahol... you have never seen a person so easily inebriated by the substance... she told me about how the Borg gave her access to all her knowledge via the collective consciousness. It was in such dry and clinical terms though. A girl with a body I would be envious of and yet so matter of factly and dry she could not help but drive men away..."

"Mika... you're digressing."

"James! There, that's better. She told me how Borgs were linked together through collective consciousness, enchanced by transceiver nodes implanted directly to her brain! A most amazing, if ghoulish proceedure. She was long disconnected from the collective, but some of her internal cybernetic hardware and her own gray matter was able to retain a majority of the knowledge needed for her job as a terciary adjunct in Unimatrix Zero Zero One. She was a diplomat... the closest thing to a diplomat the Borg has anyways, which meant she was the one telling alien species that they were to be assimilated when the Queen couldn't be bothered to do it, and she worked next to the main Borg Queen herself and that left her with so much knowledge. Oh... digressing again?"

James shook her head. He was finding her story to be very interesting.

"Well, she talked about a cortical node. Appearantly they do not use subspace technology. It is quantum space technology of some sort. What takes days with subspace they can do with quantum technology in seconds. And best yet, the Federation knows something of this technology. She said we were years from making any use of it, but we can still find it. Isn't that amazing?"

James grabbed Mika by the shoulders and kissed her full force on the lips. Her eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets, so surprised she was. James pulled out a second later, leaving her with the second shock of not being able to melt into the kiss.

"You, my beloved Mika, are the most intelligent woman in the universe!" James declared, "The cortical node! That's not a rescue plan, but it's a start!"

"Wait... what?" Mika said, dazed.

"Mika! I can track Three of Five with the goddamn cortical node! She has to still be sending signals to the collective! So why the hell don't I try to track that?!?!"

Mika slid out of her chair and backed away. "Glad I can help."

"Baby, if you have any more ephithanies, please don't hesitate to call. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" James dove into his work, his fingers flying on his LCARS screen, trying as fast as they could to download Borg schematics.

With her all knowing smile, Mika slunk away.

"~My work here is done."~

"The Feeling"

First Lieutenant Steven Jonas

**** The Planet's Surface ****

"Beckett, take you team over that ridge." Steven called out over the comm. "Scan the area and report back. Second Squad will be on your left flank."

The landing had gone relatively smoothly and the team was now spread out, heading towards the last know location of what was once a space faring ship. The going was hampered by the need to use environmental suits, though Second Platoon had made great progress covering their area of operations.

"Private Talker, and word from First Platoon?" Steven asked as he turned to look at the young signal operator.

"Negative, sir." she replied as she shook her head. "There is some sort of strange interference coming from the canyon walls. Once we get on top of it, I'll get better reception."

Steven nodded. Damn, where was First Platoon. They were supposed to rendezvous over twenty minutes ago. Yet Second had seen nothing at all from them.

Sighing, Steven began the way up the winding path towards the top of the canyon. "Move out" he said to the small contingent of Marines with him.

**** Two Hours Previous, Steven's Office ****

The call had just come in and the report, half written like it was, fell to the desk as Steven rose from his chair. The Marines were about to be deployed and he needed to put the rest of his gear on before assembling Second Platoon in the hanger bay.

Slipping the Armor over his shoulders, he pulled the strap tight. The armor felt better when snug. Others, he knew, liked the armor loose, yet Steven had always liked it to be snug against his body. Maybe he was weird. He didn't care though. The armor had gotten him through many battles in the past and he wasn't about to change his routine.

He picked up the helmet and plopped it on his head, leaving the straps unclasped, letting them dangle down around his face. With his pack in one hand, and his rifle in the other, he made his way towards the shuttle. It was time to deploy.

**** Now, The Planet's Surface ****

The terrain wasn't letting up as the made their way in a long staggered line towards the crash site. Smoke billowed up from the remnants of the ship, as creaking sounds filled the air. A buzzard, or similar creature, circled above, awaiting it's chance to get at the leftovers of the ship and the unfortunate people who hadn't survived.

Looking up into the sky, Steven wondered why he hadn't picked a quieter, safer profession. Something like his sister, Katrina. There wasn't any death and destruction as a teacher, just young students eager to learn. Yet here he was, surrounded by the wreckage and remains of crew members, with a bunch of people who likely felt the same right about now.

Checking the oxygen levels in his suit, which showed a lengthy supply still remaining, Steven waved at Beckett and her squad and directed them forwards, towards the ship. If anyone survived, they were likely going to need help.

**** One Hour and Forty Five Minutes Ago Marine Shuttlebay ****

The quick meeting with Bran and Lieutenant Baile over with, the last of the Marines had boarded the Hopper, leaving just Steven as the second to last one remaining. Baile was still outside. Reaching into the top of his armor, he tugged at the chain to his dog tags, freeing them from the confines on his gear. Reverently he held them in his trembling hand. Looking down, he saw the plain metal of the twin tags, identifying who he was. What interested him more than the tags, was the small platinum band that rested on the chain, the sign of his love for a woman no longer alive.

Faylin was always in his heart, and despite the night he had spent with Juliette, he knew in his heart that he was not likely to ever find what he briefly had with Fay again. Closing his eyes, he wondered if she was sitting up in Heaven with her daughter Olivia, looking down upon him.

Lifting the ring to his lips, he gently kissed it. "I doubt I'm going to survive this mission, so I'll be seeing you soon, my love." he said quietly, before stuffing the chain back under his vest, and stepping onto the transport. He was going into a possible combat situation, and he had a feeling that something bad was going to happen. As long as no one else was hurt in whatever was to come, he had no qualms about losing his life in the line of duty. At least now that Faylin had passed on, anyway.

He stepped up the small ramp into the Hopper, letting Baile be the last to board the ship. Within a minute the engines roared to life and the Marines were on their way.

"Achilles "

Major (Commander? :D) Corran "Achilles" Rex, CAG, Vanguard Leader

----------------- USS Galaxy Flight Deck ----------------

There were times, Corran Rex mused, when he felt as if he didn't know at all what was going on in the universe. He'd sat through the briefing, true, and knew that somehow the Drone that had been kidnapped from Starfleet Command had ended up here in the Barzan system.

The Barzans, of course, were a neutral, minor power, most noted for the almost-stable wormhole they'd been shopping around awhile back. But beyond that, he was only peripherally aware of anything else.

But Corran had become ever more preoccupied and self-absorbed of late. His regular physical training sessions with Victor had stopped - his friend was

progressing along nicely in his relationship with Angel, he knew, and their interactions had become a casualty of that. Not that he could really blame Victor - he'd made very little effort to change things.

Ella was back in his life, but not as she had been. She was now one of his pilots, and the friendship was long gone out of their relationship, leaving nothing more than a bitterly formal working relationship.

Other than one encounter with 8-Ball, he hadn't had an off-duty encounter (of the sexual or of the purely social kind) in nearly a month, ever since the dalliance with the now-deceased JAG Officer.

He wasn't sure anyone had noticed, except maybe PAD, who he hadn't seen off-watch either.

In short, he was without an anchor.

What this really meant, then, that what was taking up all of Corran Rex's time was none other than himself. Every day he remembered more and more of his previous lives, and he'd begun to harden in ways he couldn't describe as one particular aspect of the never-ending facets started to ring truer and truer in himself.

That of the warrior. Increasingly, he'd been recreating holodeck scenarios, reliving memories - and in those, it seemed, were forty lifetimes of war and strife, murder and blood, justice and injustice.

Someone had noticed what he was doing, it seemed - PAD or Teyri were the most likely candidates, as he interacted more with them than any of the squadron.

He knew this because, today, when he'd come to his fighter, the stenciled call sign under his cockpit had been changed. Instead of MAJ. CORRAN "CASANOVA" REX, CAG; it now read: MAJ. CORRAN "ACHILLES" REX, CAG.

"Achilles." he said quietly to himself, running a hand over the hull. He knew the story of the famous Grecian warrior - the Iliad was required reading at the Academy. He nodded in approval for a moment, and then took his place.

----------------- Barzan Space Vanguard One ----------------

"Allright, all Vanguards and Sabres, this is Achilles. form up on me. Double Diamond formation." Corran tersely issued the order over the comm. "We're to interdict the lead light cruiser. Hopefully they'll play things smart."

A dozen Barzan fighters were on approach, with a couple light cruisers and a tin-can (destroyer) or two for effect.

Didn't look like they intended to play things smart.

Not that that meant much, really. The Barzan's technology was so inferior to the Federation that the thought they could take on the Galaxy was laughable.

["Are they stupid?"] one of the new kids in the squadron said in clear astonishment.

"Quiet down, " Rex reprimanded over the squadron comm. "And yes, it looks like." He couldn't keep the regret out of his voice. "Vanguards, engage the fighter screen. Go for disabling shots. Sabres, you're on the tin-cans - same thing. Then we'll move on the cruisers."

It was a good plan - Galaxy was going after the larger threats right now, as it was. His fighters moved in, quick and deadly. Most of their shots disabled the enemy craft, but it soon became clear someone had substantially upgraded the Barzan's equipment to a technological parity with the Federation's own.

Then one of his pilots craft was blown apart - Corran's heart jumped for a moment before he saw Ten's transponder still active - and he exhaled before coming Ella to make the pickup from her SAR Runabout.

The Trill's eyes hardened. So much for taking it easy, he thought for just a moment, and when his voice broke the squadron comm again, there was an undeniable ice to it. "CAG to all fighters. Weapons free."

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

Later

Corran shook his head as he saw the plume of plasma ejecting itself from the Galaxy's port nacelle. He didn't know how the Barzans had done it, but they wouldn't be doing it again. Their fighters were incapacitated, the destroyers disabled, and two cruisers had been forced to evacuate all hands to life pods.

The final cruiser - the one, unfortunately, that Corgan and his people had been aboard - had broken up, parts of it crashing to the surface.

As the Runabout carrying Elessidil's away team - the one that was going after the first - departed Galaxy, Corran toggled his comm again. "Sabre Leader, take your first flight, and give the Commander an escort."

["Roger that."] came the quick reply, and Sabres One through Four peeled off to flank the craft.

Now that the flurry of battle was over, all Corran and his people could do now was wait for further orders.

The Warrior in him - or the hunter, the killer, the wolf, whatever it was that had been there all his lives... could hardly wait.

"Spotted Vendetta, part 3 - The Idea"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

It was difficult to keep track of the time. Most if it, Saul was awake, with his face to the wall, while McCauley was minding his own in his narrow and grimy chamber. On several occasions, he drugged Saul with chloroform; Saul had to assume that in these periods of unconsciousness, McCauley was either gone or asleep. There was no indication as for how long these periods lasted, since the light remained constantly dim and sickly. Saul had to settle for counting the meals he was given, as a way to measure the passage of time.

He took advantage of the time to identify all the possible ways he could use to escape. Most of them would only be usable if McCauley clears the scene, or is otherwise disabled. The man was twice as old as Saul, but the intelligence chief never trusted his physical strength. He won't beat McCauley with his hands tied without his back; In fact he wasn't sure that he would beat McCauley with the elder renegade's arms tied behind HIS back. That aside, Saul still waited for the man to make his move.

Six meals after he was captured, the decision seemed to have fallen.

"I've got it, but it'll never work."

McCauley knelt next to Saul, and the bound intelligence chief noted a faint smell of alcohol. The pile of empty bottles in the corner remained at the same size, so Saul assumed that McCauley was taking it easy on the booze; The fact that the man was sober nowadays was one of the reasons he decided to try and persuade McCauley to join his cause,.

"What is it?", Saul asked.

"I told you I left the Akula before it reached Trill."

"Obviously." The man probably wasn't on board when the cursed vessel crashed into the capital. Saul scouted the wreckage. There were no survivors.

"Now, whoever took over the ship had to override the main bridge controls. I don't think that there was a full blown mutiny, because when they tried to recruit me they told me I'll be working alone, the bastards."

Saul's face remained blank.

"Now, Operations had a full systems sweep going once a day. So either it was disabled or the actual takeover took place after that sweep and within a day's scope. What I'm saying is, boy--."

McCauley paused. It wasn't a dramatic pause, since he used it to burp. "What I'm saying is, I took off far before that. I was not on the ship when the final sweep took place, and so I couldn't possibly have taken over the ship since it needed to be done within 24 hours before the crash. So if you had the black box or something, you could check and see that the last system check noted that escape pod 57 does not return telemetry. That was how I escaped."

"Excellent." Saul said dryly.

"So now we'll just need to get the black box somehow, and you'll have your evidence. Not that I see how it will help. But at least you'll know."

"We found the jell packs." Saul told him. "We even managed to restore some of them. The information is there."

"Splendid." McCauley nodded. "Give me a generic access code, and I'll get it."

"I don't think so." Saul grimaced. "Let me enter the system, and I'll get it. I am not going to had a generic access code to someone who is not in active duty." Let alone a renegade which is potentially responsible for the death of thousands.

McCauley threw his head backward. "Ha! I don't think so either, boy. Even if you won't alert station security yourself, they'll probably pick up your entry into the system and we'll have this place swarming with 'men of the law'."

"True." Saul shrugged. It was not his intention. "So just get someone else to get into the system and retrieve the data."

"What?"

Saul rubbed his shoulder against the wall. Being tied up was itching. "Get - someone - else - to - get -into - the -system."

"Are you proposing that I'll rent a hacker to break into Starfleet's databases or something, boy?"

"Got any other solution?"

McCauley's eyes widened. "What kind of Starfleet Officer ARE you?"

Probably not the dumb, pompous and self righteous type you took me for, Saul thought. He let a sly grin on his face.

McCauley snickered. "Got any recommendations?"

"You won't take them anyway, you'll think I'm directing you to some SFI agent. But there are three or four good-enough fellows on the lower decks. And if you come around Harsonsky, tell him that he was recommended by good pals of his. Use the word 'pals'. It'll spare you some credits."

"That's another painful issue." McCauley's voice trailed.

"If I'm convinced, I'll pay you back. Don't let that stall you."

McCauley's lips moved again, but he decided against saying anything coherent. Instead, he muttered some curses, and strolled to the other room. When he return, Saul disdainfully noticed that handkerchief in his hand. Soon, he was too sleepy to be disdainful.

He dreamt of Nara.

"Search and Rescue" -- pt. 2

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 (NPC, Oded)
Tactical Analyst / Military Intelligence

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

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

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."

Miquelan let the remainder of the group go ahead of him, noting that the Analyst had a peevish grin on her face as she passed him. He accepted the proffered respiratory device from the crewman in the runabout handing them out. He took a field first aid kit and strapped it to his belt with a hand phaser and a field knife; it might come in handy.

As most everything she did, she did what was necessary and without ceremony. The equipment gathered and the gear she had to wear was secured. Her face didn't show the discomfort she felt from wearing it. She passed through the door and glanced about to familiarize herself with the surroundings. Situational awareness was something she learned from a Marine boyfriend she had once. She put what she knew of it into practice

Vortas shouldered his rifle, did a quick check to make sure his tricorder was functioning properly, and then nodded and walked on to the runabout. Vortas wasn't a talker to begin with, much less so when things were serious. The problem for him in missions like this was that in his line of work he couldn't trust anyone completely and mission like this required complete trust. Hence why he usually stayed safely behind the closed doors in intel.

Miquelan moved to the front of the ship. As the Tactical officer on mission he was to take responsibility for the weapons and defense of the ship during the landing. For all he knew, there were a dozen Barzan support fighters on their way to the crash site themselves. He intended on being ready. He found the phaser banks fully charged, torpedo bays at capacity.

Yeah, they were ready for a fight.

Completing the standard round of pre-flight checks from the pilot's seat, Elessidil closed the hatch once everyone had entered. "This may not be a smooth ride," he warned. "We'll be moving faster than we otherwise would to hasten our arrival and to minimize our chances of being spotted." A moment later, after receiving clearance to embark, the shuttle was on its way.

And smooth ride, it was not. The accelerated speed made for bumpy as hell, which was especially fun due to the sheer amount of weapons on board. ~It's like flying in a little vessel of death~ Tess thought idly to herself, and took a moment to look at everyone around her.

Tess had been on some away missions that were like frat parties, or what she assumed a frat party might be like with a mission and a gun. Everybody joking, everybody laughing. It was just a way to loosen some of that natural tension. This one, however, was nothing like those; this was a quiet one, everyone intent, everyone silent. Tess wasn't exactly a chatterbox herself, but this silence seemed uneasy, or maybe just to her.

She leaned slightly in the direction of the only other Asian girl on the trip. "Tess Cho, Security," she offered quietly. "You volunteer, or get drafted?"

The lieutenant, she noticed upon a closer look, was very tense. She sat huddled on corner of the rear bench, hugging her legs close to her chest.

The usually cheerful face looked somewhat miserable presently.

Two moist hazel eyes peeked at Cho. "Hi. I'm Nyoko Yuuri. Um, Tactical. No, I didn't volunteer."

Tess nodded, not particularly surprised. She wouldn't want to say that the Tactical officer looked petrified. . .but anxious, nervous, and unhappy all seemed to be fitting. She tried to think of something to say but Nyoko hadn't left her terribly much to work with, and everybody else seemed to be content with being quiet. The ship rocked again and Tess gave up with conversation. Soon enough, she was sure, there would be things to talk about.

The first few minutes of the trip went as well as could be expected, but a few bleeps from the flight console changed that. "We're picking up some kind of vessel, not very big but headed this way," Elessidil reported. "Ensign Dar'ce, can you identify it?" If it was a Barzan fighter or something like that, Brian wasn't too worried. He was fairly certain they could evade it with the runabout's superior engines and design. It was something else that concerned him . . . . "And the sooner the better; once we start entering the atmosphere, our sensors are going to become increasingly limited."

Emma glanced over and thought a moment. Taking it upon herself, she watched the data flowing in.

Miquelan glanced at the scanners, and the readings seemed nominal. It was definitely a Barzan fighter, though the energy dispersal pattern was unusually dense. The ensign, after adjusting the higher subspace band, knew what the problem was.

"Commander, the Barzan fighter is actually two. They are flying in extremely tight formation. One night not be a problem, but if they can flank us, we may have to make a run for it." Ensign Dar'ce did some calculations in his head. "If we can modify a torpedo blast to a subspace dispersal pattern similar to their energy signature, we may be able to disable them both with one shot."

"On it," Emma said as she was already tapping at the console. "I'll have it in roughly three minutes."

"Wait."

Emma stopped and looked over.

Nyoko forced her shaky feet to traverse the short path to the front of the shuttle, and was now standing right behind Miquelan.

"If we slow down to enter a furball and the first shot won't have the desired effect, they'll outmaneuver us and kill us." Her voice sounded somewhat detached. "I suggest we proceed full speed ahead. If I identified craft the design correctly, their atmosphere reentry time is much longer than ours. Enter Barzan's atmosphere, and we'll lose them."

Elessidil greatly preferred the lieutenant's suggestion to try to loose the fighters instead of taking them on in a direct fight. That would only delay their arrival on the planet even longer and time wasn't unlimited. The marines were certainly already there, and who knew what condition the others were in.

"Adjusting our trajectory to take us into the atmosphere," Brian announced. "Hang on...it may get a little rough and a little warm in here."

Again, the console beeped, but this time the news was welcome.

"Fighters -- ours. Ensign," he said, glancing again to Dar'ce, "inform them of what we're about to do. We'll let them handle our not-so-welcoming friends." A small grin formed on Brian's lips as a welcome wave of relief settled over him. "We couldn't have asked for better timing, gentlemen," he said quietly of the escort they'd thankfully received.

"The Noose" - Part Three

Lt. Ella Grey, SAR pilot

Pilot Naveen Ordellan

****

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

That had been his request, other than the money, of course. It wasn't sadism on his part, Daro merely believed in the whole 'eye for an eye, nothing is free' bit.

My mouth opened and closed and I could feel more tears coming.

"You can't ask for a man's life without giving something in return." Daro reminded me gently.

I looked at him, if only to have to avoid looking at the man that I was killing.

He looked right back. "You watch or it ends."

I finally looked at the man bound to the chair and I looked for awhile. I knew that he was a monster and if our positions were reversed that he wouldn't show any pity for me.

Because he hadn't before ...

****

Barzan jungle
SAR crashed runabout

"I just want you to know," Ella huffed as she dragged the unconscious body of the Vanguard across the shuttle. "That ... this goes ... well above and beyond my job description."

Well actually, it didn't. Not when part of your job title included the word "rescue." But dragging two hundred lbs of solid male, especially when your own body was trying to recover from the whole post-crash process, was enough to make anyone cranky. And to top it all off, she just *knew* that if Angie, the wonder Vanguard, were here that the Caitian would have been able to sling Ordellan on her back, traipse about the jungle, breathe deeply of its poisonous atmosphere, and then find two sticks to rub together to signal Galaxy for a pick-up.

Or something wonderful like that.

Ella reached her target spot, which frankly was anywhere away from whatever was hissing in the corner, and then dropped to the ground beside the pilot.

"No more happy meals for you, my friend," She told him as checked his pulse yet again. It was still weak and irregular but it was also still beating. So she had still technically saved him.

Ella looked around her, took in wrecked ship, thought about the dense foliage that she'd caught a glimpse of, and sighed. "In fact, it could be strictly vegetarian for both of us if the MRE's got fried."

What Ella wanted to do was lie on the floor like her conscious-challenged friend and wait for help to come but either common sense or Starfleet training had kicked in to volunteer that this was probably a bad idea. Their only shelter, not to mention their only (hopefully intact) homing beacon, might be on the brink of a big bang, and who better to make sure that their only shelter wasn't combustible than an ex-engineer?

"Had to pick Starfleet," She muttered. Pulling herself off the ground was actually easier than she thought it would be but her body made various popping sounds that couldn't have been healthy. "Couldn't wake up one day in the hospital and write 'Mom, I want to be a cosmetologist.' No, that's just not ambitious enough .. what the hell?"

Her ranting had been cut off by the sight of something rapidly descending in the sky, something that looked a lot bigger than your average shooting star. For a moment, Ella wondered if she should dive for cover before she realized that the Barzan ship was several miles away.

Plus there was nowhere in the shuttle for her to really dive under anyway.

"Huh," Ella said. "Hope we at least got the drone first."

"What did he do to you before?" The Vanguard said from out of nowhere.

"Countdown to Piracy" Part 2

a.k.a. "Flashback City"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO, USS Galaxy

********** 0533 hours **********

Iniara realized quickly enough that, at 0430 in the morning, most stations were pretty much equally boring. At this time of day, anyone she was likely to encounter was either working, drunk, or of a species with less than average rest requirements. Or a combination of the three.

She'd encountered her fair share of Delta Shift personnel, most of them ratings or junior officers, scurrying to and fro. Many of them had stopped barely long enough to acknowledge her presence, the trio of pips on her collar apparently failing to impress. Then again, Olivia Proctor ran a tight ship (so to speak); her minions may or may not have been too afraid to slow down. They might have been worried that the Admiral would somehow swoop down and tear at them with her bloodthirsty maw, talons ripping into the soft flesh of their backs as she screeched at them to stop dawdling and get back to work. One never knew.

Iniara couldn't help but laugh at that mental picture.

She'd encountered a group of drunken revelers on one of the Promenade's lower levels soon after. Four Klingons and two Andorians, all apparently male (though she could never tell with the Andorians), all quite large. They were singing in what sounded like slurred Klingon-- some old battle song, no doubt-- and she quickly stepped aside to let them pass.

Moments later a lone ensign trotted past, still mostly in uniform, shouting at the group in slurred Standard. Iniara chuckled to herself and moved on. What she had caught of the ensign's surface thoughts had told her he was more drunk than he looked. Shouting erupted behind her, but was quickly replaced by rough, drunken laughter. She briefly wondered if she should intervene; perhaps the ensign didn't know what he was getting himself into.

Not worth it, she decided after a moment. ~He's an adult; he'll figure it out.~ Besides, she had no desire to take on six drunken male warriors. That would certainly disqualify her for the upcoming mission, no doubt due to loss of life or limb...or both.

After a long pause she mumbled to herself, "I certainly hope he's not on duty."

A lift presented itself after a few more minutes of walking and she boarded, on a whim taking it to its highest point. Continuing down the gently curving corridor, Iniara soon realized she had the area to herself. The corridor was rather dim, no doubt owing to its general disuse as much as the time of day. Narrow doors were spaced every twenty meters or so; intersecting corridors appeared half as often as the doors. Shafts of light streaked erratically across the walls, no doubt being reflected from some of the cross corridors. The whole area looked very unused...and uncomfortably familiar.

She suddenly felt very alone.

A chill ran up her spine and she stumbled sideways, putting a hand out to steady herself. Her eyes focused on the shadowed wall and she recoiled in horror, cradling her hand as if it had been burned.

"Prophets..." she breathed, fear creeping in around the edges of her voice. The wall was covered in blood.

Staggering backwards, Iniara raised the hand to her face, still disbelieving even as she smeared the thick crimson and purple liquid between her digits. Behind her, someone screamed.

She ran.

Lights flickered erratically as she dashed down the curved hallway, throwing strange shadows and reflections across the stained walls. Terror filled her and she fought the urge to scream as she realized that the blood was everywhere. Splashed against walls, pooling on the floor, smeared in places by humanoid hands. Some of it had even made it onto the ceiling; where it was thick enough it dripped down like long, liquid stalactites.

"Kyrialo..."

The sudden low moan stopped Iniara in her tracks. She slipped on the slick floor, almost losing her balance. Grabbing for the wall she froze, hoping to hear the voice again. Her blood thudded loudly in her ears, nearly drowning out everything else. After several seconds the moan repeated: "Kyrialo..."

Kyrialo meant 'demon' in Old Betazoid, that much she remembered. But here? ~*How?*~ she asked, reaching out telepathically, searching for another of her kind. ~*Why here? Why now?*~

Something brushed her ankle and she jumped, covering her mouth with her hands to stifle the rising scream. At her feet, one arm seeming to reach towards her, lay a humanoid torso bathed in dark, almost black blood. Twisted intestines lay in a tangled mess behind it and the legs were nowhere to be found. Maybe someone had dragged it here. Maybe it had dragged itself...

The arm twitched suddenly, fingers scratching at the floor. "Kyrialo...kata...kyrialo..." Iniara watched in horror as the torso lifted its head, eyes fixed directly on her. Black eyes, she saw. Betazoid eyes.

No, not black eyes. Bile suddenly filled her mouth as she realized the truth-- the man had no eyes, only empty sockets where the eyes should have been. "Kyrialo..." he echoed once more, congealed blood spilling from his lips, spattering her bare feet and legs.

This time, she couldn't stop the scream. It tore its way out of her lungs, spilling from her lips, dashing itself against the walls and becoming one with the filth. And from somewhere behind her, someone echoed the sentiment.

This time, she ran as fast as her feet would carry her.

Sliding left through an intersection Iniara began to run towards the center of the station. Here it was brighter, here the walls were cleaner. The floors were normal. No pools of blood. No dying torsos.

She continued to run, the light getting brighter, brighter. And then, when it had become almost too much to bear, the hallway abruptly emptied onto a large balcony overlooking a cavernous room. She ran headlong into the metal railing separating safe space from a dreadful fall, the impact forcing an 'oof' from her.

The light was everywhere, and it was alive. Her jaw dropped as she spun around, suddenly mesmerized by the wisps of color drifting all around her. Faces appeared in the fog: beautiful, smiling faces; voices calling out to her; hands reaching, beckoning; all drifting upwards.

Far above her head the ceiling opened to the sky, starlight filtering in and mingling with the colored fog. A black sun rose to her left, the fog spiraling upwards to meet it. The voices, before a jumble of independent sounds, now formed into a single chorus. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

A face appeared in the fog: nearly cherubic, its pink flesh freckled with brown at the temples. "Come, come," the boy called out to her, a fleshy hand and arm reaching out for her. ~*Taru has awakened. Come, come,*~ he repeated with his mind, drifting ever higher, fading slowly from view.

Iniara felt herself step forward, felt the smoothness of the railing pressing once more into her abdomen. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she lifted her arms to the sky, basking in the glorious light. She could be with them forever. Forever bathed in the light of the black sun, forever in the warm embrace of Taru. All she had to do was fly. All she had to do was fly. All she had to do...

She closed her eyes and leaned forward.

"Station Operations to Lieutenant Commander Tarin."

Reality came rushing back, filling her thoughts with an almost audible noise. Iniara teetered for a brief second before awkwardly grabbing at the railing before her, her palms smacking loudly against the smooth metal surface. Twelve decks below, a trio of gardeners were busy trimming the grass that covered the Promenade floor.

Suddenly dizzy, Iniara shoved at the railing, stumbling as the force pushed her backward, back into the safe space. "Tarin here. Go ahead," she replied automatically, rubbing unconsciously at a tender spot on her stomach.

"Commander, the Backbroken's Reward has arrived. You wished to be notified."

"Yes, I did. On my way. Tarin out."

Tapping her commbadge to close the channel, she wasn't at all surprised to see her hand come away shaking.

"Only Human" Part 1

(Backpost)

Commander Brian Elessidil
Assistant Chief Counselor

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

USS Galaxy - Counseling Offices Area

---

Raynor walked very unceremoniously into the counseling offices looking for his counselor. Madden's departure from his body had changed something within him... he felt a need to talk... which was odd because he never really had felt that need in a long time. To talk about his past. About who he was and all that other bullshit that he had avoided doing for a long time.

He turned the corner hoping to find Brian... for once. He was not disappointed to see him there... for once.

"Lieutenant Raynor," the counselor exclaimed with some surprise, stopping short enough to only barely avoid a collision. It wasn't unusual for the taciturn Intel officer not to show up even when he had an appointment; seeing him in the counseling suite without one was completely unprecedented. "We don't usually see you around these parts." Brian paused for a second before continuing. This may have been the Lt. Zev Raynor he'd known for some months now, but he already felt different to the Betazoid's acute empathic sense. "Is there...something I can do for you?"

"Well I don't know..." Raynor said with an amount of sarcasm that just fell short of breaking the universal record for sarcasm set in 2257 by one Greg Smith. "Just came back from a little POW experience... which is sort of like a vacation... in an enemy holding cell... with torture sessions... and bad food... to find out I had been declared KIA... which means you didn't really miss me that much... and now I have a newer organ in my chest... which I spent 12 hours in sickbay getting checked out... and oh yes before I forget... I went through one of those pesky life altering experiences... and am now without my other personality who was so much more charming than I am... So... there might be something you can do for me... but I just can't think of it... you know?"

It would have been a bit of a stretch for Brian to say he did know exactly what he could do for him at the moment, not for lack of knowledge, but because there was simply so much. He'd had some serious briefings with Karyn following his session with Raynor in the brig, but the Romulan battles soon intervened, effectively ending further discussion about the issue. If, as Raynor claimed, he no longer had the alternate personality Brian had encountered with him before, then the whole issue was much moot. But there seemed no shortage of other issues to fill any void.

"Seems then like we have a lot to talk about," the counselor replied, ignoring the sarcasm, "including, in and of itself, your interest in talking. Shall we, then?" he inquired, gesturing toward his office.

"So, Zev," Brian said as they left the common area of the counseling suite for the privacy of his office, "Madden may have done you a favor by departing. Starfleet doesn't generally like its officers to have uncontrolled multiple personalities."

"Funny... I felt so welcome here before..." Raynor grinned. "But he simply left my body for one which didn't possess a consciousness yet, using Dithparu energy to do the whole transfer into a clone. Stranger still the Hydrans managed to clone me... but the clone doesn't look like me. I know were the same genetically, but we don't look it physically. It was weird looking at him, only knowing what he was thinking from experience and not from being able to sense it. I feel very different with him gone... like a part of me is missing, yet at the same time a discovered something within me that I didn't know existed, or I forgot existed maybe... it's hard to describe..."

"Maybe it's similar to losing a sense and having the others compensate for it," Brian suggested. "For better or worse, for a long time you've had Madden to listen to, to accompany you. Now it's just you. Zev. Seems to make a lot of sense that you'd start discovering aspects of yourself that you didn't know about when he was there."

Brilliant... Zev could have never deduced that himself... Raynor wondered why he was talking to him again... but then again maybe these guys were paid to state the obvious to total idiots in case they didn't realize it themselves. Of course he was polite enough not to say this out loud.

"Here's the real question... what part did Madden make up of my Psychology... if any..." Raynor asked.

"That's not an easy question to answer. What do you notice is most different now that he's gone?"

"That alot of people seem stupider than they did before..." Raynor replied in earnest. "I guess I feel it increasingly more difficult to remain positive..."

Madden or no Madden Zev Raynor obviously would always be Zev Raynor, Brian thought before asking "About?"

"My life, my decisions, about the way the world works... and other people... My past, my present, and my future here... in short I guess..."

"Madden made your outlook on all those things more positive?" the counselor asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Partly... he did a lot of other things, but when he hated something or looked on it negatively... I would try to reason out why that was from another perspective... most of the time I tried not to agree with him... out of habit I guess."

"Hm...so he was something of an 'anti-sounding-board'? Zev, was Madden with you as far back as you can remember?"

"Since about the time I was six... so pretty much..."

"So you've learned to do all the things most people figure out by adulthood -- things like self-reassurance, inner strength, for example -- having Madden with you all along. Now you have to learn how to do it alone. I can see why that would be challenging, even disorienting."

"Not quite alone... I can still 'talk' to the dead... I guess it's just a history thing..." Raynor replied, then stopped and thought for a second... could he still talk to the dead now that Madden was gone? He closed his eyes to check... yes... yes they were still there... but he wondered if that should be a relief to him...

"Zev?" Brian asked, observing the other man's action.

"Just checking if I could still hear the dead... now that he's gone... kind of avoided getting any psychological treatment because I thought he might be necessary in order to create this telepathic effect of being able to talk to the dead."

The Betazoid was curious. "How do you know you really are talking to the dead and not your own inner projections?"

"Because they know things that I don't... things that I could of never have gotten from anyone else but the dead person in question... knowledge that I didn't have before someone's death, I now possess. But I suppose it really comes down to the question of whether or not anyone can really tell the difference between a person... and what you think that person is..."

"Interesting hypothesis. Is it any dead person you can communicate with or just certain ones?"

"So far... the only one's I've been able to 'communicate' with are ones that have died within a certain proximity to myself..."

"And is it that they stay with you or that you've developed some kind of...bond?"

"They stay with me... I'm guess I'm just that charming," he joked.

"I'm sure that's it," Brian answered, grinning slightly. "So let's talk about your past, present and future. You said you were feeling a little less positive about them. Can you be a little more specific?"

"Only Human" Part 2

(Backpost)

Commander Brian Elessidil
Assistant Chief Counselor

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

USS Galaxy - Counseling Offices Area

---

The Betazoid was curious. "How do you know you really are talking to the dead and not your own inner projections?"

"Because they know things that I don't... things that I could of never have gotten from anyone else but the dead person in question... knowledge that I didn't have before someone's death, I now possess. But I suppose it really comes down to the question of whether or not anyone can really tell the difference between a person... and what you think that person is..."

"Interesting hypothesis. Is it any dead person you can communicate with or just certain ones?"

"So far... the only one's I've been able to 'communicate' with are ones that have died within a certain proximity to myself..."

"And is it that they stay with you or that you've developed some kind of...bond?"

"They stay with me... I'm guess I'm just that charming," he joked.

"I'm sure that's it," Brian answered, grinning slightly. "So let's talk about your past, present and future. You said you were feeling a little less positive about them. Can you be a little more specific?"

"I'll start with my past, seeing how that the easiest to explain..." Raynor started knowing he was going to be in for a long, long ride. "I was an accident, unwanted son of a whore, and a... 'Mercenary' Officer. Then soon after I was... 'recruited' into Project: 47.6 "Hybrid". I won't go into the particulars but let's just say when I was finally thrown out of the project fifty people had died... one had been brought back from death, several other attempts to resurrect any number of the other fifty with how should I put it... horrific results... until a Q showed up and this been and this organ of mine... kind of didn't exist anymore. All of that... by the time I was six years old. So I guess I kind of feel a little less positive about that. At least that's kind of the way I remember it... I mean I was only six at the time and you know those memories are kind of traumatic... Just kind of... you know."

Raynor paused to let that opening into his life sink in.

"Organ?" Brian queried. "I'm sorry, Zev, can you go back and fill some more of that in for me? What exactly happened?"

Raynor sighed... "Alright let's try again... the Hydrans have just put in a 'new' organ into my chest... thing is it's the second time I've had in here... first time I was born with it. This organ genetic history is believed to date back to ancient Greece, to a time when the Greek Gods were kicking around. Greek Gods which Kirk may have discovered were a bunch of hyped-up aliens with real powers. Greek Gods who were very kinky with a bunch of humans best apparently they just weren't satisfied with each other... and as such many half breeds resulted. I am a decedent of one such pairing... The only difference between me and the originals are that I don't need some external power source for my abilities... but what I can do is fairly limited... and if I use it too much I wear out quickly... or at least that's how I remember it... as I said I was six when my organ vanished..."

The counselor nodded slowly, putting these details together with Raynor's previous synopsis. "I see how the results of having that kind of ability could be unsettling at the very least. But you do understand that what happened in the past wasn't something you really had control over? I know that doesn't necessarily make the memories any easier to live with, but it can give you something to hold on to, something to ground your thinking in." Brian's tone was one of understanding, since he lived with similar thoughts and emotions following his experiences on the Pendragon and then, when he returned to the Galaxy, with the Dithparu. "And it seems to me that you're going to need a solid grounding if you potentially have to deal with having it again."

"My control over the organ is... or at least, was... precise, and it's something that works on will power alone so I really don't have to worry about it doing something accidentally. The 50 or so died because I was... angry. Sad. Lonely. Yearning for something. I was getting the standard unwanted child/living weapon treatment. When people looked at me... there was a look that you can't quite describe. It was like a cold glare, full of hate, it doesn't acknowledge your existence as anything worthy of love. It's like nothing you've ever felt. When you see it in everyone's eyes. Makes you want to do whatever it takes to make them stop. To make them acknowledge you as a person. And as long as I was... with my people... that never stopped. So I created Madden..."

"Control over the source of destructive power is one thing; control over the will to wield it is something else. How do you think you'd react today if you saw that same cold glare in someone's eyes? Right here, on this ship."

"I'm not sure... its one of the many reasons why I haven't told the people down in Sickbay any of this. Kinda waiting for them to figure it out on their own..." Raynor said simply.

Brian's look bordered somewhere between disapproval and nonchalance. "This is your issue, Zev, your responsibility. Whether you want to or not, you have to answer that question. Not necessarily here, to me, now, but for yourself. If you don't make a reasonable attempt to address your reactions before it's too late, you may only be setting yourself up for more regret. Do your really want that?"

"Yes Brian... I want more regret in my life... how did you know?" Raynor's sarcasm had reached a new high. Then seemingly forgetting about his surroundings, he began to roll up his sleeves and looked his wrists... and a good part of his forearms... old knife scars from childhood. Then suddenly without warning he took his com badge and tried to stab his arm. All of a sudden, a blue aura like a force field stopped him just short of harming himself.

"I won't lie... it's handy having this organ..." Raynor admitted. "But you know... it brings back a lot of unpleasantness. I won't say I'll be glad when it's gone, especially seeing as it's a handy weapon for an upcoming war... but I don't want to create another Madden... I'm not as weak as I was back then... but push the right buttons long enough... and who knows... you know..."

"Precisely my point," Elessidil replied, a little surprised but intrigued by the display he'd just witnessed. "You know what you could do under the right -- or wrong -- set of circumstances, ones that in the past have been directly related to your emotional state of mind. That's what I want to make sure we address. You have to be sure you're able to deal with how things affect you psychologically; otherwise, the result could be far less benign than what you just did now." Brian paused in thought for a moment. "Zev, I won't lie to you, it's my responsibility to ensure that the people aboard this ship are not only able to function, but can do so without causing harm to themselves or anyone else. You have a particularly dangerous ability; I have to know you're psychologically able to handle it."

"You call that benign? These force fields are reflexive... they can cause as much harm to me as much as they protect me. When I was born, the doctors were scared shitless, because they couldn't slap me on the ass. I had a smooth birth, but I didn't emerge from the womb crying. The aura you saw prevented them from doing just that. It wasn't until someone suggested friction burn to get me going. I won't even tell you how they did the umbilical cord," Raynor recounted.

"I'm telling you these little stories so that you will know whether or not I will be psychologically able to handle it or not as the case maybe. If I wanted to give you the short version I would just say that I had a dark, evil, demented childhood. But I have a notion that you may need a little more than that. But all you know right now from this discussion is my starting point, and the me you see right now... in between these two points is a journey and growth... stick around and you might be enlightened to the particulars..."

It was a typical Zev Raynor kind of response, and Brian was used to them. "I'm not going anywhere," he shrugged. "So go ahead, enlighten me."

"Only Human" Part 3

(Backpost)

Commander Brian Elessidil
Assistant Chief Counselor

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

USS Galaxy - Counseling Offices Area

---

"I'm telling you these little stories so that you will know whether or not I will be psychologically able to handle it or not as the case maybe. If I wanted to give you the short version I would just say that I had a dark, evil, demented childhood. But I have a notion that you may need a little more than that. But all you know right now from this discussion is my starting point, and the me you see right now... in between these two points is a journey and growth... stick around and you might be enlightened to the particulars..."

It was a typical Zev Raynor kind of response, and Brian was used to them. "I'm not going anywhere," he shrugged. "So go ahead, enlighten me."

"For the first six years of my life, I never experienced any real physical pain never bumping my head on the coffee... but I inflicted it on others... in training exercises... your basic human weapon training. After that I was released into a society that didn't trust me any farther than it could throw me. Cold eyes that wouldn't acknowledge my existence everywhere I looked for the longest time... except inside myself. Madden acknowledged me, and I in turn acknowledged him. This experience would lead me a unique ability among my people... I can sympathize with anyone; understand anyone, in ways that most people don't get... Jem'Hadar, Borg Drones even... I understand them and what it means to be them..."

Raynor paused, and closed his eyes... just losing himself to the thought for a moment... maybe this is why he took in a Jem'Hadar child... Maybe...

"Please, go on, Zev," Brian encouraged, knowing it was good for him to talk through it. The counselor was also genuinely interested in the whole story of how the very unique person in front of him came to be who he was.

"Soon after my release... I made a decision... to become a Ro-... a Warrior for my people... to have them to acknowledge me, through MY strength... not my organ's strength... and so I trained body, mind, and soul... HARD... I also had metaphysical training, something everyone single one of my people go through... Gives me the ability to sense things and effect subtle things to what I desire. My personal aura, for example... I can manipulate it... to go from nothing, to someone you believe you can trust in, to a cold murderer, to nothing again, without moving a muscle... but I digress... I worked so hard to be acknowledged, and finally after 16 years of being nothing more than a broken weapon... I finally got someone to recognize my existence... but that person was killed, by another's betrayal... and I was separated from people... to be found by your Federation as it were... here it was different... no one knew about what I was... my existence was acknowledged by everyone I saw... I didn't need Madden anymore... yet at the same time... it felt wrong to let him go... I don't know. Do you kill off someone just because you don't need them anymore? Is that right?"

"There are arguments for self-defense. Do you think you could have 'killed' Madden even if you wanted to? Do you think that's ultimately what happened?"

"Killed if I wanted to?" Raynor thought about it. "Probably. But that's not what happened... he left. And that's all there is to that... at least as far as I can tell. Madden, will probably come up with a new name for himself. He's of being some mental disease... he wants to prove his existence like I wanted to prove mine. Were kinda similar like that."

"I think I understand that in Madden's case, but what about you? What is it about your existence you want to prove? And to whom?"

"Originally it was to get people to stop disrespecting me..." Raynor explained. "To treat me like a person... when I was among my own people... but now... I'm not entirely sure. I guess I'm trying to hold on to what makes me human... because... and more and more... I get the feeling that I'm not human... and that's worrisome to me I guess..."

"As an outside observer, I can say you appear human, physically and otherwise. But I imagine your concern is rooted in something deeper?"

"No I don't appear human... at least not in the otherwise department..." Raynor began to explain. "Think about this for a moment... I'll start with the fact that I have the memories of thousands of dead guys within my mind... each set memories are full and complete, but from the first person perspective... I ask myself... how the hell am I maintaining my sanity? Let alone my sense of self. I'm like the anti-collective in a sense... instead of having billions of bodies and one voice... I have billions of voices and only one body. Yet... I remain... me. I've experienced traumas which should broken my mind and will in ways that I can't begin to describe. And that's before this most recent incident... now I feel like I could fade from existence at any moment... which is kinda true... you know... Apollo did it, and that's kind of where this organ came from... so you know... and then there's the whole bringing someone back from beyond the grave thing... which is a trip in itself... the fact that I'm not a psychotic raving maniac who foams at the mouth... is a sign that I may not be as human as I appear..."

"But you said it yourself -- you remain you. There's no question that you're different, Zev, even unusual in many respects, and there are a lot of unanswered questions about how you are who you are. But why do you seem so determined to convince yourself or me or anyone else that you're not human? You think, you feel, you're self-aware, you have a mind and a body that function on a daily basis... what else is required?"

"A complete soul... or spirit... or whatever you want to call that quality that no one can really describe properly. Do I have one... or am I just a living tool... a weapon... that's gone horribly wrong?" Raynor asked seriously, before making the joke... "Plus it is kinda of the reason I've stayed a virgin this long."

"Heh...I can't speak to the second part of that," Brian replied with a smirk. "But I think the fact that you're even asking the question proves just how human you are. Philosophers, theologians, psychologists . . . for hundreds of thousands of years and hundreds of thousands of civilizations across the galaxy, people have been asking questions about the nature of a soul, or spirit, or katra, or whatever else it's been called, and whether such a thing even exists. As far as I know, no one's come up with a definitive answer, and maybe there's a reason for that. In the end, you are who you are, certainly the sum of your thoughts and actions, and yet far more." He paused for a moment then continued. "Maybe your energy would be better spent on deciding who you want Zev Raynor to be and then becoming that, rather than on what he's been or who he isn't."

And with this Raynor smiled ironically... "Zev Raynor is already what I want him to become... a deception... to hide my true self from my enemies... and that's all I ever needed him for... to survive. But what I truly want to become is another matter entirely. I'm not sure... I don't think I ever was..."

"This might be the best time to work toward becoming sure. Madden's gone; you're on your own."

"Maybe..." And with that a long silence ensued... finally broken by the words "Anyways I should probably get going..."

The counselor glanced at a chronometer. "Okay," he agreed. "Between now and our next session, Zev, keep giving some thought to who you are and who you want to be. Put the past behind you for now, try not to get caught up in philosophical debates with yourself. Treat your life as if it were a clean slate as of this moment. There's a lot you can do with that, don't let the opportunity pass you by." He looked at the other man for a moment; in his own way, Zev Raynor was just as human as anyone who passed through these doors. Maybe even more so.

"Green with Desperation"

Lieutenant jg Robert Mathieson, MD
USS Galaxy

with

Erissa - Orion Mercenary, First Mate (Mike M.)

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

<<USS Bonestell, Sickbay>>

Erissa was pissed. Not in that mildly annoyed things weren't going quite according to plan and a little mindless sex would get her over it way. More in that we're all going to get strangled if we don't fix this crap right now sort of way. This job was supposed to be a quick get in, steal the old ship after creating a distraction, deliver it to some backwater colony, and go the hell home and make a boat load of profit from slaves. Lenat had to keep complicating it though. It was probably one of those "extras" he picked up that was screwing things up. Once she got control, she was going to find whoever it was and kill him, but for now, she needed help to get control back. She needed Relk.

Unfortunately Relk had taken a lungful of superheated air from a plasma leak and such and was currently in sickbay. Fortunately one of the people they'd taken from the station was a Federation doctor and though he was a bit old, he seemed like he knew what he was doing. Their suregon was aboard the Strahl and he wasn't quite as good. He needed to get Relk on his feet now.

She strode through the doors into sickbay, which seemed to creak in protest when they were activated. She glared about and then shouted, "Where's that doctor! I need my engineer, now!."

"'E's all yours." There were two prone figures on biobeds. The nearest was definitely Relk, unconscious with a plastic tube sticking unnaturally from the base of his throat and a face that looked as if it had kissed a Horta. The second, eyes closed, wore a dust-ridden Starfleet dress uniform crowned in the deep blue of the Medical arm of the service. "But e'll be as useless as tits on a bull 'till we can get 'im t' some decent medicines an' equipment."

"Doesn't matter, I need him up and concious, now! That is unless you're as handy with a computer as he is and somehow I doubt that." Erissa had her 'abilities' turned on, but under the circumstances they might not do a whole lot of good.

Mathieson was old, but he wasn't dead. He could feel a slight lightheadedness as the emerald woman's pherimones went to work, but was too filled with a justified outrage for them to have a more embarrassing effect. Instead, the doctor rose and leaned over to the Orion patient.

"SHE SAID GET UP, YE CRUMMY LUNK'HEAD! YE USELESS SACK OF PUS! MOOOOVE!" The human wore his voice raw with the effort of yelling, but Relk didn't even flinch. "Sorry. 'E's out o' the race fer t'day. It's either me... 'r that poor lad over there." The doctor hefted a thumb towards one of the guards, Jevan, who'se brow furrowed at the old man's words.

"Somehow I don't think yelling will get him up. I've seen you Federation doctors work miracles before, work some now!." Erissa reall wasn't going to take no for an answer as she settled in behind one of the computer consoles that still worked and started trying to fight back against whoever was shutting the computers down, to no avail really.

"Miracles, eh?" Mathieson mulled the concept briefly and then nodded. "Right-o. I'll get t' work." He recovered a white plastic container from a storage unit and thoroughly cleaned the beaker with some gauze from the medi-kit. Finished, he opened a valve at the surgical kiosk and drained the last of the sickbay's store of sterile, distilled water.

Container in hand, he retuned to the Orion patient whose breath continued to rasp quietly through the tube in his throat. The old man hed the flask tightly in both hands and huddled over the patient's wound for many minutes, pouring the water as he cleaned the pirate's incision site. When he was finished, he raised the container of water over his head, mumbled some gibberish, and took a sip. "Faugh. S' not gin! It's still water! Guess me miracle quotient's been overdrawn at th' bleedin' bank."

If it were possible Erissa's green face would be a burning shade of crimson after this. She knew the practical limitations of her requests. Hell, Relk was lucky to be alive. Still, she was desperate. Lenat would kill her if she failed in this, probably quite painfully like her predecessor as first mate. After taking a deep breath, Erissa calmed down

"Is there anything you can do."

"Look - I can fix yer lad up smartlike, but I need th' right equipment. Look around yer!" The doctor waved an arm across the first mate's field of vision. "This was a sickbay a frikkin' 'alf century ago! It's a bleedin' cesspool now - bloody miracle yer boy's not ravaged wiv infection. Probably is - we jus' can't see it yet."

"Then I guess we're all dead..." Erissa replied mournfully as she did her best to override the locks, meeting with only marginal success.

Mathieson gave the Orion woman a suspicious, sideways glance. "Ow'd yer figure? Ye'll spend a spell in prison fer sure, but Starfleet's 'aint got a capital offense."

"Starfleet may not, but Lenat sure does. My predecessor was, well, its rather gruesome to describe. Suffice it to say when he was done with him even your CIB types couldn't have identified him. Hell, he'll probably find something more creative for us." Erissa grumbled as she continued to work not knowing what was working against her. "You wouldn't happen to recognize these subroutines would ya?"

Arms crossed, the old man took a cursory look at the code that scrolled on the display the emerald woman was working on. "Damnit - I'm a doctor, not a code monkey." The statement was better than an outright lie - the text before him was familiar... and didn't belong on a ship that old. Mathieson had seen it before on the Galaxy during one of Kim Burton's administrative lectures. Savant - but a basic, primitive form. "You could muniny. Smart lass like yersel' an' a complete bastard of a leader - should be an easy bit 'o business." He looked away at the monitor, hoping that the Orion would rise to the change of subject.

"Not likely. That Nausican that's stuck to his hip isn't there for sure. He practically ate the last person who tried something. Besides, it won't matter. We're going to be off to some penal colony...or worse if the Klingons find us first.", Erissa replied, resigned to the fact she wasn't going to beat whatever this was in front of her.

The old physician grunted, and slowly lay back down on the bioobed. "Klingons 'aint all bad lass. Take th' 'Blade o' Kahless' - fantastic opera! Culture capable o' producing somethin' that magnificent can't be all that bad!" He folded his hands leisurely behind his head, breathed deeply, and recited the works of Khun, son of Jeld.

"Kak-lah... Kak-lah ... Kah-pool-AYYY-do-la-kak-lah... Yoh boo la to dah... Yoh boo la to da... Ah... do ro may... do ro may... do ro may... do ro MAY de lat so may... Uh clop-doh... uh gah... Uh clop-doh uh gah dor... Uh clop-doh... uh gah... dor ray... dor ray... dor ray."

"You haven't seen a Klingon prison..." Erissa replied as she was rudely interrupted

" "Erissa, round up our guests and have them brought to the shuttlebay." Lenat's vbice echoed through the communicator on her wrist.

"What?", Erissa replied, clearly confused.

"Just do it Erissa. Our employer requests it.", Lenat responded

"Understood." Erissa closed the channel to Lenat and then said into it, "Vorn, you and Velina get the prisoners from the cargo bay rounded up and brought to the shuttlebay. Roc, meet me in the brig and get them ready to move."

After some affirmitive grunts came through the wrist unit, Erissa produced a set of wrist shackles and a length of metal cable.

"Sorry Doc, going to have to put these on ya and take you down with the others. If you'd place your arms out in front of you please."

Mathieson ended his song, but showned no other sign of moving. "Lass yer age an' build should be able t' kick th' tar out o' me, so I'm not goin 't fight yer - but I'll be damned if I'm goin' 't make it easy." Another deep breath and the 'Blade o' Kahless' main tenor's solo once again rang in the air of the decrepit sickbay.

"Aler acht'jar, Aler acht'jar, T'lembda boool-gah toh-gal ... Aler acht'jar, Aler acht'jar, T'lembda boool-gah to lohhhh .... oh-mah ram rom rom, rom T'lembda boool-gah ...."

Erissa sighed...she hated Klingon opera. She really didn't want to get violent with the human. Besides, he was male. He was human. There were easier ways for an Orion woman to make a human male pliable. She took another deep breath and concentrated into activating her...special abilities.

"Now doctor, you don't really want me to have to hurt you, do you? It would be so much easier to come along nicely. I...might even make it worth your while..."

~Woah! I'm not as old as I thought!~ The pheremones from the Orion woman were beginning to have the traditional effect on Mathieson.

~Better piss 'er off sooner 'n later.~ "Got a human joke fer yer. 'Knock knock'!"

"What" , she replied having no idea where the old man was going

"Me - they guy who'se been sleepin' with yer mother." An unpleasant grin split the old man's face. "An' here ye've been thinkin' it wus th' milkman all these years!"

Normally Erissa would have continued on as this Matheison was amusing to her. However, she didn't have time. As she moved closer to him she simply grabbed his neck with her right hand which had a ring on it...a wicked looking one. By simply extending her finger a small needle emerged from it injecting a paryalitic poision into Mathieson's neck. Should give just enough time to get the cuffs on.

"Ulgggg" was all the old man could manage as the toxin took hold of his nervous system. Quickly, control of his limbs melted and left him limp on the biobed. His mind however, was unaffected. ~Shyte! Didn't thee that frikkin' thing comin! I'm bloody-well nicked! Fekkin' bloody 'ell!~

Once the poison had taken effect, Erissa slipped the magnetic restraints on to the older doctor and then secured the cable through a notch in the cuffs. Once the poison had worn off a few moments later, she stood him up and simply said as she tugged on the cable, "Lets go."

Shakily, Mathieson managed to make it to his feet. "Heh, so much fer foreplay." His voice was hoarse and raspy as his nerves and muscles slowly came back to life. "At's bad form, lass. Sneaky thing... like that'll come back.. and bite yer in th' ass one day."

"I'm sure it will...I'm sure it will", Erissa grumbled as she led the doctor away.

"Search and Rescue" -- pt. 3

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor Acting Second Officer

Lieutenant Michael Jamson,
Chief of Operations

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce
Tactical Officer

Ensign Vortas (NPC, Mike M)
Counterintelligence Specialist

Lieutenant J.G. Nyoko Yuuri (NPC, Oded)
Tactical Analyst / Military Intelligence

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

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

After being rid of its Barzan pursuers, the runabout made a quick but manageable descent to the surface, as close to the coordinates the Galaxy had last determined as Corgan's last location as the terrain and atmospheric interference would allow. They touched down just slightly north of the crash site and could already see the marines fanning out and moving toward the remnants of the downed ship. After a brief scan of the area for anything overtly threatening, the team donned their environmental suits and headed outside.

Between the thicker Barzan atmosphere and the still smoldering areas near and around the crash site, visibility was less than ideal, and the interference to their tricorders didn't help matters.

::Spread out, and make use of whatever cover you can find,:: Elessidil ordered through the suit's comm relay. "Be ready for surprises."

Ensign Dar'ce flipped open the small tricorder and began scanning for life signs, though with the current amount of interference, picking up anything further away than 25 meters was going to be a miracle. Nevertheless, he scanned. The ensign used parts of cargo containers to crouch behind as he scanned the wreckage looking for his shipmates. When he picked something up, he turned and headed straight for it.

Miquelan could tell that the being was not a human or a Xenonian, because he knew what that looked like. The tricorder was reasonably sure that it wasn't a Federation member species, though there was an error factor. Miq pulled out his sidearm just to be on the safe side. The loud crash caused the ensign to fall backwards, square on his duff. The six-legged mammal, most likely native to Barzan, ran past the blue man at an impressive hike. ::Nothing over here, sir. I'm moving to the next search area.::

Vortas adjusted his helmet and unshouldered his rifle, reading the tricorder display as he walked. Hoepfully it wouldn't be needed, but, well, he wasn't going to think such wishful thoughts. This was especially so considering the only time he'd worked with the commander neither of them were exactly in control of their bodies, both having been possessed by the Dithparu. Hopefully the Marines that were still aboard from those days and were now their cover fire wouldn't put that bit together.

::Surprises are fine with me. Lets just get in and get out of here. One wrong slice and we're all dead.::

Michael couldn't understand what they were doing here, on the surface of the planet...otherwise, what were the marines good for? This search and rescue mission seemed like a good distraction from the battles ready to fought up in space. He'd rather face Barzans and others here, and not in the vacuum of space. He requested special permission from the captain to depart with Brian, and was glad to be on this away team. However, his mind changed while they evaded the Barzan fighter, just before entering the atmosphere. THe maneuvers performed by his teammates made him sick to his stomach, so he stayed at the back side of the runabout, strapped to one of the seats, hoping for good. He wanted to believe they'd find Corgan and his team soon, and get the hell out of this toxic waste of a planet.

"I hate respirators...and I detest sensor interferences..." visibility wasn't good from where Jamson was conducting his search. His tricorder wasn't working properly, and the wrist communicator squeaked like a wounded animal. He was walking in a stew of clay and liquid, but it wasn't water. It was similar to mud, and had a swamp like look. 'Marshes' came to his mind when he struggled to move forward. He was getting a bit farther from the crash site, but still kept sure he wasn't straying too far. He should have checked the wreckage first...the Marines were not blessed with the 'tools' to check the debris, so he guessed it was up to them. 'Useless piece of junk...' Michael slapped his communicator a few times, adding a slight shake before bursting in anger. "Jamson to Elessidil...what's going on with the ship?".

For his part, the counselor had virtually given up on his tricorder, preferring to concentrate on his telepathic sense to see if he could determine the downed team's status. "It's quiet at the moment," he relayed, keeping his voice low just in case there was something or someone nearby that might hear him. "Much of what didn't burn up in the explosion or descent through the atmosphere broke up when it hit the surface, but there's enough intact that any survivors could use as shelter. I'm not getting any sense of anyone who might still be alive yet." He knew their time was limited. Even if there were survivors and even if they had no life-threatening injuries, their only shelter against the toxic air was what remained of the vessel, and without any kind of ventilation and purification system, that wouldn't last long. Brian put the thought out of his mind and re-focused his concentration on the debris ahead.

Emma had the standard-issue phaser in its holster and after awhile holstered the tricorder as well. She wasn't on many away missions. She was an engineer and her best environment was in Main Engineering. She never volunteered and if it weren't for the urgency of things, she would had argued against going this time. But she worked as best she could. She kept her ears and her eyes open.

The opportunity to participate in an away mission such as this was not something that presented itself often, Brian realized, and he had to admit there was something exhilarating about it. He crouched low, moving steadily closer to the crash site, keeping his head low while trying not get his feet stuck in a pocket of mud or something, and maintaining his focus as best as possible on the remains of the craft ahead. One step at a time, slowly advancing, he soon got his first inkling of something....

Before the sensation could even register as something other than human, the counselor found himself face-to-face with what appeared to be a band of Barzan militia. Whatever they were, they were armed and ready to fight; this was not a chance encounter. Separated by only fifty or so meters, Elessidil barely had a chance to react, flinging himself into the mire below him to avoid being hit by whatever disruptor-like weapons the Barzan wielded. How many of them were there he wasn't sure, but he knew they had to have gotten there somehow and were most likely not without more backup.

"Everyone down!" he ordered over the comm channel. "We're under attack!"

"Hunting an Alien"

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

Nyoko was among the first to emerge out of the Starfleet shuttle once it touched down. It wasn't out of high morale or eagerness to engage the enemy, but rather because as a Tactical officer she knew that a ship is most vulnerable when its grounded. If she was a Barzan, she'd put a nice artillery battery on some vantage point just over the crash site, and turn the 'invading' vessel into a cloud of molecules.

After she covered fifty meters, she registered that the welcome committee seemed to be more friendly. Instead of plasma shells piercing the thick Barzan atmosphere, the Japanese officer only encountered ominous silence.

She rested her back against the Barzan version of a rotten tree trunk. She looked widely to the sides, hoping she won't see anything that resembled an enemy. There wasn't, and her suit's sensors supported the thesis that she was not in immediate danger. It wasn't a simple fit to perform, since she was shivering inside the oversized suit, and the constant movement of the HUD contributed to a rapidly developing nausea.

"Get yourself together." She told herself. She always tried to cheer herself up verbally when things went bad - for example, after failing a test on the academy ('It's just a tiny quiz out of seven zillion we have to take'), or after another date going bad ('He's just stupid jerk, out of seven zillion jerks I've dated').

It was easier to cheer others than to cheer yourself, she noted, especially when you're on an alien planet full of foul felinoids and mud. Her suit was already spotted with the vile brown matter. Too bad for the security techies, she thought, and the amusing image of that Blondie teen from security scrubbing the dirty suit and breaking a nail helped her take her mind off the immediate concerns.

She half-listened to the comm. chatter as she tried to start doing the real job she was here to do. She was relatively far from the core group now, so if a hint for the fate of Corgan's hazards was lying somewhere around her, it was HER responsibility to locate it and there was no one else to count on.

The suit's sensors, however, didn't help her much in that affair; they seemed to be allergic to the Barzan atmosphere. So Nyoko began sweeping the immediate vicinity counting mostly on her twin hazel eyes. Since no one gave her exact instructions, she decided on a search pattern - the Japanese words for 'home' - and began to follow it.

She was just starting to build up some new confidence when the Commander's voice filled her ears.

::Everyone down! We're under attack!::

* * *

They weren't told much.

The twenty-seventh homeland pack of Tishoo plains did what their leaders said, like a good paramilitary unit. The four feline-like Humanoids which rushed toward the destination zone in tight formation were no different. They were what simpletons, and didn't think of themselves otherwise. The tall one in the front, the one who dictated the pace and direction, was the only one of the four whose record included more than breaking brawls and supporting hunters. He left the planet, once, and he had a vague idea as for the existence of the United Federation of Planets. But, like the other three, he never saw a Human before.

That was about to change.

It was easy to locate a victim. Their field scanners, obviously far more adjusted to the local environment than the Starfleet equipment despite being less sophisticated, picked up a lone signal about thirty meters away from the enemy's main pack. The leader expected superior weapons, but this was his home turf, and the alien would be in disadvantage like the Barzan are at disadvantage whenever they find themselves in M-Class planets.

A walk in the forest, he reckoned.

He signalled to the other three members of the pack, just the other band began firing in the distance. His men bolted, quickly surrounding the target within a safe distance while maintaining their cover. Their movement were unrefined, and yet they did as they were told efficiently. He sneered. Simpletons, but strong as Eriajf rock and fast as the wavelet flier. Even those who held the home packs in low esteem would be forced to admit that.

And now, they were going to hunt their very own Starfleet officer.

* * *

By the time she realized her mistake, it was too late.

Nyoko didn't see the three bulky Barzans circling her. They hid themselves well in the mists and natural cover, and her eyes weren't trained in picking up the sudden changes in the shadows around her.

What she did see was the Barzan who made no attempt to hide. He approached her directly, putting as much natural cover between him and her. His agile movements and lightweight attire were the complete opposite of Nyoko's cumbersome suit. He didn't seem to be afraid of her. Why should he be?

She whispered the distress command to the suit. This should make a red light appear on Elessidil's display, if the signal punched through. However, judging from the flashes of light to her left, the cavalry weren't going to save her any time soon.

She cursed Commander Todd's mother, then added some compliments about Zev Raynor's mental abilities, and for dessert she made a mention of annoying Dutchmen and their reeking cheese. Then, she increased her suit's speakers to maximum.

* * *

"Baka Neko!"

The alien voice boomed, making the leader's ears perk. He shook his head, bronze curls spraying mud on his surroundings. Was this some kind of sonic attack?

The voice became more comprehensible, as Nyoko's suit's translator began translating her words to the common Barzan tounge.

"What is your problem??" The voice continued. "Kidnapping an alien representative to the Federation, then attacking a Federation ship? What's the big idea?! Don't just stand there and give me that stupid stare! Do you really want to pick a fight with Starfleet?! What's the point? I suggest you give us back our men AND the drone, and go back to doing whatever it is you're doing!"

The leader scowled, and verified the location of each of the other three pack members. He could see hints of them, surrounding the noisy alien. Each one kept fifteen paces from the alien, waiting on his command.

They weren't told much. And he wasn't, neither. He knew that the aliens were to be captured or killed, and either option isn't going to increase his dinner. So he went for the easy one.

As he began charging toward the alien in the suit, the final thought that crossed his mind was this: Foul slimy aliens defiling the beautiful planet of Barzan with their presence. How rude.

* * *

Nyoko screamed when the alien rushed toward her. Her voice, amplified through the external speakers, made no effect on the alien. There were movements to her sides as well.

She was going to die.

Without realizing it, she stopped breathing. Her heart pumped like an overloading warp core. It was as if someone clutched her stomach, and didn't let go.

"No!"

The Barzan was four meters from her now. He was carrying something that could've been a firearm, but didn't use it. Instead, it seemed that he was about to tackle. her.

Terrified, she reached for her belt, where the most redundant piece of obsolete weapon waited in its sheath.

The Barzan leaped toward her, arms reaching forward. She could see the complex patterns of his facial ridges.

In a swish, the Katana was drawn. Nyoko balanced herself against the trunk, pushed forward, and leaped toward the enemy.

The two bodies passed each other, not quite touching, each with its arms extended. Durasteel blade and Barzan taze-whip sliced the thick air.

Nyoko landed on one knee, balancing herself with gracefulness reserved to drunk elephants. She spun around, splashing muck everywhere.

Behind her, the Barzan sub-pack leader landed on his face, black liquid spraying like a gazer from the wound in his abdomen.

twelve years after she was a pupil at Hinata Koshi school for girls, the Kendo lessons paid off.

The three other Barzan, enraged by the death of their comrade, raised their weapons. They were not going to take the same foolish risk he did. Nyoko groped for her phaser, but deep inside, she realized that she was going to be pierced twelve times before she makes the shot, and the thought petrified her.

But the shots never came.

The three Barzans were staring at her, guns still aimed. Well, not exactly at her, but rather, at her feet.

She lowered her eyes. No, not her feet either. Next to her feet was something... alien.

It was... a thing.

"Deploying"

1st Lt. Baile
1st Lt. London
1st Lt. Jonas

**** Shuttlebay ****

The sound of many pairs of standard issue Starfleet Marine Corps combat boots connecting with the metal of the decking echoed throughout the shuttlebay as the Marines marched doubletime into the the bay towards their transportation to the planet below. Their footfalls were practically drowned out as the engines on the Marine Hopper Mark IV's began to purr to life.

They had been given the order to deploy and the men and women of the Furies Detachment were eager to get into action again.

Watching from the side, Steven saw the squad leaders getting their units into the two Hoppers that sat waiting for them in the bay. They had been drilled well. That much he could see with the speed, and precision at which they boarded the Hoppers.

They were going after the Hazard team, as well as the borg drone, and Steven had had to repress the fear that rose in him when he heard that the Hazard team had crashed to the planet. Juliette was with them and despite knowing her for such a brief time, he wanted her to be safe, wherever she was. That they had parted much the same way that he and Faylin had parted before she had been deployed to ch'Rihan had sent a shiver down his spine. Was it fate? Or just some weird coincidence?

Hearing the echoes of combat boots approach, he turned to see Lieutenants' London and Baile in discussion as they made their way over towards his position. As Bran looked up, he nodded slightly in greeting but stayed quiet. He didn't want to disturb their conversation.

"Right sir. Now Steven has joined us let's go over the plan one more time. And before either of you ask, I went to see the medical officer on duty this morning, and after threatening to kill him if he didn't clear me for full duty, it worked. I have the official statement right here in my pocket."

"Let's leave that to those that give fuck all about it. " The marine stopped and looked at Bran. "The people I want in the unit are here." He sniffed the air without being able to stop himself. It had an angry taint to it. Metallic. An eagerness. Good.

Somehow his remarks didn't bother her anymore. "Yes sir. We selected the old hands for this. No greenhorns, we got the unit that can do the job." Bran said.

Steven nodded. They had indeed selected the most experienced for the mission. "We are just about ready to depart, Sir. Just the last two squads to board the Hopper." Steven still wasn't sure what to make of the changes in the boss. He was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. "Stacker and St. Valentine are going to be drilling the new recruits hard while we are on deployment."

Branwen knew that meant leaving them in very capable hands, and hopefully by the time and next mission loomed on the horizon they would be ready. She prayed that this one would be relatively easy, they couldn't use another mission with high casualties figures. At least everybody had been well trained and drilled in the use of the environmental suits going into a hostile environment.

Baile nodded. He could feel the fires start burning inside again. 'Can't wait to kill again, can you?' There would be fighting soon and his body knew it as certain as the sun would rise and set on Earth. The beast inside roared and nearly made him miss his step.

He tapped the comms and opened a channel to all the marines that had boarded the hoppers and those still in the process of loading up. "Alright you monkeys. Once again the brass sent kids to do the job of Marines and again its up to us to bring the babies back home." he sounded angry, which in a way he was.

Steven smiled. It was damn good to have him back again. He stepped over to the few men remaining to board and watched as they entered the Hopper.

He tossed his backpack with surprising ease to Furji. "Now, for those that had planned to get shot or in any other way stand in the way of enemy fire let me give you a piece of advice. If you get shot - make sure you get killed or I'll make you wish you paid more attention in bootcamp."

Steven had a bad feeling. Something was going to go wrong. He just didn't know what. Still, he was a Marine, and he had a duty to do.

Baile waited until the last marine had boarded. Statistics told everyone here that at least two wouldn't return to the Galaxy again. He didn't care much for statistics. "Marines. Give them hell." he finished as the hatch closed behind him.

This sounded more like the Baile they all knew so well. Branwen smiled, right now she didn't mind one bit. They would do a good job today, she was absolutely sure of it.

"Search and Rescue" -- pt. 4

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor Acting Second Officer

Lieutenant Michael Jamson,
Chief of Operations

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce
Tactical Officer

Ensign Vortas (NPC, Mike M)
Counterintelligence Specialist

Lieutenant J.G. Nyoko Yuuri (NPC, Oded)
Tactical Analyst / Military Intelligence

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

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

Private First Class Amy VanDuren ,
Infantry

"Lieutenant...." Jamson passed next to Emma on his way back to the remains, "Join me? We could use an engineer right now". Michael was an experienced officer, that participated in many away teams over dozens of missions. Even as a captain, he insisted to join his crew on the surface. It had a certain prestige, not losing your edge and keeping sharp instead of making yourself comfortable in the famous chair on the bridge. They would require engineers to know exactly what happened, that was lieutenant Saturn was there for.

Before the sensation could even register as something other than human, the counselor found himself face-to-face with what appeared to be a band of Barzan militia. Whatever they were, they were armed and ready to fight; this was not a chance encounter. Separated by only fifty or so meters, Elessidil barely had a chance to react, flinging himself into the mire below him to avoid being hit by whatever disruptor-like weapons the Barzan wielded. How many of them there were he wasn't sure, but he knew they had to have gotten there somehow and most likely not without more backup.

"Everyone down!" he ordered over the comm channel. "We're under attack!"

Michael and Emma were just turning on their way back to the crash site when a volley of disruptor fire caught them unprepared. Jamson barely looked to source of the fire, before crawling up inside the filthy mud, taking cover. Some of the Barzan fire caused several areas in the mushy lake to catch fire, it probably had something to do with the toxic air and soil. As hot as it was, and due to their disadvantage, since this was Barzan territory, and they were 'invaders', this was an opportunity to make the fire their ally, a real advantage.

"Are you ok lieutenant?" Michael said cautiously while raising his head, looking for lieutenant Saturn. He was taking cover near one of those burning flames, knowing the Barzans wouldn't be able to see him due to the intense heat surrounding it. Returning fire wasn't an option, since he couldn't see anything, not the source of the attackers or even his away team members.

She was beside him, visibly shaken, eyes wide as she looked around, hands shaking to grab her phaser. She was unnerved and she didn't like it.

Ajthis cursed as the Federation interlopers dove to the ground, taking cover behind the flames and anything else they could find. Though the previous group they had captured from the downed cruiser had consisted of trained combat veterans, this selection either had better training or just plain good luck. Looking to her left and right, Ajthis signaled her squad leaders to spread out and create a base of fire. She knew she wouldn't be able to drive the Federation back, but at the least she could hold them here while voxing for reinforcements.

"Lieutenant Saturn...!" Jamson tried whispering, without yelling and by doing so, giving out his position. "Where are-" he almost tripped over the scared engineer. "Stay down" he said and sat beside her, "we need to find the others!" he added. Pulling out his tricorder, he quickly tried to get a reading, but to no avail. He turned his look to Emma with a slight dismay while handing her the scanner, and pointing in another direction "Bloody tricorder doesn't work. Keep your eye for any Barzans trying to break past that line!".

Coming slowly back to her wits, Emma looked at him, "And what if they do?"

"Jamson to Elessidil, Jamson to Elessidil" Michael positioned his rifle on his left forearm, allowing himself to speak directly into his wrist communicator. There was a lot of static and stutter between all the heavy disruptor and phaser fire flying around. "Lieutenant..." he turned to Emma once more, "See if you can get any team members". Quickly crouching, he tried to survey the area, and find a more suitable cover, closer to the wreckage. "We need to change position..." he said before a disruptor fire almost shot his head off, "...and we need to do it now". They'd been spotted, time was of the essence.

The Barzans were forming a line, trying to flank the away team. With the commotion going on, they had the upper hand, and without the Federation team working together, they had no chance. They still had one thing to their advantage, since the alignment of the Barzan task force wasn't complete, confusion was still their best ally and worst enemy. Jamson wanted to take back all the bad things he said on the Marines, ever! What wouldn't he give for a detachment of jarheads right now. He knew the Barzans were flanking them, but he didn't how close they were, and how lucky and blessed with long life he was to have Emma Saturn by his side.

Tess woke up with a start, her limbs unconsciously jerking upwards. The world went from black to. . less black. . .as she rolled herself to her knees. She had heard the Commander yell that they were under attack and then a volley had come before she could barely blink, sending her flying into something much less gentle than a pillow.

~Down on the planet for two minutes and you already got knocked out~ Tess thought to herself. ~Great start, kid.~ She tried to look around her to get ahold of the situation but there was a good deal of smoke where she was. The Barzan hadn't seen her yet as she had been flung under a few pieces of semi-convenient debris, but apparently her away team hadn't seen her either.

Tess slid upwards into a crouch and waited to see if there would be any dizziness. There wasn't, and no nausea or blurred vision, either. ~Well, at least there's no concussion, at least, not a serious one.~ She moved cautiously forward, low to the ground, trying to find anybody from her Away Team.

With the dubious distinction of being the closest to their attackers, Brian braced his elbows against the ground where he lay prone, fixing one of the Barzan in his site. The counselor was a crack shot, a skill he worked at keeping sharp in regular practice on the Galaxy's firing range, but a strategist he was not. As he had on the bridge of the Exeter, he went by gut instinct, mixed with whatever basic knowledge he'd gleaned from his academy days and command training. Still, he'd give anything right now to have backup. He knew the marines had already arrived, they'd seen them after touching down only minutes ago. But were they close enough yet to be of assistance?

His mind racing, he picked off the target he'd aimed at, immediately rolling away as some others of its group opened fire toward the source of the phaser beam that had brought down their comrade. From his position on the ground, he couldn't see how the enemy were moving; beyond immediate survival, he wasn't sure how best to coordinate the group's response.

::Jamson to Elessidil, Jamson to Elessidil:: He heard Jamson's call but there wasn't time for a chat. "Lieutenant, get as many of the team together as you can and fall back, now! I can't see where the Barzan are headed; use your judgment."

As Elessidil held his own -- for the time being -- against his assailants, toward the back of the group the cavalry was finally arriving.

"Do you need a hand?" Amy asked as she stepped over the rise and spotted a couple of people cowering behind a little cover. Raising her rifle to her shoulders, she fired at the Barzan soldier she saw, watching him as he fell lifeless to the ground.

"Separated"

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce

He had been scanning the wreckage for life, not getting anywhere for twenty minutes. Either the Hazard Team had all died, which the ensign knew was not the case, or the Barzan had intercepted them as soon as they had landed, and taken them all prisoner.

That was the most likely scenario, since just when Miquelan was ready to turn back the way he came, the commander's voice came over the comm.

:: Everyone down!" he ordered over the comm channel. "We're under attack!::

That's when Miquelan began hearing weapon fire; first phasers, then the Barzan counterpart. Getting low, the blue man began scanning with his eyes, since the tricorder suddenly became less useful than it had been since they landed. He saw little through the haze of the wreck, but when explosions started erupting, he knew which direction he would need to go.

Reaching out with his mind, he managed to locate everyone in his group. The commander was pinned down up front; Jamsen and Saturn were behind him, at a distance. Yuuri was in serious trouble, while Cho was trying to regroup, like him. Miquelan made a choice, in that instant, that was neither tactically sound, nor exactly very smart.

If he were going to do the smart thing, he would probably keep moving in the direction of the main group of officers, trying to get as many of them together as possible to defend against the Barzan offensive. That was tactically sound.

But it's not what he did.

He fired off a shot that put a hole in the back of a Barzan scout, and then grabbed his scanner and weapon, slinging it over his shoulder in case he ran out of phaser shots. On his way to the one officer that would probably eat it before he even reached her, he was determined to leave as few witnesses as possible. He was also determined to reach her before she ate it.

That's when he heard the shouting, Nyoko yelling at what he assumed was a Barzan warrior. He upped his pace, hoping to get to the slight Asian woman before a squad of angry aliens shot her to pieces. When he arrived, however, he noticed the gaping wound in the Barzan's stomach area, and the bloody sword in the Starfleet officer's. He also noticed the three burly warriors approaching the girl with weapons raised.

Time to act.

"Save the.....thing!"

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce
Tactical Officer

Lieutenant J.G. Nyoko Yuuri
Tactical Analyst / Military Intelligence (NPC, Oded)

Nyoko scooped the thing from the ground, and held it in her hand.

For a moment, she forgot all about the immediate danger, fascinated with the small creature's form. It was about the size of her palm, body covered with gray and black fur. It had two black pearl-like eyes and a tiny pinkish mouth, making it look like a miniature dog. But, it had no limbs except for a metallic chain stretching from its posterior end and ending in a ring. Moreover, that wasn't the most amazing attribute the thing had.

Nyoko didn't actually hold it. Somehow, it hovered a centimeter over her hand.

She bravely lifted her Katana over the thing's "head", knowing that she'd never hurt a creature so KAWAI.

"Put your weapons down or the thing gets it," said Nyoko.

"Baf," added the thing.

The Barzans didn't look very convinced. Simpletons or not, they knew that they must finish this quickly and regroup with the main pack in order to repel the alien invasion. But, if someone finds out they could save IT and didn't make all the efforts, and IT died, they'd be in trouble.

Quickly, they determined roles. One of them - the best sharpshooter - knelt on one knee and fixed his weapon's crosshair on Nyoko's helmet. The other two began approaching Nyoko slowly from opposite sides. Perhaps, if their leader was still alive, he would instruct one of them to keep an eye on the surrounding. But, the way things were, the leader lay still on the ground and none of the others spotted the approaching Xenonian.

Fascinated with what he felt from the tiny creature, Miquelan almost forgot that the young tactical analyst was in clear danger. From the way the Barzans acted, and the senses Miq picked up from them, it was obvious that they held the small creature in some regard. That knowledge could come in handy.

When the enemy began approaching Lt. Yuuri, and one sighted in on her head, Ensign Dar'ce knew it was time to act. His Tactical Engineering class would really come in handy right now. He created a feedback loop in his tricorder, and used tape from his first aid kit to strap a phaser clip onto the front sensor pad. This kind of explosive was crude, but it would definitely be effective.

The ensign threw the device about ten meters behind the furthest enemy soldier, hoping to cause a distraction more than actually maim anyone with the blast. Knowing it would blow any second, Miquelan lined his shot up on the soldier closest to the Lieutenant.

"Come on, guys." Nyoko continued in her attempts to persuade the Barzans. "We established space superiority with just one ship. Imagine what it would be like if an entire fleet was here. You don't want to make Starfleet mad by hurting an officer, right? I'm sure this can be solved in a peac--"

The blast cut her speech. She wasn't within the immediate blast radius, but the sudden noise and the flash of light made her fall on her butt. Two red-hot projectiles bolted above her, missing her head by far. She instinctively closed her palm on the thing, only to find out that she couldn't quite squeeze it.

She released it as soon as she realized what she was doing. A brief glance ensured that it wasn't dead - it looked all cheerful and perky - and another quick glance suggested that she on the other hand wasn't out of harm's way yet.

When the blast went off, Miquelan was the only one expecting it. He squeezed off a shot that leveled the closest approaching soldier, but the other two were now scanning the area like good little soldiers. Miquelan had to duck under some debris to avoid the blasts that whizzed right by his arms. Hoping that he hadn't stirred up more Barzan troops with his fireworks display, Miquelan took his captured Barzan rifle in his left hand and began firing with both hands.

He was able to drive the two men behind a stone outcropping, and he raced to the Lieutenant's side. "Fancy meeting you here, ma'am. Need an escort for the evening?"

Under different circumstances, Nyoko would counter his proposal with a sly retort. But not this time.

"This is mad, Dar'ce. These guys were trying to kill me."

Since she came to the Galaxy, Nyoko had been involved in many space battles, so this wasn't the first time someone tried to end her life. But when she wasn't surrounded by a Galaxy-class cruiser, and when she could see the face of her assailants, it became different. Unlike in a space combat, she couldn't just ignore the fact that if she loses, she dies.

"Right now I'll go wherever you'll take me," she said, watching the outcrop which obscured the two remaining Barzans.

Miquelan knew the feelings she was having; he felt much the same way. Right now, though, he pushed the feelings aside and remembered his combat training from the Academy. He laid down cover fire and helped the lieutenant up. "Make sure I don't trip over anything, please." He was walking backwards, firing every time he was a Barzan head or limb begin moving into his line of sight.

It was days like this that made Dar'ce wish he was a trained Xandar warrior, though he knew that those highly secretive and highly regarded warriors were devoted only to defending Xenon. They were oath and honor bound not to use their powers for any other reason.

If he had been one, he would have used a psychic assault on the two soldiers out there. Miquelan had seen a troop of unsuspecting Nausicaans leveled by the force of just one warrior. Yeah, that would be a nice power to have.

But Dar'ce didn't have that power. What he could do, however, was lift around one hundred pounds with his mind. And that's what he did.

The two cargo crates smashed into the outcropping one after the other, causing whatever gooey substance was in them to splatter all over the Barzan soldiers. Dar'ce fired both barrels at a rapid pace, then ran as he noticed the fire that seemed to be catching the gooey substance. Obviously some type of fuel or petrol based lubricant.

Not a pleasant thought that the two Barzans would be in flames momentarily.

'Tough luck,' thought the Xenonian. "Run, Lieutenant. Don't stop till you see a Starfleet uniform."

They took off at a rapid clip.

"Of Mice and Men"

Ensign Artim Shivar - Orion Captive
Ensign Iana A. Et`Kal - Orion Captive

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

<USS Bonestell, Brig>

Despite the fact that it was rather difficult to sleep while wearing a rather heavy set of wrist restraints and the fact that this brig had been stripped of even the usual comforts of such a facility, Artim had managed to get a bit of sleep. This was even more impressive considering the nightmares he'd been enduring relating to past ordeals of this type. Nightmares were nothing for Artim, he had them all the time and hardly caused him to flinch. What woke him up was not discomfort or anything else, but rather sounds of activity going on outside.

Sitting up a bit he tried to move so he could see out the forcefield doors down the hall, but could see nothing from where he was. He looked to Iana with a part scared and part curious look and asked in a shaky tone,

"What's going on down there?"

A string of obscenities ran through her head as Artim was asking her the question. Most of them were Klingon. Iana hadn't slept. Mostly, she didn't need to, but she had been determined to stay up and find something useful. Unfortunately, she didn't, but she didn't stop thinking she might down the road. Of course, that wasn't her immediate concern.

"They're being rounded up like cattle," She said bluntly as she pressed her head far enough to the wall to try to see what was going on. She heard enough to know what was going on, but could hardly see anything where the brutes were standing, "From the sounds of it we have three heavier treading men who don't sound too friendly. I've heard at least three other prisoners being pulled out of cells. Mostly all fighting, one submitting to the Orions."

There was something undecidedly clicking in the back of her head while she was starting to form what was going on. She knew she wasn't going to fight her way out of here, but she was going to make them leave with a few bruises of their own. Iana Et`Kal was not cattle. Yes, she was abandoning her logic that she tried to embrace and resorting back to her rebellious nature. She was no prize fighter but she knew how to throw punches with the best of them.

"Looks like a regular old chain gang out there," She said as she started to be able to see what the Orions were doing. Everybody's restraints were getting hooked to one singular rail, "Looks like we're being transported... as we suspected. I am not confident we'd get far with these guys swarming the place, but we could make it a bit difficult for them when it's our turn."

"Feel free, but since they're between us and the only exit, putting up a fight is only going to get you hurt, or worse. Besides, Lenat doesn't like difficult prisoners. I should know."

Lenat did do quite a number on the prisoners from the Einstien and Artim in particular after he called in the marines. In fact, if it wasn't for the Rangers getting there so promptly and having a particularly good corpsman, Artim probably would have bled out on Pharos. But that was beside the point right now. If they were being moved, then from what he knew of Lenat he would be making extra sure nothing happened. Of course, once they got to Lenat's ship they were probably going to be secured even more heavily. Chances were running out to make a good escape attempt.

"If you have a brilliant idea, now's the time."

Of course, she didn't like the sound of what Artim said, and from everything she could gather Artim had no reason to lie to her about what she knew of Lenat. Given the demeanor of the big man, she could only surmise that he was a difficult pain in the hind end and he wasn't going to be friendly to deal with. She spoke to Artim as she was watching what was going on outside, "These fellows don't look to bright nor from the way they're talking do they sound it either, I haven't heard Lenat down here... Listen, I'm not saying my plan is smart or the right thing to do. Even if it costs me some injuries later, I'm not the type of person to walk compliantly when my best interests are at risk."

"To each their own I suppose. I should warn you, Lenat doesn't hire all complete idiots. Mostly complete idiots given how I escaped before, but not all."

Of course, last time the guards had left him out in the open unrestrained with what they thought was a working neurolytic restraint on his neck only to find out that it was defective. That one was as much luck as it wasn any degree of brilliance on his part though he had managed to figure out that the thing was broken. However, these restraints were solid and in good working order. At least Lenat inspected his equipment

She heard what she said and something in the back of her head made her stop for a moment. That is exactly the type of attitude that got her demoted and in a whole pile of trouble on the Horizon. But it was also the attitude that saved her life and her crewmate's lives on a few occasions. She looked at Artim and lowered her tone, "I've not slept since getting here. I have watched them open the cell across from us several times. There are at least two men over there, and I memorized their hand movements to open it... four against three are better odds if you choose to cause chaos with me. But first, just remember that I studied theater for a bit on Betazed."

"Check the holodeck catalogue on the Galaxy, you'll find I have a few credits of my own." Artim said with a chuckle as he saw the pair of large green men approaching.

There was a reason she didn't say much more than that. Their would be captors were coming for them. She had seen enough space sick patients on her various assignments to know what symptoms to start mimicking. Playing sick might not work, but playing insane was harder to prove and almost more scary. People suffering from any type of psychological space sickness were invariably more strong in their actions because of adrenaline and very unpredictable.... she knew she had enough strength to maneuver at least one of the Orion men. Her slim body was only a shield for her inherited Vulcan strength. No, she was no heavy weight, but she was stronger than she looked, and she knew she could get that force field dropped across from them if given time.

She started pacing at first back and forth. When her rapid and jerky movement caught the eye of one of the guards, she started mumbling to herself about needing air. Knowing that it would hurt, but knowing she could ignore it she used the next few minutes to start yelling out of the forcefield, "The air is bad in here. I need air. I need to get out. We'll all suffocate."

"You'll get your air, right out the airlock if you don't pipe down," One of the men she couldn't see around the corner yelled back.

Artim chuckled a bit as Iana started on her act. The old 'I'm completely insane' ploy. Quite a good selection and a bit out of the oridinary. Hopefully Dumb and Dumber here hadn't seen it before. This necessitated Artim to help out a bit, playing the role of the sane cellmate.

"She's serious. She gets nutty when she hasn't had fresh air for awhile. Real nutty." , Artim said in the same tone he use to diagnose paitents, calm and professional sounding.

"You can't keep me in here," She yelled back. Mimicking a crazy eyed look, she ran her shoulder into the forcefield. She didn't want to use her hands because she needed them. At least in her shoulder, she had added protection of her uniform before it started to become eaten away by the forcefield. She kept screaming at the guards about air, poison, and then eventually rats and drowning.

"Told ya", Artim replied with a bit of a chuckle. She was good...very very good.

"Get her out of here and get her secured!" One of the men ordered.

Leaning heavily against the forcefield, when it dropped, she made sure she fell forward towards the panel to the cell across from them. Somebody tried grabbing her arm and she kicked away and clawed at the wall. Iana looked crazily up at the ducts, "Let me go. Don't touch me! Don't you see them! They're crawling everywhere."

"Did I mention she sees rodents everywhere when she gets like this? Big black ones all over the place. She's quite psycotic when she's cooped up." Artim said sitting against the back wall of the cell by the door smiling. Hell, he was almost laughing despite the fact that he was pretty sure Iana was about to get hurt by the Orions.

Creating a few tears, she pulled away again from a man grabbing her wrists and started pounding on the wall. The man grabbed one of her hands and forced it behind her back to restrain her. She put her head to the wall, covering the panel with her upper body and face. Causing a struggle, she was able to move her free hand in front of her eyes to make it look like she was wiping away tears and saliva from her yelling. Four quick movements and she dropped the forcefield of the cell across from hers and Artims'. She could only hope the men inside saw the opportunity.

Unfortunately the Orions weren't totally fooled and before the men in the other cell could do much both were hit by darts containing a paralytic agent from a weapon the Orion had drawn with surprising agility. His partner pumped one into Artim's shoulder for good measure, which quickly caused the Miran to slump limply against the wall. A slight yelp of pain eminated from him, but he was otherwise silent.

"Get out of here! Before the rats get you!" She yelled somewhat keeping up the charade before being struck in the back of the head with an object that really hurt, specifically another dart from the Orion's weapon Loosing somewhat of her senses, she still carried on and kicked the man who was trying to secure her in the gutt. Turning her voice less crazy and more stern, "I need my air."

"Just shut up." the Orion replied as he pulled Iana to her feet and hooked her restraints to the cable. He repeated the process with Artim as the poision was wearing off and both now had control over their limbs. Within a couple minutes or so the other prisoners were secured to the cable. As they were being tugged along to start them towards their unknown destination, Artim ooked back to Iana and smiled.

"That was quite amusing, though next time, throw in some more sensation. Helps sell it more."

Iana herself was more humored by anything. Seeing Artim's sly grin, she arched and eyebrow and hid a smirk since she was trying to play Vulcan and all. Saying quietly after some of the commotion died down, "I'll work on that for next time. At least we got some enjoyment out of our captivity. How often do you get to claim that?" She was pretty sure it would be awhile before some enjoyment was gained again.

"The Flank is missing"

First Lieutenant Steven Jonas CO - 2nd Platoon

2nd Platoon, 1st Squad, Fire Team Alpha (Red One Alpha)
------------------------------------------
Sergeant Samantha "Pitbull" Beckett - CO
Private FC Menos Vos
Private Lia Men'a'NoS
Private Elizabeth "Pixie" Salazaar

2nd Platoon, 2nd Squad, Fire Team Bravo (Red Two Bravo)
-------------------------------------------
Sergeant Antonio Rigoletta - CO
Private FC Tokka Raaza
Private FC Amy VanDuren
Private Johnnie "Nitro" Capolino

2nd Platoon, 1st Squad, Fire Team Bravo (Red One Bravo)
------------------------------------------
Private FC Shania Talker - Signalman

**** Near the Crash site (Red One Alpha) Barzan ****

Smoke filled the skyline, a choking mess of toxic smoke that, given the way it was billowing past, lead one to suspect that the crash site wasn't too far away. It was a sentiment that Steven was feeling as he and Red One Alpha, under the leadership of the newest Furies' Sergeant, one Samantha Beckett, made their way over the rocky terrain.

Steven scratched at his chin. His gloved hand rubbing at the thin layer of the environmental helmet he wore. He had to wonder just what the R&D guys had been doing for the last hundred years or so, given the state of the environmental suits and gear that the Marines were lumped with wearing. Though, the protection was necessary, the idea of fighting in a full suit of the stuff was one Steven wished he would never had to deal with. At least he, and the other members of Second Platoon only had to wear protective helmets, and gloves. A full suit would have been interesting with the rocky terrain that existed here on the surface of Barzan.

Pausing the dark thoughts that he had been directing at the R&D division of Starfleet, he turned his body to look to the left, at Private Men'a'NoS. She had come a long way since ch'Rihan, and he was seeing the beginnings of a fine soldier emerging. He signaled for her to head up to the left, and for Pixie to follow. The rockface in front of him was such that you'd need a pretty good set of climbing gear just to climb it. Yet the two paths, branching either side of it, both looked usable.

"Beckett," he called out over the comm, which sadly seemed to only be working to a range of a few hundred meters. "Take Vos around to the right and meet back up at the top."

"Yes sir." Sam replied before nodding for Vos to take the lead.

Satisfied that they were getting closer to the Hazard team, if they were alive that was, he started after Lia and Pixie.

**** Half a Mile away (Red Two Bravo) Barzan ****

Antonio squirmed in his environmental helmet. Like so many of his fellow Marines, he hated wearing the thing. It reduced visibility, moreso with the peripheral vision, as well as offering a claustrophobic feeling when looking ahead. But like the rest of the Marines, he was going to have to put up with it.

With his rifle resting in his arms, he scanned the area before climbing the small rise. They had to be getting close to the crash site now. Surely. "Sound off team." he called out.

"I isss here." Tokka replied, as he stepped next to Antonio.

"Nothing visible over here, Sir." Nitro called out from the right.

"Same on the left," Amy replied. "Nothing at all. Red Two Alpha seems to be out of position."

Antonio resisted the urge to swear. How could they lose their flank?

"Unless we're out of position." Nitro shot back with a smirk.

"Cut it you two." Antonio called out, as he tried to figure out what to do.

Amy shook her head at the wayward Marine. He was always like that. At least Portman wasn't around. She wasn't sure how she would have coped with him jabbering on. The environmental suit was bad enough. But him as well. That would have been too much.

"Amy, Johnnie, head west fifty meters and see if you can locate our flank. Tokka and I will look around, to see if we can locate the crash site."

"Why do we always have to go and find them?" Johnnie called out.

With a sigh at Nitro's comment, Amy nodded her acceptance of the order and turned to drag Nitro towards their destination.

**** Near the Crash site (Red One Alpha) Barzan ****

"Red One Bravo, this is Lieutenant Jonas. Respond! Red One Bravo, do you read?"

"Sir," the response crackled back between loud bursts of static. "This is Private Talker with Red One Bravo."

"I need a sit rep Talker." Steven called over the comm. It took him but a moment to remember that he had assigned Shania to Two Bravo due to their being a man down.

"Sir, we are making steady progress. About Forty meters behind and to your right. We have lost contact with Red One Alpha. They are no longer on our flank, Sir."

"Send someone to find them. Keep heading forward. We're close to the crash site now." Steven replied. "Jonas out."

God damn, Red Two Alpha better have a good explanation for being out of position. Steven wasn't in the mood for mistakes. Not from his Marines. They were supposed to be the best. He made a mental note to have a meeting with his Squad and Fire Team leaders and drill into them the importance of following procedure.

"Sir," Pixie called out. "The crash site is dead ahead. I can see flames."

Steven looked up, grinding to a halt. The wreckage stretched for what seemed like ages. Flames and smoke billowed up all over the place. No wonder the air had been filled with so much smoke. "Sergeant," he called out as he came up beside Pitbull. "Hook up with Red One Bravo and set up a perimeter. Send out teams of two to look for survivors."

"Yes Sir." Sam replied before taking her small team down the small rise to the first part of the hull. It pained her to see such destruction. She was unsure how anyone could have survived the crash. "Vos, You and Lia secure the left. Pixie, you and I will go meet One Bravo and search for survivors."

Lia nodded as Vos responded, "Yes Ma'am. We'll take the left."

"How could anyone have survived the crash?" Pixie asked as she came up to Beckett's side.

"I don't know, Lizzie. I just don't know." She replied.

**** Half a Mile away (Red Two Bravo) Barzan ****

"God damn. Where the hell are they?" Nitro called out as he stumbled along, the toes of his boots dragging in the soft shingle that covered the ground.

"Easy there tiger." Amy replied. "We'll find them soon enough."

"The name's Nitro, Amy. And don't you forget that."

Amy just shook her head again. Winding him up was always a fun thing to do. He was just too easy.

*Crack*

Amy turned sharply and strained to hear the sound.

"Come on you dumb fraks..." Johnnie said over the comm.

"Shut up Nitro." Amy replied.

*Crack*

Amy tried to drown out the Private's words. She thought she had heard weapons fire, but couldn't make it out due to his incessant talking.

"No I.."

Amy looked over at him with a disdainful look upon her face and he got the message.

*Crack*

There it was again. It was weapons fire. "Did you hear that?" She asked her comrade.

Nitro nodded. "12 O'clock." he said as he pointed.

Amy nodded. It definitely sounded like it was coming from that direction. "Radio it in and lets go."

"Nitro to Rigoletta. Unable to locate our flank. Weapons fire detected at twelve o'clock. Investigating."

"Understood. We will converge on your signal. Rigoletta out." The reply came.

Racing over the rocky terrain wasn't something Nitro wanted to do. A hot cup of joe and a game of Tri-D sounded so much better, but he knew that the only way he'd get that was to get the mission over and done with as fast as possible. So he ran. And Amy was at his side, keeping pace with him. Someone was in trouble.

"Take that outcropping. Should give a good angle to look down upon whatever it is." Amy called out. "I'll go round here."

Nitro didn't bother to respond, having decided to let his legs do the talking as he veered away.

Amy stepped up the rocky mound with ease. As she crested the top, she could see several Starfleet officers in trouble. A group of Barzan, at least they looked Barzan from what she could remember from the briefing, were closing in on them. She spotted a couple crouching down behind a small outcropping. "Do you need a hand?" she called out as she raised her rifle to shoot at one of the Barzan soldiers. She was firing at the second before the first even realized he was dead.

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