The Plot Thickens"

Jonathan Talbain - Villainous Mastermind
Nidanya Dimev - Scheming Henchwoman
Other Assorted Evil-doers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Normally, off world visitors would be sequestered away in purpose build orbital facilities in orbit around the Barzan home world, and those that went planet side, for whatever reason, would be required to have life support gear, due to the atmosphere content. Therefore, the presence of a facility of a decidedly non-barzan manufacture was surprising. It sported an airlock at each entrance, thick duranium/tritanium construction, and a vast array of ... things.

None of the Barzan had been inside the facility, at most catching a glimpse of the insides of an airlock but naught much else. Any transportation of people or materials since the facility had been emplaces had been conducted via powerful transporters built within the complex. There were rumors that it also had shields, but no one knew for sure.

Within the starship like hull, there were vast arrays of scientifically oriented equipment. A pair of massive computer cores, equals of their Galaxy class counterparts, laboratories, no less than 4 stellar cartography complexes, astral tracking monitors, and many more. The lower levels, build below ground, housed the administration facilities, under which were the residential facilities. 400 meters down, deep within the crust, was the power plant running the facility, it's maintenance and monitoring compartments accessible only by transporter. Stepping inside a pair of doors stenciled with "Operations," one would find a relatively lively center of activity, though it's occupants were constantly marked with dour, dark moods. There was little gaiety present. All involved knew that there was a very high probability that this endeavor would be a one way ticket, but it would be worth it.

Striking a blow to the Collective was always worth the price paid.

Jonathan Talbain. Founder, financier, and in general The Man In Charge of this expedition. An El Aurian, he had been one of the few rescued from the Nexus by the Enterprise B. The nexus had been bliss, yes. However, his resultant mania hadn't urged him towards the Nexus, as it had Soran. No, the Nexus had shown him everything he lost. His home, his family, his very reason for being alive in the first place. The experience had driven him far from the nexus, and he now had but a singular goal.

Get back at the Borg.

Tireless studies had shown that the Barzan wormhole wasn't as random as everyone had believed it to be following the Voyager incident. Talbain had bought it for a fraction of what the barzan had received from their auction, and in exchange for space flight technology the toxic gas breathing humanoids had allowed him to conduct his research on the planet surface. His plan was nearing it's final phase. First, there was the abduction of the drone quaintly referred to as an 'ambassador.' There were no ambassadors, simply representatives heralding death, destruction, or hell. Now she would be a herald yet again, but this time for members of her own twisted 'species.'

"Particle emanations from the wormhole correspond with projections - it looks like they've taken the bait head on." Nidanya Dimev, his De facto executive officer. None other had shared a vision as close to Jon's as she did; they made a near perfect team. "Estimate cube arrival in 4 hours."

That was one of the drawbacks of the seemingly instability of the Barzan wormhole. Though you still crossed cosmic distances at unfathomable velocities, it was much much slower than the only other wormhole known - the Bajoran. Even the previous two trips through the Barzan wormhole had been traversed within a matter of minutes. On the plus side, it gave Talbain and his people that much more time to prepare for their guests. "Begin sequencing of the Phased Plasma Flux Array," Jonathan intoned. "I want all of this to go smooth and by the numbers. Any miss-step here will be the undoing of us all." Standing from his seat, Jon looked to Nidanya. "I'll be down in security, have a look at our guests." The Drone was still in her custom made cell, but the federation team on the crashed cruiser ... well, they had managed to break out of the low-sec detention center up on the surface. The surface floor and the first of the subterranean levels were separated by 10 meters of solid rock, with a single turboshaft for access. That would be easy enough to lock out, if they started meddling.

"Master Of Media"

* * * Barzan * * *

The cone rose above a lush valley, its many entrances extending pathways leading to the central roads of the city surrounding it. The vast network of condensced dirtglaze roads was entirely visible from the top floor of the cone, a web bustling with life. The cone was an abnormality, as most of the buildings below resembled shacks or huts, far beneath the architectural level reached by the Barzans since the wormhole was discovered.

In fact, Mahshev Nayad mused, the more things changed the more they stayed the same. Until now.

The city was far enough from the FACILITY for the echos of war, taking place both on the planet and above it, not to reach the peacful place. Many people below didn't even know of Starfleet's arrival, and many of them didn't know of the contract with the El-Aurian. Nayad did not have this kind luck.

They told him to keep it down and not mention the deal. When his journalists inquired Starfleet's arrival, they were waved off and given excuses such as 'They probably finished debriefing on the wormhole incident and got pissed.'. In general, Nayad was given the feeling that the officials thought he was a complete idiot, a mindless Foosh.

Now, on earth, a newspaper owner would probably 'break the utensils', as they called it here on Barzan, and bring the entire story into the light. But here things worked differently, and when the officials said to keep it quiet you simply did. Because that's how things were done.

"It's going to blow in their face." Nayad said to no one in particular. The only other creature in the room - a furry being with no limbs, hovering over the desk with a dumb expression on its face - granted him a response just so he won't feel too bad. It sounded like 'Baf'.

The entrance curtain was swept aside, and a messenger entered the room. She took off her goggles, and waited for a moment until she caught her breath.

"Sources say Starfleet has landed forces near the crash site. Sources report gunfight."

"So Starfleet has invaded the planet." Nayad seethed.

"Sources say the invasion force is relatively small, comprised of approximately--"

The Barzan stood up, sweeping the creature on his table aside. The messenger's eyes widened as she realized in what a disrespectful way did her editor-in-chief treat the holy being. Alas, the rich had their privileges.

"Our planet was invaded long ago. It was invaded when officials agreed to trade technology for providing the El-Aurian with protection and resources. Sold ourselves for shiny beads. Just like in the auction. Officials have no vision, Hagit. That is because they are elected and did not build themselves up. They do not require vision."

"Would you like to dictate a message, or an editorial?" Hagit inquired, putting her goggles back on. "The fifth hour truth broadcast is in coming soon. We can have something ready by then."

Nayad contemplated this for a moment. "No. We shall follow the officials' instructions. If they did not vetto the invasion of Starfleet, report it but not in a way that will rise panic. Otherwise--"

Hagit spun on her hills, and left her editor-in-chief alone. He returned to sit down, and gazed through the round window at the city. It was his favorite view.

"No vision." He muttered. They owed the El-Aurian nothing, and already got most of what they could out of the trade with him. Nayad was among the few who knew the details, and he knew enough to know that the El-Aurian is hiding something. Many things. Otherwise, he would not have come all the way here, to establish the facility outside Federation border. But no, the officials did not realize this; They were blinded with shiny beads.

A decision was made. One, Nayad thought, that was full of vision and agility of the mind.

He called for his communication's expert, and together they prepared a message. The message was not directed for the Barzan throngs, for the officials, or even for the El-Aurian.

It was broadcasted to space.

::Starfleet vessel, do not harm the people of Barzan for they are merely pawns. If you are interested in support from Barzan or in vital information about your opponent, please respond to this frequency. ::

"We're F**ked, Part 1"

Commander James Corgan
Chief Of Security/Hazard Team Leader

Lieutenant Savant
Fleet Logistics Officer

Lieutenant T'lan
Security Officer

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

Lieutenant Junior Grade
Juliette Rinaldi JAG Officer

Flight Officer Angelienia
Shuttle Pilot

Lieutenant Junior Grade John Marsh
Combat Medic

****

As if James had not enough to go through his head, he had to go into a mission with a head full of confusion.

First he was concerned for Mika, and for a multitude of reasons. He left her in a mood, hardly to blame since the Borg wound him up tighter than a plasma coil, but he didn't want to leave his girlfriend with raw, hurt feelings. At the time he just didn't want to talk too deeply about how he was feeling, and was evasive as a result (and if he learned from experience, nothing caused her to worry as much as an evasive James L Corgan).

Then there was the mission. With it came the dangers, whether or not he would come home to say paramour. Before it would have been a non-issue. During his career most of the time he went into a mission with a willingness to die and not much regret as such. Now he had things and people to live for. He was noting that kind of distress was more common during the last few years, and he didn't like it at all.

There were his comrades. If James could trade his life for his away team's safety, even the strangers, he would do so without a second pause. But sometimes missions did not work out that way. He had others die on him, even on away missions he led himself. Therefore James was rather worried about their safety.

But even with all that, what dominated his thoughts the most was the Borg. His first run in with the soldiers of The Collective had left him traumatized and in a downward spiral. The last encounter revealed to him the bloody nature of his existence, how he reveled in the violence to forget the guilt of being so helpless on that first encounter, his suicidal tendencies as he rushed headlong into their ranks, and how even with the gruesome death of many drones it did not quell his lust for revenge or wipe his memory of the dishonor those years ago...

James snapped himself out of his own thoughts. The shuttlecraft listed in transit. He could feel even the minute gravitational changes of the ion thrusters taking them closer to their target (as a spacer, he was sensitive to gravity; there were times when he could sense the Galaxy's changes, the shuttle being no different).

He saw his crew take on their equipment, and their lives for a drone he feared, on a mission he felt he should not have led. Sure, they had their own thoughts, but for the time being James left them to their own heads.

His worries were consuming him. To wear away at the anxiety, he checked one last time the settings of his phaser pistol. It was multimodulated and at high stun, just like five minutes ago.

"Everyone ready?" James muttered.

"No..." Raynor joked sarcastically. "Were just all dressed in these chicken shit outfits and carrying tons of combat oriented equipment, because were completely unready for the task ahead of us."

"Can it." Corgan snarled, "I'm not in the mood. Try to stay frosty on this mission, or my dumb boot will go up your smart ass. Clear?"

Angelienia ignored the byplay between the two men it was nothing that she'd not seen before a mission many times in the past and concentrated on her own equipment. Most of it was unfamiliar, from the Hazard Team uniform to the extra weaponry, and she was worried that she'd managed to call or banish something into or out of the uniform's pattern buffer without meaning to. The fact that the plan they'd worked on so hard was being tossed out the window was a problem too she'd expected to be flying the shuttle, no assaulting a starship personally and that was taking some getting used to, as well.

She imagined that it was like this for Victor as well, many times; the planning all falling apart and having to make things up as he went along. It had even been like this for her in flying missions before. The difference was that she was used to it there, it was familiar. Here, now, suited up like this, it was a different story this was all new. Frightening, in a way. Nor enough that she'd not try her best, she wanted to make Victor proud of her and she had his forbiddance to help too. Between the two, well, they would have to be enough.

Rinaldi's eyes concentrated on the steel gray area above her. Focusing her attention on that little patch of 'ceiling', her mind wondered back to the events the past few days. She admitted that she was twisted, especially after what had conspired between her and Jonas. The question of 'how could you?' bounced off the walls of her mind several times a day. Her life was one big lie, a lie that continued to grow as time went on.

Her eyes fell, checking all her equipment. Some of it, she had used in the past, and then some of it was completely foreign to her. All of the crew's equipment seemed insane for the retrieval of one drone. Glancing to the left, her eyes fell onto the various crew members, hoping one of them would strike up a short conversation.

Seeing what he believed to be the damsel in distress, Raynor debated the up and downs of being yelled at again before asking the overly clich question of... "So you ever do this sort thing before?"

Her eyebrow arched as she tilted her head to the side. "Not on this large a scale, I prefer to work alone." Rinaldi's smile was secretive as well as her answer.

"Yes... I hear those court room battles must be quite deadly... and I can see how a lawyer might have trouble working in a team..." Raynor sarcastically joked. "Personally I don't think I would survive a court martial."

He noticed the secretive air... so he was guessing either special ops or something similar. "So you’re not supposed to talk about it huh? I been through training programs where we had to rescue a Borg Drone from an enemy force... never thought I'd actually go through a real mission with that objective."

She leaned slightly over, a glint of humor in her blue eyes as she whispered. "I could talk about it, but then I'd have to kill you...and I don't do that anymore." Leaning back, Juliette grinned. "One never knows what will happen, it's best to be prepared for anything."

"Well many men... and women... have tried..." Raynor whispered back. "Only a few have succeeded... however you see... I don't tend to stay dead. That's the trick when trying to kill me. Hell... I was dead not less than a week ago... apparently KIA... only to find I'd been promoted posthumously... I'm not sure which was more annoying."

She studied him for a moment, finding his humor rather refreshing in a disturbing way. "That would be a tough call....."

"Yea... I know..." Raynor smiled before turning his head. "How about the rest of you? How you guys holding up?"

Savant smiled at Raynor in a manner which belied the seriousness of their situation. The android seemed to be taking the risk with a great deal of cheer. "I'm looking forward to meeting this drone fellow. What an interesting story he must have!" She seemed, however, to be prepared to go to great lengths to extract this story - she carried on her person the bulk of a satchel full of breaching charges along with the slim length of a phaser rifle. Otherwise the android seemed woefully ill-equipped, as she wore only a standard uniform beyond this. The antigrav boots were an interesting touch however.

The shuttle shook just slightly as to drift towards its target, doing everything within its power to remain undetected. Everyone sat heavier in their seats as if bracing themselves, even the android. "I'm sure this will all go according to plan." She spoke in a different tone - authoritative and calm. Emotions and hormones were running high, and that needed to be quelled were they to succeed. "We're the best and brightest of the fleet, and we're catching them by surprise. Just keep moving. We're almost there."

'Oh, yeah...interesting story.' Juliette thought sourly as she eyed the woman. Her stomach became tied up in knots as the shuttle dipped. The androids reply to her was annoyingly pleasant - as if Juliette was talking to a secretary instead of a combat-ready marine. "Better an interesting lie than a depressing fact. We'll be fine."

"15 seconds til drop..."

Raynor remained quiet... he had a nagging feeling before but the last statement had pushed into a true suspicion that the android had either been tampered with by the enemy or had faulty wiring. The drone in question was former Starfleet personnel... and a woman. Plus the fact that the Borg weren't general talkative... or that they would be throwing an individual back into the Hive against her will... had apparently all escaped Savant's notice... something was seriously wrong here.

But Raynor did nothing... Savant had claimed she had the best reflexes out of all of them... and though he held his own ability in high regard, he wasn't about to test against the fighting machine who was sitting right beside him. He had no time to tell Corgan without anyone else noticing... it took too much effort for him to communicate telepathically. Someone would notice him sending the message.

But the fact that the Android might have been compromised did not bode well for the rest of them...

"SUIT UP!" Corgan bellowed over the din, "Get your guns and get into position on the transporter pad! Double time and all that typical crap SF assholes spout off! MOVE!"

His heart raced, his response unpredictable, James found himself energized in a way he hadn't experienced in years. There was so much on the line for this mission, and so much unknown he had to face, from what was inside to what he would feel when confronted with his nightmare, he found himself excited for the chance, partially forced considering the alternative was to be scared to paralysis.

"TEN!"

Corgan was the first on the padd, releasing the safety on his phaser rifle, a heavily modified squad level sniping variant of the old style type III rifle he tended to use during the war. Without a buttstock, he knew the rifle would have to have a very steady hand, but at the time it was plentiful before the production of the new rifles came in. Corgan did have a steady hand, and as attested to by his record, a very steady aim. It was a good rifle for squad level sniping, not the furthest reach but that wasn't needed on the narrow corridors of a ship. It welcomed him like a forgotten friend.

"NINE!"

T'lan and Marsh were next on the transporter pad. Marsh was in standard kit, top of the line phaser rifle to go with a top of the line everything else. Like James, he was a veteran, even more experienced as a matter of fact. James wondered what kept him below Corgan's rank.

"EIGHT! LOOK ALIVE!"

T'lan was less experienced of the core three, but already blooded in multiple combats. She was experienced enough to have her own custom equipment, most notably a polaron rifle that had been with her since their encounter with Jem'Hadar outcasts. It was a shortrange weapon with a mean spread and rapid fire. T'lan was taking point on team 1, so it made sense.

"SEVEN... SIX....FIVE...."

~"Come on Vanguard..."~ James pursed his lips.

"FOUR.... THREE...."

~"I wish he would hurry up... its not like I got all day here..."~ Raynor thought to himself. ~"Who farted?"~

James was so excited, he forgot the last two digits of the count, and before he could resume, the shroud of transporter energy converted himself and the team into energy, beaming them into the ship.

"Where in the World is Saul Bental? Part 5: This will only take a moment"

Lt jg Naranda Sol Roswell
Ensign Hoda Arles

Hoda had been feeling a little conflicted. Her teammates were stranded on Barzan, or attempting to rescue those stranded. The shields were in poor shape, which ran the risk of a boarding action, and that too fell within her purview. She had a duty to protect the ship and its crew, no matter the cost to herself.

So why was she sitting behind a desk while the Galaxy shook? When it came right down to it, was she a coward? Did she swear an oath she could not fulfill?

Was this investigation just an excuse?

The files she was awaiting from DS5 were low priority when the ship was in combat. Hoda had been fighting with herself for the past five minutes.

The fate of the intelligence chief was important, especially in light of the current circumstances. Did the Barzan have a hand in it? A silent partner? Without question, there was urgency attached to this case, but could it overrule the call to battle stations?

No.

Hoda rose to her feet, setting herself to do her duty, when she didn't fall over. She didn't have to grab the desk to steady herself. She didn't have the sudden sensation of the deck ripping apart beneath her feet.

Whether it was only a momentary reprieve or a full stop, it was enough to change Hoda's mind.

*****

It had taken some thinking and digging, but at last Hoda had found the woman she was looking for: Rosewell, Bental's girlfriend. If anyone knew what kind of trouble he was in, she was as good a source as any,and possibly better.

One hand in her pocket, Hoda entered main engineering.

Things were improving slightly. Too slightly for Nara. She barked out more commands and looked rather flustered. Adrenaline rushed through her as she saw dangerously low resources continue dropping and she, along with the rest of engineering, fought to keep them from dropping and tried to get them rising again.

Hoda tried to stay out of the way of the engineers who were intently moving from one system to another in a bid to keep the ship together. Perhaps this was a bad time, but Hoda had made her choice so she waited until the acting chief had moved a bit closer to her and caught her eye. The ensign mouthed "when you have a moment" over the din.

Nara was in full bitch mode, "Make it quick." Nara continued to work but kept an ear on this person.

Hoda stepped a little closer so her words could be heard clearly. "I need to speak with you about Lieutenant Bental. Time is of the essence."

"No shit," was what Nara blurted, but then she sighed. "Sorry. I mean I understand, but we've got some serious things to deal with here." A wave of dread fell over her, but in just as quick of a flash, she was back in her bitch mode, "Can this wait until I'm 100% sure the ship isn't going to fall apart?" If it was grave news about Saul, she'd have to deal with it later.

"Briefly," Hoda agreed, taking in a deep breath to not respond to the antagonistic tone. She was on the other woman's turf in the midst of combat. There were, after all, certain things that took priority; the news she had would have to be delivered delicately. "I will be just outside when you have a minute to spare."

Nara sighed and everything looked relatively settled for a time, so she stepped outside and crossed her arms, "What couldn't be said in there?"

"It's regarding Lieutenant Bental's absence. I recognize that you two are close and I don't want to upset you, but anything you might know about who would like to detain him would be helpful."

Nara couldn't help but smirk, "Close can be seen in several ways. We have an interesting relationship. We're friends and lovers. But his little secret life; I know nothing about. As an intelligence officer, I expect that. He'll disappear, but he always returns. As to enemies? Again, I don't know. He keeps those sorts of things out of my range and I don't ask. As an intelligence officer, I'd imagine a few." She seemed rather unconcerned. Not only was it her cool head from her commander mode. It was Saul. She never knew where he went, but as of so far, he's always come back. That's all she knew.

"A very large few, which is why I had hoped that you might be able to direct me toward or away from one or two. It would expedite the search process."

She patted the woman's shoulder, "Don't worry. Saul Bental is a big boy. He can take care of himself. He'll be back in one piece before we know it." She moved to go back to the chaos of Engineering.

Hoda didn't try to call her back. The engineer had given what she would, and judging by the frenzy within her skills were more necessary inside. Privately, however, the security officer believed otherwise about Saul's chances. Why else would she have been assigned the case?

"Countdown to Piracy" Part 3

a.k.a. "Description Makes Wordcount"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO, USS Galaxy

********** 0617 hours **********

Transfer of the Backbroken's Reward to her control had been mercifully quick, and Iniara had been able to leave before the Station Ops personnel had started asking questions. Like where they were going in the tiny vessel. Or maybe why it had been delivered and signed for in such a hurry. Or why it looked like a piece of junk. Or maybe even why its new commander couldn't stop her hands from shaking.

No, she was definitely not in any sort of state to be making up answers for those sorts of questions. So after signing for the vessel and comming the rest of her team to let them know their 'Reward' had arrived, Iniara had headed straight back to her guest quarters for a cold shower. Of course, it didn't help that the shower was still a sonic one and as such had no temperature setting, but it was the thought that counted.

She still didn't know what to think about the thing earlier. One moment she had been heading upwards in a lift, and the next moment she had found herself halfway over a balcony's edge, staring straight down at a likely painful death. Sure, there was the weirdness in between: the blood, the screaming, the whispering torso... But what was all that? A memory? A vision? Hallucinations? A combination of the three? The whole thing had certainly felt real enough, and eerily familiar.

Maybe she was just losing her mind. That idea was not entirely outside the realm of possibility, Iniara reluctantly admitted to herself.

Stepping from the shower, the Bajoran woman turned first to her discarded Starfleet uniform, loosely folded on the bed. She picked up each component one by one, carefully refolding the garments with practiced ease and placing them within her grey 'Fleet duffel. Trousers went in first, followed by the duty jacket and red undershirt, with undergarments and boots slid into a corner. Her three rank pips and commbadge were placed into a nondescript black metallic box replicated just for this purpose, and the box was then placed into the duffel itself, nestled within a small interior pocket. Finally, she gathered a trio of padds still waiting on her desk and placed them on top. Satisfied, she closed the bag and set it aside.

Iniara's entire demeanor changed as she reached for the second bag, upending the worn item to spill its contents across the bed. Pawing impatiently through the pile she began to grab items, pulling on some, setting others aside. After several minutes she had assembled an outfit of sorts; only then did she stuff the rest of the pile back into the bag and turn to regard herself in the room's floor-length mirror.

She had started with a sleeveless shirt the color of wet sand, made of a stretchy material that hugged her torso and was cut just low enough to reveal some skin and just high enough to reveal some more skin. Over that was a complicated arrangement of belts and straps that was as much decorative as it was practical. Three worn leather belts with brass buckles circled her torso; these were riveted to a pair of shoulder straps that adjusted with another set of smaller buckles. A holster hung below each arm, angled forward to allow for a more efficient draw. The whole thing looked like the confused lovechild of a corset and a shoulder holster.

On her left arm she had strapped a short gauntlet made of more brown leather with a scratched and dented metal plate riveted on at the corners. Her trousers sat at the hip and were loose, cargo-style, coarsely woven, and somewhere between the color of Martian soil and human blood (though probably closer to the blood). The fabric of the knees had begun to fade and fray, and along one leg was a series of smeared black stains. They were belted with a wide, brown leather belt that didn't quite match her holster-thing, and the ends were tucked into a pair of oversized brown work boots with scuffed toes. Another pair of holsters, these slightly larger, rested on her hips, and her belt was adorned with a variety of utility pouches.

But for all the eccentricities and mismatched items, Iniara knew that the most convincing aspect of her appearance would be the scars. Her right shoulder was very nearly covered in one, the flesh there a faded pink and white that indicated a very old burn. A thin white line decorated her collarbone, the crooked mark roughly following the shadow of the bone and disappearing under the fabric of her shirt. Another wider, longer mark appeared from the bottom of her shirt, made an oblique path across her abdomen, and disappeared into her trousers.

She frowned, tugging on her shirt hem to try and cover the scar. After a few seconds she realized it was a futile effort and gave up, sighing loudly as she crossed her arms over her chest. Now was not the time to be getting self conscious about old scars. Not when the rest of her team would most likely assume they were fake, surgically added by the station's doctors to give her more of an 'authentic' appearance. At least, she hoped they would think that. She had no desire to explain the scars' origins, and why she had chosen to keep them.

She uncrossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, cocking her head to one side. Raking a hand across her head she grabbed a handful of too-perfect hair, shook it around a bit, and then pushed it off to the side. Not yet satisfied she shook her head from side to side, grumbling as the delicate chains of her pagh ring jingled loudly in her ear. That too was part of the disguise; it marked her as a member of the Mora clan of Janitza province.

The weight of the thing had begun to annoy her and Iniara resisted the urge to reach up and tug it off. It had been less than five minutes, yet it seemed like the earring had been hanging there for an eternity. The last time she had worn such a piece had been very long ago, back when she was just a small child.

Decades-old memories came rushing back and Iniara let them wash over her, offering them no resistance. Images of her childhood danced before her eyes, golden-hued memories of better times. She remembered stealing her father's earring several times as a young girl, usually while he napped in the afternoon sun. The thing had seemed so heavy then, the twin silvery chains unnaturally long as they dangled from her tiny ear. Her father had once showed her how to read the symbolism, when he had felt she was old enough to understand the meaning of the D'jarra. The smooth black cabochon had represented their branch of the Tarin family, the two layers of silverish trim around it had identified them as from the northern Janitza region. And the pair of delicate chains, one silver and one blue, both attached to a hammered cuff, marked them as members of the Im'sara caste: farmers of the sea. Fishermen, essentially.

He had gone on to tell her the history of the D'jarra, how it had formed such a fundamental part of Bajoran society before the Occupation, even though some Bajorans had begun to see it as restrictive and unfair. Before the Occupation, the Tarin and the Mora, the Dala, the Edon, and all of their ancestors had been simple fishermen, rather low in the strata of Bajoran society. But with the abolishment of the D'jarra they had been free to pursue a new path, to make a difference in society. Barel himself had made a difference. His remaining brothers and sisters had made a difference.

Somewhere in the story had been a life lesson about living up to one's true potential, or the evils of oppression, or something of that nature. It had been so long ago and she had been so naïve back then that she only half-remembered the tale. And she had no idea why she was remembering it now.

Iniara grumbled, irritated at herself for once more getting lost in her memories. She'd been doing that far too often. Then again, it was possible that at nearly fifty years of age she had finally collected enough memories to where everything reminded her of something she had done in the past. Her father's earring had been very similar to the one she was now wearing: the stone was a deep blue instead of black and the chains were both silver, but otherwise it was identical. The earring was familiar, it had triggered the memory, and she had let the memory come. Nothing more than that.

But then again, it was possible that at nearly fifty years of age she was finally beginning to lose her mind. That was something she couldn't entirely discount.

Turning away from the mirror at last Iniara resumed her work. She opened the third bag, removing two older Cardassian disruptor pistols and a handful of small power packs from the inside. These she slid into the holsters at her hips, the power packs filling some of the pouches at her waist. There were other weapons and items still inside but she left them there for now, closing the bag and sliding it inside the larger brown one. The final item to don was a small, well-worn dagger that had been sitting patiently on the desk this entire time. It was a simple thing, no more than 15 cm long, with an equally well-worn black sheath. The handle was wrapped in black suede strips and adorned on either side with the symbol of the Bajoran religion. Iniara propped her right foot up, slipping the knife carefully inside the boot, securing the sheath to her leg. The knife had been somewhere on her person every day since the end of the Occupation, and she was not about to change that for this mission. Besides, it completed the look.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered what that bubbly blonde girl back on Galaxy would have to say about her 'look'. She chuckled.

Hoisting a bag in each hand Iniara took a last look around the room. Satisfied, she stepped towards the door. "Computer, upon my exit secure this room and place in sanitizing queue." That would signal Station Ops that Galaxy's XO had no further use of her guest quarters, and that they were to be cleaned and prepared for the next guest according to Level Five security protocols. She exited, the door clacking loudly as the physical locking mechanism engaged behind her.

Just one more stop to arrange storage for her 'Fleet gear and she would be on her way to a life of piracy.

Yo ho, yo ho, she thought to herself.

"The Merry Band"

Trulan, Ship's Captain (Turan Trelar)
Mora Damia, First Mate (Lt. Cmdr. Tarin)
Sanguinus Ephral Templar, Pilot and Owner (Lt. JG DarkSky)
Erik Todeshändler, Illegal Weapons Dealer and Temporary Weapons Officer (Lt. JG Krieghoff)
Dana, Chief Engineer (Lt. Eshe)
Ortuk, Pirate Thug (Sgt. Thral)
Utopia Lain, Slave Girl (Lt. Savant)

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

Backbroken's Reward, Main Deck

They weren't kidding when they said this thing would be cramped. Thral had been on a number of ships like this in his life. Actually he all but grew up on mining freighters, ore shuttles, and other rickety ships like this. He also had been on a few of these in his ranger days for long range insertions. However, in those days he was a lot younger and in far better shape then he was now. That and something in this one smelled funny.

After seeing to the loading of the foodstuffs, which might explain the smell, Thral packed in his "special" toys, dropped his rucksack on his bunk/shelf and then walked Artie up to the main deck. Instead of his normal Starfleet black and green he was clad in a rather ragged looking dark brown leather tunic with the occasional brass studs along with similarly made pants. A modified late-model Romulan disruptor pistol which he'd used back on Romulus graced one hip in a mail holster. A slightly less then perfectly kept mek'leth with a little bit of dried blood still visible on it hung off the other. Setting down in an appropriate seat and wrapping Artie's leash around the arm, Thral said to himself in a satisfied tone not knowing if anyone else was around, "I'm even beginning to feel like a pirate."

"Say 'shiver me timbers' and I'll cut out your gizzard, Ortuk," came a voice from behind him. Striding through the cramped passageway between compartments came their pilot. Dressed in a similar manner to his original appearance at the brief, there were several notable differences between Lieutenant DarkSky and Ephral Sanguinus Templar. A sheathed knife was strapped to the outside of his right boot, something he referred to as a 'Kay bar.' A rugged looking web belt encircled his waist, and attached to it was a vest-like harness sporting a multitude of pouches and pockets, each one apparently quite full. Nestled in holsters strapped against his thighs were pistols of extremely antiquated designs: slug throwers, '.45 cal' machined into the metalwork. Strapped outside his left forearm was another knife, smaller than the K-bar. Fingerless gloves were worn, and he had a thoroughly rugged air to him. Everything he wore was completely black.

Settling into the pilot's station he began to run through the preflight. "Damn, this thing is old," he muttered. *But not as old as I am,* he thought to himself. "There's nothing like a bit of nostalgia to carry one through the morning."

"Arrr...shiver me timbers, Mister Templar!" Iniara shouted, their universal translator implants flawlessly translating her thick Bajoran accent. The rough-looking woman let out a laugh as she made her way onto the bridge, having already decided that one of her main goals on this mission was to harass DarkSky as much as possible. She clomped her way down towards the pilot, giving him a once over. "Please don't go shooting up the place with those things. I hear being spaced by way of a tiny hole in the hull can be quite painful," she commented, waving her hand in the general direction of his pistols. Then, changing direction, "This piece ready to fly yet?"

The unmistakable aura that preceded Victor Krieghoff's presence washed over the bridge with more force than normal, as if some restraining influence had been lifted from it, stopping just short of being an actual physical force that pushed at the people there. Krieghoff was dressed in black as well, but his boots, pants, gloves and jacket were all leather, slightly worn, and made by a Klingon tailor. He wore only one visible weapon, a slim compressed tetryon beam pistol. "He can't."

The pilot merely grinned, he knew what was about to issue forth from Death's mouth. Never mind that he was coming on a lot stronger than usual. Templar wouldn't let such inconsequential details bother him.

"Can't what?" Iniara asked.

"Can't shoot through the hull with those," Victor clarified as he pointed to the handguns DarkSky was wearing. "Assuming they're what they appear to be, unless he wants to blow his hand off, he's limited to a 200-240 grain slug with a muzzle velocity of about 835-850 feet per second - even this ship's hull will withstand that forever. The viewports would eventually give out if fired upon, but not from the amount of ammunition he's got in both of those weapons combined. There are chemical propulsion slugthrowers that might manage it, but nothing small enough to be carried as a sidearm."

"I see. Good to know." Iniara gave him a once-over, doing her best to maintain a calm outward appearance. "That must make you the weapons expert...Mister Todeshä- Tode- Tode...Erik," she finished with no small amount of frustration. "Never heard such a complicated name."

"It's Terran, from the German language," Victor replied with a smile that was cheerful and disturbing at the same time. "It means 'Death Dealer'." He nodded towards DarkSky. "And I have some familiarity with weapons like that." Victor had never cared much for chemical-propulsion sidearms - rifles were his specialty - but he knew them well enough to know what they could and couldn't do.

That wasn't necessarily true. Given the standards of technological innovation of today's day and age, the pistols he carried could have been remilled to contained recoil suppression systems far in advance of what was used in Earth's 20-21st centuries. The result would be a round of ammunition with far more power, range, and accuracy than those of the 'good ole' days.' Thankfully, he didn't carry such pistols. "Well, that may be the case, but never underestimate a truly resourceful person." Withdrawing one of the long barreled pistols form it's holster revealed a number of details hitherto concealed. First, it was a revolver, 6 chambers. Second, the weapon sported not one, but two barrels. "The bullet itself fires out of the lower chamber. The upper assembly actually contains a phaser like energy weapon, though it's limited to heavy stun and kill. Power cell in the grip, and I'm all set." He slid the weapon back home and re-secured the catches holding it in place.

"As for this beautiful tub, I believe all we're waiting on is the rest of the intrepid mob composing our merry band of "Gentlemen of Fortune." He looked up into the XO's eyes, "political correctness be damned."

Iniara merely snorted, the rough sound conveying exactly what she thought of 'political correctness'.

From out of the shadows towards the back of the bridge a figure emerged, her eyes roamed the personnel so far compiled as she made her way forward. Long dark dreadlocks bounced against her lower back as she sauntered, hips swaying in a seductive manner. Pausing for a moment behind the gathered group she adjusted her bandana and stole a moment to look at her reflection. Several of her dark dreads had been dyed a deep reflective blue which nicely matched the leather waist coat she wore over her brown cat suit. The medics on the station had been kind enough to replicate several scars across her face to add to her rugged look and therefore to the ambiance of being a pirate. For a moment she gazed at them remembering with irony how long she had sat under the dermal regenerator to remove the ones she had received upon Romulus. Shrugging, she removed herself from the position to regard her own beauty and began to regard that of the ship. The ship that she was going to have to keep in the air under gods only knew what circumstances.

Pulling the data pad from her waistband she scanned it for a moment before holding it out to the centre of the group. "Engineering is ready," she said after clearing her throat to get everyone's attention. Smiling slightly she nodded to all, "Chief Engineer 'Dana' reporting for duty," she said emphasizing her alias. She had to admit as much of a pain in the ass as it was having to go undercover and learn a new identity, she was rather glad that according to her cover rap hardly anything was known about Dana. She was an enigma. Only her name and place of birth was registered. Her life in-between had been one of a mystery. That meant that intelligence had run out of ideas when it came to bullshitting this one, or that they really thought Dhani could pull off the woman of mystery thing. Secretly Dhani hopped for the latter, yet realistically she knew it was most likely the former.

"Chained"

Featuring:

Lenat - Ivorian Slave/Former Mercenary Captain
Erissa- Ivorian Slave/ Former Mercenary First Mate
PO2 Liam Burke - Ivorian Slave/ Engineer, USS Bonestell
Lt. Marcus Edwards - Ivorian Slave/ Staff Officer to Adm. Oliva Proctor

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

<Slave Processing Facility, Ivor Prime>

Liam Burke had experienced many unpleasant things in his short Starfleet career. He'd been marooned on a barely habitable moon for three days after a shuttle accident. He'd been assigned to clean out the remnants of the Bonestell's alien waste storage tank. The last two days though definately were the worst two so far. As if being tricked by an Orion temptress and having the capture of a ship on his mind, his original captors had apparantly been betrayed as well. True that seemed to bode well, but only for an instant. Now he sat on a cold metal floor encircled by forcefields his entire forearms placed in some sort of restraint behind his back wearing a heavy metal collar and ankle chains surrounded by a half dozen other people in a similar perdicament. Not only that, he'd been through hell to get this far having been herded onto a shuttle, simlarly hearded into a non descript stone and steel structure, stripped, tagged, tatooed, and forced into form fitting red suit with a big black number on the breast.

"Cheer up kid, at least those Orions are in the same boat now.", came a somewhat familiar voice from the other side of the pen, that of the Lieutennant from the cargo bay. Apparantly he could tell the younger Liam needed some encouragement. He lifted his eyes from the grey metal floor at which he'd been staring to look at the lieutennant, the weight of the collar on his neck making that slightly more difficult and replied in a strained and depressed tone,

"What makes you say that"

"Because here they are." Edwards said with a bit of a smirk on his face, apparantly pleased at this development. Indeed, the Orion who'd literally charmed the pants off the Petty Officer and another he didn't recognize had been led up to the field by two of the Ivorian gaurds both similarly outfitted as the other slaves. In fact, they seemed to have a few extra bumps and bruises on them which became more evident as they were quite literally hurled into the center of the circular pen. This did manage to get a smile onto Liam's face as the Orion woman struggled to sit up with all the restraints.

"Its quite ironic really, when the slaver becomes just another slave. Don't you think Lenat?", Edwards said with satisfied voice and with a satisfied smirk on his face. He hadn't known before that Lenat was their captor, but he recognized the Orion from security briefings. The rugged looking Orion merely glared at Edwards without saying anything. This whole episode had been a great wound to his pride and the Ivorian gaurds had added a few more physical wounds in addtion to the one from Agatha's knife. He wasn't in much of a mood to speak to anyone as he found himself a comfortable position in which to sit. Liam at the same time looked to the woman, Erissa and said,

"Well, it appears now that we're both chained by the same master, we're on the same side."

"What do you mean human!" Erissa replied gruffly.

"I mean, the first duty of any prisoner is to find a way to escape right? We should be helping each other, right?", Liam replied somewhat niavely.

Erissa was about to reply when Lenat chimed in instead,

"Kid, the first duty of a slave is to survive. Its not quite the same thing. And trust me, escape will be damn close to impossible. Take it from someone with some experience. Once we're out of this place, which is probably a processing facility, life will get very difficult very quickly."

"But what do you think they're going to do with us?" Liam replied cluelessly

"I'm not sure, but I hope you like to fish kid" Lenat replied earning him quizzical looks from all but Edwards who spoke next.

"Some planets use slaves in their mines, others on farms...the Ivorians use them to man their deep sea fishing boats. Dangerous work, and far from pleasant..."

"Nacelle Blues"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell

Michael McDowell - Civilian Engineering Specialist

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

Nara let out a breath. She rubbed at her eyes. They had been open, narrowed in concentration for so long her head hurt. Other bits of her hurt as well from the little singes she had incurred in the previous hours.

The bombardment had stopped, but they still had plenty to do. With lack of serious emergency, Nara's adrenaline simmered down and she felt weariness seep into her. She willed herself to keep going. Like any good engineer, she wouldn't, couldn't rest until major systems were up to standards. HER standards.

"...so the Starboard Nacelle is a goner. If you ask me, we'd have to go back to replace it at DS5. Right now I don't see another viable option." Michael stepped into Main Engineering while he continued talking to Lt. (jg) Gaven. He looked up and nodded to Nara when he saw her standing next to the 'Pool-table'. Seeing the look on her face made Michael feel tired himself. "Lieutenant."

Nara glanced up and nodded back. Of the slew of faces and names in Engineering, he was of the few that stuck out to her. His skill and dedication caused him to stick out. She was rather glad to have him around for this.

Michael parted from Gaven and wandered over to Nara. She must feel the weight of the world (or universe) on her shoulders by now. He could know since he'd experienced too years back when he started out as Asst. Chief. He did a quick look around the spacious room before addressed her again. "How are you holding up?" He said with a low voice. He didn't know if he was being too informal but someone had to find out how she was doing.

She was, however, not in such a mood as she was. Her answer was calm, tired, but determined. "Doesn't matter much. Only thing that matters is how the Galaxy is doing, and she's not doing very well at all. I overheard you earlier. A trip to DS5 is definitely needed, but I have a feeling we'll not turn back until the mission is complete. I respect and honor that. Till we can get her the care she needs, we just slap on some bandages and slings and pray she can limp home like the hero she is."

Nara's response was not really one Michael had expected. She was more determined in this situation then he thought she would be. It surprised him somewhat. It seemed that she was doing fairly well considering the circumstances.

He sighed. "You really think the Captain will push on, even now? It's not like we're talking about a simple 'scratch'. We can't even go to warp anymore. We're no match for the Borg if we encounter them. I don't want to sound pessimistic, just try to see things as they are." Michael paused a few seconds. "Maybe I'm missing something here, I don't know. Maybe the Captain knows something we don't."

Nara's eyes lost focus on the console she was looking at as she spoke, "I agree, but I've had enough insubordination warnings in my career to be comfortable with. We let them command, and we fix their mistakes."

"Except when it becomes clear that it's going to be a suicide mission." The word was out before Michael knew it. "Now, I don't mean this is a such a mission yet...but one never knows what it can turn into. Know what I mean?" He looked the Acting Chief in the eyes. "And yes, I know how it sounds, but it's not that. I'm just...concerned."

Nara finally looked up at him, "I'm with you. No need to sugar coat or walk on eggshells Mr. McDowell. We, of course are free to voice our concerns, but I doubt they'll carry much weight."

"From what I heard the Captain is a reasonable man. I'm sure he will listen to valid arguments. Besides, we have to say something when the time does come. We can't just say nothing."

Nara thought a moment. Did she just say that? She had gone soft? She shook her head, "You're right." She let out a tired laugh, "Absolutely. Rather a reprimand for being passionate about such a thing than go in without saying anything like a bunch of whipped pansy pickers."

"I couldn't have said it better." Michael smiled. At the same time he thought that maybe he shouldn't have voiced his opinion at all since he wasn't with Starfleet at the moment. But it was too late for that now. "Anyway, like you said earlier, there's still some work left to do. Has Ensign Leighter reported back yet on the repairs to the shield generators of the Starboard ventral section? We did some work on that about 3 hours ago."

Nara's eyes unfocused as she thought and shook her head and looked around, "Have you seen him?"

Michael frowned slightly. Ensign Leighter was the one who would report back to Nara. "No. Not since we finished the repairs on the shield generators. I thought he would be here."

Nara sighed and pursed her lips, "Red hair?"

"Yes, so there's little chance you missed him if he passed you by." Michael rubbed his neck a few times. It felt his muscles had fossilized after so many hours working in the Jefferies tubes.

"He did report." She shook her head, "Sorry. I didn't connect the name and face."

"Ah, mystery solved." Michael joked. "If only all things could be solved so easily." He punched a short string of commands on the console before him. "We're getting shields back up gradually. All severed Optical Information links have been repaired. Like said before, the Nacelle is beyond repair. At least for us out here in space."

Nara nodded and grabbed the PADD nearby tapping at it, "I'll add it into my report. I need to get this done and delivered soon."

"Yes, I guess they want to have it as soon as possible." McDowell felt the urge to offer his help in preparing the report but thought otherwise. That simply would be inappropriate. "I already filed my reports on some of the other repair work, so you can use that too if you deem it necessary."

Nara nodded, "I want it to be as extensive as I can get it."

"Sounds good." He was about to turn and go to the next assignment that was waiting for him when he remembered something. "Oh, if you do...do ignore the typos. I had to do a bit of speed writing."

Nara smirked, "Well, I'll ignore them unless the information is just confused by it. Then you'll have a very irritated woman asking you questions."

"I'll be prepared for that then." Michael gave her a brief smile and then walked off to the Master Systems Display with a PADD in his hand. There he downloaded the next pair of repair assignments. Meanwhile he thought of how Nara would relay the bad news about the Nacelle to the Senior Staff.

Department Log Updates

XO Log
******

TO: M'KANTU, DAREN R, COMMANDING OFFICER, USS GALAXY-A
FROM: TARIN, INIARA, EXECUTIVE OFFICER, USS GALAXY-A
TIME: 60702.11 0403 HOURS
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.

Engineering
*********

Nara looked at the scans and diagnostics.

The Starboard ventral shields were at 38 percent. "Acceptable" is a word used. Not by her standards, but it was better than the 15 they were at before. McDowell had given a report soon after stating they had to replace EPS conduits and the main Processor module. It wasn't completely fixed as there were still severed optical data-paths to the sub-processor. Again, it was better than nothing.

The warp core seemed functional enough to give them at least a few warps to run away if need be. The structural integrity was just enough to keep them from exploding or imploding. She kept everyone working hard to fix these problems. They seemed small, but small could snowball in a fight.

One bruise, one percent off the shields, over and over eventually rendered the fighter useless, limping away or lying on the floor dead.

Nara was determined they wouldn't limp away. They would leave the battlefield with head high and full speed.

SFMC
****

Marines are loading up for the rescue mission. Baile's back in charge. We're waiting for some stragglers other than that - we're ready to make holes in things.

Counseling
********

Assistant Chief Counselor's Log

Given the nature of the Galaxy's current assignment, the amount of work that has kept the Counseling department busy lately came rather unexpectedly. Follwoing the events at DS5, there's been no shortage of apprehension on the part of the crew, something of which I've been more acutely aware than most, and certainly more than I would prefer right now. Everyone's been seeing a larger than normal influx of patients, particularly Lieutenant Terrik and Ensign Kiel, who have had virtually their entire schedule -- duty shifts and more -- filled with scheduled sessions and walk-ins. It's very unfortunate that the ship was ordered to leave DS5 before our newest addition to the department, Ensign Iana Et`Kal, could begin her assignment.

Karyn and I have had the dubious luxury of additional responsibilities to divert at least some of our time and attention from non-stop sessions. As part of my commitment to help her with the many administrative duties a counseling department on a ship this size demands, I've tried to relieve her of some of the burden, allowing her to spend a little more time in sessions, something which she loves and excels at. In addition to submitting this departmental log, I will also be covering her bridge shift today. Captain M'Kantu has indicated that in addition to the usual duties, he may have need for my assistance on the diplomatic front once we reach Barzan.

Medical
******

Chief Medical Officers Log Stardate: 50702.11 Lieutenant Kimberly Burton

"Computer, begin log entry."

"And again we find ourselves in battle. It seems at the moment that the whole universe is starting to boil over. Wherever we turn there seems to be one conflict or another. The recent battle has left a variety of wounded who have all flooded into main sickbay. Walking wounded and those triaged as category three or lower have been transferred to other medbays for treatment, leaving only the primary care cases here. See attached patient list."

"So far we have been lucky, there have been no fatalities that I am aware of, and I am hopeful that it will remain that way. Our recent transfers to medical have been performing their duties well, and I," Holding on to the wall as the ship shook again she closed her eyes for a moment and prayed quickly this would pass, "and I can only hope this doesn't turn into a repeat of our last battle. A long drawn out running battle that turns into a list of casualties as long as my arm."

Pushing away from the wall as the inertial dampers righted themselves she continued talking even as she carried on her search of her office, "Sometimes I wonder at the logic of EPS systems. I realize it's the most efficient way of transferring power, but when the superheated plasma gets out, even I have to wonder if survival is a blessing."

"Two crewmen with seventy percent plasma burns that will require a starbase medical facility before they can even get out of a stasis bed again. In all the years of using EPS you'd have thought someone would have come up with a better safety system for them!" Angrily kicking aside one of her many PADD towers that littered the floor she turned in a slow circle and surveyed her office. Angry at the need for her skills to be needed yet again, angry and the universe for creating an environment that bred conflict.

"Three Terran crewmen whose lungs have been so badly damaged by escaping chemicals in cargo bay nine, that we've had to look into experimental techniques to keep them breathing. An Efrosian Ensign who has lost a leg, and yet still wanting to return to duty as soon as we can release him." Shaking her head at the memory of the conversation she continued in a tired but wry tone, "Says that if we can balance on two legs then so can he."

"And the list goes on, and on. Still no word from the teams planet side, but I have medbay three set up for incoming wounded from the planets surface. With the hostile atmosphere down there and the likelihood of combat I'm keeping bay three ready for emergencies only right now. Bay five has been converted by Commander Malgin and Security into our Borg ward. Should the drone be recovered and returned, we can keep it there initially and help treat any injuries. Though personally, I would like to try and remove the person we recover 'from' the collective, even I know what would happen if I tried that."

Nudging aside a fallen stack of PADDs with her foot Kimberly rooted around the mess on the floor a moment, "Computer, send current Injury Appendix to Commanders Dallas and Elessidil for review by Counseling staff," she ordered, and flag my counseling calendar with the notes I made earlier." Ignoring the acknowledging beep she continued rooting around the mess that was her office floor.

"Also, with everything going on, and with what else seems to be heading our way, I'm going to help Sara push her early application to Starfleet Academy. This ship is no place for a teenager, and though I'm supposed to be looking after her I seem to spend more and more time in sickbay healing peoples bodies, or in my office next deck up helping heal peoples minds."

"This is no place for a teenager."

Finally locating her other boot she pulled it out of the corner it had become wedged in with a soft 'Ah-ha!' and tugged it on before heading back out onto the ward.

"End log entry."

Liaison Corps
**********

"Personal Log. Junior Lt. Juliette Rinaldi. Things in the liaison department are quiet for the time being. The chief, Kylar Curran, is still missing. He has been since before my arrival. That being stated, that would leave me in charge. There are a few cases circulating my office at the present time, however nothing is pressing to be completed. The case concerning First Lt. Steven Jonas was dropped, and therefore is closed. On top of this, we are still waiting for an attaché officer."

Security
******

Chief Security Officer's Log, Supplimental

My security staff is on high alert as we get closer to the target. However, most will have to stay at home since I will only need a small team to go retrieve Three of Five from the terrorists.

I find my Hazard Team severely understaffed, due to transfers, promotions and casualties. Therefore I had to ask around for outside help. Hopefully some of these new emergency additions will become more permanent staff in my Hazard Team. Might be better if I kept a core group of full time Hazards from security and a cadre of volunteers that could train with us. That is a problem I can leave after the rescue mission.

For now we have to rescue the Borg. I can't help but think they choose the wrong person in choosing me. They know my history. Oh well... availability I guess. I have my doubts that I will be able to execute this mission, but if I can get over my initial fears, the rest should be business as usual, which means life threatening.

Well, onto the things I can try to change...

Intelligence
*********

"Uhm ... ok, I hope this works. I don't know if I'm doing it right.

The Song isn't there anymore. I don't know how but it isn't there. At least, if it is, I can't hear it anymore. I don't know how long this will last. I don't know, and I'm scared.

Saul Bental has disappeared. I think there is someone looking for him, but I don't know for sure. No one tells me much because everyone is scared that I might turn into something dangerous. I hope he's OK, even though I can tell that he's not told me the truth sometimes. I think that's his job.

Zev Raynor is back, though I never knew he was gone to begin with. Aparently he left the ship before I woke up, but he's back. Since I am who I am and Saul isn't here, he's the one in charge of the intelligence people, which includes me by definition, someone said. He's made some reports about our mission, a rescue mission that everyone thinks is rather odd, but I don't know if he's done anything else.

Jonathan DarkSky used to be my shadow. Saul made a standing order that I'm to be escorted everywhere and Jon used to be the usual person to acompany me, but he's not here any more. He's on a training mission, but with the way that was said to me I think something else is going on.

A couple others that I've heard about aren't here as well. Nyoko Yuuri and Vortas. They left much more recently than everyone else, a few minutes after all of the shaking and explosions. Something about rescuing the people we sent on the rescue mission. That doesn't sound good at all.

No one tells me much. I think they are scared of me, of what I could be. They are scared of what they don't know, and I understand that because II'm just as scared as they are, if not more, because whatever it is happening to me and I can't control it.

I threw a PADD through a door earlier, when the Song wouldn't go away. Saul told me I was stronger than everyone else, but I didn't know I was that strong. There are other things, too.

I can see better. I can see different things than everyone else, strange shades and patterns that I didn't used to be able to see. I don't know what it all means, but it must be important for me to be able to see it.

I can hear things I shouldn't normally hear. If I couldn't, I wouldn't know what I do about where everyone is. People talk when they things no one's listening, but I can hear them. I can hear, but I won't tell. I don't want to scare them any more than they already are.

The skin covering my arms and hands has regrown all the way. Other can't see the metal anymore, but I know it's there: I can still see it. I didn't know you could feel stuff through metal the way flesh does, but someone told me that this was special. They wouldn't tell me any more, but just said "it's special." I want to know more, but it doesn't help when no one wants to tell me anything.

Mostly though, everyone tells me they are still learning about me. There is truth in that, I don't think anyone can know that much about me. But I can still tell the people aren't telling me what they do know. Like how I got to be the way that I am. How I skipped 500 years. What's been changed about me. I can already tell that my eyes and ears are different, my memory is better, and my arms are made of metal now. But they won't tell me anything else, just that they are looking into it. I can tell that they know more but they won't tell me why. Because they are scared. But now there's something that they are scared of more. There's something out there they call 'Borg.'

Some people say they sound Swedish.

I know better.

Operations
********

NRPG : Takes place prior to "Search and rescue" and "Forming a team".

Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Chief Of Operations

"Chief of Operations' log. Supplemental" Jamson said slowly. "The current operations members have received special assignments, and therefore are mentioned in this log". Picking up a small glass of tea, Michael leaned back in his chair before taking a sip and continuing. "Lieutenant Savant is now under the command of Lieutenant Commander Tarin, as part of a team going after the USS Bonestell". Since Savant was a logistics officer, and an experienced one, it was hard to let her go, but the fact of her being an entity, only made his decision easier, since he didn't get to know her too well, and still felt uncomfortable around her, yet he knew she was in good hands, and had nothing to worry about.

"Ensign Kelda was given a difficult task. He was made in charge of all the logistics operations' on the ship in the absence of Savant". This wasn't easy and required some experience in that grey area, especially with the upcoming mission in Barzan, which in Jamson's mind, undoubtedly, would involve a series engagement with either the Barzans, or the Borg. "He would probably need some help, but I'm quite certain in his abilities to make this through".

Browsing through the list in one of the his padds, Jamson moved on. "With her last appearance on the battle bridge, Ensign Beral showed great potential. That is why I have decided to give her more bridge duties. This would improve her skills, and give her more opportunities in the near future to show she deserve this".

Finishing his hot drink in a long gulp, Michael set down the empty glass and made a puzzling facial expression, "I am still waiting for the report of Ensign Regenna Holmes. Last time I checked on her, she was in Engineering, working on enhancing the computer core junctions with a competent team of enthusiast engineers". Michael then stopped and looked away from his table, "Computer...end log. Make note...to contact Ensign Holmes within the next couple hours, before I go to engineering myself and bring her back here, to Operations, by force...".

Navigation
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The navigation department has been stretched thin - specifically the shuttle department who have ferried rescue teams down to the planet in search of the missing Hazard Team. In addition, the mechanics have been lending a hand to the Starfighters, helping maintain their readiness. The Helm is currently keeping the Galaxy in orbit around Barzan.

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