"Resist - We dare you"

Featuring
The Borg (and lots of them)
Unauthorised mentions of Galaxy crewpeople.

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

Wormhole Terminus aquired. One Federation starship detected. Transponder correlates with known datafile. USS Galaxy presence confirmed.

Unidentified energy burst detected. Tactical cube 88374 has been destroyed. Adapting ....

Initiating comunications broadcast.

"We dare you."

The Cubes began a slow and relentless drive towards the Baran homeworld and the shining beacon of quantum light known as 3 of 4.

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

Onboard the USS Galaxy, those present on the bridge could not believe what they had just heard. The invasion fleet of borg tactical cubes, now 8 strong, had just dared them. Perhaps it was the distinctiveness of a particular human who had been asimilated some years ago, or maybe the latest Queen was trying something different from the cut and dry "resistance is futile" that never really worked on every encounter the Collective had engaged in with the Federation. Who would know?

The point was not lost, however. 8 Tactical cubes; a single starship couldn't compete with that even with transphasic torpedoes and ablaitive armor generators. Captain M'kantu knew better than to try his luck. "Bring our people home." Someone started to utter a comment, probably having to do with the near impossibility of such a feat. Said individual was silenced by the glare of the captain. "This is a fight we can't win."

================
Barzan surface
The Facility
================

Talbain cursed. The generators hadn't operated as expected. Instead of colpasing the wormhole, the burst had actually restabilized this side, fixing it in it's current position. The resultant backlash of particles and energy had wiped out a single cube, but there were 8 more present to do the job. "Talbain to all hands. We have failed." He closed the com, there was nothing more needed to be said. Everyone would be making their final preparations, and either laying in wait with weapons, to make their last stand, or comiting suicide so as not to be asimilated. Talbain sat in his chair in the operations center. A pair of rugged slug throwing pistols sat in his lap, their metal cool to the touch. He knew precicely how many drones he could take down when the assault began.

The last would have his own name on it.

================
Barzan Capitol
================

The apearance of the borg had everyone in a frenzy. The majority of their meager space fleet had been destroyed, along with the single battle cannon their El Aurian benefactors had gifted them with. Their scientists hadn't even scratched the surface of the arduous work of unlocking the secrets that their newfound technology held in store for them. Now it would be all for naught. Everyone was recalled, for the defense of the Capitol.

================
Away Team Locations
================

Almost as if on cue, all Barzan resistance dropped. Every trooper on the field began a guarded withdrawl, retreating from combat across all arenas. Their leadership was in check, Duty to the state overruled that to the outsiders.

As they withdrew, so did the majority of the interference. Transporters still wouldn't work, but short range tricorders soon began bleeping their cry for attention and the calls for assistance quickly made chaos of the comm lines.

================
Eve's quarters
================

The cyborg lay on the floor of her quarters, curled into a ball, crying. The Song had returned, and with a vengance. Louder than before, a thousand-fold greater. It pervaded her every thought, each twisted dream, she could not escape it's grasp. She had to silence the Song! Silence it! A singular thought, one mind not many!

Within her artificial components, a program continued the work it had began when it first recieved the initial Song, sung by the lone Drone on the planet. Algorythms and subroutenes were being rewritten, software reinstalled, protocols initiated. A singular program, passed over by the wipe so many centuries past, was rewriting everything that had been removed. Many would have no application, the associated hardware having been removed (such as the electron charged plasma bracers, an item that had previously given the borg hell when attempting to adapt) or was no longer complete enough to be usefull. Still, there were plenty applications that would see use in the near future.

The personality of Valentina Kyznetsova was soon subsumed by that of The Saint. An Avenging Angel, she would swoop down upon the Borg and bring death to their ranks. The Carrion Mistress, Bringer of Death, Harvester of the Lost and the Damned. She had been given many titles but lacked one thing, the one item that would truly separate her from the cyborgs that she hated so much.

She lacked a Name.

"Flight"

* * * Barzan * * *

Once the first image from the satellites reached the public bulletins, no dam could hold the flood of panic washing through the streets of the Barzan cities. No word came from the officials about required precautions - they probably fled their luxurious holes themselves, mainly concerned with their own hinds instead of worrying about their packs. Mahshev Nayad instructed his anchors not to spread panic, and to tell the throngs things as they were; That eight spaceships now entered Barzan space, and that they are potentially hostile.

His anchors, he noted, were on the verge of panic themselves. That was understandable, and he did not expect them to continue much longer.

He paced through the corridors of the cone with dignity, glaring at some of his employees who ran to here or there with sheer terror. The reason for his confidence revealed itself as he reached the shuttlepad on the top floor, where his assistant already brought his current wife and their four mutual children. He had more children, both legal and illegal, but there was no time to collect them all.

Someone grabbed his sleeve. He glanced at the person, realized it was not the pilot, and swiftly clawed at the person's face. The other Barzan howled with pain and fear, and the heavy doors descended and separated between the two. The howl could not be heard through the reinforced barrier.

The Orbital shuttle itself was simple and crude compared to the Starfleet shuttles. On Barzan, however, it was state of the art. Nayad paid much in order to gain as much mobility as possible. A leader in the media business, he claimed, needed to have the ability to get anywhere anytime. In addition, Nayad always took under consideration the possibility that a competitor or maybe an unsatisfied official may come after him. A fast mean of transportation had more than one use to a master of media, but he never ever thought he would use it to flee Barzan.

The pilot was in his seat. Nayad sat next to the relatively young Barzan female, while his family and assistant strapped themselves in the back.

"Where to?" The pilot asked simply. She was a trustworthy assistant, and one of his military reporters. In her past she was a leader in one of the borderguard packs, with many flight hours over the northern cycle marshes. Working with the master of media was much more profitable than working for the borderguard. Now, her change of career potentially saved her life.

"To the crash site of the Federation shuttle."

"I thought we were going to orbit."

"We will, eventually." Nayad began to explain. He was satisfied to see that the pilot began the preflight procedure without waiting for his explenation. Seeing that it didn't slow her down, he went on. "But the orbital doesn't have faster than light propulsion, obviously. Our only ticket out of here is the Starfleet vessel."

The pilot's eyes lit with sudden understanding. "Genius." She said without shame.

"Only if this works. There's a chance the aliens will destroy the Starfleet vessel. Or maybe they won't attack Barzan but only the El-Aurian's installation. Who knows how an alien thinks?"

The pilot shook her head. "These aliens are called the Borg. I know--"

Nayad sent a warning glare. He doubted his wife and children ever heard of the Borg. He did not want them to taste the fear of death now flooding his veins. It was pointless - the knowledge of what they're up against won't help them prepare better. Either they'll be assimilated, dead, or survive. They could not affect the outcome.

He, however, could. His idea was simple in its ingenuity. The major problem was that the Starfleet ship had no motive to take in an alien shuttle, even if its owner offered the Galaxy his help earlier. His passport into the safety of the Galaxy's shuttle bay was probably somewhere in the marshes near the crash site, fighting for his - or her - life.

The Orbital roared through the Barzan atmosphere, accelerating, rushing forward. Nayad stared out of the front canopy, watching the view around him. If he was a sentimental fool - which he wasn't - he would wonder whether it's the last time he'll see these views of Barzan.

The proficient pilot smoothly slowed the shuttle down, until finally it reached the staging area where Starfleet teams were battling the Barzan opposition. From above, he could see that the Barzans forces dwindled quickly, as more and more warriors began to flee. News of the Borg's arrival reached even this battlefield.

The pilot brought the shuttle to land close to the largest group of Starfleet officers. It shook as beams from Starfleet hand weapons scorched its hull.

Nayad greeted his fangs. "Idiots." He muttered. Then he activated the shuttle's external speakers.

*"Starfleet officers, I am a friend of the Federation. I offer you safe passage back to your ship, on board my humble shuttle."*

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" His wife shrieked from behind. "They'll call you a traitor!!"

"They will, if they live.", Nayad replied so calmly that the woman probably did not hear. He already severed his ties with the officials when he broadcasted his offer to assist the Galaxy. The bridges between the master of media and the Barzan capitol were burnt. But soon, all of the capitol will burn, and he will remain alive.

And at that particular moment, that was all that mattered.

"Tattoo Stories"

Commander Veziran Solas
Advisor to Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor

Pilot Aristi "Cyclops" Ferguson
Saber Three, USS Galaxy

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

USS Bonestell

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

"Ow."

Pain lanced through her temples as she tried to move. "Ow. Ow ow ow," she repeated, her eyelids fluttering, pupils trying desperately to focus. Damn was it bright.

"Shhh...take it easy." A pair of hands gently touched her shoulder. She realized then that she was on her side, and the floor or table or whatever she was lying on was quite cold.

"Ow," she said again, right before everything went dark.

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

"Ow. Damnit." The light came flooding back, but this time the stabbing pain in her head had lessened. She rolled over onto her back and tried to sit up.

"Here, take it easy." The pair of hands returned, this time pushing into her shoulders, gently lifting her into a sitting position. "You took a pretty hard hit there."

"I know. What the hell?" Aristi brought her hands up to her face, frowning as she examined the large metal cuffs that bound her wrists together. She looked up, now realizing that she was sitting on the floor of an older-looking Starfleet brig cell. And worse, she seemed to be wearing much less clothing than she had remembered putting on that morning. "What the hell! Where are my clothes? And...and who the hell shot me!"

"He did." Outside the cell stood a lone Orion male at least two meters tall and built like a triple-reinforced blast door. The man gave her a disinterested glance and then turned back to reading something on a datapadd that seemed tiny in his huge hands. "I didn't know there were Cardassians in Starfleet."

"We're few and far between. Wait, what?" Aristi looked over her shoulder, regarding her cellmate with a confused look. "Who the hell are you?"

"Are those real?" the woman asked, ignoring Aristi's question. She waved a hand in Aristi's general direction, a slightly difficult task as her hands were also cuffed. "The tattoos, I mean."

"Uh, yeah!" Aristi snapped, looking down at herself, at the intricate black designs which covered a large portion of her exposed skin. She sighed, slouching forward as if defeated. "At least they left us our underclothes," she mumbled, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

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

"So we've been kidnapped. By Orions." Aristi shifted her position on the floor so she was facing the other woman. "But how? And why?"

"Something happened on the station. An explosion, sabotage, I don't know. I can only assume that whoever stole this ship beamed us out in the chaos. But why?" The other woman shrugged. "Oh, I'm Veziran by the way. Veziran Solas," she finished, smiling and sticking out her hand.

"Aristi Ferguson." Aristi did her best to shake the other woman's hand, the gesture made much clumsier by their bound wrists. "So. Starfleet teaches you what to do in these sorts of situations, but this is my first time being taken prisoner by a hostile force. What should we do now?"

"Wait."

"That's it? Wait?"

Veziran shrugged again. "Not much else we can do. Patience is a virtue and all that."

Aristi made a face. "Pssht. Boring."

"At least you have company, right?" When Aristi shrugged, she continued. "Tell me about your tattoos."

Aristi gave her a strange look. "You serious?"

Veziran nodded and smiled.

"Alright then."

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

"So, where was I?" Aristi looked down at her hands, picking idly at a split cuticle.

"Your first time," Veziran supplied helpfully.

"Ah yes, my first time. I was seventeen years old I believe. It wasn't a rash decision, not something I jumped into hastily like so many of my peers had done. No, I had been planning the moment for years." Aristi smiled wistfully, the memories returning to her. "It seems so long ago. I ran with sort of a rough crowd back then. Punks, skinheads; you know, the kind of people whose lifelong ambitions were to get pierced, get inked, start a band, find a hot member of their preferred species and gender, and live the good life. I ran with them because they accepted me...I guess it helped that I sort of looked like them too, what with the purple hair and the piercings." She grinned. "So many Terrans feared or hated Cardassians; it was comforting to have a group of friends I could be myself around.

"My parents weren't too happy about it, of course, but as long as I kept my grades up they couldn't complain. Anyway, as I was saying. When I was sixteen or seventeen I met this guy. His name was Agreian. Half Betazoid, half human. East Asian descent...Korean if you want to get specific. Beautiful tanned skin, jet black hair dyed a lovely shade of orange, luminous eyes like pools of ink... Kind of like yours, actually. You sure you aren't Betazoid?"

Veziran smiled and shook her head. "Black eyes do not always a Betazoid make, my friend."

"Okay then. If you say so." Aristi gave the woman a mock suspicious glance. "Agreian was two years older than me, I think. Two or three years. He was an artist; home from college for the summer. We were inseparable. By the end of the summer I had worked up the nerve to ask him...I was so relieved when he said yes."

"Go on. Where did he take you?"

"He had a studio. It was small but...very comfortable."

"And did it hurt?"

"Oh yes; oh God yes. I hear that it always hurts the first time, but after that you're hooked. That was definitely me."

Veziran chuckled. "Okay, so which one was it?"

"Oh! This one." Aristi twisted her wrists in the cuffs, pointing to a narrow line of intricate knotwork on her left bicep. Looking closely, Veziran could see that the fine details of the piece had begun to blur slightly, the Cardassian's body already having begun to break down the ink.

"So you were hooked."

Aristi laughed and made a sweeping gesture with her hands, calling attention to the designs that covered her arms and legs. "Obviously!"

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

"Veziran."

"Yeah?"

Several hours had passed since the two had found themselves in the cell. By now they had made themselves as comfortable as they could, Veziran having stretched out on the cell's single bunk, and Aristi sprawled on the floor. Both had been trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Aristi rolled over on her side, awkwardly propping her head up with a hand. "You never said why you were so interested in my tattoo stories."

"I'm El-Aurian; that should be reason enough." Veziran turned her head to the side, looking sideways at her cellmate.

"Pssht. You're what, hundreds of years old? Some fool's rambling about how she likes getting inked can't be all that interesting. What gives?"

"I'm interested in body modification, that's all. The fascination some cultures have with cosmetic alterations like tattoos and piercings."

"Right."

"Okay, okay. I like to compare experiences with people." Veziran rolled onto her side, facing away from Aristi. "Check it out."

"Holy hell!" Aristi sat up, scooting across the floor to get a closer look. In the low light she could just make out a series of hexagonal metal implants running down the length of the woman's spine. Several of them had short wires fused to the sides, the ends of which disappeared underneath the skin. Each plate seemed to have a pair of tiny lights embedded in the surface, but none of them were illuminated. "Damn! What are these, cybernetic implants or something?"

"Of a sort." Veziran rolled onto her back and held up her hands, pointing to a pair of shadows that crossed the top of her right hand. "See this?"

Aristi nodded as Veziran traced a pair of shadows across the top of her right hand, the twin lines ending just short of her knuckles. "Yeah. What are they?"

"Technically nothing. But they're supposed to be assimilation tubes."

Aristi gasped, pushing herself away from the other woman, her bare skin making squeaking noises as she slid across the smooth floor. "You're a freaking Borg?"

"Technically no, but--"

"But I thought El-Aurians couldn't be assimilated!" Aristi continued to scoot backwards, as if physical distance could somehow protect her from the relentless nanites that may or may not have been coming for her.

"We can't," Veziran replied calmly, dropping her arm to her side once more, sighing. "Not yet, at least. It doesn't stop the Borg from experimenting, though. One day they might even figure it out."

"Wow," Aristi commented after several seconds had passed. She suddenly realized how selfish her initial reaction had been. "I'm sorry. It's just...you're my first Borg," she added sheepishly.

Veziran rolled to her side, looking across the small cell at Aristi, offering the younger woman a slight smile. "It's fine. I'm used to it."

"But still..." Aristi opened her mouth to say more, but was abruptly silenced by a quiet 'shh!' from Veziran.

"We've stopped," the El-Aurian observed, her voice now much lower.

Aristi put her hands on the floor, her entire body still. "We have." Almost immediately the brig's full lighting powered on, half-blinding the two women and everyone else in the vicinity. Several seconds later the loud scraping of a worn-out door cut through the silence.

"This is not good," Aristi observed when she heard the clomping of heavy boots that followed the door scraping. A hulking body appeared soon after-- that of the hulking Orion from before. Aristi looked up into the man's angry face, gulping melodramatically. "Yep. Not good at all."

off: takes place before the Borg arrive

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

***

"The Noose" - Part Four

Lt. Ella Grey
Naveen Ordellan (npc written by Pat)

****

I knew that he was a monster and if our positions were reversed that he wouldn't show any pity for me. He hadn't before.

I knew that I should have said no. I knew it then, I know it now. But knowing ... well, sometimes it doesn't change a damned thing.

I nodded my head.

Daro wiped the bloodstain from my chin and then went back to work.

I didn't look away, how could I?

****

Barzan

Ella spun around, her blue eyes instantly meeting his black ones, her heart suddenly pounding. "Excuse me?"

"The man you killed." Ordellan replied. There was no judgement in his voice, though there perhaps should have been.

But Pilot Naveen Ordellan was a rarity. On his first deployment, one of the newest member of the Vanguards was something incredibly rare among combat pilot - he was a betazoid. The reason for that rarity, of course, was his species natural empathy. It was damned hard to be as cold as the job required when you could mentally hear the death-screams of every last opponent your weapons destroyed.

"You're awake," She said stupidly. But stupid was a good cover for when your mind was racing. Which Ordellan would be able to read in an instant, she thought.

Great.

She blinked, tried to focus her mind on something else, anything but that one thing, and approached him. "How do you feel?"

"I just lost my first bird on my first combat deployment." the Betazoid groused. "So not great. You're not answering my question, though."

Ella focused on her training. Check pulse, check for shock, stop any bleeding ... she guessed he could see right through it though. "He tried to kill me."

"Why?"

Some mindreader, she thought.

"I didn't get enough of it for the context. Did he deserve it?"

"I think so. But I'm biased," Ella said. She raised her eyebrow at the pilot. "You don't seem that disturbed by this. For a telepath."

"My people aren't as pacifist as they used to be." Ordellan replied grimly. "Not after what the Dominion did to us."

Ella knew, of course, that Betazed had been the sight of some of the most brutal acts of the Dominion War - including Vorta research on the planet's telepaths. Much of how the system had been recovered was still classified by Starfleet, but... well, there were always rumors.

And rumors were, the Betazoids hadn't taken kindly to that treatment. At all.

It was never a good idea to underestimate the "mouses" of the universe.

"I'm not a telepath," Ella said, looking at her hands. "But I think he did it because he wanted to. For fun."

Ordellan didn't say anything and she let the silence fill the runabout, maybe hoping that it would block her thoughts from him. Or possibly turn back time. Then she looked up.

"Ordellan?"

The pilot made no answer. His eyes had closed again.

off: takes place just before the Borg arrive

It's your halo slippin' down
Your halo slippin'
Your halo slippin' down
Your halo slippin' down ...

***

"The Noose" - Part Five

Lt. Ella Grey, SAR pilot
Naveen Ordellan, NPC (unconscious)

***

There's a chunk of time that I'm missing after Daro ... finished.

I "awoke" in a small low-lit room, sitting on the end of a lumpy bed, with my hands clenched at my sides. The room smelled musty, like it hadn't been occupied in a long time, and I was surprised that I couldn't smell blood in the air as well.

I turned my head in the direction of the sound I was hearing. Water. I could see steam rolling out from under the door. A shower.

Daro, washing off the remains of my dead attacker.

I started sobbing shortly after that.

I never heard him approach but sometime later I felt myself pulled upwards into two strong, cool arms that enveloped me in a somewhat awkward hug. My assassin was trying to comfort me.

Strange and yet our relationship has never been what one would call normal.

I cried at first but then I resorted to what I do best.

Daro responded for awhile and then pulled away. "It won't make it go away. You can mask it, hide it, deny it, but it won't go away. That's not in your nature."

I didn't have to find a piece of a paper and a pen to angrily scribble with. He could read the question in my eyes, I guess.

"You'll never give yourself any middle ground, Ella," The man said quietly. "Even if he deserved what he got, even if you fight against it, even if God came down from the heavens and forgave you ... it will always be black and white with you. And when you finally pick the wrong side, God help the person who stands in your way."

***

Barzan

There were faint sounds of what she thought might be weaponfire in the distance but otherwise the only things that Ella heard were the rustling of leaves and the sound of her own breath filtering through the respirator she wore.

She knew it was horrible but she was relieved that Ordellan had passed out again.

It was easier to work knowing that the man wasn't poking around in her brain. Not that work was progressing very well. The comm had only produced a faint signal, not strong enough to broadcast, and it was now clear that the runabout wasn't taking off anytime soon.

And then there was Ordellan.

I can't think about that now, Ella thought.

But it was hard not to. The Betazoid had become the fifth person to learn of her secret (some secret, Ella thought with a scowl, when everyone knows) but unlike Laura, Curtis, Victor, or Corran, she had no connections to Ordellan other than being in the same department. There were no loyalties between them, nothing she could hold over him. If he lived, there was nothing to keep the pilot from reporting her the first chance he got?

If he lived ...

Ella paused. Then she shook her head.

Ordellan was in bad shape, she couldn't deny that. He'd been in a fire fight before she'd picked him up, she'd barely landed her damaged runabout on the planet, and she wasn't a doctor. No one would blame her if ...

Stop it, Ella, she told herself.

If, her inner voice continued regardless. Such a small word and yet one that could change her whole future. If he lived, who knew what might happen to her, what he might say. But ...

If he didn't ...

OOC: Took place during/right after "Master Of Media" and right before "Resist - We dare you"

"An Unexpected Call"

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering Specialist

Ensign 1100101011111110 (0xCAFE) [Bynar]
Computer Systems Engineer (NPC)

Ensign 1011101010111110 (0xBABE) [Bynar]
Computer Systems Engineer (NPC)

*** Deck 5, Systems Monitor Room of Starboard Computer Core, 0430 Hours ***

An undecipherable high-speed chatter filled the Systems Monitor Room as the two Computer Systems Engineers of Bynar descent communicated with each other. They scanned multiple FTL (Faster Than Light) processors and seemed to correlate the data with the schematics on the PADDs they carried with them. This ´discussion´ between the two had been going on for some 30 minutes now.

Michael, who watched the two cybernetic beings from a distance, had the distinct feeling that they were in disagreement since the speed of their conversation seemed to increase by the minute. It really was wearing him down after listening to it for so long and he was already feeling tired after having worked a couple of shifts without a break. What made it worse still was that their chatter echoed through the room.

"Can I ask what the problem is? We already know the Communications Array is down so what are you two talking about? I hope its about how we're going to fix it, right?"

The chattering stopped abruptly and the Bynars turned toward the Civilian Engineer. Michael wasn't sure but for a moment he thought he saw a frown on each of their faces. They switched from their Binary language to Federation Standard by one simple command given to the small device that they both wore on their belt.

0xCAFE: "It has already...-"

0xBABE: "-...been repaired. It can...-"

0xCAFE: "...be tested."

What was this? Was he like air to them or what? "Hey, are you two telling me that I've been standing here patiently for the last half hour listening to you two babbling away...thinking you stumbled upon some major problem, while the damn thing was already fixed!??" Anger started to well up inside of him. He could feel it and it took quite some self-discipline to contain it. "Why the heck didn't you tell me!? This is not the only system that needs to be repaired!"

The Bynars stared at the human before them, eyes wide open, but kept still for the few seconds that followed. There was a short but hefty conversation in their own language before they turned back toward him.

0xBABE: "You did...-"

0xCAFE: "...not ask."

"But...but…" Michael shook his head and mumbled the word 'unbelievable'. "This is crazy. Just forget it. I'll be in Main Engineering."

*** Main Engineering, 10 minutes later ***

"Computer, perform a level 3 diagnostic on the Main and Secondary Communications systems. RF- and Subspace frequencies." Michael watched the small screen before him as he gave the command. His voice carried a slight undertone of frustration - a leftover from his misunderstanding with the Bynars.

["Working."]

The Civilian Engineer yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah,...you do that."

While the computer silently raced through the set of procedures and subroutines that belonged to the level 3 diagnostic program, McDowell brought up the list of the repairs on the ship. Skipping the reports on the Starboard Nacelle, he noticed that good progress was being made in all areas, except for the shields. They couldn't get it back to nominal levels. The weapon that the Barzan Cruiser had used on the Galaxy had blown out several Shield Generators and severely weakened many others.

["Diagnostic complete. System is functioning within established parameters."]

"Good. That's the kind of news I want to hear." Michael smiled, something he hadn't done for over a day. He reached for his comm.-badge with the intention of informing the Bridge that the Communications Array was back online.

["Incoming transmission. Playing message."]

~What's this?~ Michael moved his hand away from his comm.-badge and his smile quickly disappeared. "Computer, abort playback!"

The command was not accepted by the computer and so it continued with playing the message.

:: "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." ::

Everyone present in Engineering knew the importance of the message as soon as they'd heard it. That the Communication system didn't function exactly as it should had suddenly become irrelevant for the moment.

"McDowell to Bridge..."

"Mancipium Albus"

by
"Lain" aka Lieutenant Savant, Fleet Logistics Officer
"Templar" aka LtJG Jonathan DarkSky
"Mora Damia" aka Lt. Cmdr Tarin Iniara
"Trulan" aka Turan Trelar, engineering trainee

on board "Backbroken's Reward", smuggling ship

It was a little known fact that Savant had a certain proclivity towards nanites. She found them highly useful devices, and often wondered why the rest of the Federation seemed to use them so rarely. She knew why - their proper use required a certain amount of sentience attached directly to them, and they were loathe to create something that could be construed as artificial life. Perhaps it was something written in their shared genetic memory, a collection of folk tales and suppositions which made them dread the thought of bringing forth new life to their worlds. Each species had its reasons - the humans looked back upon the genetic supermen of their Third World War in horror, the Vulcans their calm platitudes about perfecting logic in oneself instead of engendering it in a new form. Each of them had the ability to create minds - or at least reasonable facsimiles thereof - but refused to on moral grounds. It seemed to be hard-written into them, and so long as that was the case they would not see their true potential reached.

Without a genetic structure at all, Savant hadn't that inhibition which organic societies of this galaxy seemed to have. She could maintain control over a von neumann swarm with relatively little power or difficulty, and so found that they made better hands than any macro-technological construction. She used them everywhere - her androids were infused with them, and when needed she would inject them into the environment around her as well. Her newest android was positively swimming in the things. These were relatively harmless and kept firmly under her control, to be used for performing repairs upon the body or making alterations.

Alterations such as the ones she was making now. The room on board the Reward was unoccupied for a few moments, allowing her to dress for the undercover mission. Her uniform was gone, back into the replicator stock from whence it came. Nothing to connect her with her true employ remained. Dusky civilian clothes replaced them, which she inspected carefully before putting on: Rough tweed trousers with a broad belt, a loose blouse, heavy and work-bitten boots, a coarsely woven poncho typical of those worn in the colder climes of Mars. They looked faded, as if the color had been bleached from them from too much wear and too much radiation.

Savant herself faded, too. Quite literally, the color bleached from her hair and skin as she watched it drain away in front of a camera. Once tanned and healthy skin went white a alabaster, sharp blue eyes bled to a fleshy pink, and the black of her hair faded to a crisp, lifeless platinum white. Other changes fled throughout the androids body, urged on by the efforts of millions of microscopic hands. Her facial structure changed slightly; she became a little shorter. When the changes were done she was a new person. Or, the animated puppet she used was a different person at least.

Savant dressed then, pleased with her handiwork. She chose a broad-rimmed black hat from the replicator stores, reaching in to take the article even as it appeared within the chamber. Appearing behind that came a collar, typical of those restraining devices used by slavers to maintain their prey. She was going to play the part of a captive, so would have to be properly dressed.

She exited the room to find the 'captain', restraining collar in hand.

Templar (DarkSky) was the first person she encountered. He'd been aboard the Reward almost constantly since the briefing. First it was to ensure that the proper codifiers, cogitators, and purity seals had been properly emplaced about the ship. A black paint job had been conducted, complete with red piping and gold trim. While the painting had been in progress, he'd slipped back to his temp quarters on the station and packed up everything he was bringing along on the trip - quite the duffel - and returned to the ship to oversea the minor upgrades - installation of a set of single shot Photon Torpedo tubes (two to the front and an emergency "OH SHIT" pod directed aft), and an array of type VI phaser banks at strategic locations. The shields, engines, and sensors were already plenty decked, being an Intelligence ship.

And so he'd been here, tinkering with this, that, and the other to make sure things were just right, when he ran into someone he didn't recognize. However, given the files he'd read on everyone participating in this venture, he made a guess. "Miss Universe, I presume," he said with a scoff. "Only a program, however intelligent and self aware, would go for such perfection in crafting a low class appearance." His tone grew serious, "in a mob of slaves you'd stick out like a sore thumb."

She smirked at the "Captain's" derisive reply; the expression was a little more cynical than one that would come from Savant. She had finished writing and loading her device drivers for this new personality, and they were being applied to her interactions even now. "That's the point." She slapped the restraining collar into his waiting hand, "I'm here if you need a bargaining chip. I'd hardly be a worthwhile commodity if I looked like everyone else."

"I may own this bucket of bolts, but I'm not the captain, unless something's changed and I've not been told." He looked at the collar and smirked. "First, this collar is far to brand squeaky new for a bunch of thugs and misfits like ourselves. Orions use this kind of stuff, and we appear to be short one Orion on our crew. Second, you're too clean. Unless we nabbed you straight from a stasis tube you'd have been roughed up, either recently or not. The point is, you look as fresh as if you'd just been born, and you're trying to hard to fit into your role." What Templar didn't know was he wasn't to far from the truth. "Now, since you're going to play the part of a slave - only civilized people or soldiers call people 'captives' - you get to wear something like that collar, and whatever WE tell you to wear. As for your personality, when you get down to it I'm sure you have any number of algorithms and subroutines to determine what would be best for your particular character. To be effective, in my opinion, you'll cooperate because it means you'll stay alive and you won't be hurt. You'll try to avoid performing any unpleasant deeds, but in the end the choice really isn't yours. In public, I won't bother with you as you're the property of my partner, our 'captain,' so the details are up to him."

Savants' smirk grew wider. So far, just the reaction she was expecting. The personality mask she wore twisted her thoughts just slightly as they precipitated into words, making her more sarcastic than she otherwise might be. That too was in her calculations, however. "Well, if *you* get to tell me what *I'm* supposed to wear, perhaps *you* ought convince me of that. Perhaps you should *earn* my submission instead of just telling me. Last I checked, slavers didn't say pretty-please to their merchandise."

"Might want to rein in your toy, Templar," a contralto voice called out from somewhere down the curved passageway. Heavy footfalls announced Iniara's presence seconds before she appeared, a sarcastic grin plastered across her face. She paused, regarding the apparent albino with an amused 'hm' sound before continuing down the hall. "Scream if you need help." And with that she began her ascent up the ladder at the end of the corridor, pausing just long enough to release the hatch before disappearing into the ceiling.

Just a few minutes later an other pair of heavy army boots echoed through DS5's passage, this time accompanied by an annoyed sounding murmur spoken in a strange sounding language - Quentinarish. Indeed, a shopping tour of more than a hour together with DS5's "Watch-the-step-mind-your-head"-Quentite trap left his marks at the Quentite giant who indeed was much more annoyed as he sounded. Turan stopped in front of one of the stations LCARS and rearranged his jacket. After trying on outfits from almost every epoch of piracy most of them looking like opera or Disney costumes with his giant frame filling them he finally found what he was looking for. This was no historically correct pirate outfit as he didn't want to perform a historically correct pirate. The replicator shops menu called this jacket a 'Chinese Dragon Kung-fu Jacket'. 'Sewn' of mat cotton with slightly over-accentuated shoulders and wide sleeves it made the tall Quentite look even more dominant. The absence of any knickknacks underlined the impression of someone who wasn't forced to divert from a lack of success by wearing large amounts of Gold or Latinum jewelry.

A quick grab into the jacket's breast pocket and the last bit of Quentite-typical baby scheme, a pair of large sad looking eyes disappeared behind a pair of larger sunglasses.

The shop assistant's consultation really paid. Turan began to settle in the role of Trulan the pirate and smuggler. Just a few further corrections and Turan felt ready to test with his crew mates hopefully already waiting on the other side of the docking station's air lock.

Turan hit the door opener and instantly stepped back from the door. He didn't want to just walk into the Backbroken's Reward he wanted to march in. And so he did.

"Hello, Ladies" he greeted the two waiting inside. The fact one of them was male was something, Turan .. ergh Trulan was too keen to ignore. He turned around to present the full beauty of his new outfit, then addressed the two staring at him. "I hope you like my new dress ..." he fished for compliments in his well know accent (which actually sounded like a mixture of Spanish and Indian) then quickly changed to a more serious and sarcastic sounding stress "... and before someone of you takes breath to say something really silly, I'd like to inform you that I am rather tired - too tired to understand any twisted kind of humor as the one I met one airlock ago may confirm. If you don't believe me ask him. You may met him after the Station turn is completed.". Trulan pointed out of the station opposite window smirking.

Trulan searched around for a new target to aim on. He quickly found one in the android who was introduced as Savant.

"Pet?" he addressed the android who now played the captain's private slave. His voice grew more serious than it was before. Mentally, Turan was already running on overdrive. Playing aggressive was almost as exhausting as climbing a mountain but this was fun, real fun. If one had told the giant boy before he wouldn't have believed.

"Pet?" he repeated. "Could you please tell me who is responsible for you wearing those clothes?"

Lain's (Savant's?) response was as if stopped dead in her tracks. The previous bluster vaporized quickly as the albino woman stood, mouth slightly open and with a cringe on her shoulders as if afraid of some reprisal - which was strange, as she was afraid of no such reprisal from the large man just in front of her. Though her mouth was open she said nothing beyond a few vague stammers.

"Goddammit .. to make things clear for all time. This ship is called Backbroken's Reward, not Beggar's Resort. You are my pet, Pet and I want you to be dressed adequately. If you're not able fulfill this really simple directive I may decide to let you crawl around naked for the rest of our journey. " Trulan paused then hearably took breath "Did I made myself clear, Pet?".

At his urgings, finally Lain (Savant?) found a voice. It was weak, barely present even, but it was there. "Ahh... wh - what should I be..." she trailed off as she realized how lame the question seemed. The last word flopped out dumbly onto the deck like a caught fish. "uhm, wearing."

Counting to three, Trulan waited for an answer, then forcing her to look upwards at him continued: "I can't hear you, Pet. Did you understand me?"

She nodded, swallowing once as if she was in Very Big Trouble. Was it a method act at this point? If so, she was very convincing at it.

Templar shook his head and turned to make for his bunk room, one of the two-man rooms. More spacious than most of the rest of the accommodations, he was afforded such luxury for two reasons. First, he was the 'owner' of this bucket of bolts. Second, but most importantly, he was bunking with Death Himself. Rather him than Trulan. Rather the first mate than Death, but some things in this dimension of reality weren't exactly possible to accomplish.

Trulan smiled - not the broad smile of a cat that swallowed a bird just seconds ago. There was was just a slight almost unnoticeable change in the Quentite's facial expression. 'at home' on the Galaxy he had often asked himself what made crew mates spent most of their leisure time playing holo novels. Although this was really real with real 'actors' an (almost) real slave girl and probably much more danger than he ever would have asked for this gave a good impression of the appeal a holo novel had on his crew mates. Minutes ago he just played the mean pirate captain. Suddenly he started feeling like a mean pirate captain. It was much easier to act in an impolite and aggressive manor than he expected before.

First there was a fear he, the always friendly and polite giant wouldn't be able to constantly play his role and fail in a situation when being a friendly polite Quentite meant danger or dead for the whole crew. This fear was long gone - replaced by the fear he wouldn't able to step out of the role, get his toolbox and be the friendly engineering trainee he was known as.

But this was nothing to be discussed right now. This wasn't even the right topic to waste a thought at right now. There would be plenty of time to care for this problem after the mission was done.

Trulan settled in one of the used looking single chairs and sighed. "A glass of fruit juice would be nice, Pet." he commented glancing at Lain. "Let me have a short rest, Pet. " Trulan announced stroking Lain's platinum white hair and the realistic warm skin of her neck. If one didn't know he certainly wouldn't guess she was just an android. "Later on, Pet, " Trulan continued "we have to have an other visit at the replicator store to care for some outfit. Something to adorn the beauty that made me keep you for my own entertainment instead of selling you at Pegara with the rest of the merchandise."

"Search and Rescue" -- pt. 5

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Acting Second Officer

Lieutenant Michael Jamson,
Chief of Operations

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce
Tactical Officer

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

Ensign Dar'ce and Lieutenant Yuuri were still running, avoiding the blasts from some new Barzan troopers. They had already had to "incapacitate" about ten Barzan that had gotten in their way. Miquelan's appropriated weapon was nearly out of ammo, and he was moving too fast to pick up any from the downed enemy.

His hand phaser was already spent, and Lt. Yuuri was on her last rifle magazine.

The ensign continued to try his communicator.

"Dar'ce to any Starfleet personnel, come in. Come in Starfleet."

Nyoko balanced a foot against a nearby rock, raising the rifle to her shoulder. She spotted three more Barzans rushing toward them. She waited until they stepped into a low pool she spotted earlier, and as soon as they were all in the water...

"Ugh!"

Hot steam rose from the pool where her beam hit, blinding the Barzans and sending them in all directions.

Nyoko didn't smile. She didn't find hurting these aliens entertaining, and she knew that pretty soon they'll run out of ammo and the enemy will turn them into Nigiri.

"Should've taken more power packs..." She muttered. So much for trusting on the marines to cover for them. Both she and Dar'ce gave up weaponry in favor of surveillance equipment for that very reason.

"Ne!" She slanted her eyes toward the Xenonian, "if they don't respond soon, we should risk emergency transport to the Galaxy."

"I agree, Lieutenant. I'm not sure how much more luck we can get." With that said, the ensign jumped and tackled the small lieutenant as an energy beam lanced over their heads. The thing came buzzing after them. Jumping up, Miquelan fired where he thought the blast had come from, only to receive a shot in the shoulder, forcing him back down.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the back of his mind, Elessidil was aware that the fighting had escalated. It was a mixed sign, as more fighting wasn't going to help them get to their objective, yet it did likely signal the arrival of the marines.

Covered in muck, Brian moved as quickly as the terrain would allow as he tried to put some distance between himself and his Barzan pursuers. Though glad he kept himself in good physical condition, he found himself once again wondering what the hell he was thinking to allow himself to be in this situation; and once again, he willed his thoughts to shut up. Life and death moments were not the time to allow yourself to be subverted by your own thoughts.

He scrambled to his feet at the first opportunity, hoping being able to move faster would allow him to get to cover. One, two more Barzan fell as his phaser fire struck with deadly accuracy, but his luck had just about run out. Glancing to his right to find some kind of cover, Brian caught a glimpse of another ambusher . . . .

Then all he saw were stars, as whatever large weapon the Barzan was carrying came squarely into contact with the counselor's forehead. An "oof" and a splash later, he was back on the ground.

Tess was still by herself, dammit, and was getting just a little sick of it.

She could see other members of the away team, occasionally, and out of the corners of her vision, but every time she tried to make it to one of them, six Barzan and their not entirely unimpressive weaponry would show up. Tess had dived for cover enough that her knees were really starting to hurt.

Insanely, she could hear her mother in her head. ~You take care of your knees, Tesseract. No proper Chinese man will want a woman with damaged knees.

~Wow, is this NOT the time~ Tess thought and mentally told her mother to shut up. This was a frequent mental occurrence, although, in real life, it would never happen.

There was a Barzan to her left, and Tess shot quickly, diving for cover again. The Barzan went down like a sack of potatoes, which would make Tess more proud if there weren't a hundred more running around.

Mentally, Tess willed herself to calm down, to focus, breathe. She looked to her right and saw the Commander lying on the ground, about ten feet away. There was a Barzan nearby with a weapon pointed at his head. "Hey!" she yelled, startling the Barzan. He lifted his weapon to aim at her.

She shot him instead, and again, sack of potatoes. Tess ran over to the Commander and felt for a pulse. "Sir?" she asked him, none too gently tapping his face. "Sir, this would be an excellent time to wake up now."

"Lieutenant..." Elessidil mumbled as he stirred. His hand slowly went to his head, which now felt like...well, like someone had bashed the blunt end of a large firearm into it. He could tell he was bleeding, but knew it could have been much worse. The sounds of fighting had diminished somewhat, particularly in the immediate area, and it was a welcome sign. "The rest of the team...?"

"Not sure," Tess said, examining him quickly. It was likely he had a concussion, but he also seemed to be able to manage coherent thought, always a good sign. Tess wanted to do a better check, but there wasn't time to hold two fingers in front of his face. They were pretty exposed out here and the Barzan . . .

. . .were gone. Well, not gone, but certainly less there than they had been a few minutes ago. She supposed the Barzan had retreated, but being out in this open made her wary all the same. "Come on, Sir. We'll see if we can find them. Can you stand?"

"I think so..." Brian managed as he struggled to get up. He still felt light-headed and knew he was in no condition to continue fighting, at least for now. If anything, he would have preferred just to lie down, but this certainly wasn't the place. "Let's... fall back...with the others."

They'd only gone a few steps when an unexpected voice broke through the sound of a few remaining skirmishes.

*"Starfleet officers, I am a friend of the Federation. I offer you safe passage back to your ship, on board my humble shuttle."*

The counselor looked up, squinting with distrust. "Who the hell...?"

"This two-gender division is rather limiting."

Veziran Solas
Patient slave

Aristi Ferguson
Pugnacious slave

*************
Somewhere on Ivor...
*************

The first thing Veziran Solas noticed when the shuttle doors opened was the scent of the sea. The crisp smell practically smacked her in the face as she stepped onto the moist ground, the salty humid air rapidly filling her nostrils. One side of her lip curled upward, her brows knitting together into a frown.

She hated the sea.

Her shoulders hunched forward, body language projecting an aura of fear and apprehension, the El-Aurian looked slowly around. There was little to see save a pair of low, nondescript grey buildings surrounded on all sides by a tall fence topped with what looked like razor wire. Archaic, she thought to herself. Archaic, but effective.

The other slaves continued to debark around her, the thirty or so sentients forming loose, irregular ranks on the open ground between the two shuttles that had brought them here. Veziran saw some faces she recognized: Marcus Edwards in particular, as well as a few ratings she'd seen around the station before. Most of them looked to be in good condition, although they were notably irritated at being made to stand in the cold, damp air wearing nothing more than their skivvies. Further down the ranks she noticed Aristi Ferguson, who was still sporting a rather large bruise across one cheek. The Cardassian woman had been impatient with the Orion who had come to collect them from the Bonestell's brig, and of course she'd been duly punished.

Veziran shook her head. Patience was the key to this game. Six years as a guest of the Borg had taught her that lesson quite well.

She looked over her shoulder, craning her head just far enough to see who else had appeared. A pair of Trill men she didn't recognize were standing behind her on the right, both looking fairly dejected. Next to them stood four Orions, obviously pirates, and beyond them were a trio of rough-looking Andorians, probably pirates as well. She half-smiled, turning back around to stare at the ground. Sometimes it felt good when karma came back to bite bad people in the ass.

"Alright people, listen up!" The loud, obviously amplified voice snapped her back to the present and she automatically looked towards the owner of the voice. The man was dressed in the same full body armor as all the other guards, with a single stripe of red on his right shoulder denoting his higher rank. He was no taller or larger than the remaining guards, and the reflective coating on his helmet visor made it almost impossible to see his face.

"Thank you all for joining us today!" he continued, pacing slowly before them. "You lucky few have been selected for an all-expenses-paid trip to the fabulous Eastern Sea courtesy of Ivor Cruise Lines! But before we can send you on your way, you must be properly outfitted. You'll find everything you need for your journey inside these two buildings, and our friendly staff will be more than willing to assist you in whatever way possible. Your ship will be arriving shortly, so please hurry! Gentlemen, please proceed to the left, ladies to the right," he concluded, waving a hand towards each building in turn.

Several seconds passed and nobody moved, most of the prisoners having been thrown off guard by the man's apparently pleasant demeanor. Then, one of the other guards spoke up. "Move it, maggots!"

Veziran felt a sharp jab between her shoulder blades, followed by an unintelligible grunt from another one of the guards. Not bothering to look behind her she stepped forward as quickly as her chained feet would allow. She'd been in similar situations before, and knew that being quiet and obedient was the easiest way to get overlooked. And that was usually the best way to survive an unpleasant situation such as this.

They split into groups quickly enough, forming two lines that made their way through the grimy double doors at the front of each building. Inside the main room stood two more guards hidden partially in shadow. The guards pushed open a set of swinging double doors, leading the dozen or so prisoners into a long, narrow room lined with benches on each side before following them into the room.

"You will remove all articles of clothing and jewelry and leave them here," one of them said in a low, gruff voice. Had the guard not been blessed with an ample chest and equally ample hips concealed beneath her body armor, Veziran would have sworn she was a he.

"Oh hell no!" Veziran's head whipped around towards the source of the sudden interruption, somehow already knowing who was the cause. And sure enough...

"I'm not getting naked in front of them!" Aristi complained, pointing her finger at two wiry Andorians who had already begun to undress. "This two-gender division is rather limiting. How do we know they're not guys? What if they went into the wrong building on purpose?"

Veziran raised an eyebrow; she couldn't tell either whether the Andorians were male or female. She knew enough about the species to know that technically the answer was 'neither', although they could still be classified as 'male-type' and 'female-type' if necessary.

But before she could finish her thought, maybe even injecting something into the informal 'discussion', one of the guards strode over and backhanded Aristi across her swollen cheek. Veziran winced as the guard then turned back to the rest of them and barked a two word command. "Strip! Now!"

Veziran sighed and began to do as she was told. Yes, this was going to require a great deal of patience.

"An Officer and a Gentleman" Part 1

Lieutenant Junior Grade Juliette Rinaldi

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor

Over Barzan...

Luck had struck her. The small pod, which was the last one left, provided her for a chance for escape from this hell hole of a ship. Sighing, Juliette looked up at the ceiling unaware of the person that was coming into the pod.

"Corgan I repeat there is one escape pod, behind the bridge can you make it our location?!" Raynor tried to get the message over the comm but all he was getting was static... a force field was blocking the rest of the team from getting through as if the ship didn't want them to leave... He left the door open as long as possible even firing on the field with little effect... seeing no one coming from the other way, he locked it up and proceeded inside.

"Oh.... hi..."

Raynor simply raised an eyebrow. "Yes... hello... do you mind launching this thing or shall I?" asked sarcastically yet with a sense of urgency. If they waited any longer it was unlikely the pod would be able to launch at all.

She rolled her eyes, pressing the button and feeling the launch process start. "Better? Oh great one?"

"Yes... actually... I wonder what's for dinner tonight when we get back... I hope its steak but you know I could eat anything after this..." Raynor joked.

The pod began to shake as they went through re-entry and the emergency boosters began to fire. Raynor guess they had about 3 minutes before they either landed, crashed, or exploded in this high risk escape of theirs.

"What about you?" he asked almost casually, almost unconcerned about his own survival. Either he would live through this or he wouldn't it was that simple. Panicking at this point wouldn't help anything.

"I'm going to take a bath and remember what it was like to look like a woman instead of a pissed off Marine on a mission." She retorted just as frankly. Her calmness surprised her, however she had grown to expect the unexpected with the crew of the Galaxy.

As the pod bumped along, Rinaldi sighed. "We need a plan once we get on the planet. How about if I take you as my POW?"

"How about you first explain to me why the hell they should trust you over me before I even consider that option..." Raynor sighed.

"You'll find out." She smiled sinisterly.

"Riiiight..." Raynor looked at her curiously. "But seriously were pretty much limited to three or four objectives when we get down there. Wait for rescue, try and find the rest of our team, try and retrieve the target, or cause as much havoc among the enemy forces as possible. You know..."

"Personally, I prefer to cause a mass amount of havoc...but that's just me." Glancing sideways, she arched an eyebrow. "I think we've landed."

"Almost, right once we get on the ground we need to," Raynor stopped mid-sentence. He caught sight of an energy blast heading their way, and all he could manage to get out was "Oh fuc-"

The pod exploded in mid-air, and two bodies were thrown out of it as if they were nothing. The fact they were still in one piece was a miracle, or it would be a miracle if there wasn't some odd blue aura that seemed to be shielding them from the majority of the blast.

Blinking twice, the hairless pale being opened her yellow eyes slowly. Her senses were alert, yet her eyesight was the most heightened. Turning her head, her hand came up frantically and searched for the breathing device that was to be with her. Finding it around her neck, she sighed, bringing it up and adjusting it to the proper place. The being was unaware she was in her natural state. That was until she viewed a certain Starfleet officer hovering above her with a curious expression.

"Hi Raynor," her voice was that of her original form that he knew her of, yet her body told another story all together.

'Shape shifter' Raynor thought to himself. 'Chameloid if my eye is certainly right... she hasn't been open, but that doesn't make her untrustworthy. And at least now I know why she suggested the POW idea... still a bad plan until they got enough information so she could convincing pass off as one military here, who would indubitably be expected to know a few things.'

"Need a hand?" Raynor asked offering his arm with the same warmth he gave her back on the shuttle. The little things just didn't bother him anymore.

The objective... rescuing the drone, and saving people from the threat of assimilation, that was important fussing about someone's species. After all its not like he was being completely honest either.

He had his reasons... he was an Intelligence Officer... truth and deception was his business. She was a lawyer, so lying was second nature. It was that simple.

His arm waited, extended, offering to help her up...

"Okay...thank you." She grabbed his wrist, glanced down at her color and looked up with a somewhat shocked expression on her face. As she stood, she changed back into the form everyone knew as Juliette Rinaldi. "Can we keep 'me' between you and I please?"

"Not a soul..." Raynor winked, before looking around. "We should probably figure out where we are. Any ideas?"

"An Officer and a Gentleman" Part 2

Lieutenant Junior Grade Juliette Rinaldi

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor

Barzan...

"Can we keep 'me' between you and I please?"

"Not a soul..." Raynor winked, before looking around. "We should probably figure out where we are. Any ideas?"

"Hell?" She shot him a look of utter disdain as she placed her hands on her hips and looked around. "First, I believe we should gather what we can as far as anything lying around. Secondly, find some sort of shelter. Then we can take it from there." The air about her was sharp as she dropped her hands and started to walk to the west. Glancing back, her look softened. "You coming?"

"I already have everything I will probably ever need for this mission," Raynor stated, pointing out all the extra pouches wrapped around both his belt and thighs. He had brought a lot of non-standard equipment, their contents hidden from prying eyes. He also had a stand hand-held phaser, 'Ender' his personal side arm, and a phaser rifle over his shoulder.

"Take whatever you think you'll need. As important as our equipment may be, were in the middle of enemy territory... So it's also important to be fast. You can't do that if you're dragging to much."

Juliette lowered her head, shook it back and forth slowly and chuckled. "Intell....." Pausing for a moment, she let him meander up to her before speaking again. "Scratch plan A. How about finding some place that will offer us some cover then?"

"Too late!" Raynor did a duck an roll, as a energy beam went through where he had been standing, and into a near by rock. "GET BEHIND SOMETHING!" he yelled though the static the mask he was wearing caused distorted his words a bit, not even looking towards her, instead having his attention turned towards their attackers.

Raynor turned to see 8 humanoids converging on their position, quickly. Before dodging another shot, he saw that 3 of them were doing the shooting and the rest were moving in for close range combat, like predators on the chase.

He looked over to check on his team mate. She had said she was better on her own, but now was a chance to observe her skill.

As she scurried behind her choice of a rock, Juliette sinisterly grinned. Her taste for blood was about to be filled. Peeking over, she brought her rifle up, returning fire. As she shot, she was satisfied as one of the eight fell. However, she was more concerned with the five that were approaching quickly. Smirking at Zev, she barked.

"Concentrate on the ones that are shooting...."

Leaving me with the easy ones? Fine by me... means I can hide my true ability a bit longer. But ultimately it shows me how much you are used to working alone. The real question is does she really have the skill to go hand to hand in a four on one fight.

Stretching a bit, she emerged from the rock still in her Juliette shape. Her Chameloid traits would be reserved for something a little more deadly other than hand to hand combat with a bunch of ridged, tan skinned natives. As the first emerged towards her, she took a defensive stance before ducking an incoming blow from her attacker. Curling her fingers and thumb inward, she left her palm open, took a step forward forcing her arm to extend and hit the alien square on what she hoped was their nose.

Watching a second as he stumbled back, she spun around accepting a blow to the abdomen by another opposition that stealth fully crept up behind her. Narrowing her eyebrows, she grunted when bringing her leg upwards, knocking his knee out and forcing it into an unnatural position.

While this was going on Raynor had shifted position three times, keeping pressure on all three shooters in their now fixed positions, making sure to keep their attention away from Jules. The fact of the matter was that normally mixing shooters and close range fighters together in fray like this was normally a bad idea, but it had become obvious that these enemies were used to working together often, and had near flawless teamwork.

In contrast to him and Jules, who were in fact part of piece of crap team someone thrown together at the last minute. They had never worked together before in practice, let alone a real combat situation. To make matters worse, he had no reason to expect someone who used to fighting alone to develop any sense of team co-ordination any time soon. It was one of the reasons he did not suggest timing as means of co-ordination rather straight trying to establish communication between the teams was simply because they weren't a team yet. It showed.

He was fighting one battle, with three shooters. She was fighting another one with four close range fighters. Whereas their enemy was fighting the both of them at once. Twice already he had to deal with one of the fighters trying knock him off balance, and one of the shooters had managed to get four pot shots at Jules while the other two were keeping him busy. He would have to add something new to the battle ground if they were going to last.

He reached into one his pouches pulled out three spherical objects. One word were Jules only warning, before he threw them into her area. "SMOKE!"

A thick fog now was now around her and the close range fighters she was dealing with. The shooters couldn't spot her now, and therefore couldn't risk firing unless they weren't worried about hitting their own guys. And the fighters also had 4 targets to choose from, only one of which was the enemy, whereas Juliette would have four enemies to choose from and therefore no worries. Also he didn't have to worry about the fighters coming after him immediately because of the fog, but he still had the shooters to deal with.

He shifted his position again opening fire on the closest one.

She could have ran over and kissed him for the gift of cover, yet she was sure that wouldn't exactly come off the way she would want it to. The smoke provided the misty tent she needed to transform without his vision of her form and make her job easier. A dark, beast like growl cut through the atmosphere as the ominous sounds of fighting continued from the cloud of smoke.

Oblivious to what her partner was doing, she was more concerned with her own battle. Having him around was going to be a blessing in some ways, a curse in others. Yet, now was not the time to think of that as the claws ripped through the flesh of the alien's midsection resulting in a satisfying spray of fluid and groan of death.

Minutes past, wrapping up her obligations, she changed form. Gently, with an almost overly ladylike manner, she emerged from the fog and eyed Raynor with a calm satisfied look. Nodding, Jules spoke. "Good job."

Two of the shooters were unconscious but yet not but for some reason they didn't have much more than a scratch on them. While this was not an uncommon sight in the current century, the fact that six 3-point-shuriken were found nearby made it seem unusual they were only asleep. Raynor was holding the third one up by his collar. The Barzan seemed scared still, not struggling, but not unconscious either.

"An Officer and a Gentleman" Part 3

Lieutenant Junior Grade Juliette Rinaldi

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor

Barzan...

Oblivious to what her partner was doing, she was more concerned with her own battle. Having him around was going to be a blessing in some ways, a curse in others. Yet, now was not the time to think of that as the claws ripped through the flesh of the alien's midsection resulting in a satisfying spray of fluid and groan of death.

Minutes past, wrapping up her obligations, she changed form. Gently, with an almost overly ladylike manner, she emerged from the fog and eyed Raynor with a calm satisfied look. Nodding, Jules spoke. "Good job."

Two of the shooters were unconscious but yet not but for some reason they didn't have much more than a scratch on them. While this was not an uncommon sight in the current century, the fact that six 3-point-shuriken were found nearby made it seem unusual they were only asleep. Raynor was holding the third one up by his collar. The Barzan seemed scared still, not struggling, but not unconscious either.

"I wish I could say the same..." Raynor commented sarcastically. "You didn't leave any of yours alive enough to talk... right now we need information... and this one over here is the only source now... which means we can't cross reference anything he says."

Of course he wasn't telling her that he absorbed the memories of the ones she killed so it wasn't that big a deal, however to hide his ability they needed at least to go through the motions of getting information out of a live Barzan, and roughly acting on it.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him for a moment. The chocker that she wore for protection against telepaths had disappeared during the crash for some reason. "Look *Zev*, your job is to ask questions." Juliette paused, and then leaned forward. "My job is to kill." Looking down, she brushed something off her pants, then steadied her gaze against his once more. Her hunger had been satisfied for the moment as she started to circle around the Barzan that Zev held up by the collar.

Staying silent, she let her gaze drift from the Intel officer to the opposition. There was an odd like stance to which she held herself, as if she was sizing the enemy up for when it was her turn. Clearing her throat, she spoke. "I'll leave the interrogation up to you. I'll be...over here."

"I think she has PMS… if her species gets PMS… if she is a she…" Raynor jokingly reassured his prisoner. "Plus she has to work for the prosecution... so I wouldn't take that it's her job to kill people too literally..."

He turned to his prisoner, "But now you have a dilemma, talk or don't, tell me the truth or lie... but I'm going to make this simple... don't talk and your life is forfeit. Lie... and things will get painful. Tell the truth... and I will allow you to stay here and await rescue... You have seen a taste of what I'm capable of... so what is it going to be?"

There was a look of true terror on his prisoners face... this wouldn't take long. Five minutes later… he went to talk to Jules; he prisoner had passed out...

"We need to figure out our next move..." he said simply. "I got a rough idea of the terrain and the nearest settlements; it's about 30 klicks before we reach a little hick town with transportation... so there's that option or... we steal their communicators and take a chance with whatever enemy transport they arrange... transporters, shuttle, jeep, whatever... also... you can make use of their clothes... well... this one's clothes... Raynor pointed at the prisoner... since it's the only pair that's still 100% intact... also we need establish who the hell is in command of our little group here."

Another problem with this group was there was no chain of command. There was Corgan, then T'lan... after that... anyone is game. He foresaw a long talk with the Commander after this was all over.

"You can lead." She stated simply as she tugged the clothes off of their personal POW. "Pardon me." Juliette excused herself, found a rather large rock and transformed into the planet's native species. Quickly changing, she emerged and eyed Raynor. "What do you want to do?"

While Juliette was changing Raynor had grabbed a decent pair of pants and a shirt that didn't have too much damage on them and handed it to the POW, also he also quickly picked up all equipment the enemy had been carrying and put into a pile.

"Alright a few simple questions before we put my crazy plan in to motion... can you change your bio sign on the scanners to match Barzans? I mean appearance is one thing but if they use transporters their going to have to scan you. Second do you really need the mask?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, pausing before responding. "Yes, I will need to concentrate but it can be done." Crossing her eyes, she glanced down at the mask on her face. Tearing it off, she arched a rather thin eyebrow at him. "Satisfied, Captain my Captain?" Jules retorted sarcastically.

"'If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities.'" Raynor began to quote. "'If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.' That's a quote from the 152 rules of being an Evil Overlord. Are we going to make that obvious for them to spot us or what?"

She glanced down at herself, then upwards and quietly responded. "I don't do happy or affectionate and we are a far cry from an attractive couple. So, prepare for your death."

"Not likely... Our enemy hasn't read the good book. 'I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cellblock, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.' They have imprisoned people from the same party in the same cell. I know because I fill in for God every now and then."

"Alright radio in tell them that you've taken a prisoner at the cost of your unit, and that you request transport to the nearest holding facility."

The radio conversation was boring and the instructions simple. Pick up would be in two hours, and the location was 14.395 kilometers south from the current position. He turned to the real POW.

"Were going to have to restrain you while we care this out, your buddies will come to in about six or seven hours, and you get one of them to untie you. Sorry for the trouble but you know... were kind of trying to save our collective asses... from the Collective..." he explained while tying the knots. "Is there anything you would like to take care of before we go? Toilet? Make-up? Anything like that *dear*?"

Juliette never smirked as a Barzan, but she was attempting it as she kept her glowering gaze on him. "What I don't understand, is why you are being so nice to.....him. Or why we are keeping him around." She walked over, her cursory glance raking over the POW. "Useless." She muttered. Then, turning her focus to Zev, she spoke. "I'm fine, thank you *honey*."

"'In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them.

Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.

The captured soldiers should be kindly treated and kept. This is called, using the conquered foe to augment one's own strength.' Sun Tzu, Art of War... Standard reading at the Academy... easy for an assassin to forget though," Raynor laughed. Almost no soldier would do as Raynor had done.

"Let's go..." he said, and started walking.

"Come Into My Parlor Said the Spider to the Flies"

Ensign Artim
Lieutenant jg Robert Marhieson
Grand Marshal Agatha Marcel

Grand Marshal's Shuttle
=================

The interior of the Grand Marshal's shuttle was more spacious and luxurious than it's exterior apearance suggested. Within the forward compartment, the pilot was conducting his pre-launch checklists as his co-pilot stowed an odd yet familiar rifle - A TR-113 with illegal transporter modification. How he had obtained one was anyone's guess, but given the Ivorian's dealings with Orions it wasn't that dificult to come to a fairly acurate conclusion. The main compartment was plush, though modestly so. The bruisers composing Agatha's bodyuard ushered Matheison, Artim, and the Ambasador to unoccupied seats and strapped them in before stowing their weapons and taking seats. Agatha was by this time in her own seat, and moments later the shuttle was lifting from the deck of the Bonestall's shuttlebay.

Artim wasn't sure what was going on here as he was still processing the events in the shuttlebay and whether being separated from the others was a good thing or a bad thing. True, he was still restrained as he had been when he'd been in the Orion's custody which suggested to him that he might not be entirely free. However, this cage appeared to be far more plush then the cage Lana and the others were likely headed to. There was one thing that was clear though, he was here instead of there because this Ivorian thought he was a child. For the time being he'd have to keep up that appearance in order to remain in this gilded cage. Thus, when he spoke he used not the tone of a seasoned Starfleet officer and one-time mercenary that he was, but more the curious and scared tone that was more fitting to his appearance as he looked up with a slightly fearful expression on his face.

"Um, who are you and where are we going?"

"I am Grand Marshal Agatha Marcel," the woman replied, her voice like honey. "As to where, I am taking you to my palace. Have you ever been in one, little boy?"

"No...sounds interesting", Artim replied still sounding like a 10 year old. Truth was he'd been in more then his fair share of palaces and the like in his time, but that didn't fit his current persona.

"E's only a lad, but don' sugar coat it", the doctor growled. "Fekkin' slavers pure an' simple - 'at's wot yer are, an' it looks like we're up shyte creek without a paddle in sight. Yer probably facin' th' same yersel' - nabbin' Federation personnel from a starbase shows balls 'a plenty, but not a heap o' brains. Ye mus' know Starfleet'll be after us quicklike."

Agatha fixed Mathieson with a frigid gaze, and very nearly regretted taking him with her. Then again, it wasn't often that she had someone that wasn't afraid of disagreeing with her to her face. Slave or no, that was a valuable commodity. This man would be her moral compass, she decided. "The only reason Starfleet will send anyone, Doctor, is because Proctor will do almost anything to save face, and it's assured she'll do what she can to twist it around to her favor, regardless of the end result, and who she runs over in the process. That bitch doesn't care about those that fall under her protection. She doesn't care about anything, really, except keeping herself on top. The difference between Proctor and myself if that I know my time will come to an end in the future: her mind can't grasp that detail."

Scary thing was what Agatha said probably wasn't far from the truth, Proctor did have an ego issue. Didn't stop Artim from trying to keep on her good side as for the time being she was the sector CO. As much as Artim wanted to launch into a defense of the Admiral or something along those lines, right now, he was a kid. An innocent scared little boy that didn't care about politics and admirals. Artim looked down at his restraints and said still in that scared, but polite, kid voice

"Um, I don't mean to be rude Ms. Agatha, but these things hurt. Could you please take them off? I'll be good, I promise"

The Grand Marshal shook her head. "Not until after we have landed."

"Oh, OK." Artim said in an almost pouty voice as he slunk back in his seat. A pouty expression came over his face as well. Artim didn't do it all that often, especially on the ship, but he did find it fun to act the age he looked on occasion. Then again, in this case it might well save his life.

Doctor Mathieson, on the other hand, was looking more advanced than his age. The effects of the Orion pain collar and the First Mate's tranquilizer were catching up to the old man who leaned against one of the bulkheads and slid slowly to the floor. "Then wot?" he asked, surprised at the gravely roughness of his own voice. "'I've read th' boy's record - 'e's a good lad. Deserves better'n life on his knees. Wot'cher plan fer all'er us, Aggie ol' girl?" The doctor would have added various crass comparisons between Agatha Marcel and her reproductive organs, but the venomous glance he cast towards the Grand Marshal communicated the concept far better than words.

"I have already expressed what I intend for you, Doctor. As for the young man, I am tempted to remand him into your custody." Her return look could have frozen a star. "Should he act up in any way, I would see to it that the punishments for such transgressions would be taken out on your crewmates. The same for you, Doctor."

"But...I don't know them...any of them. My daddy's dead and my mommy left me. I was in the park in the station when the big green men took me. Please Ms. Agatha, can I stay with you? Pretty please? This man scares me."

Artim said with a wanting look on his face and with a tone that indicated he was really looking for a mother. Even though he was acting at the moment, there was only one slight lie in there. He did know Mathieson and the old doctor did scare him a tad but he really didn't know anyone else. His father was dead and he didn't know the fate of his mother. Of course, he was trying to get to stay with Agatha because it seemed like the best way to find out where the others were going...and he did intend to "misbehave", and he didn't want anyone else getting hurt for it.

"I don't have time for children, boy." She turns to regard him closely. "If I did I would have had my own. Therefore, you are not wanted by me." She thought for a moment. "As for knowing people, it doesn't matter. The Doctor knows some of them. He may scare you, but think on how scarey he would become if something you did cause a friend of his a lot pain."

The doctor grunted as he adjusted his position against the uncomfortable bulkhead. "Settle down boy. Let's jus' behave ourselves an' wait 'till Uncle Krieghoff comes an' tells yer Auntie Aggie wot a bad, bad girl she's been." Mentioning Galaxy's version of the grim-reaper may not have been the best thing to do in the presence of the excitable Miran, but the image of the Security Officer and the Grand Marshal together brought a cold smile to the old man's face.

Artim sulked a bit but then nodded to the Doc's response. It would be amusing to see ice bitch here and "Lieutenant Death" in the same room. Starfleet had to have sent a team by now and hopefully they weren't masquerading as inept pirates with an annoying bird or monkey along...or even a pig. That would be original...

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