"Corran & Victor Go To Mosanalea " - Conclusion

Corran Rex
Victor Kreighoff

--------------
NOW
USS Galaxy
Long-term vehicular storage bay,
Deck 12.
--------------

"There we go." Corran Rex said with a grunt, as the small device came out in his hand. Under his feet, the feel of the Marianne shifted as she switched wholly to backups. Not that she'd need a great deal of power, here in Galaxy's long-term vehicular storage bay.

Still, it was a device that could change everything. People would - had - killed for it.

Zero-point energy. Clean, effectively limitless power... and it all fit in the palm of his hand.

The only question now was what to do with it.

------------
Mosanalea
Last Year
------------

Corran Rex dodged back quickly as a disruptor bolt sliced through the air past his head. To be fair, his dodging was amply helped by the fact that Victor Kreighoff had effectively tackled him out of the way.

"Thanks." the Trill immediately replied, and pointed the type I palm phaser in his hand. It was of his considered opinion that the Type I didn't get near enough respect. Let the Security types heft around their bulky phaser rifles. If he needed more shots than the e-cell for this phaser carried, then things were already so far out of hand that they were screwed.

Of course, he mused as he returned fire, tagging the first of an extraordinarily large number of attackers, it seemed that was the case anyway.

"I don't recall this being in the plan." Victor mused aloud as he began taking down Syndicate thugs as well. One, two, three. "As I recall, we were supposed to get to Ganz peacefully."

"Yeah, that was the plan, all right." One, two. And only a few dozen more where they came from.

"This is not peacefully."

"You complaining?" Rex asked, unable to hold back the smirk. "Have to admit, this is a whole lot more satisfying."

Victor's return smile was a bit unsettling as he cut down a pair of men trying to flank them. "No, I can't complain - especially since this is my fault. Do you suppose that I shouldn't have shoved the doorman's face through the door when he wouldn't let us in? Or was it the 'Knock, knock' I announced us with after that? I understand that my sense of humor is a bit... confrontational... but even so, this is a bit much, don't you think? Down!" Victor shoved Rex down with his free hand and sent a bolt fro his compressed tetryon beam pistol back over him to stop a man low-crawling around some statuary before he could fire. "

Rex shook his head in order to clear it - the speed with which Krieghoff had pushed him had knocked his head onto the wall, dizzying him for a moment. "They really just have no sense of humor." He observed as he unlatched a photon grenade from the belt that he'd taken from the "doorman". With a grin, he lobbed it over the wall towards the crowd of oncoming thugs, and laughed. "Because this? See, now *this* is fun!"

"We really should try and get into the house and introduce ourselves properly," Victor suggested. "Any ideas there, or should we go with one of mine and see how that works?"

"Yours?"

"Either surrender and let them take us to Ganz - who sounds like the type that has to gloat in person - or kill everyone here and then walk inside to introduce ourselves." Victor fired again and then again, knocking two more men down. "You know him better than me. Number One or Number Two?"

"Number one would probably be faster," Corran granted. "But you know, Vic, these guys are the scum of the universe. They're murderers, rapists, thieves, drug-peddlers, slavers, politicians..."

"Oh, now that's bad," Victor returned. "You'd think that murderers, thieves, drug-dealers, slavers, and rapists would keep a better class of company." He shook his head, ducked to avoid a beam that sizzled overhead and popped back up to shoot the Nausicaan that had fired it.

"Number two. Let's kill as many of them as we possibly can. They've irritated the hell out of me ever since we landed on this damn planet. I say they've got it coming."

"Kill everyone?" Something moved in Victor's eyes at the words, something dark and terrifying. "Well then," he said, his voice a mere whisper, but still audible over the din of the firefight, each word as cold as the ice that lined the path to the frozen gates of Hell. "Since you asked so nicely...."

The expanded sense of his presence that Corran had grown used to since arriving at Mosanalea, shifted, becoming something like a true physical pressure pushing at the Trill, and Victor stood up, an old-style Type 1 Phaser of his own slipping out of his sleeve as he rose. The sharp, crisp bolts from his compressed tetryon beamer spat green fire as the phaser came online with an insectile whine, the beam almost seeming to already be reaching out in a continuous stream before the weapon was settled in his hand.

There was a pause in the firing, as if the men attacking them weren't certain if he was surrendering to them or not, despite the weapons in his hand - or perhaps as if they simply didn't believe that he was exposing himself like that. Whatever the reason, the pause lasted long enough for Victor to shoot another man with the beamer in his left hand and slice three more - plus the groundcar they were seeking cover behind - in half with the phaser in his right as he dragged it across the lawn, firing constantly, and slashed it across them like a six meter long sword.

The explosion of the groundcar when the beam reached the power cells in the front rocked the front of the mansion, and sent the rest of Ganz's troops rushing for cover. Victor laughed once, terrifyingly, and was up and over the low wall he and Corran had sought cover behind, pursuing the fleeing men.

Corran echoed the laugh as he followed closely - and was more glad than ever that Victor was on *his* side. It took a lot to impress a several-thousand year old joined Trill... but Victor was definitely impressive, to say nothing else.

Both men poured the fire into the fleeing mobsters, mounting what amounted to a two-man frontal assault on a fortified compound full of very nasty people.

Even more astonishing was the fact that they were pulling it off.

"Victor." Corran called, as he neatly put a phaser beam right through one of their opponent's eyes. (And head.)

"Yes?" came the answer in that same whispered voice, the words just as cold and inhuman, as Victor reached through a window and dragged an escaping Lurian back through, the thug's grayish ridged skin almost white with fear. "Are you injured?" The Lurian let out a penetrating cry and went still as something inside it broke under Victor's hands.

"You know this is crazy, right? No way we should be getting away with this."

"True, the odds were against us. But they weren't expecting this and hadn't prepared for it. If they had, things would be different."

"Okay, just so you know."

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

Things didn't take much longer than that - particularly once they'd liberated some rather nice heavy weaponry from some of the thugs they'd taken down. Ganz, predictably, was holed up in his office. The dark-skinned Orion had a look of naked shock on his face as Corran and Victor barged into his private Sanctum. "Ganz," Corran said darkly, pointing his brand-new shiny isomagnetic shoulder-mounted cannon at the man. "I want my ship."

To his credit, the crimelord regained his composure (at least outwardly.) "And If I refuse?"

"Ah." The smile on Victor's face was wide - and not truly human. "Why then, I get to ask you. I'm very much afraid that you wouldn't like that, Mr. Ganz." He tilted his head to one side and studied the Orion. "Most people don't."

"Exactly," Corran smiled. "You don't give us everything we want, and then I turn my friend here loose."

"To do what? Kill me?" Ganz laughed. "That won't get you what you want."

"Oh no, Mr. Ganz. My friend here has been remarkably reserved. You should see him when he's angry." Corran added, as a frighteningly-casual aside. "You wouldn't like him when he's angry."

"I would listen to them if I were you," a clipped female voice, the tones unmistakable Vulcan, spoke up from a side door. "The Captain is very... thorough." The woman stepped into the light, revealing herself to be, as her voice had indicated, a Vulcan. She raised her hands palms towards the three to show that they were empty. ""We've done business before, haven't we, Captain Todeshändler?"

Victor blinked, frowned, and then nodded slowly, his voice more like the one that Corran had grown used to than the whispered voice of the monster that lived inside him. "We have." He nodded towards Ganz. "What name does he know you by?" He'd never considered that someone he'd met while on the undercover operation with K'vala would be here.

The Vulcan nodded in appreciation at the courtesy. "The same name you used at our last meeting will suffice, Captain."

"As you wish, T'sel," Victor acknowledged. "I take it you have business with Mr. Ganz as well?" What the VIM terrorist was doing here was obvious, but it cost nothing to be polite.

She nodded. "Not, perhaps, as... urgent as yours, though." T'sel looked around curiously. "Is your wife here as well? I trust you were able to resolve the situation with her sister so that you were left with just the one you wanted?"

"Two wives are too many," he agreed. Especially given that one of the sisters was a home-wrecking insane arms dealer who thought he was married to her sane sister, while the sane one was a militant intelligence operative who wanted to kill him when he was no longer useful. "I didn't need her help for this errand." Victor nodded towards Corran. "I owed him a favor, and he needed something from Ganz as well, so..."

"And your errand is?" she asked evenly. "We already know what your companion wants."

"A certain list that Mr. Ganz came into possession of," Victor explained. "One containing the location of certain properties in Cardassian space that he isn't the original owner of."

"Ah." T'sel considered that for a moment. "He neglected to mention that he was selling me weapons he'd stolen from you."

"I imagine that he didn't," Victor nodded. Especially since the weapons hadn't been stolen from anyone Victor had ever heard of, much less from him. If T'sel chose to believe otherwise, though, he felt no need to enlighten her. As Ganz started to speak, Victor raised his hand and pointed the Cardassian rifle in it at the Orion. "You really don't want to interrupt the lady, Mr. Ganz; bad for your health and all that." Turning back to the Vulcan, he asked, "So, where do your interests lie? I have no desire to cost myself and my wife a good customer. It's not sound business."

Corran looked sharply at Victor. "Wife?" he mouthed. Krieghoff didn't reply, however.

"How good a customer?" she asked, coming straight to the point.

You could always count on Vulcan logic. "Twenty percent off market value for you next order."

"Thirty."

"Twenty-five percent if you pay in latinum. We absorb the conversion losses and shipping costs." Victor considered her for a few seconds, and then sweetened the offer, "That deal is good for your next three purchases." Considering that V'kala was dead, he had no weapons to sell, and K'vala would kill the woman if she ever saw her again to protect her House, there was no chance this was a bad deal for him.

T'sel thought for exactly three seconds and then nodded once. "Agreed."

"What?" Ganz exploded. "You're going to just..."

"His is the superior offer," the Vulcan interrupted. "And I trust *his* word."

"His is the...? I've never heard of this fool and you're going to..." Ganz retorted, oblivious to the emphasis the Vulcan had used.

"He and V'kala, have never altered the terms of a deal, as you were in the process of doing when they interrupted us," she continued, drowning the Orion out. "And, when our last deal was interrupted by agents of the Klingon Intelligence service, he resolved the situation in a manner that protected his clients completely while incurring considerable losses to his family's business. That demonstrates that he can be trusted where you cannot."

"V'kala? His wife is V'kala?" Ganz sputtered. "But she's married to that hulking idiot, Hraask. What are you talking about?"

"No," she corrected. "She is not. I personally saw the Captain explain the terms of the divorce to Hraask, and heard V'kala voice her intent to have children with the Captain just before he demonstrated his trustworthiness."

"How, by offering to father children on you, too?" Ganz snapped acidly.

T'sel's expression, already as still as any Vulcan's, grew even colder. "No, by destroying all evidence of his operations - and my presence - in a manner that guaranteed total security from investigation."

Ganz sneered. "There is no such thing."

"Incorrect. There is," T'sel corrected, "if there is no planet upon which to conduct the investigation."

"No planet...." Ganz's eyes cut to Victor. "Jhorjah? That was you?"

There was a moment of silence and the air in the room seemed to compress, to become heavier, as though something immensely large was forcing its way into the room from Outside and into Victor, wearing him like a mask as it looked out through his eyes and then leaned forward to meet Ganz's. It held him there by the power of its gaze for a moment, just long enough for the Orion to go pale, and then whispered in a voice that Corran had never heard before, or desired to hear again, "I am created Shiva, the Destroyer; Death, the shatterer of worlds."

"I'll be damned..." Corran whispered, unable to contain his entire astonishment.

Ganz stared, panicked eyes wide, unable to look away from whatever it was he saw looking back at him through Victor's eyes. "I....."

"I will be in touch, Captain," T'sel said evenly, turning and leaving the way she'd entered as if completely unaware that something other than the obvious was going on in the room. "I doubt we will meet again, Mr. Ganz. Farewell."

The Orion simply hung there with his jaw open as the Vulcan woman left. Corran had regained enough of his own equilibrium to stare the man down. "Told you wouldn't like him when he's angry."

Victor merely smiled. "I should point out," he whispered in a voice that was once again merely Death's, "that I'm not angry... yet."

"I want my ship." Rex said flatly. "I want justice for my friend, a couple of things for Starfleet Intelligence."

"And when you get them?"

"We'll see."

"I don't negotiate under threats." Ganz replied immediately. He even seemed to believe it.

Corran's voice was as dark as Victor's own, then. "This isn't a negotiation, Ganz. And you're not laboring under threats. You're laboring under a death sentence."

The Orion started to speak but was cut off by a soft chuckle from Death that carried in it an undertone composed of the cries of damned souls. "Please do say something clever, Mr. Ganz - the clever ones always last longer before they just start screaming and can't stop."

"Do what you've been told, Ganz. Now." The Trill said, rather pointedly aiming the phaser at the Orion crimelord's head.

Ganz looked from Victor to Corran and back again and slowly nodded once. "I... I'll need to issue an order over the intercom," he said shakily.

"Ah, a pity," Death sighed with Victor's lips. "You were smart after all."

----------

Corran accepted the Marianne's keycard from the female assistant, even as another assistant, an identical twin to the first woman, handed Victor a duffel bag loaded down with PADDs and data chips. Corran kept his aim on Ganz as Victor verified the encryption had been disabled on each device, and then he gave a small nod to Rex.

"That just brings us to the last thing." Rex said, and closed the gap to less than three feet of distance between himself and Ganz. "Ganz, this is for Bakett. The rest of your people will know not to cross me now."

"What're you -"

Ganz never finished his statement, because Corran coldly raised the phaser and put a beam right through his eye socket. The energy beam passed all the way through tissue, bone, and brain before splashing uselessly against the reinforced transparisteel window in what had been Ganz's office.

The body fell with a sickening thud, and Corran turned to Krieghoff and held up the Marianne's keycard. "Ready to get off this dirtball planet?"

Victor frowned at him. "I don't get to kill them all?" he asked in Death's whisper. "We leave some alive?"

The Trill nodded. "As long as they behave."

Ganz's assistants paled - a considerable feat considering the bone-white complexion the slender aliens had to start with - and started to edge towards the door.

Once again there was the sense that Victor was struggling, trying to rein some part of himself in, and after a moment, he answered in Victor's voice, not the penetrating, icy whisper he'd used a moment before. "All right," he agreed. "But, if someone attacks us..." he met the assistant's eyes, "I'm likely to ... stop listening to you."

"I can deal with that."

The two men made it to the Marianne, off Mosanalea, and back to the Starship Galaxy without further incident.

"A day in the Life............"

Starring Alli

With Completely unauthorized use of just about everybody

"Computer disengage security locks....authorization Allison Delta Delta Delta Wiki Wiki Woo."

CODE ACCEPTED.....WELCOME TO STARFLEET INTELIGENCE CREWMAN JIMSDOTTIR....

"Yeah Yeah....Im all Yippee-Skippy to be here too."

Idly popping her bubblegum, Allison strolled through the sacred halls of Saul Bental's realm wondering what kind of trouble she could get into.

~~They sure have made it easier to get around now that they fired that witch of a receptioninst out front.~~ she mused to herself.

Finding the appropriate Top Secret file room, the young blond entered and plopped herself in front of a computer terminal.

WARNING>>>UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY PROHIBBITED the screen advised her.

No matter.... "Computer Override encryption......authorization Allison Bubblegum Bubblegum Zip Pop Go."

AUTHORIZATION GRANTED......KENNEDY WAS KILLED BY THE MAFIA....WOULD YOU LIKE JIMMY HOFFA'S GPS COORDINATES?

~~Ah....just as I suspected.~~~ Alli bobbed her head. ~~~Wonder what else there is to do on this ship?~~~

== ==

Thirty minutes of aimless wondering around the massive deck 10 corridors landed Allison in front of Holodeck 2.

Punching up a quick program, she entered the deck to find a simple table with a pair of scissors laying on top of them.

She addressed the computer. "Disengage Safety protocols.....authorization Allison I'm a Pepper, You're a Pepper, Wouldnt you like to be a

Pepper too."

SAFETY PROTOCOLS DISENGAGED

Grabbing the scissors firmly in her hand, Alli began running in small circles around the bare holodeck, thrilling at the sheer danger of it all.

"Woo-Hoo.....Woo-Hoo."

== ==

Later......quite bored at the thrill of running with scissors, Alli found herself breaking into James Corgan's office, picking teh lock with a bobby-pin.

Steve Bobkins the office intern hung over her shoulder sipping coffee and making smalltalk.

"So....uh.....breakinginto the boss's office?"

"Yup."

"Ah....So....looking for anything in particular?"

"Nope."

"Ah.....thought about the security alarms he has on the office?"

"Yup."

"And?"

"Easy," Allison shrugged as the lock finally clicked. Replacing the bobby pin in her hair, she addressed the computer "Override personnal security codes......authorization Corgan Gamma Epsilon Black."

OVERRIDEN....WELCOME BACK COMMANDER CORGAN.

Steve the intern was impressed. "SO you just used his own codes?"

"Yup."

"Hows that even possible?"

Allison shrugged, "Dunno....I overheard him use it one time.....thats the problem with codes you have to announce in front of everybody in the room."

"No....I mean how is it possible that his code works for you.....what about voice recognition?"

"Who ever said these things worked off of voice recognition?" Alli retorted as she ruffled through Corgan's private files. "If it was a simple matter of vocal patterns then whats up with all the Greek Letter codes? Alpha Lambda Omega, and all that jazz? Why couldnt you just say 'Hi computer....let me in please' and have it recognize your voice?"

Steve had to admit he had no answer for that.

== ==

"So she's in the witness protection program?"

"Yup." Allison stirred her drink lazily. "kinda pointless right?"

"I'll say, " Crewman jones aknowledged, knocking back his own Diet Coke.

"Apparently the Program people are scraping the bottom of the barrel," Alli shrugged......"I mean...she's living on the same ship......doing the exact same JAG job......married to same Marine. Kinda makes it easy for people to track her huh?"

"I guess.....I always thought she was a bit odd. Buddy of mine saw her in here the other day talking to invisible snakes and birds."

"Birds?"

"Eagles....doves....something like that...maybe it was an eagle that morphed into a dove...or the other way around."

"Well what do you expect from Top Secret Changeling Assassins."

"She's an assassin?"

"yeah....apparently thats common knowledge too, can I have another fruit punch here?" Alli flagged down the waiter.

=== ===

"So this is Victor Krieghoffs's room?"

"Yup." Allison was picking throught the spiderweb filled chambers looking for anything interesting.

"So whats up with all the plastic skulls and rubber bats hanging from the ceiling?"

"Supposed to be scary or something." she supposed, "Vics got this whole 'spooky' mantra thing going for him, so I think the decor is just to reinforce the idea."

Crewman Generic raised an eyebrow and examined a little toy ghost with the words 'Boo!' printed on its sheet. "Ah...a little Halloween-ish don't you think?"

"Gosh no." Alli shook her head. "He's genuinely scary. I think its all the little upside down crucifix magnets he's got on the refrigerator.......brrrrrr."

=== ===

"Computer overide Locks.....Allison Eenie meeny miney Moe."

OVERRIDE APPROVED

"Thanks coputer....." Allison stuck her head in the darkened room of Steve Jonas to verify he wasnt in. Probably out banging the Teenage Mutant Ninja-Mcallister somewhere....

Finding the stray Sniper rifle sitting in a little bedside shrine, the blond scooped it off and made for the door.

"Bout time I tracked this sucker down......Its been throwing off the Armory inventory for weeks....when will people learn to remember to return these things......"

==== ====

"Lieutenant 8-Ball I got those samples you were looking for....." Allison began as she walked into the science labs.

"Hey there....want to have sex?" The Vulcan Chief repleid as way of greeting.

Uh....excuse me?"

The scientist shrugged "Never met you before....want to have sex?"

"Uh...no thanks...duty calls and all that, I have an appointment with the doctor."

"Oh thats okay.....do you think she wants to have sex?"

"what?"

"Or maybe we both can go have sex with her......"

"Ok great....." Alli backed towards the door nervously, "See you later then lieutenant...."

"Great come again.......oh hello little puppy dog....you want to have sex?"

Allison beat a hasty retreat as a confused little "arf" came from the labs.

=== ===

"So Doc, I got this hangnail and all......"

"BY THE POWER OF THE IMMORTAL GODDESS I CURSE THEE FOUL HANGNAIL!!!!!" Kimberly Burton stood before the exam table stark naked and covered in arcane tattoos, shaking a little bone rattle at Allison.

"Uh...Hel-lo doc....how about a little antiseptic or a...."

BLASPHEMER!!!!!! HOW DARE YOU JUDGE MY RELIGION!!!!!! ITS PEOLE LIKE YOU WHO HAVE BURNED WITCHES AT THE STAKE!!!!!!!" The Doctor shrieked and drew a little pentagram on the floor.

"Burned at the ......No Doc....Its just the finger is kinda sore and maybe a pair of clippers would work....."

"CLIPPERS!!!!" Kimberly wailed......"CLIPPERS ARE THE CREATION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH!!!!! CLIPPERS WERE USED TO PERSECUTE WITCHES DURING THE INQUISITION!!!!! CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW FINGERNAIL CLIPPERS WERE USED TO CONDEMN MY KIND!!!!!!"

Alli frowned, "Well maybe if the witches held real still the inquisitors could have given them a nasty little cut.....nothing a little antiseptic couldnt....."

WOE UNTO YOU AND YOUR CHRISTIAN ANTISEPTIC!!!! Again with the bone rattle.

=== ===

Allison stopped outside the quarters of Leo Streely.

Thinking for a minute, she gave up and went on her way....... "Nope....no way to parody him any worse than he is."

=== ===

"So you got wings huh? Hows that working out for you?"

=== ===

"Stop waving your fingers at me and just tell we where I can find Ella Grey.....im not interested in your gang signs, and no....Im not going to give you an autograph so stop handing me that stupid PADD."

=== ===

"So Mr. Turan.....ever consider having that thing on your head looked at......oh...it is? Oh my mistake."

=== ===

"The Romulan Ambassador huh?.....well....your still gonna have to spell that out for me....."

=== ===

"Aftermath" Part Two

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Chief of Engineering
Mr. Michael McDowell - Civilian Engineering Specialist
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

***Location: USS Galaxy; Deck 8, Crew quarters***

["Doctor, I can really use you help right now. It's Dhani. She's...] Michael stopped mid-sentence. He wondered how to describe her. ["She's not doing well at all. I hardly recognize her anymore. She's... not Dhani."]

"I'm on my way." she announced, in a louder and clearer voice than before, now completely awake. Looking around she rooted through the clothes on the floor for anything that she could wear. Picking up a skirt and a one of the loud Hawaiian shirts her nephew had sent her she dressed quickly and made for the door, picking up her medkit from its hanger on the wall as she passed it. Dhani's quarters were only a short walk and a quick turbolift ride away and so she hurried through the ships corridors, her bare feet slapping on the deck plates as she ran, only bouncing off one poor crewmember who failed to notice the CMO.

Throwing an apology over her shoulder as the crewman failed to maintain his balance and fell, Kimberly arrived at Dhani's quarters only a few moments after Michaels call. Hoping the door wasn't locked; she slowed her pace but didn't stop as she approached the door. Breathing a sigh of relief as the doors opened (the mental image of her bouncing off the door and onto the floor instead: not on her list of things to do today) she came to a stop inside and looked around.

~ Ouch! ~ was her first thought on seeing the mess that was Dhanishtas nose, then ~ What in the name of the Elements happened here! ~ when she saw the mess that was her quarters. Not really one to speak on tidiness considering the time Sara-Jayne spent clearing up after her, she moved to Dhani's side. Not asking the obvious question that hung on her lips she noticed the osteogenic stimulator in Michaels hand as she stopped beside him.

"Hi." she said simply, with a raised eyebrow. Looking at Michael she slipped the device from his fingers. "I think we'll need a bowl of warm water and a sponge please." she asked as she knelt beside her friend.

Michael acknowledged Kimberly's request with a simple nod. "Of course. I'll get it. And... thanks for the help." He knew the last words would be understood by her.

Simply nodding, not wanting to say too much right now, Kimberly put her medical kit down, out of sight for now and looked at Dhanishta. "Hey." she said in a softer tone to Dhani.

Dhanishtas expression was stern, cold, anger bubbled behind her eyes. She looked at Kimberly with what verged on hatred. "Tricorder." she stated simply.

Frowning slightly Kimberly wasn't sure exactly what Dhani was getting at. "Tricorder?" she asked. Unclipping the device from her medical kit she held it almost protectively. She'd only had the device returned by Ops a while back after its *last* encounter with Dhani, and she had no desire to see it go pop and die before her eyes yet again.

"Give_me_your_tricorder." Dhanishta growled with a demanding tone.

Wishing she had some of the PSI suppressant that had worked on Dhanishta successfully a couple of times she held up her tricorder. "Uh, why?" she asked softly. "I'll need to use this, just to check your nose." she warned Dhani. "But *just* your nose. Is that okay?"

Dhanishtas eyes that had been leveled on the wall opposite her snapped upon Kimberly in a heartbeat. She shook visibly; her outstretched palm wavered in the air as she said once more with unabated aggression, "GIVE ME YOUR TRICORDER NOW!"

Sighing she placed the device in Dhani's hand. She had an idea what was coming, but still, it irked her that Dhani didn't trust her enough to let her do her job.

Taking the device Dhani quickly removed the power-cell at a pace she was surprised at herself, given her trembling. Leaning forward from where she had come to rest on the floor under the window, she launched the power-cell towards one corner of her quarters, missing Michael by an inch or so. And then proceeded to throw the now duff tricorder to the other corner.

Michael felt the power-cell brush against his leg as it flew passed him and slammed into the wall. He looked back at Dhani and then to Kimberly with an expression that said 'What the hell is going on?'

Simply raising an eyebrow Kimberly shrugged. That hadn't been entirely unexpected. ~ Guess we do this the old fashioned way! ~ she decided as she watched the tricorder fly one way, and the power cell vanish into a different dark corner. Letting out a resigned sighed. ~ Ah well, at least it's still in one piece. ~

Turning back to Kimberly with raised eyebrows, punctuating her point in effect Dhani said, "Fix the nose and get out!" her tone was no less aggressive than it had been. Her eyes burned holes into the woman that sat before her, even though it was without just cause. Dhanishta just didn't know what to do with herself. She shook with the anger, her eyes welled as she stared out across the floor seeing their faces; Larimars, Shattuckites… Seraphinites dead body… feeling all their pain and terror.

Baile knew what would happen if he came, in fact, he wanted it to happen. He knew she would come out, he just knew. And what's more he almost seemed pleased about it. Dhani began to rock steadily back and forth on the floor. She wanted to hurt something. It was like a mental defense from the pain and anguish. Or was that 'her'? Was that thing, that Dithparu, trying to get out? Was this lust for blood hers or its?

Meeting Dhani's stare Kimberly felt herself tremble a little at the dark look directed at her. Feeling a sadness rise within her at the look she turned away, unable to meet that gaze for long. Realizing that small talk was not really going to help here she switched to getting down to business. "This is going to hurt a little." Kimberly warned Dhani. The attempt to set her broken nose herself had, it appeared to Kim's visual inspection, been only partly successful and had resulted in an incorrect set of the bone. Unless Dhani wanted to snore for the rest of her life with a crooked nose, Kimberly would have to break the partially set bone and then begin again.

"I can give you something for the pain, it'll numb your face for a bit." she warned. "Then I'm going to have to reset the bone… Next time though, call me *before* you try to fix things yourself!" holding up the osteogenic stimulator she raised an eyebrow. "This isn't a dermal regenerator ya'know, it's not something you can use yourself. There's a reason first aid kits don't have them, broken bones need to be aligned properly *before* you set them. Okay!"

Dhanishtas gaze flittered over Kimberly for a moment and then to the device in her hand. With every exhale she could see her hair twitching from the corner of her eye, feel it move, tickling her face as it did. "No pain killers." she stated plainly as once more her vision returned to the wall ahead of her.

"Dhanishta." Kimberly said in a serious tone. "This will *hurt*, trust me." She said bluntly. "Let me at least give you a local pain killer, to take the edge off it. I'm going to have to break the bone again by the looks of it, and that's not going to be very pleasant."

"If I have to tell you everything twice, this is going to be a very long night. And quite frankly 'Doctor' this is a night I would rather forget. Now for the love of all that you hold dear, break the nose reset it and get the hell out of my quarters before I say something that we will all regret." her eyes flittered to Michael for an instant before she turned to face Kim fully, "Do I make myself clear or is your translator malfunctioning? Would you prefer me to talk in Mandarin like you do? You will be surprised at how fluent I am in that dialect!" her eyes flamed her hands turned white as her fists clenched.

Shrugging, Kimberly checked the damaged nose. Trying not to let her feelings show on her face as she worked, for the love of the Goddess, she was only trying to help! With as much care as possible she gently probed the area with her fingers for a moment. Sighing as she realized the damage she looked at her friends face and decided to get this over with quickly. "This will hurt." she warned Dhani again. Reaching up, she took hold of Dhani's nose and gently twisted, feeling the partly healed bone pop under her thumb and forefinger…

(OOC: Hey All - I am now writing the conclusion to a subplot that began with this post about a year ago and has been delayed, variously, by wars, assassinations, flashbacks and engagements. I was trying to summarize this to remind everyone of the subplot but it was losing its effect - so I'm just going to resend it, especially since we have people who never had a chance to read it. I hope you guys enjoy the conclusion when it comes out. Thanks - Syed)

"na Draes" (The Man)

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Before the Battle of Romulus =
= USS Galaxy =

Lhohnu t'Noramei could not find any words to describe the strange mixed emotions coursing through her slender form. She was nervous, frightened, anxious, happy, giddy, excited and worried all at the same time. Never before had the young woman been so keen to succeed or so afraid of failure. Never before had so many people smiled at her or treated her kindly all at once. Never before had she been among aliens, even though she had always been something of an alien on her own world. She was accepted, yet separate; so close to home and yet so far away from it.

So when the human officer who had been assigned to work with her had asked the her how she was feeling, it was all Lhohnu could do to simply force a quick smile and mumble a quick 'Jolan Tru'. Anything more, the exceptionally young aide to Ambassador tr'Ahalaen feared, would cause her voice to shatter into a million little pieces.

If the human officer took offense, he did not show it. Instead, he simply nodded - perhaps he had never really wanted to know the answer to the question - and went about directing the arrangement of the VIP quarters assigned to Aerv tr'Ahalaen in a remarkably efficient manner. The humans had granted the Ambassador's request that his aide be allowed onboard before him in order to help arrange his living space and properly place his belongings. Though t'Noramei had was nervous about being alone among humans, Aerv had insisted that she complete this task.

Lhohnu looked around at the work area with some dismay. It looked like it would never be ready...even if it were, she was certain it would never match the majesty of dohhae Ahalaen. She had not been to that house since she was a child, so everything about it - about *him* - was still larger than life for her, embedded forever in her memory as one of the happier places of her miserable childhood. Nothing could compare to the pictures in her mind...not even, t'Noramei suspected, the actual place itself.

At first, she had been relieved at the detailed instructions Aerv had given her about how to arrange his quarters. However, now she was beginning to realize that there were a great number of details, all very important to the tr'Ahalaen, and Lhohnu was sure she would forget something and disappoint him.

Worse...t'Noramei was terrified that Aerv tr'Ahalaen would disappoint her. And that was something Lhohnu was not certain she could bear....

= Twelve Years Ago =
= dohhae Ahalaen =

Her father's name had been Egaesih tr'Noramei. Even as a child, Lhohnu had realized that he was not a good man. She had not cried when he had been executed for being a traitor to the Empire - for traitor or not, the man was the worst kind of vermin: a killer, a thief, a keeper of slaves. Egaesih tr'Noramei, as far as his only daughter was concerned, deserved to die a hundred deaths. He had never been of any use to anyone...except one young nobleman: Aerv tr'Ahalaen.

Egaesih had a knack for acquiring rare and illicit substances, difficult for anyone else in the Empire to obtain. In other words, he was a smuggler...and a rather successful one at that. For years, most of Egaesih's income had come from transporting narcotics and other such substances across government borders. Aerv tr'Ahalaen changed that. tr'Ahalaen was interested in books, scents, art, sculptures - he was interested in things from the 'clean' world that had slipped between cracks and disappeared into the cesspool where vermin like Egaesih dwelled. So the two had formed a kind of discreet alliance - in fact, in many ways, Egaesih had been a kind of teacher, patiently answering all kinds of questions about his life on the 'fringe' of society that tr'Ahalaen asked...of course, Egaesih demanded payment. Money, however, had never been an object of concern for Aerv. It was a good symbiotic relationship.

It had been a beautiful day on ch'Rihan - the sun, the wind, the weather were all fair - when it happened. It was a lazy spring day and her father sitting on the ground, regaling Aerv with improbable tales of his adventures and impossible plans. Egaesih could conquer the Federation in a day in his plans. It was only when it came to putting food on his family's table that these plans never seemed to pan out.

Family. How jealous Lhohnu was of families. How she hated Aerv tr'Ahalaen's young sisters - one around her own age - who laughed, played and joked with their brother. How different their lives were than her own.... Her mother hated her, this Lhohnu knew...she had always known this, even when she was a mere babe at her mother's breast. Lhohnu did not even remember the Deltan woman's name. Whoever she was, she had once been beautiful...before the Orions, before being purchased by Egaesih tr'Noramei and being kept locked away in his home...before she had killed herself.

Lhohnu's Deltan and Romulan halves had combined to produce a rather potent touch telepath. That is how the young girl had come to realize so early that her mother hated her. That is why no one ever held her or played with her...that is why she was always so alone. How she hated the part of her that was Deltan, that part of her that gave her her startling blue eyes and beauty, the part of her that had given her such a heavy curse....

That day on ch'Rihan - in the pretty gardens of dohhae Ahalaen - Lhohnu sat in a corner, as usual, watching the other children play. Idly, she picked at the dirty, torn rags that passed for her dress, trying not to listen to her father's slimy voice as he droned on, trying not to listen to the laughter around her, when one of Aerv's sister had screamed out in delight, rushing to show Aerv something that she held in her hand.

"All done, Dianvm! Isn't it pretty? I made it myself. Come on, Dianvm - raksha-bundhan!"

Raksha-Bundhan? That was not a Rihannsu word. Lhohnu listened. Aerv was explaining it to her father.

"...an old Earth custom...I read about it in a book you found. In parts of what is India - there was a special day, where young girls would tie a thread around the wrist of any of their brothers - or friends they considered to be brothers. It really was like a blood relationship of choice - this thread, if accepted, signified a promise to the young woman that the man was bound to protect her as if she were his own sister - and in return for this gift of her trust, he usually gave her some kind of token gift. Quite fascinating, really...these people really took this quite seriously. Marriages between girls and men bound by this thread were as taboo as those of actual brothers and si...."

tr'Ahalaen's sisters were losing their patience and urged him to hurry up.

"Of course," Aerv said dryly, "I don't think the tradition will catch on here on Romulus. Romulan girls are more interested in the human chocolate that is their token gift, than the gravity of the promise they extract from me. Isn't that right, S'harien?"

"Dianvm pleeease!"

tr'Ahalaen laughed and extended his arm. His sister eagerly began to tie the small, knit wool bracelet she had made around his wrist. It really was a pretty thing, Lhohnu had to admit - Aerv had made his sisters earn their prize. A good way, perhaps, to encourage them to work on their crafting skills.... As the other children bounded off, tr'Ahalaen turned his deep black eyes upon Lhohnu. She looked away quickly, shrinking within herself to take up as little room in the universe as possible.

"What about you, t'Noramei? Will you not have me as a brother then?"

"Lhhai," Egaesih protested, his slimy voice shrill and on the verge on panic, "My mongrel daughter is not worthy. She is...you cannot let her touch you."

Lhohnu looked up at tr'Ahalaen. She saw none of the fear that was so evident in the eyes of other Romulans when she was round them. The Rihannsu, who had a few of the mental powers of their Vulcan cousins and fewer of their disciplines, did not trust telepaths. In a society based on secrets and intrigue, such individuals were lethal to the social order. Everyone had something to hide. Everyone avoided her like she had some kind of strange plague....

Except for tr'Ahalaen? It did not seem possible. Then why was he inviting her to touch him? Lhohnu rose to her feet. She hesitated. She was certain that this was some cruel joke. The moment she was within reach, he would pull away and laugh at her foolishness and audacity. Still...how long had it been since someone had touched her? When she stumbled in a crowd, did anyone help her up? When she was frightened, did anyone dare to hold her? She could not resist. Slowly, she walked towards tr'Ahalaen and his outstretched hand.

Then she stopped and whispered shyly, "I do not have a pretty bracelet for you, Lhhai."

tr'Ahalaen smiled and said - perhaps for the first and last time in his shallow life, "Any rag will do."

A piece of cloth from the dirty hem of her long frock was coming apart anyway, so Lhohnu knelt down and tore it off. Her father protested weakly, but then fell silent. Solemnly, Lhohnu looked up at Aerv. "I will be careful not to touch you."

He smiled.

More carefully than she had ever done anything before, Lhohnu tied the worn piece of cloth to a lord's wrist. There was a long silence.

"My blood is more beautiful now, a'rhea. For this gift, I pledge to always be like a brother to you; I am your shield and your sword."

Lhohnu had little memory of what happened next. He kissed her gently on the forehead and she was overwhelmed. She could see inside him - the brewing darkness, the gentle light; the fury, the passion, the control, the beauty - what a strange creature, full of pools both deep and shallow - a demon, an angel and everything in between.... The intensity of his heart, the mnhei'sahe, courage and kindness of his simple gesture, left her shaken. She sank to her knees and struggled not to weep.

"You have been blessed with a beautiful daughter, Egaesih."

Her father laughed. "How much will you pay for her, Lhhai?"

The rage that Lhohnu had seen deep within Aerv came to the surface. He was little more than a boy then, but he struck Egaesih with such force that he drew blood. Then he spit on the man, turned and walked away.

Egaesih grabbed her hair and dragged Lhohnu away.

That was the last time the beautiful mongrel ever saw dohhae Ahalaen.

= Present Day = = USS Galaxy =

"Miss? Miss...where do we put these books?"

t'Noramei realized that the human officer was addressing her. Quietly she pointed in the proper direction. The work went on around her. Lhohnu chewed her bottom lip miserably, paying little attention to the task she was so anxious to do well.

What was she doing here?

She...the daughter of a traitor, a twenty year old girl - a child by the standards of her people - with little education and no social status, no real training in diplomacy or...anything else but being a kitchen scullion.... How had she become the aide to an Ambassador? Why had she been taken from her grim world and placed within the stars?

Other servants in t'Khnialmnae's house had mocked her when the news of her selection had come. They had said she had no qualifications - which was true - that she would make a fool of herself. Ahalaen's whore, they called her - little more than a pretty concubine he would bed at night, whenever he wished, and ignore when he had no use for her. It matched his reputation - it was said he had a great weakness for beautiful women - and no one had ever denied that t'Noramei was exquisitely beautiful. Of course, no real Romulan would touch her...but they said that tr'Ahalaen was an odd one - who knew what went on in that strange mind of his?

Lhohnu tried to hold on to hope. Had she not seen the good in him, all those years ago? It was possible that he remembered. Yet...he had never spoken of it. In fact, he had seen her working for t'Khnialmnae and ever once acknowledged her. Over all those years when she had struggled to fend for herself, alone and frightened, he had not come to her aid. He had never been there she had needed a shield. So why now? No...he did not remember. She knew that time changed a man...and she had also seen the darkness of his complicated, conflicted soul. She had learned that the universe seldom rewarded hope. Maybe all she was to him truly was a beautiful object to be used. She shuddered at the thought, images of her bruised and weeping mother springing to her mind.

And yet, a timid part of her clueless heart still dreamt that anything was possible...that a single rag given as a gift could change one's fate for forever and always; that an ancient, alien ritual could give an orphan a family....

"Look at all these clothes and...all these minute details...." the human officer cried out, throwing his arms up in the air, quite aggravated, "What kind of man is this Aerv tr'Ahalaen of yours?"

t'Noramei looked at the human, her weltering blue gaze dim with unshed tears. She managed a small smile and whispered her heart's one truth: "I wish I knew."

= End Log =

"na Temculhas" (The Promise)

Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen
Romulan Ambassador

= Present Day =
= USS Galaxy =

Aerv tr'Ahalaen stood, silent and stoic, before a window in his quarters and looked out upon the sparkling suns of a thousand worlds. The stars seemed dim tonight...as if the universe itself was subdued. Or perhaps it was him...perhaps he was not looking at them, but past them, despite their mundane, breathtaking beauty and his constant obsession with aesthetics. For surely it was more likely that he and not the galaxy itself - despite the dark and demanding discipline of Romulus gripping his passionate heart - was effected by the sight of tears in the a woman's eyes.

The excessively cultivated young man allowed himself a small smile. What power, he thought, had the eyes of women that they could make even the works of the Elements pale and fade in the minds of men. He had heard that on Earth, long ago, people had believed that in the stars was writ the destiny of man...that they were responsible for what people became and the legacies they left. As was often the case in matters of any importance...the humans had been wrong.... For never before had Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen, Rihannsu Ambassador to the Federation and a Blade of the Declared, felt so acutely that the man he had become was not because of the dim and distant stars scattered across the across the dark veil of the gods. His soul was, instead, crafted by the eyes of women.

So beautiful and so terrible, such eyes had never spared him. He was loyal now for he remembered the betrayal in the wide, hurt eyes of the first girl he had ever kissed...the first heart he had ever broken. He was forced to be strong now for he had seen the vacant, dark and broken look in his mother's eyes when his brothers had fallen. He was kind now for he had seen the happiness in his sisters' eyes fade at a harsh word from him. It was the eyes of women that had made him ruthless, the eyes of women that had spoken to him first about beauty, the eyes of women that had been the first things to touch his soul. He adored them and yet, since so often he was weak and malleable before them, he hated them.

It was the eyes of women that crafted men. It was the eyes of women that broke them. It was eyes of women that would judge them...for how else does one know a man was good but to see a good woman cry when he is no more? And right now it was gorgeous sapphire eyes of Lhohnu t'Noramei that occupied the thoughts of Aerv and made the universe itself unremarkable.

More than a decade ago, he had seen this pretty little girl, so alone, always so out of place in a society where he fit in so easily, and he had felt...responsible. So he had been kind to her by asking her to participate in a small, ancient and largely meaningless ritual. It had been a game to him, nothing more. He himself was a little more than a child then....

If only he had not looked at Lhohnu's eyes then.... He had never seen anyone fall so quickly, so desperately in love.... He had never seen anyone so afraid to hope. He had never seen adoration so complete.... It had frightened him and so he had touched her. He had hoped that through her telepathic abilities she would see the darkness in his soul and know that it was unreasonable to have expectations of him - a man not as noble or remarkable as people thought, and of whom they still had so many expectations....

Yet there had been no mercy in the hearts of the Elements that day...Lhohnu's eyes had never wavered in their sudden and complete devotion. It was a look that Aerv had never forgotten...and one he hated with the depths of his soul. It was a single glance...but it made him an object of hope for a young girl and made a casual playful ritual a promise and a bond....

Now, all these years later, those same eyes stood behind him...weeping - and Aerv could not bear to look at them. He waited for her sobbing to subside.

They had been through all the arguments by now. She wanted to stay with him aboard the Galaxy. He wanted her to defect to the Federation, to go 'home' to Delta, perhaps to go to Vulcan and learn to master her touch telepathy, to build a real future.... She pleaded that she was Rihannsu. He told her she was not, that she would never be....

The arguments had gone on for some time and had required him to be unkind, brutal and uncompromising. Aerv had always found that difficult...but it was something the Rihannsu were bred to....

In the end, as Aerv knew he would, he had won. She would do as he said...of that there had not been any doubt...not since that one day twelve years ago.... That was why he had brought her aboard the ship. He had told those who had protested that he was using her because a touch telepath, especially an attractive one, could be a powerful weapon for any diplomat. And everyone had believed him. Elements, he thought, what a blessing it was to have the world think you were capable of such terrible things....

Finally, the fragile young woman recovered enough to speak again. She whispered in her own unique, quiet manner, "Do not send me away from yourself, Aerv." It was the first time she had used his name. Then she said those terrible words the truth of which he had always known and of which he had never been worthy. "I love you."

tr'Ahalaen turned then to look into her stunning blue eyes that had wrought this moment and had forced upon him this little treason against the Rihannsu. For some time, he said nothing at all. Then, staring down at his feet, he replied. "I have a shuttle that is waiting for you. Go when you are ready."

"Yes," she replied, her voice quite broken, "Jolan Tru."

"Jolan Tru."

Then she was gone.

Aerv tr'Ahalaen, the burden of a fulfilled promise upon his shoulders, walked over to his desk. Trying to forget this moment...his first betrayal of the Empire, and forcing from his mind the damage to his position on Romulus the defection of one of his aides would do, he returned to the poem he had been reading. Gently he read out loud the haunting words of a haunted mind....

"Eyes I dare not meet in dreams, in death's dream kingdom these do not appear. There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column. There, is a tree swinging and voices are, in the wind's singing, more distant and more solemn than a fading star...."

= End Log =

"Deliver Me"

Lt. JG Faylin McAlister/Siena

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

With Steven busy at some Marine 'thing', Faylin had a moment to relax. Although, she missed him incredibly. Lately, she hated being alone. Her soul had felt calm the previous few days, something that was very odd and disconcerting to her wild side. Grabbing her favorite ancient book from her book shelf, she settled into her favorite worn out reclining chair with a cup of tea by her side, comforter over her lap, and she began to read.

Chapter 2

Dimness. The essence of it's magic was that it held just enough light for the being to see, yet shrouded the figure just enough to prevent the mystery of the person's actions to unfold. The dark eyes flitted back and forth in the corner, from the reading material, to her husband, back to the reading material once more. The time was fast approaching, yet, she had to make sure that it was the "correct" time to execute her plan of evacuation.

She watched his chest rise and fall effortlessly as she continued to sit in the hard chair. The silence that was around them was only interrupted by her rustling her robes as she shifted in her seat. Nothing, he failed to move. With a grace like manner, the woman rested her book on the small table next to the chair. Keeping her head straight ahead and her eyes focused on the male in the bed, she gingerly stood. Each movement was an exaggeration of life itself. She held the balance of her destiny in her hands, as with the destiny of her husband and one other.

Reaching upwards, she pulled the hood above her head, concealing her identity to be able to mingle in with the commoners. For, she was not common, she was royalty. Her little costume she adorned herself with was plain, with no bobbles to set her apart from the rest of the society as a whole. It was meant to be that way, the way it was to be. She thought as she tilted her head and studied him logically for one last time. Staying silent for the sake of escape, she turned and left him unaware of what his 'loyal' and highly logical wife was attempting to do.

Down the corridor, her sandaled feet padded with a small noise to the room that housed her infant son. Lifting him gently from the crib, she took a moment to memorize his features. He would grow strong, independent, and have the ability to express himself emotionally if he wished to do so. Just as she would soon. Swallowing the nervousness she felt, she cradled him and hushed his stirring. "Hush now...." She whispered as he stirred again.

Placing him in the wicker basket, she closed the lid with a soft bending of reeds. It was meant to disguise what it contained inside. It's appearance at first glance resembled a basket that was used to transport food within the village. Satisfied that he was content for the moment, she kissed her fingers and placed them on his cheek. Leaning over, she grabbed his small amount of possessions that assured his life continue that were housed in a small black bag and slung it over her shoulder. She at last lifted the basket, carrying it with an accuracy and care that would confuse others if they thought that vegetables and fruit were housed inside it's walls of wicker.

Peering out from his bedroom, she glanced at first left, then right, making positive the way was clear. As her foot stepped foreword, the moonlight glistened off of it and the marble flooring that supported her flight. It naturally lit her path to freedom, and for that, the woman was great full. Just a few more steps until she could release the tension she felt ebb throughout her whole body. Just a few more, and she was free.....her personal Exodus was about to occur.

Siena sighed as she held in her hand the 'book' she found herself reading a moment ago. The story was very dull and did not hold her interest as she wished. Leaning her head back slightly in her worn chair, the room around her appeared to caress her with it's small space. Content to be alone and appreciating the silence around her, she closed her eyes as her mind wondered.

"Shift"

appearances by
Daren M'Kantu
Tarin Iniara
Aristi Ferguson
Vincent Williams
V'Lot

and random others

------------------
Transporter Room 3
------------------

The comforting blue tingle did little to alter her state of mind.

Finding her feet once more touching the ground, the XO quickly detached herself from Lieutenant Kara'nin's unexpectedly strong grasp. She did her best to compose herself, murmured a quick "Thank you, Lieutenant," to the avian, and then practically leapt off the transporter pad.

"Status of the away team!" she called out to the transporter chief.

For his part, the chief was doing a very good job of looking busy. Fumbling at the controls for several seconds, he finally gave up. "I...I don't know, sir," he replied sheepishly, eventually finding the courage to meet the angry woman's eyes.

"Damnit! Why not?" she hissed, as if grilling the poor young crewman at the console would keep her mind off the rising panic threatening to overtake her. As it was, her heart was racing, her adrenaline surging as she fought to keep her mental shields intact and reinforced.

Perhaps, she thought suddenly, becoming overly reliant on psi suppressors had been a bad idea. But then her need for control took over. Sliding around the edge of the console she began to stab at it, fingers flying automatically across the console as she accessed the information she needed. "They're in Transporter Room One. Good."

"Lieutenant Commander Tarin, please report to the bridge." Iniara's ears perked up. Was that Michael? He shouldn't have been on duty at this time of day. But what did it matter? And why was she so fixated on that?

Growling in spite of herself, she jabbed her commbadge angrily. "On my way."

-----------
Main Bridge
-----------

"All members of the Away Team are on board, Captain," Jamson dutifully reported. "Lieutenant Commander Tarin is en route to the bridge."

"Thank you, Mr. Jamson," M'Kantu replied, turning his focus once more to the main viewer. The storm was continuing to grow, the once distinct bands of color now twisting and blurring as turbulence in the system increased exponentially. Sensors were even saying the atmosphere was beginning to destabilize and bleed off, if such a thing were possible at this rate of speed.

"Find out what caused the storm," he continued. "Quickly."

------------------
Counseling Offices
------------------

Counselor V'Lot sighed contentedly, relaxing into the comforting embrace of an overstuffed chair. Her last patient of the day had just left, and now the rest of the day was hers to do with as she pleased.

Shifting to the side she reached for the small hardcover book sitting on the edge of her desk. Its synthetic leather-bound cover made a quiet creaking noise as she opened the book, and she quickly found the place where she had last stopped reading; nearly halfway through its approximately four hundred pages. At this rate she would be done by bedtime.

V'Lot couldn't help but find it a bit curious that she, a Vulcan, would be reading a book detailing the so-called Romulan Exodus. But the book had been a gift from a friend, one who claimed to know the book's author in some form or fashion. V'Lot found that to be an illogical reason for someone to send her such a gift, especially when the gift was as impractical as an actual paper book. But then again, she reminded herself, humans were not normally known for their logic.

The quiet swishing of a door interrupted her thoughts and she looked up, searching for its source. It certainly hadn't been her office door. But it sounded like it had come from behind...

"V'Lot."

She turned, looking over her shoulder. Behind her stood a man, his form backlit by the light pouring in from the open door. "V'Lot, where is my daughter?"

V'Lot frowned, looking up at the man. He was tall, well-built, the angular cuts of his uniform emphasizing his broad shoulders. His arms were folded across his chest, and even though she couldn't see his face she knew the man was scowling. But where had he come from? And why was there a door there?

"Pardon?" she replied politely.

In a single motion he lunged forward, grabbing her roughly by the arm and hauling her to her feet. "Woman! I will no longer tolerate your insolence!" He released her just as quickly, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. "Must I constantly remind you that your sole purpose on this vessel is to see to my daughter's needs, and not to abandon her in favor of mending socks?"

When V'Lot shook her head dumbly he continued. "Good. Now, go and fetch Sakonna. I wish to speak to her."

"Yes, my lord. I will at once." Her gaze now cast respectfully downward, V'Lot carefully sidestepped the Captain, dashing out into the hallway in search of her young charge. The Captain watched her with mild interest as she nearly knocked over a young Sub-Lieutenant, then closed the cabin door and took a seat.

---------------
Main Hangar Bay
---------------

"Try it now."

"Engine power has been boosted by two point three percent. Good work," Aristi heard the rough voice of her fighter's crew chief respond. "Would you prefer that I make the final adjustments, sir?"

"No, I need to learn this," she replied. "It'll teach me to respect my bird; you know that."

"Aye."

Sliding out from under her fighter the Cardassian pilot stood, only to be unexpectedly knocked right back onto her back, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. "The hell?"

"Surprise," a low voice answered, the almost-whisper accompanied by a set of hands that grabbed her shoulders from behind, forcing her back to the ground as she tried to sit up.

"Who are you?" she hissed, her body tensing as adrenaline began to surge through her veins. In response to her question a face floated towards her out of the darkness. Then another, and then another. The one in the middle was smiling, thin lips twisted into a sadistic grin.

"You don't remember us, T'Ris?" the face asked. She was vaguely aware that his was the same voice she had heard earlier. Or was it? Her head was suddenly throbbing with pain; it was becoming difficult to focus. Who were these people? Who was T'Ris? Was that her?

Her speech was becoming slurred, her vision blurring. "Did you...drug...mhhh..." she tried to say. Another of the faces laughed and moved closer, the cheeks flushed a bright green from exertion. She could smell the stench on his breath and clothing: the stale, unwashed smell of the lower classes.

"To ensure your compliance, my beautiful doll," the face said, moving off again. T'Ris thought there were more hands now: hands pinning her shoulders, hands holding her wrists and ankles, hands tugging at her garments.

She struggled against her captors, jerking to the side as she became suddenly aware of what was happening. "Why?" she squeaked feebly, now acutely aware of the weight of another body pressing down on her. The laughter increased as the face swam towards her again.

"Why not?"

---------------
Main Bridge (?)
---------------

"Storm, sir? What storm?"

Valen turned to regard the man, bony fingers tightening around the rounded tip of his cane. He fixed a harsh gaze upon the young Lieutenant. "Do you fail to understand my words, Lieutenant Syvar?"

"No, sir. I am now scanning for the storm."

"Good." Valen turned back to the large viewscreen which dominated one wall of this observation lounge. At the moment, all it displayed was the blackness of space. But there had been a storm there. At least, he thought there had been. Hadn't there?

Or had he imagined it? If so, it was nothing the older man would ever admit to. As leader of the clan Talvalen, Valen was untouchable as well as infallible. No one dared to question what he may or may not have seen out there. Young Lieutenants wishing to climb to a higher social standing would no doubt fabricate evidence to cover up the apparent mistakes of their leader. It was simply their way.

"My apologies, Lord Valen," the Lieutenant continued after several seconds had passed. "The storm has dissipated."

Perfectly timed, he thought to himself, turning away from the viewscreen once more. Perfectly timed.

-----------
XO's Office
-----------

In a display highly uncharacteristic of his normally composed demeanor, Yeoman Vincent Williams danced his way through the XO's office.

"Petty Officer...Second Class...Kayla Kensington..." he sang along to an imaginary and mostly inconsistent beat in his head. " Hottest chick...in Engineering. Whoo!"

"Delvok?"

Vince spun around quickly, sending his neatly stacked padds flying as he nearly fell into 'Commander Tarin's desk. "What? Who?"

"Calm yourself, Delvok." The owner of the voice appeared from a nearby access hatch. "Sub-Commander Asil has ordered us to complete repairs within the hour. We must hurry."

"My apologies, Sepek. I am...excited."

Sepek raised an eyebrow, regarding his friend for a long moment. "Ah, yes; tomorrow you will be bonded. The excitement of this assignment has altered me; I had nearly forgotten."

"It is of no consequence," Delvok replied, passing another set of tools down the hatch. "Marriages take place every day on this vessel."

Sensing his friend's momentary disappointment Sepek paused in his work. "My mind absorbs nothing, friend. Tell me again, what is the name of your betrothed?"

Delvok froze, a look of concern crossing his face. He could give nothing more than a fearful look as his answer.

Had he forgotten his mate's name?

---------------
Main Bridge (?)
---------------

The doors swished open to reveal the Main Bridge, bathed in bright soothing light.

Or at least, that's what she had expected.

Instead, Iniara found herself striding angrily into a small, darkened room that was most definitely not the bridge. She stepped forward, eyes naturally drawn to the shadowed figure reclining in an overstuffed chair positioned against one wall.

"Hello?"

The figure stirred and turned toward her. "Ah, Sakonna. I see V'Lot was able to locate you."

"V'Lot?" Iniara asked the figure. He seemed familiar somehow. She tentatively closed the distance between them, the memories suddenly clicking in her mind. "Father?"

The Captain looked up, smiling at his young daughter. "Yes, it is me. Sit down, child; I must speak with you."

And as she arranged her robes neatly on the floor, Sakonna couldn't help but wonder one thing. What in the name of the Prophets was going on here?

And just who were the Prophets?

"Shroud of Doubt"

Commander Brian Elessidil
Chief Counsellor

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Saul waited next to the main turbolift, occasionally glancing at his chronometer. It was 15:28 hours, and Alpha shift was due to end and time now. As soon as the bridge crew rotation is done, the alpha shift crew will take the turbolift - this specific lift - and continue on their daily routine.

And that's when Saul intended to intercept Brian.

Alpha shift's executive officer was Saul's counsellor for a while now, and also one of Saul's friends. The bond of friendship formed when the two shared a bunk room on the Backbroken's Reward, and tightened when Saul supported Brian during his brief captaincy on the Exter.

It was a bond that Saul was about to test.

Saul kept a close eye on one J. Andrus Suder, officially the ship's librarian. He used many measured to keep track of the con man's activities, while hiding the fact that he was stalking him from both Suder itself and any unsuspecting observer. He did not want to leave any evidence that he was interested in Andrus. It was quite important, as Saul assumed that eventually he'll have to either kill Andrus, extort him or somehow wipe his memory.

None of the alternatives were especially legal, and all of them will probably lead to an investigation. He intended to come out of such an investigation clean as Deltan Teflon glass.

Also, he was concerned about Brian himself. Saul was well aware of the sexual tendencies of 'Counsellor Brian'. Where Saul came from, gay people were treated the same way they were treated by many people on earth five centuries ago - often scorned, insulted and pursued merely for their tendencies. On Utrecht III, 'gay' and 'homo' were still considered curses.

Saul, who considered himself an old-fashioned person, regarded sexual intercourse or even attraction between two males as something unnatural. Even disgusting. But, he thought of Brian - and any other homosexual person he was familiar with - as the person he was first. And this person, Brian Elessidil, was a friend and a colleague Saul held in high regards. What he chooses to do in his own private love life is his own business, and none of Saul's. That made perfect sense to the Galaxy's chief of intelligence.

At least, up until now.

The turbolift stopped on his floor, and the doors opened. A group of officers stood within, including Counsellor Brian.

Saul stepped forward, suppressing the desire to just let things go. He had to talk with Brian about Andrus, and the sooner the better.

"Shalom, Counsellor Brian!" He put on a smile. "I'm so glad I ran into you. Got time to talk?"

"Uh, sure, Saul," the counselor replied, a little surprised by his sudden and rather bluntly straightforward appearance. "Ensign, consolidate your team's reports and we'll go over them tomorrow, okay?" he said to the young woman in the gold uniform standing behind him. She acknowledged with a brief nod and the customary "yes, Sir," which Brian answered only with a smile. People had been calling him that a lot more since his promotion. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it.

"If it were anyone else who suddenly appeared in front of my turbolift," he said to Saul as he stepped off the lift, "I'd consider it nothing more than coincidence." He chuckled. "I know better with you. So what made you so eager to 'run into' me? I don't think we have a session scheduled, and I doubt you have intelligence you wish to share, especially now that I'm off duty." He paused for a moment, suddenly aware there was something odd about his friend...or perhaps "around" him.

Saul instinctively threw a glance behind them. The corridor was empty. Good.

"What's wrong?"

"No...no, uh, nothing," Brian answered distractedly, though in truth somewhat concerned. Since shortly after the Galaxy's departure from Deep Space 5 before arriving at Barzan, he'd noticed he'd been having seemingly random headaches and brief dizzy spells, both of which he attributed to the stress of the away mission and the subsequent move to Chief Counselor. But now, telepathically, it felt like someone had put dark, very dirty sunglasses on him. Unsure if there was some connection, he made a mental note to schedule a medical exam as soon as possible. He smiled again, deciding to try to ignore it for now. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Oy, counsellor Brian, you're not one of the people I come to only when I need something." There were enough of those, Saul thought, but most of them did not realize I was only using them. "The ship's small when it comes to gossip, and I heard you hanged around this civilian from sciences. I was curious."

At first Brian wasn't sure what Saul was talking about. The only "hanging around" with someone from sciences he'd done within at least the past month was Artim's last session, but he wasn't a civilian.... "Do you mean Andy?" he asked when it finally occurred to him, wondering why Saul knew, or more curiously, cared one way or the other.

'Andy??' Saul was glad Thing was in his pocket, because the thought echoed so strong Brian was bound to hear it. "I think his name is Andrus, no?"

"Yeeaahhh, his name's Andrus, but he goes by Andy... Saul, why the sudden interest in the people I date? Are you starting some kind of background investigation on me that I'm not aware of?"

"Of course. Standard procedure for newly minted commanders." Saul smirked. "So you date him, you say? What kind of impression did he leave on you?"

"Before or after I kissed him?" Brian asked, a hint of tartness to his tone. He wasn't sure what annoyed him more right now, the inquisition or the unpleasantly strange unreadable feeling he was experiencing. In any case, it was apparent that this wasn't a simple "hey, how was your date, he seems like a nice guy" conversation. Saul had an agenda.

"Would you care to clue me in as to why this is of such interest to you?"

Saul knew the question would come, and the answer was prepared well in advance. He attempted to look quite discomforted. "Do you really want me to answer that? Is it so unbelievable that I'm curious about a friend's love life?"

"Yes," the counselor replied without missing a beat. He may not have been able to read Saul at that moment, but he wasn't stupid. "First, your tone doesn't suggest idle chit-chat; second, you obviously made it a high priority to find me to talk about this; and third, you've never really cared before."

Tone. It was harder to mask body language and tone when facing an expert counsellor. And he never did pry on Brian's personal affairs before, mostly because they never involved Saul himself.

"But I care now, Brian, because of the other person involved. By now you must've realized that there's more to 'Andy' than meets the eye. I don't want to spoil it for you, especially because I have nothing concrete," Yea, right, "but I'm asking you to tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary with Suder. Anything. I know it's difficult to do with someone you... like... but please keep your eyes open."

"Open for...anything in particular?" Oddly, it didn't strike Brian as strange that someone like Saul could be interested in someone like Andy. Even Brian considered him something of a mystery; now he just wasn't sure how *much* of a mystery. "Is there something I should know about him?" he asked, measuring each word as if the whole concept were a road he preferred not to go down. Maybe he didn't.

"If I could answer that, things would be easier."

The seed of doubt was planted. Before approaching Brian, Saul considered whether he wished Brian to stop seeing Andrus, but decided

that the two of them dating had its merits. So, by no means did he intend to come between them. He just wanted to ensure that, when the time came, Brian would be on the Galaxy's side instead of Andrus'.

And the Galaxy's side was coincidentally Saul's side.

"Please don't be angry at me for asking this of you." Saul said. "I know I'm putting you on an uncomfortable situation, and that the last thing you want to do with someone you're developing emotions for is rat on him to the local Intelligence chief. But you've been carrying that badge much longer than I have and you know it represents both responsibility and personal cost."

The counselor just blinked a couple times. The whole conversation had taken an unexpected detour into the almost surreal.

"I'm not angry, Saul. More like dumbfounded. The Galaxy's Intel Chief just runs up to me outside a turbolift and then proceeds to warn me that there's some classified 'situation' concerning a guy I've recently started dating, and I'm just supposed to say 'okay, thanks'? Wouldn't it have been better to simply leave me in the dark about the whole thing if you can't tell me anything more about it in the first place? I mean, what am I supposed to be looking for? Is anyone in any danger over this? Am *I* in some kind of danger? Does the captain know he has a civilian on board with some kind of background that's got Intel all worked up? I'm sorry, but none of this makes a whole lot of sense from my perspective. And dammit, what *is* that?" he finally asked out loud, not necessarily to Saul, but not necessarily *not* to Saul either. A strange telepathic "buzzing" seemed to be increasing in his head -- along with his frustration -- since they'd started talking.

"What is-- oh, OH."

Saul opened his jacket's pocket, and out bobbed a gray furry head, not unlike a miniature dog's.

"Mii!" cheered Thing.

"That's my new pet. A Barzan refugee. It somehow produces telepathic white noise... not due to too active brain, let me tell you!" Saul chuckled. "Kept it in my pocket to make sure our conversation remains private; Didn't realize it could trouble you too. I'm sorry."

At least now Brian knew he wasn't having some kind of attack. "I've never heard of anything like it," he commented, instinctively eying the creature somewhat warily; Betazoids tended to be rather on guard around things that messed with their telepathy. Sure, it was kinda cute, but cute didn't always equate to good -- a rule that could possibly be equally applied to Andy given Saul's concerns, whatever they were.

"One of a kind, ain't it? To answer your questions: No, I don't think that leaving you in the dark would be best, even if my request is based mostly on suspicion. I think it's important that you stay alert and be aware that there is a possibility - just a possibility - that your relationship with Andrus may take a wrong turn. No, I don't think you're in any danger. Yes, the Captain is quite aware that Andrus is aboard. What you should look for? Anything suspicious. For example, if he asks you to do anything related to ship OPS that a Commander can do and a mere 'librarian' couldn't."

"Mii." Thing supplemented.

Brian gave his friend a "you've got to be kidding" kind of look. "Try to give me *some* credit, okay? I don't think they would have passed my command exams if I were that loose of a cannon. Besides, I'm not *that* starstruck over him." There was one thing though he had to give Saul's suspicions credit for: they hinted at possibilities that could unshroud some of the mystery of Andy's peculiar history. But if Saul was right, it wouldn't be in a good way.

"You, more than me, know the effect of emotions. Suppose Nara would come to me asking for some classified information related to Sakaria as a personal favor; Do you think it would be easy for me to turn her away?"

"I'd expect you'd do your job -- no one said anything about 'easy'."Brian sighed. "Look, if it'll make you feel better, I promise not to let my personal feelings cloud my professional judgment. If there's any reason I think you need to know something, I'll come to you with it immediately."

"That's all I'm asking." Saul smiled cordially. "Thanks for understanding. Of course, Andrus doesn't need to kn--"

Saul never managed to mouth the 'o'. His and Brian's badged chirped in unison, and then Michael Jamson's voice came through and urged them to get back to the bridge.

"We'll finish this later." Saul told his friend, unaware that 'later' meant a whole life time later.

off: Here goes! Fyi, her name is pronounced e-la, with a long e ~Mek

****

Ella Grey shook her head and stared at the chair across from her.

For a moment she had sworn that there had been someone else sitting there but the seat was just as empty now as it had been five minutes ago.

Ella frowned, deciding that she must have been more tired then she thought.

****

"Same Old Argument"

Eela of Vulcan, age 20 (Ella Grey)

****

Talvalen Eela and Mardek's quarters
5 years after launch

Eela wasn't speaking to her father. Or anyone else for that matter.

On the whole Mardek didn't seem to mind, except for at meal times.

She gestured for the dish again and he threw down his fork in exasperation. "You are being childish, Eela."

The girl lifted her eyebrow in a manner that she knew infuriated her father. It was a gesture of the new way, the passive way, and, to his mind, a symbol of everything that they had left behind on Vulcan. Her father's eyes narrowed and for once Eela did not feel guilty for the pleasure taken from such a small victory.

After all, hadn't she proven that she was not a true follower of Surak?

As if he'd read her mind, Mardek suddenly sighed. "I will never approve of their way but I do not like to cause you pain, daughter. I am ... sorry for provoking you the other night."

It had been the same old argument - heated on his side, dispassionate on hers - nothing out of the ordinary but for whatever reason Eela had cracked. Maybe it had been one argument too many. Maybe her logic and reason faltered as they moved further away from Vulcan.

Maybe she was just her father's daughter and had the temper to prove it. She had spent near an hour screaming obscenities while he had only grinned with triumph, her years of meditation and resolve flushed down the metaphorical toilet.

That had been three days ago and since then Eela had refused to speak. Mardek had been smug then but he looked tired now.

Eela sniffed and pointed again. She was being childish but hadn't he repeatedly told her that she was a child?

Mardek frowned but passed her the bowl. Eela carefully scooped some of the dish onto her plate but found she wasn't really hungry. She forced herself to eat anyway.

"I did what I thought was best," Her father said.

Eela looked down at her fork. It was the same old argument and she was tired of it.

"Surak's people may bring peace but at what price?" Mardek continued. "To walk around as if automated, like a machine? No, it was too steep a price for us pay."

Sighing, she pushed away the bowl.

"I was doing better," Eela said finally. "I was doing better and you took me away."

Mardek's frowned deepened. "You were. But it was a false health, Eela. A lie. To purge one's emotions, to not feel ..."

"I don't want to feel!" Eela snapped. She jumped up from her chair and threw down her fork. "I don't want to feel anything!"

"Eela," Her father began.

"I hate you!" The girl cried, running from the room. She wanted to go somewhere that would bring her peace but she knew of no such place on the ship.

So instead she locked herself in her quarters and was relieved when Mardek made no attempt to follow.

"My Love, My Ally, My Rival, My Hero"

Sotha, Orphan (Lieutenant Saul Bental)

Saul watched as the emergency developed from the intelligence post on the bridge. He made rush queries for potentially helpful data in intelligence's databases, while nervously touching his jacket's front pocket now and then. As if it wasn't bad enough that he scrambled to the bridge without his duty attire, the last thing he needed was for Thing to present itself in the middle of the crisis.

His lack of success was anticipated. He had some of his analysts comb through the intelligence on the planet as soon as they reached it and discovered the anomaly. There were no telltale signs for what the planet had in store. He was just about to send a two-sentence report to the nearest SFI outpost when he heard Lieutenant Jamson.

"All members of the Away Team are on board, Captain"

"At least I won't need a new assistant." He commented quietly. Raynor appeared to possess this annoying ability to survive, much like Saul himself.

"Why, you want to replace me with HER?"

Saul turned his head to face the new, hushed voice. As he did, a sudden headache hit him. The world seemed to darken, the wobble. He heard a faint 'Miii', and all of the sudden it was difficult to even kneel. Someone grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to stay on his knees.

When Saul's eyes focused on the sooth-covered hand, it looked small. But it didn't feel that way.

"What are you doing Sotha? They'll hear us!" Someone whispered.

"What if they do?" Saul inquired, dumbfounded. But it was a stupid question. They'll grab them, shout at them, call them a nuisance, and beat them bloody. If they were lucky, they would be tossed to the kitchens or cleaning duty after a healthy beating. If not... Sotha shivered at the thought, and instinctively reached for his rear.

He knew two boys and a girl which were unlucky enough to get in the way of pervert guards who had this thing for children. It was rare for a ship orphan to feel pity for anyone, but he pitied them. He even split a loaf with the girl once.

He flashed a confident smile at the one who supported him. "I am fine. You can let go now." He whispered.

The small hand cautiously left his shoulder, but the two dark slanted eyes kept watching him with concern.

"We shouldn't even be here." Sotha's best friend said.

"Right. We should be back at Vulcan, you reckon?"

The two of them met in the clan's orphanage, a place set aside for the children of those who died in the fight between the two ideologies that tore Vulcan to shreds.

'Enthrone your pasts: this done, fire and old blood will find you again: better heart's breaking than worlds.', taught S'Task. For the orphans, the only that mattered was shattered beyond repair. When the time came to leave Vulcan, they were brought aboard out of pity; But the compassion was short-lived, and by the time the ship reached its cruising speed the children were treated no better than pests.

"You're only here because you want to watch HER."

Sotha smirked, peeping through the air vent. Below him, in the corridor, stood Lord Valen's daughter. Sakonna. She was speaking with someone out of their sight. Eventually, she was ushered away.

"Stalker." Sotha's friend rolled eyes.

"She is worth stalking. We're learn--"

"We are learning." Sotha's friend repeated the mantra he kept hearing in the last half a decade. "We're studying the way of the nobles so that one day we will walk among them as equals."

"Not equals." Sotha waved a finger. "By the time we reach the new home, my friend, we'll be running this ship. And when that comes Sakonna will become a very important person. She'll either be with us, or against us."

"And how will you achieve that?"

The question was asked many times before, and always answered with a shrug. Sotha kept the complex details of his agenda close to his chest. But, he was one of the most resourceful ship urchins, and so he was worth sticking around with. If any orphan could pull out such an elaborate, delusional plan - it would be Sotha.

"I think you're stalking her just because you think she's hot."

A loud clang was heard as something hit the vent. Sotha recoiled, banging his head onto the tube's low ceiling. A juicy curse left his lips.

"I know you're up there, rodent!"

"Crap. Let's get out of here.", Sotha's friend whispered. Sotha remained motionless, his eyes piercing two equal holes onto the vent's grating. Oh, how he hated that voice. How he could just imagine himself wrap his fingers around that throat, and push... strangle that voice, finish it for good. Oh, how he desired to just jump into the corridor and--

No. Not yet.

Sotha's sleeve was pulled. He turned around, and began to crawl, when his anger finally got the better of him.

"MOTHER FUCKER!"

"MAN!" Sotha's friend gulped as another object hit the air vent. The two of them began to crawl like crazy, fleeing from the crime scene. Eventually, they stopped beneath a narrow shaft leading to pylon two. Sotha rolled on his back, catching his breath after the excruciating crawl. His knees were scraped and one elbow was bleeding.

"Was it worth it?"

Sotha smiled faintly.

"I've had enough for today. Let's go get something to eat." Sotha's friend pouted. 'Getting something to eat' meant either beating other kids and raiding their stores, or sneaking into kitchens and waste recycle centres. Sotha always did the latter, not wanting to 'Make new enemies of people who could potentially help us climb up the ladder'. As if ship orphans could be any good.

"I'll take care of it. Go to the usual place, I'll meet you again in two hours."

Sotha wasn't usually benevolent, and there could be only one explanation to his sudden generosity.

"Off to see your hero, aren't you?"

Sotha grimaced. "I admire no one."

"But I was right."

"One more word from you and I'll be keeping the food to myself."

Sotha's friend had enough adventures for one day, and the prospect of having to work hard now to get food wasn't appealing.

"Fat ass. One hour. See ya at the den."

Sotha clapped his hands, bowed to his friend, and lifted his gaunt body to the shaft. The climb would be long, but at the end of the tunnel there was plenty of food... and the only person in the universe Sotha looked up to.

As he climbed, he suddenly had this odd sensation - as though the handles were made of fur, and something in the distance was yapping.

It sounded a lot like "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiii!".

Ahn'vahr (Aerv tr'Ahalaen)

"The Sheathed Blade"

= Unknown Location =
= Aboard the Talvalen =

With blood upon his blades, he stumbled forward, walking without direction. Disoriented, as if waking from a long and strange dream, he found himself in some part of the ship he could not identify - not that he could identify the ship...or himself. For some reason, that did not alarm the swordsman. The vast darkness in his mind felt familiar. This not knowing, this veil upon his memories...it was all as familiar as the slick, green liquid on his hands and its sickening metallic smell.

In the distance, he heard laughter. The young man shook his head in an attempt to get his bearings. He ran a hand through his long white hair...white hair? But he was young and strong, though he vaguely remembered that his impressive form was marred by many scars and decorated with many mysterious symbols. What had happened then to the color of his hair?

He heard that cruel laughter again, in the distance. He heard a woman protesting, clothes being torn. Sheathing his short, double edged swords at either side of his waist - right next a battered plasma rifle, he ran a bloody hand through his hair. He wondered idly who had woken him up from his dream and had suffered the wrath of his blades. He wondered, though not for long, who he had killed.

He walked towards the wet, rough sounds of furious and brutal sex. A woman lay on the ground, naked, almost unconscious, surrounded by several men. He did not bother to count. He knew, instinctively, that if he wanted he could kill them all. They seemed to know it too for upon seeing him step into the light, they stopped. The fear of death was strong in their eyes. One of the men spoke, his voice a hushed whisper, "Ahn'vahr."

He nodded. That was his name...or, at least, that is what he was now called. Ahn'vahr - a double-edged sword.

"Ahn'vahr," the man who had spoken repeated, with more confidence this time, pointing to the woman on the floor, "Would you like a turn?"

"Do I look," the young man with white hair asked, his voice low and as hateful as a desert storm, "Like I need your leftovers, Viltah?"

"No. No, Ahn'vahr...I just thought...."

The man shifted his eyes to the woman being raped and asked, almost curiously, "What is her name?"

"T'Ris. She...."

Ahn'vahr drew one of his blades.

The men shrank back - quite literally - in fear at the sight of fresh blood.

"You know," he drawled, almost lazily, "I was having this strange dream about a remarkable man. He was some kind of noble, some kind of emissary...snotty little bastard though.... He was surrounded by books and fine wine, women, music and...yet he was not happy. The weight of the universe was upon him. He was torn between different loyalties. He was torn by his own promises, by the dictates of honor. Every desire of his was for his people, every action dictated by duty."

Ahn'vahr pointed his blade at the men, his hand as steady as the Sas-a-shar Mountains. "That man would have killed you where you stand." With a small chuckle, the warrior put his weapon away, "It's lucky for you, Pekh, that I am not that man."

He heard them sigh in relief as he walked away. Soon he had already forgotten about them and he certainly gave no thought to the woman who was their victim. He was still trying to remember why his hair was white...and why he had no true name....

= End Log =

Istaya (Elissa Skylark)

"Sympathy"

=The Deep=
=Talvalen=

She remembered the taste of fear, and locks of golden sunlight on her shoulders. There was a sweet scent in the air that seemed to hover through time and space and all else, the scent of a man whose wiles had driven her to new passions and plateaus. It was, she thought, an older life. Perhaps the echoes of Mount Selaya ten years past, the sound of the gong that shook her small chest and the songs of woe for a war long and bitter.

The war was over, but the blood lust still beat in the hearts of the men and women of the Talvalen. She'd fought for her special place, standing vigilant before the enemies of a great man who would only ever be known as the brother of Valen. A man who deserved more.

And she had come to this place for him.

Walking boldly into the dark bowels of the ship, she came to meet another man. An enemy, yet an ally through need. Around her fluttered the crimson cape, the insignia of the elite guard, the sword arms of those with power and prestige. The hood covered all but her mouth and chin. She was nothing next to the symbol of her station, but did not mind. The light should shine on brighter souls, and one day on her child.

Then she saw him, coiled and head angled oddly.

"Lady Istaya," he breathed from his crouched position, at once seated and ready to strike. A hungry jungle cat lean and deadly on the outside looking in, he coveted the brighter decks of Talvalen, and she did not like to think about her presence here. It was already a victory for him. "Pleased to meet you..." He stood and took a swift step forward. "Hope you guess my name."

"Nemut."

He bowed grandly. "It fits today, good Lady."

Her skin crawled. "Is this hall secure?"

"What do you think?" His every word taunted her.

"Your behavior puzzles me. We both risk a great deal being here."

"Ah," he smiled, and smelled her neck. It took all her training to remain still. "But what's puzzling you... is the nature of my game."

"I did not come here to speak in riddles," she hissed, looking both ways into the darkness. He was insane.

"And I did not come here to speak," he growled, lunging forward and yanking off her hood. "A pity your taking all that time to cover up. It just increases our time here."

"I want assurances. You will help him?"

"Of course, but the cost is steep."

"I'll gladly use my body," she said, and unclasped the leather girdle, revealing more to him.

She felt repulsed as he pulled it down and ran cold bony fingers along her skin, nuzzling her neck and inhaling through his nose. "You smell like svai petals, gracious Lady."

Istaya held her breath. "You smell like something else."

Nemut barked a laugh and shoved her against the bulkhead. "Use all your well-learned politesse," he breathed, "or I'll lay your..."

"Your payment will be swift," she hoped, as he clawed for his belt. She covered herself with her arms, waiting.

"I have need for more. Your child..."

"What about her?" Istaya's voice went icy, but he seemed not to notice.

"She will be of proper age in a year's time." It was customary, and common, that all who were not of the highest caste were forced to put their children into virtual servitude, and not all could be lucky enough to be found cleaning the decks of clan leaders.

"She is not a part of this." It was not the first time an offer had been made.

"Oh, but she is. I know how sweet the girl is. I know much she means to you. You will surrender her to us, or you will see me go to Valen himself and reveal your betrayal. His brother will not live to see the new Vulc...nnghh." Nemut's eyes lit in surprise, he coughed, and blood trickled down his lips. "Fought for ten decades," he said weakly, with a laugh. "And you..."

She pushed the shiv further in, using both of her hands, tall in her wrath. "No one will have my daughter!"

Nemut still managed to smile, as he slumped to his knees. "Foolish Lady Istaya. Now she will be ours, and on our terms. Now you will receive nothing but death."

Istaya twisted the blade into his heart. Nemut slumped to the floor. "Let them come. I will show them as much sympathy as I have given you."

The taste of blood mingled with fear, and she retreated into the dark.

"The Water Priestess' Apprentice"

Lirel, Apprentice
Priestess of the Water Element (CMC Madden Jayce)

Five years after launch... --

As the fog of her dreams lifted, Lirel felt as though she had come from another reality. Her dreams often had that quality, so she thought nothing of it, at least not for too long. She lay there for a moment, concentrating her breath, on the smell of the room around her. Sometimes, if she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on the smell and sounds of the room around her, she felt as though they were still at home, still on the planet.

T'Pan, the High Priestess, said they had to start thinking of the ship as home. This was their life until the universe guided them to where they were meant to be. She said that this was the spiritual journey that would prove their faith. On Vulcan, beliefs in the elements and the ways of the universe were stilted, watered down by societal limitations and the ever encroaching pressures toward Surek's avocation of emotional castration. But as they got further from home, further from the constraints of a society to which they no longer belonged, the elements were better able to guide them. They spoke clearer, louder, they guided, and they got stronger. The beliefs in them, the faith, got more powerful.

To hear T'Pan and the other High Priestesses of the Elements speak of this was almost beautiful. Sometimes, it brought tears to Lirel's eyes, and sometimes she believed herself.

She sat up, bearing through the darkness of the room. The other three apprentices were asleep on their pads, their different colored robes standing out in the grey light. Two in green, another in blue like her own. For each element, there were two apprentices; the earth and the water were feminine, the fire and the hair were masculine. Around the room were the smells of home found in soil and dirt, the running water and the plant life. It was soothing.

Sitting up, Lirel's long black hair fell thickly over her shoulders. A young girl sent for study as a priestess was forbidden to cut her hair until she took her final vows; even then, most chose to keep it unshorn. The boys were different; fire and air apprentices were shaved bald until their vows, and then their hair would be maintained, closely cropped, never out of place.

Like so many other things, the hair had been difficult at first. She was born into a life of privilege, had been a member of the noble caste and consequently had kept her hair in a fashionable bob. But at twelve years old, her mother decided that the Great Power had marked Lirel as intended for this life, this life of servitude and spirituality. At her mother's insistence, her family paid for her apprenticeship, and she was told to never look back. In the acceptance ceremony on her first night, the water washed her clear of her previous existence: the water as element and the water as her tears. The Priestess told her to embrace that sadness, said that her tears would purify her.

Until she entered this service, she had never thought of a spiritual life. The elements were foreign to her, as they were to many Vulcans, even those who were not fascinated by the ideas of a logical existence as her father had been. Until Lirel's destiny came calling, until her mother could no longer keep her silence.

It had been six years now; at eighteen, Lirel was still a young girl in many ways, still beginning to understand her roles, still beginning to understand how she would fill them. She would take final vows in four years, and though the ceremony would include a full and conscious acceptance of her life as a priestess, at this point she had no other options.

And at this point, she was not sure she would want any.

She lifted herself from the pad and pulled on her simple robes before she ran a comb through her hair. It fell thick and straight down her back until a slight curl at the ends, almost to her waist now. She tucked it behind her ears and moved quietly into the small wash chamber. Her reflection caught in the slip of mirror; she was told she was a pretty girl, though now that did not matter so much. Although she would take a mate, that mate would be chosen for her and likely not on the basis of love or appearance. He was sure to be a follower of the Fire Element, or a wealthy man seeking spiritual purity and looking for a virgin bride.

Lirel silently existed, the palms of her hands pressed together and her wrists rested against her abdomen as she walked down the halls; the robes concealed her well, and a Priestess of the Elements moved in such a way as to give the appearance of floating. She was the picture of grace an poise, kindness echoing across her features, peace intended to rest over those who saw her.

They were quartered on a special deck, set aside for those of that caste and the wealthier families. A few paused, watched her as she passed on her way to the small water temple here; a larger one existed with the other on the common deck, but this one, here, was reserved for the most special of occasions. A birth was scheduled for today and Lirel was intended to welcome the child. In these times, she found that was all she lived for: the births and the deaths, the unending moving of life.

"MUSINGS OF A PADD PUSHER"

A Road Less Traveled Post leading to the "Shift" of the big guy!

With Lieutenant Raven Darkstar, High Chief of the Navigation Department

Also appearing: Starfleet Heroism In Tactics Specialist Captain Leo Streely and that handful of NPC perverts who were watching shuttle mechanic Dakota Willis saunter into a shower in "Girl Gone Wild"

Time: Moments before the "The Shift" by Kat
Location: Main Bridge
Suggested Soundtrack: "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Being one of the scant few officers that the iron fisted, universally hated former captain of the USS GALAXY, Fleet Admiral John Q. Bhrode, found to be competent had taken Raven Darkstar farther in the fleet then he had ever envisioned - or truth be told desired - during the nine years he had been soaring through the stars.

When he was reassigned off of the GALAXY to train the Admiral's Security department, the hulking Indian had done so without a word.

He had excelled as a Security officer, despite his dislike of phasers, and firmly believed that passing along his somewhat unconventional methods of combat and training would only help others experience the unique euphoria one feels when breaking bones of those looking to harm others. (OOC FUN FACT: Raven has used a phaser once in all the posts he has been in!)

Returning to the USS GALAXY under the title of Assistant Chief of the Tactical Department had only caused the grumpy Indian minor discomfort since he was still able to save lives and break things, albeit without that personal touch one has as a security Meat Truck on the front lines of battle.

His assignment to the Chief of the Navigation Department however, was as painful as having a hungry Targ gnawing upon his genitals.

Where once his body shook with adrenaline in the face of danger, his only enemies now were boredom, impatience, and the threat of a cramp in his index finger.

The mighty Raven Darkstar, a man who had once faced down cannibals while fire rained down from the sky as an entire planet died, was now....a PADD pusher.

A desk jocky.

That fat guy in Galactic Office Space, looking for his Swing Line Hypo-Stapler.

Arguably more so then in any other department, the Chief of Navigation was primarily an administrative department.

On any given day, countless PADDS filled with duty rosters and position assignments typically took up the left hand side of tomahawk imbedded in the middle of the Indian's desk. Maintenance reports on both the ship and the readiness of the shuttles were typically separated into two piles on the right hand side of the weapon on his desk; one pile that had been received from Engineering, the other waiting to go out to Engineering.

Whenever he vented his frustrations by smashing the tomahawk repeatedly into the desk top, the mountain of PADDS threatened to cascade off his desk, and bury him alive thereby leaving him wondering why with all the technology available, PADDS still apparently had such limited memory and capabilities that department reports could not fit on just one.

For Darkstar, a man equally as comfortable defending himself from hordes of rabid Cardassians as he was meditating quietly in his quarters, this exile from the battlefield was nearly maddening, despite the assurances of Captain M'Kantu to "give it a try" and that learning the "behind the scenes" of command would only make him a more effective warrior in the future.

So he had tried to make the best of the situation.

He had molded the Navigation Department into a streamlined unit who in addition to being able to pilot the ship, were fully trained as if they were members of the Security Department since on any away mission involving shuttles, the pilot would logically be the first target of a hostile.

Thankfully during this process he had lost two weak officers who had transferred off the GALAXY due to suffering what the counseling department called "complete nervous breakdowns."

"Weak links in the Navigation Phalanx," he called them, no doubt inspired by that kick ass movie 300, now playing in theaters near you!

He had successfully lobbied for the construction of the Navigation Dome in Main Navigation, where he could sit in a command chair and coordinate the combat and tactical activities of his entire department while being wrapped in a holographic real time display of space around him.

Most importantly he had less and less free time, time which was usually spent in the company of Leo Streely wether Raven wanted to be around the man or not.

That alone had reduced the Indian's stress level and no doubt added years to his life span.

However if there was one thing he hated above all, it was bridge duty.

Usually he avoided the bridge completely.

With an entire staff of pilots beneath him, each of whom needed to hit the minimum amount of flight time each week to maintain their pilots certification, Raven ironically had little time to spend at the helm himself. Yet with Lieutenant Cora Dobryn still on leave, there was a need for a pilot and the Indian had his own certification to keep up so today he found himself stuck in the Helm Station.

Literally.

Engineers who designed the Helm Station had apparently given little thought to anyone sitting in the chair who was built larger then a teenaged Wesley Crusher. As such, Darkstar found himself uncomfortably wedged into the small space between the chair and the station control board.

He growled, a sound that came out much louder then he intended since his diaphragm was compressed unnaturally.

This drew the attention of some of the Bridge Crew.

He was used to the looks.

Typically the crew held their breath whenever Darkstar was behind the wheel. He had made no secret of the fact that he couldn't tell the difference between an Azimuth and Elevation bearing. His flight patterns were based upon intuition and gut instinct supplemented with quick glances at his gauges and star charts.

While he had amazingly never failed to fly to the exact positions ordered, nor had ever failed the complex task of reconnecting with the saucer section, his eccentric way of guiding over five million metric tons of metal upon which lived over five thousand men, women, children and sundry other organisms terrified the casual observer.

He drew a deep painful breath and let loose one more loud growl.

He turned to face M'Kantu who was trying valiantly to suppress a smile.

"Kroykah loshiraq k'hey" the Captain said clasping his hands before him serenely.

Darkstar stared at the man.

"Sir?"

"I said go ahead and stand, Mr. Darkstar. I know you are more comfortable that way." M'Kantu said.

"Thank you sir," Raven said rising to his feet and assuming full "looming" position.

As he stood gazing toward the view screen at the planet below them, the Navigation Chief felt a slight wave of nausea sweep over him. He reached down and steadied himself on the Navigation control console.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he only had one thought.

::: How did I know the Captain was speaking Vulcan? :::

********** BACK IN THE NAVIGATION DOME **********

"OK KIDS!!! HERE"S WHAT YOU PAID FOR!!!" Leo Streely bellowed like a carnival barker, his voice echoing in the cavernous Navigation Dome upon who's walls there now was projected the larger then life image of Dakota Willis, the Galaxy's sultry shuttle mechanic, loosely drying herself with a bath towel after stepping out of her personal shower.

"Molnat rivuntaq aloot!" Otis Bisbee said his mouth packed to the breaking point with popcorn while next to him Gideon, the ship's Hermat pilot, sat in the folding chair next to him rubbing hir hands together transfixed by the sight of the now fully nude mechanic sprawling on the bed and calling into the bathroom to her yet unseen lover.

Streely suddenly averted his attention to his groin where he began to feel slight sudden sharp cramps.

"That blue faced bimbo better not have given me space herpes!" he thought to himself. (No doubt recalling the Sci Fi movie conspicuously absent on SFX magazine's recent poll: Ice Pirates!!)

"Here he comes....." John Burton called out, rubbing the top of Guff Rahkow's head with his right hand as the door to the bathroom opened. "Two strips says it's Corgan!!!"

"OH MY GOD!!!!" The crowd gasped in stunned disbelief as the steam cleared and they saw Dakota's lover finally revealed.

Leo Streely had not even heard them speaking. He had just run his hand across his chest and was now holding it up to his own face, gazing in udder disbelief at the white liquid on his fingers.

"I'm......I'm.....Lactating...." he said and then abruptly fainted.

"There's No Place Like Home"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

Main Bridge, USS Galaxy

Brian gently massaged his temples for a moment as the activity occurring around him took on a frenzied pace. Or seemed to, anyway. Since arriving on the bridge after his conversation with Saul no more than ten minutes ago, a rapidly increasing sense of urgency, almost chaos, began to overwhelm the counselor's Betazoid senses. To be sure, things had become busier on the bridge, but not much more than they ever were during any other busy time. On a scale of one to ten, activity that was perhaps a seven felt like a twelve.

Several times he found himself holding back from leaping out of his seat and just screaming at everyone to shut up, to end the madness...to just have a return to normal for awhile...

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

V'rix (9 year-old Vulcan boy) (Brian Elessidil)
Family Quarters Talvalen -- five years after launch

In the corner of one of the rooms her family -- most of them, anyway -- had learned to call "home", a tiredness clouded the dark eyes of a younger middle-aged woman. On yet another evening in an off-and-on string of five years of evenings, she found herself crouched in front of her youngest son, trying to coax him into doing something other than just sulk.

"The garden areas have been completed for months, my son. Please, go play in them if you wish."

The boy merely continued to stare...somewhere...giving no other response.

Despite having spent more than half his life on the Talvalen, V'rix still hadn't come to terms with leaving Vulcan. Many of the other children, and even the adults, on board missed home, but they had learned to focus forward, to take solace in the hope and vision of a new home. A real home. Trenek's youngest however, remained focused on the past, on the land he knew during his most crucial formative years. Tucked oasis-like in the middle of the more common dry crags and plains, the valley in which his family had lived had been lush and green, teeming with exotic plants and animals, protected from the ravages of relentless sun and wind that typified most of their planet.

But even their rare oasis could not be protected from the philosophical and cultural strife that seemed to leave nothing intact. It was easy enough for a young child to remain shielded from such upheaval for a time, but Trenek and her husband knew it wouldn't last.

"Your brothers do not want you to be alone all the time, yet the say you will not play with them. Why, V'rix? Why do you still refuse to enjoy this wonderful vessel and all the friends you could have?"

There was silence for a few moments before the boy finally answered.

"Because it isn't wonderful."

His mother sighed softly, adding yet another to an endless mountain of sighs she'd made because of her son.

Through many tests and consultations, the doctors had determined V'rix possessed an heightened sensitivity to the presence of others, an unusual variation on the basic telepathic abilities their people shared. Raising the child in the kind of crowded and restricted environment that existed on the Talvalen had to be on some level painful for him, they concurred, but beyond helping him adjust to it naturally, there was little they could do.

The trouble was, V'rix refused to adjust. From the beginning he fought the whole notion of being away from the world he loved, hiding away in his own solitude in an effort to shield himself from the very frightening and overwhelming reality of the world in which he now existed.

The garden areas had been among the last to be completed, as the agricultural areas received the vast majority of focus from the habitat development teams because of their crucial role in supporting the ship's inhabitants. But within the past year park-like areas with treas and water finally began to appear, areas that had much in common with the valley V'rix had loved. Trenek and her husband knew that those areas would be of vital importance to their his development, maybe even his sanity. They eagerly awaited their completion but now watched in almost desperate dismay as the boy, convinced that there could be nothing but chaos and noise everywhere on the ship, still refused to go to them. It was coming to the point that for the sake of his well-being, V'rix's parents would have to force him out of his self-imposed exile, no matter how difficult it would be to do.

Trenek lovingly touched her son's arm. "You will find peace, V'rix, I promise you. You will once again experience the tranquility your love of nature always afforded you."

As she stood to leave him, she felt a sense of maternal strength well up inside her. Perhaps it was borne of frustration, but it was just as much borne out of love. She would do whatever was necessary to ensure her son once again had peace.

Now, not in the hopeful yet still distant future.

"Shift Life, Shift Vennetir"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan/Engines Specialist Vennetir

and Mika sh'Sonora/Amano

Location: Various parts of the USS Galaxy/Crew Quarters

In a rare, uncharacteristically good mood, James Corgan came to the school section of the ship. It was a segmented, five room class affair where the children of the military personnel of the Galaxy were herded for the day while the grownups were busy tending to the ship. A civilian section, it was brighter and cheerier than even the beige overtones of the rest of the ship. It had the civilian touches, such as decks festooned with inspirational posters, entertainment and education programs in delegated corners of their LCARS screens while ships news and galactic news updates scrolled on the bottom and advertisements for products (now available at the replomat) were on the right. Uniforms were replaced by a myriad of civilian dress; hideous spandex and sweater/sweatshirt combinations in colours that were offensive to any decent being that liked his or her colours to match and look well together.

"Civilians." He nodded his head disapprovingly as a woman with an exceptionally loud fashion statement of olive green wool over a silver spandex jumpsuit passed by and gave him an equally disapproving look for his military uniform. Uniforms on a starship was common, but it was expected that sometimes an officer should wear civilian off duty in the civilian quarter. James took it in good humour; after being so long in Starfleet, civilians in all their mannerisms just struck him as odd. Loud and ugly was cool in the real world, just like ballroom dancing and classical music was popular on Earth while he loved his rock and roll. Different worlds.

He nodded and said hello to the receptionist at the school's administration desk. She nodded back, knowing the Commander well the past year. She was familiar with the ritual though it was different a year ago. A commander gracing the civilian section when it wasn't officer-of-the-week day? A year of stopping by softened the civilian sentry. He was let in.

The sing-song melody of the school bell sounded off, and out came the rush of children. From teenagers to wee ankle biters, James felt like he was swimming upstream and losing, but like the other times this current was limited. Schoolchildren, when eager to get out of their lessons for some fun on the holodeck, were the fastest and most unstoppable force in the world. It was better to wait them out or ride the current. A couple would say hello, then run off to misadventure. Their presence passed quickly with better things to do than gawk at the security chief, especially since he wasn't carrying his sidearm.

His pocket was carrying something different, in a tiny box, measured only for her.

He had been thinking about it for weeks since the incident at Barzan, and with his different perspective came the realization that there was not much time left. Being self absorbed in his own miseries had him forget about the people around him, and it had been more than once that the people around him left him for good. He found it hard before to keep the people around him as it was, harder still to not let his problems become theirs which only compounded the matter further.

When he did open his eyes, he realized there was not much time in any life. The people he cared about and wanted to keep with him would not wait forever.

Neither did he, hence the little box in his pocket.

He knocked on room 3's doorframe, open and empty except for one occupant.

"Hey honey!" James waved to the front of the classroom.

'Honey' collected a PADD from one of the students desk, and put it on top of a pile that was cradled in her arms. She was light on her feet, fast and springy yet not a sound came from the floor or her tiptoed footwear, she was whistling an alien tune James didn't know. Her dress, a black calf length ensemble that was complete from the waste down, but from the waste up cut like an apron over a clinging burgundy sweater, swifted and twirled as she spun to put the pile of PADDS on her desk. Her snow white hair, grown to the middle of her neck, bounced from the volume of its crimps and light curls. Her antennae, two short blue stocks, flexed and curled in a semi crescent back along her scalp, a sign of contentment, then sprung up from sudden joy, and if her antennae were not enough of a clue she had to smile radiantly.

James made an exception to one civilian. Mika sh'Sonora knew better than anyone on the ship how to look dignified, warm and fashionable at the same time.

"'Hayo James!" She salutationed the security chief, springing to meet him. She was barely reaching five feet, even on raised heels, but it didn't stop her from tiptoing up to a more accessible height, wrapping her arms around to behind his neck, and stealing a kiss on his cheek. James loved the sensation, the tickling brush of her lips, the stickiness of her dark blue lipstick, the emotional tingle of affection. He wanted to soak these sensations in, play them over in his head.

Mika held a look of confusion as he was thinking over that simple pleasure right there and then.

"Oh! Right!" James chuckled, stealing a pecking kiss from her lips.

All was forgiven. Mika half closed her eyes and let go, in the span of a millisecond. "You know James," She said, her accent was Southern Andorian, which meant subdued, understated, and cute by the standards of James ears, yet she spoke Federation standard with the impeccable pronounciation of a well educated foreigner that studied on Earth, "After all my years with humans, living on their planet, taking part in their rituals, until I spent more time there than I did my own home planet, I still find it odd the human tendancy to name their significant others after Terran sweets."

"Oh?" James faked being wounded, "Then maybe I should stop..."

"Not so fast, my dear James." Mika tapped James on the nose with a petite blue finger, "Not only do I have a growing partiality to your endurements, I would find myself missing if you ceased. If Andorians think they are close when in a quad, they have yet to see a human around a pet or a loved one."

James blushed, and felt out of his element when Mika was fully eloquent. She was far more educated the security chief, he holding the equivalent of a bachelor's to master's degree worth of education while Mika was a post doctorate in Political Sciences. Ergo she talked better, clearer, faster even.

He was used to being around women smarter than him. Electra Reece, Rebecca Von Ernst, T'lan by far. It ceased to be intimidating. He rather liked it.

"Well my dear," James said to his belle strongly and confidently, the shield to even himself with intellectual superiors, touches of wit and poetry that were his artist's side to be his sword, "I say that today... under the artificial lights of the ship and the beautiful starfield outside, I am inspired to take you somewhere."

"And where is that?" She asked playfully, blushing bluer in her cheeks.

He replied with a grin, "I do not have the slightest clue. Somewhere. Anywhere. Lets just go. Talk. I have alot on my mind."

"Ok..." Feigning skepticism, Mika followed James out of the school.

Their departure out of the civilian section was quick, if more dignified than the thrall of screaming, exhuberant children leaving for after school activities.

James felt excited, electric! The box was in his pocket, but he wondered if now was the time. He wondered if Mika, even with her years among humans, really understood the impact that it would bring. He wasn't just packing an item, he had on him a promise, one even he was scared to deliver. After the incident, Borg pickets and trenches full of Cardassians wouldn't even scare him. The item in his pocket did.

One fact he knew for sure, he waited too long. Mika was patient, and he had to give her credit for waiting out the tail end of his dark times. Relationships with James' baggage piled on was an unfair burden, and it was the reason why he hid as much as possible for so long.

But for Mika, who was ever sensitive to James shifting, cloudy moods, James' secrets might have doubled the load on her. She didn't just want to be close, she wanted to share. It was that nurturing nature that James didn't understand, but no longer questioned.

That was why James had the box.

It was Mika, ever attuned to the change of emotions and the obvious signs of James in deep thought that broke the silence. "James?" She said with an upturned squeak, "What are you thinking about?"

He hugged Mika closer, his arm on her shoulders, and she rested her head on his while they both walked, "You know babe, I was thinking that I was not good enough for you."

"Stop that." She kidded, "You are always hard on yourself."

"No, really, I'm not good enough." He said with all earnestness, "But you know what? I want to get so close to what you deserve that it will kill me. I haven't been doing enough of that since we first meet. I kept shying away. When we first meet on Lan'jep, when that asshole Ordos was still dragging you down, there was electricity between us and you said so, but I was so wrapped up in myself that I killed it. Why you still held a flame I don't know."

She said, "Nonesense, James. It took years more for that to grow..."

"Even afterwards on the Gryphon Coalition, there was that electricity again, but I was with Atole at the time." James spoke apologetically, "Sorry, she's not your favorite person."

?That is fact, yes.? Mika grimaced sourly.

"But still, she was poison. I should have dropped her and been with you. Just stayed with you, helped you through that rough time afterwards. Why you still wanted to get on the Galaxy and teach just to be with me, I don't know."

She tried to explain hastily, "Well, you were a friend and you were still so kind to me after I..."

"Slapped me outside that pizza parlour, I know. Cracked my molar. You hit hard. And still you took that teaching job?"

"Still, I just thought we were close friends, so I did not mind travelling to the Galaxy just to be near you."

"Valid, but there was always the reason why." James stressed the point, "I didn't understand your dedication. I did nothing to earn it. Even after two years together... after all those times on this ship, I still don't understand why you stand by me so readily."

"Stop." She halted in the hallway, musically laughing off the flattery, "Stop, my dear James. Isn't it enough to know I love you?"

He stopped, saying, "Of course it is, baby! I may not understand it, but I can't question it when it hits me in the face at warp factor nine. I just hope I can measure up to that kind of dedication, I really do."

Mika looked perplexingly at James, "James?" She asked, the last of her Southern Andorian accent pronoucing the name with an upturned U, the remnant of her native tongue inflecting her Federation Standard, "What is on your mind? You are usually so silent that I can hardly pry a single secret out of your heart."

He turned Mika to face her, his hands taking hers and enveloping them in a cuplike hold, "Mika my dear, I don't treat you well enough. That is not a secret. I get so wrapped up in other things sometimes that I forget to treat you well. I want to change all that. Work is important, but so are the people I share my life with, and without them... what am I?"

She looked around for others uncomfortably, "I... do not know."

"I'm poor, that's what." He said to her, "I have nothing. All that I do can't just be for myself. I did that for a long time. The Borg thing... I had it all wrong. My head was up my ass since I meet them, I mean I kept thinking 'oh poor me, they fucked up my life', but the reality was that I wallowed in so much self pity that I fucked up my own life. I didn't need the Borg to do that. It was me, and when I saw a whole world go through much worse than I did, I started to think how lucky I really was to survive, and not just the Borg either. I survived the Borg, the worse war in the Alpha and Beta Quadrant in a unit that had enough casulties to fill up a regiment three times over, all those years as the security chief, I lived through so much that should have killed me! In all that self pity, I forgot that I was blessed, my dear. I have so much."

He let go of her hands, "In a way, I feel guilty about being so happy to be alive when I've seen so much around me die. I literally saw whole worlds die and I really miss their loss. However... I also know that not everything is permanent, and that we have to take joy and comfort wherever we can, to make sure those losses are not going to take us all down in the end."

While he talked, Mika listened with rapt interest, a silent concern with only her antennae waving lazily. "I guess they way I see it..." James breathed heavily, "Is that nothing is certain. I have a very dangerous life. Who knows what can happen to me. I just saw it happen to so many who never even had the chances I did. I even saw a whole world get denied the right to live. If I don't start getting out of my shell and living... I might lose the chance the very next day. I may be gone, and i'll miss the chance to do so much with my friends, my loved ones... and even you. I'd die with regrets. I cannot let that happen."

"James please... don't talk like that...." She whispered, "You won't go away."

"Of course I won't. Not only do I owe it to myself to live my life, but I owe it to you to make sure I keep living. If I die, I'll leave a lot of grief behind on my friends and on you. I'll make sure I'll do my best to keep coming home each night, Mika."

Her upper lip quaivered, and her eyes started to water. Her heart skipped like an out of control gear on a rapid spin. She felt her chest rise, sucking in great amounts of air. "James..."

"I want to spend more time with you, Meeks. In fact, I want you to move in with me."

"James.... I will! I... what?!" Startled, Mika's eyes fluttered open. The waterworks were over.

"Yeah, move in with me." James gave her his best 'aw-shucks' look, his hand nervously stroking his hair, "You know, we've been together for so long and well... we already spend a lot of time at each others quarters. I have more than enough room, more room than your civilian quarters, so... why not? I just think it's a natural progression in our relationship that I should have taken a long time ago. What do you say? Do you want to move in with me?"

She had a look that said to him, under no uncertain terms, that she wanted to crack another molar with a slap. She looked at him testily for a second, the demureness of her demeanor gone as a cold look came down on him like a winter from her homeworld.

Then she warmed up.

Faster than he could register. She was immediately upon him in a hug that constricted his breathing.

"Yes!" She screamed, "Of course I will! Why did you take so long to propose this?"

James breathed a sigh of relief. Remembering Mika's slap, he was glad to duck out of another one. His hand, caught as it was in the hug that was disproportionate to her tiny body, was in his pocket out of nervousness, fingering the box he had inside.

~"Don't worry Meeks."~ He thought secretly to himself, ~"Some other day. Just a matter of when."~

She said, "I want to move in right away! When can we start?"

James coyly replied, "Oh... I don't know... how about now?"

"YES!" She squealed loudly, "Come on! I have a lot of stuff to move and I need a strong man to do it, and since I don't have a pair of the Queen's guards, you will have to do. And oh, call your friends! Get T'lan to help! I do love her company Idon'tseeherenoughandIlovehowyoutwogetalongandshe wouldbeagoodquadmateandpleasepleaseplease...."

James, not understanding half of what she said with such a rapid fire tongue (and the important parts no less!), nodded his head, "Whatever you say, baby. Let's go."

"Squeeeeeeee....."

The couple did get as far as the turbolift at half speed (try to go half as fast on a three legged race, and that would properly simulate two lovers trying to make it across a corrodor).

The turbolift ride let James think about what he did, and in a way that scary step was a relief. The fact that Mika was more excited about it than he was a good sign.

"And in this moment I feel happy." James whispered.

"Excuse me?" Mika inquired.

"Wish You Were Here, by Incubus." James explained, "One of those rock songs I love so much. Don't worry, it's not too heavy. You'd actually like it. It sounds nothing like the heavy metal I introduced you to before."

"Oh, thank the Queen." She breathed a sigh of relief, "You won't be playing that all the time, will you?"

"No I won't... well... maybe on a portable player. You don't have to hear a note."

"Good, because I like my Andorian opera to be played on ship speakers."

"Wha?!?!" James balked, looked around as if lost. The last time Mika introduced him to Andorian opera, he likened it to a wailing feline with an acid burn in its throat, only half as bad as a Nickleback concert, "Huh... what? Awww, come on...."

"Now now, James." Mika said resolutely, "Someday I will find some way for you to appreciate Andorian Opera, and not just that too. I can show you the finer points of high societal entertainment, and who knows... someday it may WIlli ai doannta' eill'ihtiey aa err''it...."

The last part of her sentence came out as gibberish in Corgan's ears. "Huh? What was that, honey? I think my universal translator is not working properly. Could you repeat that?"

Mika looked at him as if he had grown a second head, and sprouted devil horns to complete the effect. She looked confused, and asked in a semi annoyed tone, "T'rriri d'aonikjs'hnvuimnou aeih, iurr'af? Rafviehtaehtianvaedhuihs akhiuak'h'ir."

"Honey... I think my universal translator is... would you please stop?" He snapped at her testily, perhaps too strongly.

She gave him a look of cold hatred as James felt a flash in him. There was someone looking back at him, and somehow she was slightly different. Curled hair, pointed ears. A pale green flush to her skin.

"Arovaud l fvaenvihtou...just like you!" Said the woman in front of him, "I iuirriaes a always ignoring me when something important... iu au d'nei aenviyhv i'hdhoareur you bastard son of a whore!"

"HEY! I didn't ask for the goddamn war!" He screamed back at her, "I didn't ask for some great bird bedamned Surak radicals to irradiate our homes! I had to pick a side!"

"OH YES! Nevermind that some of them were my relatives too! Asemnaudslheakjirhaely eadhiuil'iaet!Clan loyalty! I am so sick of hearing it!"

Looking down on his hands, he saw weathered fingers, grease clung to the fingerprints like etched ink tattoos, weathered and calloused. The fabric of his uniform itched, a discomfort from working the long days in the reactor pit, in cramped conditions with the sweat and smell of other men and women like him working the long days on their evergoing journey. He had just come back from work, wanted a shower, and a chance to go to the dining hall to socialize with his friends.

Somehow his wife, Amano, was aggrevated yet again. She had always been this way since the start of the voyage, complaining about the cramped conditions, longing for sunswept sands from their ruined world. He was sick of her complaining, her excuses to drag him with her.

Her heart was weak, too weak for the journey. Not the woman Engines Specialist Vennetir remembered marrying.

"A New Machine"

By Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer

Being crushed amongst the various beings in the final rush to board the starship, Kylar felt an odd sensation he couldn't put his finger on. After having spent months in a detainee camp by Rihannsu captors in complete isolation, suddenly having yourself being touched from all angles, losing your breath, and increasing heart patter made a sound like thunder in his ears. The noise was unbearable, the odors irreprehensible. Tolerance was not something that came naturally to him.

When his number came up, it didn't take him a moment to push his way out of the throng of beings with their screaming offspring and buckets of slop the civilians from the lower levels toted around. He whispered a silent sign of gratitude to the part of Starfleet that denounced the transport of civilians on military ships after years of becoming the luxury transport of the stars. There was no place on board for those that cannot offer any semblance of skill to the military arm of Starfleet. Their strain on ship resources was tactically unsound. It was perhaps the only worthy tactical decision Olivia Proctor had made on her floating palace. Surely, nothing else could be said differently of her other questionable decisions.

Breaking through the masses and into the Transport room, he gulped in great lungfuls of cleaner air once the bulkhead doors closed behind him, expanding his chest with the new-found room he enjoyed.

That is, until he was shoved forward by a heavily armored Starfleet Marine. "Move it!"

Times had certainly changed since Proctor took over the station, and the hostilities encountered on ch'Rihan didn't help matters any. Since the revelation of clones and sleeper agents in the Federation, no one was taking any chances. Gone were the days of happy smiles, being polite, and wonderful customer service.

Not that Curran minded. He deserved the rap in the back from the Marine for becoming complacent. He'd become lazy, inattentive, and weak. Maybe he'd acquired some of what humans called 'luck' and one of the Hydran agents - or better yet - a Rihannsu one, would assassinate him along the way. One could only hope.

*** Two Weeks Later ***

After having met with Captain M'Kantu shortly after beaming on-board - he'd had no choice since there were a number of Security personnel awaiting him on his lone arrival in Transporter Room 1 - the once Chief Liaison Officer of the starship Galaxy was now repressed in his quarters while awaiting the arrival of a Starfleet Intelligence liaison to interview, and perhaps transport him, to a more secure location. M'Kantu had explained to him that orders had come directly from Earth and Starfleet Command itself to contain him on-board the ship. So far, he had slipped under the radar since Colonel Mitchell had extricated him from his prison, and they wanted to keep it that way. Relations with the Rihannsu Star Empire were strained at the moment, to say the least, and with hostilities with the Hydrans always imminent, they wanted to keep their options open by calling in the favor of supporting the Rihannsu during their conflict, with the defense of their own.

So far, there had been no word out of ch'Rihan in regards to him, but that's only what they had been told. It was far likely that as little information that was transmitted over subspace as could be, the better for all involved.

So, now, the Kelvan had been confined to quarters until the SFI representative debriefed him when he/she/it arrived.

Curran, his mind racing with the possibilities of returning home, paced to the bulkhead window, his servo joints whirring smoothly now that they'd been replaced; they'd been broken and worn out after his long tenure in the dust-filled cavity that was his home for two months.

The Galaxy had been on patrol for the last two weeks, with little else for the ship to do. Curran still failed to understand why a ship of such capabilities was relegated to using its great energies and resources to map a long-uninhabited planet. There were plenty of active science vessels at Deep Space Five that could have performed the surveys with greater resolutions and efficiency than this cruiser. He shook his head, dropping one hip to the shelf that lined the base of the window, and dropped a leg off to the side.

He rubbed his side where the phaser shot had grazed him. Even after a month, it still hadn't quite healed properly.

"Maec, are you unwell? We weren't expecting you home for another two veraku."

Kylar blinked, momentarily disoriented at the woman's voice that filtered out of the shadow of the terrace porch. He hadn't heard the Security officer come in. He wasn't expecting visitors, either. The disorientation quickly passed, thankfully. He gave up the attempt to hide the blood-soaked rag that he'd been using to clean the wound on his upper hip.

"My son! What have they done to you?" The older woman left the comfort of the dim shadow when she discovered the reason Maec was in the garden. The gespar offshoots pressed into the bruising skin as he attempted to coax out their healing salve. She reached out to gingerly touch the darkened area, then wordlessly reaching past the boy to search out the flora for something else.

"Where was your brother?" Finding what she was searching for, she tore off the topmost petals of a lavender-scented shrub and dropped them in the bowl of water that the other had been using to wash his wound with. Reaching behind to tear off a large leaf from the fruit-bearing tree to her left, she handed it to Maec. "Press this into the cut while I boil the water."

Maec had come home from his daily lessons bearing bruises and injuries often enough that she had begun to worry. Maec's father had stated that it was a test of all boys Maec's age to go through, but Shikva had railed against the severity of some of the wounds that he'd been bearing of late. She pushed her beloved to move their son to one of the more prestigious teaching curriculums taught by the Tegra clan, but he had refused. His son would bear his burdens with pride, he said. It would make him strong. It would make him a true Vulcan. Anything less would be a slight against their family honor. It would shame the entire family.

"He pretended I didn't exist. As usual. Not that I care, either. I hate him. He's useless." He winced as his mother came back to wash his stab wound clean with the lavender cleanser. So many bruises and scars on him. It was deplorable.

"Don't say that, Maec. He does care about you. He just doesn't show it very well."

He pushed her hands away, satisfied that he could manage himself. He didn't need his mother babying him all the time.

"I honestly don't care, mother. Really. Since we left Vulcan, he's been caught up in all his friends little clubs in that secret society he pretends to call a religion. Did you know he doesn't even use Father's name when he announces himself to the Elders? He's embarrassed of us, mother. He has no sense of family or honor. He should be proud of what we have, but no... he wants more. Typical. When was the last time he came to visit? Don't be blind."

Shikva's deeply-hued eyes betrayed their sadness. Galan hadn't been home to visit in many turns. She and Maiek had given most of their possessions in order to obtain him a prestigious posting in the Te-Vikram sect on-board. He was currently an Acolyte designated for Maec's school, teaching religious studies.

Changing the subject to one of less hurt, Shikva took the red-tinted bowl away, pouring it into the recovery reservoir so that it would be recycled and used to retain the humidity levels in the garden.

"Well, your Father isn't expecting you home for some time yet, and I have just begun the evening meal. If he notices you home now, there will be more questions. You know how he feels about your 'adventures' in school interfering with your studies. If you don't complete them satisfactorily, he'll lose face in the eyes of the quarter Elders. Our family will never recover. If only you could be accepted into the military, we would obtain citizenship."

Maec threw the bloody leaves to the floor. They'd have this conversation dozens of times since he reached the age of maturity. He was sixteen cycles of the motherworld old now, in the prime of his life. He had no desire to give up his independence and identity to someone else. Just so his parents could sip some more seasoned wines and sleep in silk. All while he risked his life and limb pushing around his people. Not that it mattered. They'd not accept him with his physical form. Being smaller than average, scrawny, and having suffered enough injuries to keep him from ever becoming a respected member of the military was very much unlikely. He also had no family contacts in the upper classes. His family was only here on the Exodus for one simple reason. His brother was the apple of his Father's eye. Maec was just a consequence. There to inherit a failing family business making shoes.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going out." With that, Maec dropped his eyes from his mother's disheartened gaze, climbing up the terrace trellises and out into the shanty alleys.

"Oh, Maec. I wish you would see the truth. She'll not have you. Not until you've moved up in class." She shook her head, and bent to her knees to scrub the blood off the floor.

Allison : Mind Witch Of Gol

10 Years Before The Exodus

She was dreaming of the desert.

Making barely a whisper of sound, dainty bare feet padded along the smooth wind torn rocks that bordered the vast Gol Wastelands outside the castle.

The air was chill and light, the slight breeze whipping the sheer transparent fabric about her slight form highlighting her youthful curves.

Though not yet a woman,she was master of all she surveyed. The lastest in line of the fabled Mind Witches of Gol, the most feared telepaths on all of Vulcan.

Nations trembled at her proclomations, Armies marched at her very whim, and the strongest of minds melted before her slightest touch.

She was Princess of Gol. A Mind Witch so powerful that none knew her by any name other than Princess. She was fear incarnate, she was power and domination, ruler of half of Vulcan.........

.......but tonight she gave it all up. The radicals.....the new ideas that she had so openly mocked, the followers of Surak that she had persecuted and condemned, stripping the flesh from their bodies in great emerald chunks.........they wouldnt stop coming.

Despite the torture, depsite the killings, despite giving up their very lives, smashing themselves upgainst her fortress gates........they would not stop coming, and eventually.....at length, it was the fortess of her mind that they breached.

The porticullis of her conscious gave way to the battering of their soft words, and the arrows of their logic.

The Old Ways had to stop. Vulcan must change or it would drown itself in oceans of green blood. The logic of the arguement was so clear, the first logic she had seen in her life.

And so it was here, in the wastelands, with the twin planet hanging huge in the sky above, that she cast out her emotions on the desert sands.

She fell to her knees wailing, raging, and cursing, spitting her venom into the night air. She was Princess, Mind Witch of Gol. She was Greatest in all of Vulcan!!!!!!

The air turned blue with her rage and her tears.........and then.....

She rose to her feet, calm and serene, her face an unreadable mask of passivity. The wars would stop, they had to.

The Ways of Surak were the only hope for her people, and perhaps..............the Princess furrowed her brow in deep thought.........perhaps it was logical that she use the gifts granted her to aid in that hope.

Turning gracefully on a slim heel, the transparent garment flapping about her, the young Princess beheld the imposing black rock fortress that was her ancient home. There would be peace. There would be logic. Where once she had sown terror and murder, she would now bring healing and orderlyness.

Begining the trek back across the sands of Gol, one might wonder if a twinge of guilt stirred in the Mind Witch's thoughts.......Regret perhaps for the blood on her tiny hands.

Guilt however was an emotion, a handicap, and a danger to her and her people. She had left her emotions behind her on the tear dampened sands, stains that the eternal winds of Gol swept up and carried away into the night.

Thus the greatest ruler of Old Vulcan, became the newest convert to the New Ways of Logic.

Thus it was the Mind Witch of Gol becmae the greatest enemy of S'Task and his followers.

She would pay dearly for it.............

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5 years after the Exodus

"Wake up Princess.....Princess wake up......he is calling again."

The worried voice of her aged maid broke into her dreams. Etherial visions of Gol faded away into the stark reality of the hard ship's bulkheads.

"I am awake A'dri." she breathed deeply, taking her first breath of the day, the harsh smells of 6000 unwashed bodies living in close quarters washed over her delicate Vulcan sences, bringing back the memory of who she was.....and where she was.

The Fortress on the Edge of Gol was 15 lightyears behind her, as was the epic struggle she had fought in its aftermath.

The Mind Witch had indeed become a champion of the new ways, winning many over by the calm cunning of her logic. Where once she fought battles with huge armies, conquering half of Vulcan......she now won the other half with nothing more than the soft touch of her words.

That is until Lord Valen's betrayl.

The twinge of pain that memory brought her was quickly squashed within her. Emotion would not aid her now, not here so far from home.

"Tell Valen that I am not inclined to accept his invitaiton at present." She whispered as she stood, holding her arm out to allow her servants to place a royal robe across her naked body. "However, as always, I should welcome him in my audience chamber should he so desire my council."

It was a daily ritual, a game really, that she played with her old general. Every morning he would send notice demanding her presence on the bridge of Talvalen, and every morning she would refuse, welcoming him instead into her own domain.

It was a game that accomplished nothing, but such had been the way of things since the day of her abduction years before.

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2 Weeks before the Exodus

"We're leaving Mi'Lady." he had said, bowing low before her in reverance, "Myself and all of my clan Talvalen are joining the exodus. There is nothing for us here now."

The Princess perched on her throne of rock and considered the man before her. Lord Valen, the greatest of her generals, more of an ally than a servant. With his strength she had crushed rebellion after rebellion with mercilessness and cruelty......

But that was her old life.

She had changed, and despite the wrongness of emotion, she had to admit it hurt to see that her old ally could not change along with her.

"The choice is logical of course." she had told him solemnly. "Clan Talvalen has not been able to make the leap form the past into the future. Exile, while regretable will only benefit both parties. Vulcan cannot survive the conflict of two philosophies."

"Philosophies!!!???!!!" Valen spat, his teeth clenched, "Forgive me Mi'lady, but you've become a whore foe the sake of this new philosophy! You are Princess of Gol!!! I am Leader of Talvalen!! Before us all of Vulcan trembled and wept!!"

Raising an eyebrow, she replied, "That is why old friend, we should no longer be so allied. For the sake of Vulcan."

"You are Vulcan!!" Valen had raged, his battlerobes swirling about him in fury. "Vulcan was yours, because my armies gave it to you! And now you sell it out for that eunuch Surak!"

"It was not mine if I had to kill to keep it. Vulcan is its people.....it is illogical to kill that which you wish to rule.......and, " she paused, ".....and I no longer wish to rule."

"You hesitate!" he pointed out, pleading with her, "Even now you hesitate, I can see and feel the emotion in your voice no matter how the dogs proclaim that you have abandoned it! Even now we can win! I have seen you in battle, your face bathed in the blood of your enemies, and a song in your heart You lust for the kill....the victory. Even now we have the strength to take what is lost......"

"No." the answer was simple. "You see truth old friend, I have emotion still.....and most likely will always do so......but I shall not wage war again."

Lord Valen had looked up at his old friend perched on her throne ........she was a child, but he did not make the mistake of treating her as one.......she was child that could kill with a thought.

"If you will not fight Mi'Lady, " he began sadly drawing out his long curved sword, "Then that is most unfortuante for you......."

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5 years after the Exodus

He had kidnapped her of course. Bundled her off in the night like a thief, and stowing her aboard the massive ship readying for launch. She may have abandoned her ancenstors violent ways, but the Mind Witch of Gol was still an important bargaining chip.

Now however, 5 years later she was more of a headache. Surrounded by a few loyal servants, the Princess had set up residence in an isolated portion of the Talvalen, setting up a new throne room and acting as if she was once again master of all that she surveyed.

There had been one aborted attempt to rid himself of this problem.......two years ago........however Lord Valen had leared the painful lesson that while she no longer surrendered herself to emotion, his own people still held a deep sated fear and respect for the fabled Mind Witched.

That and the fact that she melted the brains of 16 of his men during the assassination attempt.

"Water A'Dri," she commanded, making her way across the room to the portal that looked out amongst the stars. Looking back, Vulcan's star was still a great red point of light in the darkness......a light she would never see again, it seemed.

Since she could not return home, logic dictated that she serve as best she could aboard ship.

She still weilded power....still weilded influence. She was prisoner true.......but a prisoner that Lord Valen had been kicking himself for taking ever since.

Taking the water from her maid, the princess watched the stars march past almost inperceptably. They were close to light speed and one could almost see the movement.

Taking a sip. she centered her thoughts........she was here to serve.

"The Death Card"

Siena Raal/Faylin McAlister
-----------------------------

10 years before Exodus

The pooling liquid at her feet presented itself as her trophy. It called to her, forcing her to bend down slightly and dip her finger in it's coolness to confirm that her husband was indeed gone from her. "Now who's in charge *dear*?" The woman lovingly whispered. Giving his torso one last kick, the satisfaction of his passing crept upwards and weaved itself into her being as she heard the crisp snap of one of his ribs. Turning and offering a raised eyebrow to her assistant who shuddered in the dark corner she spoke.

The lines of her mouth turned slightly downwards. "Make an announcement that I am in charge of this House now. If they question, kill them." The voice was overly calm and most seductive in a disturbing manner.

"Yes, Ma'am." He skitted off.

"Men...weaklings." Siena whispered as she sat at her wooden vanity. Grabbing the silver platted brush, she began to lovingly run it through her long dark hair as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Years had not caught up with her yet, the youthful innocent expressions hid the lines of evil that burrowed into her true skeleton.

The black widow sat, lost in her vanity and her plans for taking over the next House. It would involve a much more intricate plan. Yet her goal had and always was to ensure the tradition and success of her ancestors no matter what the cost. Love? The woman knew not how to, she knew only how to hate.

Hate that was pure and black. Hate that weaved its way through her soul, choking all forms of good from it with each squeeze of death. Hate had blessed her with unsurpassed beauty, youth, and willingness to die. All three held the power separately to ruin lives, however, contained and mixed as a force in a being like Siena, anything was possible.

With a steady gaze, she studied her dead husband as he lay a short distance from her. His lifeless body held an unnatural position as he was sprawled out on the floor. His demise, was unbeknownst to him. He lived each day with vigor and power, unaware that his delicate and loving wife had the ability to kill him with a swift knife and gentle stride.

Standing and satisfied with her appearence, Siena walked ominously over to the body, staring down at it while she straddled the mass of blood and bones that once housed the overly innocent soul. Bending down yet again, she took her finger once more and dipped it in his blood. Arching her back as she stood she gently tilted her head, staining her lips with his blood as she sucked the liquid off her fingers. Nothing would ever stop her. Nothing.

"Barzan Night/Blue Death"

*The whirring of a film projector starts up, speeding to a clicking staccato. Pops and pings from crude stereo speakers introduced one to the movie.*

Grindhouse: An excuse to make cheapass movies for the hell of it.

*From there, flames start to crackle, and an explosion engulfs both the the low quality screen and the broken speakers. It is then switched over to a tanned, naked leg, well formed, slowly and seductively pulling on a stocking.*

"From director Dallas David Reinhart, the creator of El Loco Diablo Luchidore, Your Ticket to Die, El Loco Diablo's Return, Sex Kittens and Dirty Dogs, Kinstryfe the Unstoppable and the Ring of Destruction, The Revenge of El Loco Diablo, Bloody Rivers, Death From Everywhere and Lesbian Slumber Party Massacre 2, 3 and 6...."

*The stocking runs up the leg slowly as the titles of the films are introduced in crude type across the screen, announced each with a repetative whipcrack. The screen scrolls along the woman's leg, showing a generous amount of him, midsection, and chest of a sprawled out, negilgee wearing woman. Something was different about her though. Her other hand lovingly stroked a disruptor pistol, and her features were clearly Romulan. She aims the disruptor pistol at the screen, at the viewers.*

"Gives you a sci-fi double feature so huge, so graphically violent, so jaw droppingly erotic and thrilling that it had to be served... in GALACTIC PROPORTIONS!"

*The Romulan woman in the negligee fires the disruptor pistol, and the screen burns away, to transition to two stars split between the screens. One is Commander Corgan, briefly moving then paused as he put on a dramatic pose with his phaser rifle. The other, Mika sh'Sonora, was paused with a snarling look on her face, her body tensed in a fighting stance. Titles are whipped cracked over their portraits...*

"BARZAN NIGHT and BLUE DEATH!"

*Transitioning over to the USS Galaxy, James Corgan is walking the halls, a salute to all the fine ladies, and a grim look of absolute determination.*

"He is Commander James L. Corgan. Security chief... with a mission of vengeance!"

*The scene shows Corgan locking and loading himself with weapons, until his entire body is festooned with phaser weaponry and photonic explosives. T'lan stands beside him with a look of obvious worry (and unconcerned that the show of emotion was breaking her character).*

T'lan: "Sir, why do you have to go back? You barely lived the last time the Borg assimilated the planet. Why do you have to go?"

*Corgan slides in a power pack into his phaser rifle with a clack, and slips a bootknife into his boot with an exaggerated swish.*

Corgan: "Unfinished business, Lieutenant. I'm going to make sure every Borg doesn't see one more Barzan night."

*The scene instantly switches to the loudest energy gatling gun ever heard in cinema history, as James lets loose with a bloody swatch with an overly large energy weapon. His screams of triumph are somehow overheard with the energy gatling, explosions in the background, and the competing cacophony of heavy speed metal guitar, saxophones, drums and wah wah guitars.*

"When he last meet his greatest enemy, the Borg, he left a planet behind. Now he comes back... to finish the job and liberate a world... THROUGH FORCE!"

Corgan: "WWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! SUCK IT MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!"

*A series of explosions rock the scene. One explosion sends a cluster of five Borg flying into the air. Another scythes a Borg drone in half, sending the upper half of his body tumbling through the air. Then a lineup of Borg tumble like dominoes, twitching and sparking, as a volley of the energy gatling gun cuts them down in perfect order. More scenes are shown of destruction and glory, with Borg bodies littering the streets and Corgan walking casually, a portable music player in his ears, humming a song to the beat of the background rock and roll music while shooting bursts from his energy gatling.*

"He is a one man army of ass kicking, and his dumb boot is aimed right at The Collective, giving them all a swift kick... TO HELL!"

*The Romulan woman in the negligee is now in a Romualan stealth suit, panned up to show how little to the imagination it showed. She faced the gun festooned James Corgan, who had the energy gatling carelessly cradled on his shoulder.*

Atole Tekri: "That was one... hot night."

Corgan: "If you think that's hot, wait until you feel my explosive ending."

"He kills, he thrills, he chills! James Lionel Corgan is the man of a thousand deaths in.... BARZAN NIGHT!"

*The montage of scenes goes rapidly, from Borg surrounding James, more explosions that send Borg tumbling down a cliff, to a serpentlike drone that stares down at James from a dozen feet, to James and Atole in a makeout scene, where his hand unzips her stealth suit just enough to show but enough to keep its rated X rating. It ends with the slow hover of a Borg sphere... exploding in a shower of cheap pyrotechnics."

"And then, just when you think it can't get better, intergalactic martial arts superstar Mika sh'Sonora gives you a double hit of action that will give you whiplash! Mika sh'Sonora stars in... BLUE DEATH!"

Mika: "HAI!"

*The first of her scenes shows Mika putting on a fierce, slowly drawned out, theatrical fighting stance that occupies a third of the screen. A second scene imposes itself in the middle, with her speed kicking a black suited ninja, freezing with a streaking roundhouse kick to the jaw that snaps the opponent's head back. The third scene fills the rest of the screen, showing Mika poledancing, in lacy white lingerine, with the final touches of garter belts and lace. Her legs wrap around the stripper's pole, freezing her in a carnally suggestive position.*

"Her past life was left behind, but not far enough. Ordos, her old mentor, wants revenge, revenge that she has to STOP COLD!"

*A fat, wobbly jowled Andorian man laughs hideously, pointing to the screen as it zooms out. In zooming out, it shows a veritable army of Andorian men armed with ice picks and wearing black suits.*

Ordos: "Kill the bitch!"

*Mika pulls off a martial arts pose as she is surrounded by angry men in weaker, defensive poses. They all look scared. Mika looks dangerously excited.*

Mika: "Try it, big boss.... try it."

*The music picks up, a hybrid of asian martial arts and 70's funk, as Mika shows off a ballet's worth of fighting moves and wire suspension acrobatics. She fights off a legion of Andorian men, a whirlwind of punches and kicks that send bodies tumbling through windows, plowing into walls and smashing furniture to splinters. Some run in fear, others face another assault of rapid fire fists and feet.*

"She will excite you in ways you've never felt before, with action so intense you'll leave the theatre with a rugburn!"

*The scene switched to a nun, whirling and twisting to avoid Mika's deft movements. With a flick of her finger, she sends a lance of crackling red, threadlike energy. It tears Mika's bright orange kimono at the shoulder, leaving torn and scorched cloth and a thin thread of congealed, burned blue blood. The cloth limps uselessly down her shoulder and chest, the string of shoulder strap noodling like spagetti. She looks astonished for a moment, her hand clutching her wound, but the other holds out a folded parasol to fend off like a fencer's sword. She gives the nun assassin a look of cold hatred, and spins the tip of the parasol in a fast semi circle.*

Mika: "That was my favorite dress. You will pay for that... with each bone broken."

*The music speeds up in tempo and heaviness, as fight scenes rapidly progress. In one, she breaks the arm of a Klingon three times her size in a spurt of blood and broken, exposed bones. In another she corkscrews horizontally in the air, her foot lashing out to catch the assassin nun in the chest. More bodies fly and smash into furniture. Ninjas jump off of rooftops as she greets them all with kicks to the jaw. Gunmen with phasers fire at her as she leaps and shoulder rolls to cover. The last scene shows, in slow motion as Mika tumbles to duck a wild punch from an Andorian man in black, only to reward him with a quivering fist into his testicles. The Andorian doubles over in slow, agonizing pain.*

"Prepare to be shattered in as Mika takes you on a tour-de-force of pain, as she is... BLUE DEATH!"

*James Corgan's stillshot with the energy gatling gun pans to the right.*

"BARZAN NIGHT!"

*Mika and her martial arts pose pans to the left.*

"BLUE DEATH!"

*The sound of a steel license plate stamp nearly shatters the cheap in house speakers, as a logo is literally pounded into a shaking screen.*

"Only... AT THE GRINDHOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

*The music ends with a suddenness, the spinning of the filmreel and the poping and cracking of the speakers the only sound. Credits play, as well as a warning label, stating the Mexican Film Board labelling the film 'Rated X for excessive violence, blood, gore, nudity, sexually explicit and suggestive scenes and the abuse of controlled substances, and that it was not recommended for children under the age of 13.*

OOC: I just... had to for a laugh.

"The Fire Plains"

Talvath Raal (Dr. Robert Mathieson)
Ejiul Tei (Jarajen Quaaliu)

T'Kuht, two days before launch
======================

The thick, spring grasses of the plains were forever gone.

A lone figure clad in a bulky radiation suit marched steadily along the ground that was once dark, rich soil… but was now a thin crust of jagged, broken glass covering pale red lifeless dust. The small city at the base of the mountains before him seemed as though the atomic fires that had burst its centuries-old walls had melted both the building structures, as well as the people who had once dwelled in them, into a darkish stain on the now blood-red landscape.

What the figure had found surprising was the complete silence of the area, as if the dead still kept to the area to shun the sounds and movements of the living. No animal, no bird, no insect could be heard, only the barren howl of a warm, unwelcome wind that brought a chocking dust and the echoes of more peaceful times.

Talvath Raal stopped to take in the silence. He was born here in Kharath over a hundred cycles ago. His family estates had grown kali-fal, grains and crops here before history was recorded in writing. His clan had grown to power here, through trade, diplomacy, cunning and warfare, to a position of prominence that was now threatened by the ridiculous and heretical philosophies of Surak. Lord Raal found it strange that it should have come to him to strike back at the rebels… and here of all places. Surak's people had quietly undermined the authority of his Steward, and year-by-year the population of Kharath had been won over to his 'logical' movement. By the time Talvath had been made aware of the problem, T'Kuht was already groaning under a full-blown Civil War.

An example had to be made, and the proper order of things made right.

Six Years Ago
===========

"Surak's forces are entrenched behind Kharath's walls sire! Force shields have been placed, and our laz-cannons have been rendered ineffective" Ejiul Tei, Talvath Raal's senior Centurion yelled over the loud hum of the grav-tanks racing beyond their command post. "We must wait for the artillery!"

"How long?" A quiet, angry growl.

"Five days Enarrain. Perhaps six." Tei knew his lordship wouldn't like the truth. "Lord Hhril's forces are completing the siege of ShirKahr. Once they're done…"

"Unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE!" A strong fist crashed into the table with the siege plans for Kharath. Talvath Raal clenched his teeth to suppress the rage that boiled within his veins. "I will not have the lives of my sons and the theft of my family's honors fester idly on my katra. Surak's fvaie have sucked the marrow from my estates for the last tel. Do you have what I asked for?"

"Yes Enarrain, but…"

"But NOTHING Centurion! Perform your duties and know your place!" Talvath screamed at the older man. "I will not be questioned by a dha'rudh who will not obey orders."

Ejiul Tei, Centurion and seventy-year veteran of the military bristled under the insult, but obediently handed over the data card his Enarrain demanded. Never before had he seen the officer he had served with for almost fifty cycles act in such a manner. Talvath Raal could be ruthless and cunning - admirable traits for a military commander - but he had never been so belligerent to any in his staff, especially not to one of his closest friends. Talvath was a good father, an excellent and commander, and an even better comrade.

~The deaths of Lhaes and Lhran have killed a little of his katra~, the old soldier mused as he remembered better times.

~I wonder what remains…~

One day later
==========

"Ko… sev… sie… til… tie…"

"Hna'h!" Talvath bellowed, and the skies over the city of Kharath went from pale blue to an absolute, merciless white. Several hundred leagues from the epicenter, it took several ewa for the deafening thunder that heralded the destruction of over a million rebels to roll over the secured command center. A wind from the foulest aehallh swept over Talvath's troops to feed the nuclear fires that the Raal family atomics had given birth to. While his men witnessed the carnage from behind their shields, the overwhelming glare in the skies finally ebbed as a massive black treji-fungus cloud rose to cast a thick, dark shadow over the plains.

As the deafening roar challenged the surrounding mountains, the Enarrain thought of his beloved sons. The fields and gentle streams the two young men had played in were now blackened cinders under the fury of a gigantic firestorm that swept from the destruction of Kharath. Their homes, what they had made from the land by their own hands, their graves - all had been vaporized by Talvath's own command, and as the hellish fires ebbed so too did the thirst for revenge in the Enarrain's katra, if only slightly.

The place where his family had come from, where they had grown into honored nobility, was forever gone, as were millions who had opposed the House of Raal.

T'Kuht, two days before launch
======================

Try as he might, Talvath couldn't gain his bearings enough to estimate the location of his ancestral estate - so changed was the landscape. Red glass had replaced the fields of blonde crops, and even the sparse forest in the hills and mountains had been burned bare by the firestorm. Now close to Kharath, Talvath could fully appreciate the magnitude of the destruction he commanded. The land was dead, and the crimson-red dust that caked the soles of his radiation suit's boots threatened to choke the only life that dared defile it.

Slowly, the winds gave trace to another sound Talvath knew well. Another figure appeared as a small dot on the horizon, a large trail of red-dust trailing windswept behind him with the steady crunch of broken glass. The Enarrain observed the small details of the devastation around him as the walker came closer and more familiar.

"Found me at last, old friend?"

"It wasn't hard, Enarrain", Ejiul Tei replied, wheezing behind his respirator. "The area's still hot, and the only trail leading here is yours." The old Centurion looked briefly at the melted, unnatural remains of Kharath that had already begun to erode against the vicious, ever-present winds. "It's time."

"Already?"

"Sakonna and Siena are already on board" Tei yelled above the howling. "Rekkhai - it's time. The ship needs its Captain."

Talvath Raal took a long, hard look at lost ancient Kharath that in centuries wouldn't even be a memory for those who remained on T'Kuht. Surak and his movement had won, but the victory was bitter for with sides. Fires like that which had burned Kharath had raged in hundreds of areas over the planet, leaving it mostly barren, dry and lifeless.

"Fvadt! I thought we had won that day, Ejiul. I thought that this sacrifice was enough", Talvath said at last.

"The battle, aye. The war?" Tei lowered his head. "For what we've done to the land, perhaps we deserve what we've earned. For us - exile. For Surak's veruule? They'll choke on the dust of T'Kuht for centuries I'll wager." He prodded a thick piece of red glass with his boot, sending a puff of chalky-ochre dust into the air. "It'll never be the same. For pacifists, Surak's people will have to fight hard just to live."

"For pacifists, they fought… and died well." Talvath slowly started the long march back to the shuttle-pad. "I wonder what they'll call this place when we're gone."

"They've already got a name for it, Enarrain", Tei huffed, regretting the words the moment they flew from his lips.

"Well - what is it?" Talvath asked as he looked at the older man behind him.

Ejiul Tei took several long, deep breaths before replying. "The Fire Plains of Raal, Enarrain. It's a place much reviled, despite their claims to shunning emotions."

Talvath Raal nodded at the irony. His ancestors had always sought everlasting fame in addition to power and wealth. No grin or smile came from the reflection, only a tear - and the distant memory of two young, healthy children playing in the tall grasses.

OOC - a bunch o' Romulan/Vulcan words here, just for color. I get them from Wikipedia, Memory Alpha, and this place... http://www.compulink.co.uk/~mr-flibble/rpg/romulan/index.html ...which is culled from a variety of sources, including (but not limited to) FASA's Star Trek RPG, Diane Duane's Rhiannsu novels and the Trek Muse, and were collated for purposes of an on going RPG campaign and should not be considered in any way canonical.

Dictionary:
T'Kuht - Vulcan
Kharath - city of 1.2 million
Fvadt! - a profanity kali-fal - an alcoholic beverage
fvaie - dogs
Enarrain - commander
dha'rudh - idiot (severe insult)
ko… sev… sie… til… tie… - 5…4…3…2…1 (countdown)
aehallh - nightmare
Rekkhai - sir veruule - fools

"Path to Peace"

Ahn'vahr (Aerv tr'Ahalaen)
Eela (Ella Grey)

***

Talvalen
a lower deck bar

The girl sat at the table, a half empty drink in one hand and an unwanted drinking companion trying to grab at the other.

Eela shot him a look but the man was too drunk (or stupid) to understand, which was why she hadn't dropped her father's name yet. Mardek's name usually had the effect of stopping conversation or getting instant apologies but today it seemed that it would do neither.

Annoyed, she smacked his hand away.

Her drinking companion didn't like that and quickly grabbed her wrist. Eela gasped, not so much at the pain or indignation but by the contact of skin upon skin. Eela could not remember the last time she had let someone touch her; she associated touch with feeling and feeling had always been taboo.

The contact only last a moment, however, before the drunk paled and let go of her hand. Following his eyes, Eela saw a swordsman standing behind them, a blade pointing at the man who had been bothering her. He certainly made for a striking figure - his hair was snow white, despite the fact that he was obviously a young man - with movements that sang of confidence tested in blood. The right side of his face was decorated with a blood red tattoo depicting what seemed like ancient, mystical symbols. His eyes were laughing...though he did not seem at all amused.

"You," the swordsman growled at the drunk, his voice quiet and dangerous, like the beginnings of a brewing earthquake, "Are in my seat."

The pale drunk cleared his throat, obviously in control of his wits enough to be quite frightened. "Ahn'vahr, I'm sorry...I didn't know...."

"Now you know...and you're still in my seat."

The man stammered something incomprehensible, fairly jumped off the chair, falling over himself as he tried to bow to this 'Ahn'vahr' as he made his escape. Her 'rescuer' shifted his deep, dark gaze towards Eela but said nothing as he took off the belt holding his weapons and sat down across from her.

"I didn't ask for your help," Eela said sharply to the white haired man as he sat down. "And I certainly didn't ask you to sit."

"And I didn't ask you to speak," the man drawled, "But that didn't stop you."

The girl started. No one had ever spoken so abruptly to her before and she wasn't sure that she liked it. Eela guessed that her father's old saying was true - what need did an assassin really have for honeyed words?

She glared. "I do what I will, assassin."

He began to respond but fell silent as a waiter came by with a drink for him. The waiter grinned at Ahn'vahr, "I saw Parshan was in your seat."

"Yes," Ahn'vahr replied, his eyes fixed on Eela, "I took care of it."

The waiter laughed and withdrew. Ahn'vahr, still looking intently at Eela, picked up his beverage and began to drink.

She frowned and took a sip of her own drink. Then she set the glass down and felt her frown deepen. And her anger start to grow. "Stop staring at me."

"No," Ahn'vahr replied flatly, then by way of explanation added, "It helps me imagine all the fun, filthy things I could do to you." Before she could reply, he waved a hand at her in a gesture demanding silence and asked, "So...what would you have done if that pekh was not in my seat, 'Princess'?"

"I wouldn't have to do anything," Eela snapped. "My father's name is sufficient."

The Tevanu assassin laughed. It was a cold, rare sound. Legend had it that the Tevanu, worshippers of death, were men without souls or remorse. They marched, it was said, 'under the wings of the raptor'. As children they were stolen away from their villages and raised to become perfect killers of both the mind and the body. They did not laugh often. "So you would have sought protection in your father's cloak, yes? And when he is gone, you will shield yourself with your husband's name. Pray then that he dies not before giving you a son and time to have that runt grow...or you'll end up very badly indeed."

"Meaning what?" The girl bristled. The anger in her was growing and her body was almost shuddering in response; having spent so many years in trying to shield the emotions, it seemed that they were returning in full force.

"I mean merely that while there is merit in the Old Ways, it is not...logical," he said that last word with a small, bitter smile, "To rely on others for protection. To abandon the familiar things that should be abandoned though - well, that takes courage," he paused to drain his drink, "And you are but a coddled little 'Princess'."

"You know nothing about me."

"I'm sure there is very little to know. I can see your life before me and you've got little control over it. You'll either be fortunate and be your husband's darling pet or you'll end up someone's cheap whore."

Her face flushed and she hand seemed to sneak out of its own accord. It never made its destination though - he caught it long before the hand reached his face. Anger flared through her and for a moment all she could see was red; she felt her katra literally reaching out to scratch against his.

"You're not serious...." Ahn'vahr gave her a small smile, as he twisted her wrist causing her just enough pain to make her gasp. Feeling her mind rage against his mental shields though, he gave her a surprised look, "You are. Such fury.... Fire and Wind." He chuckled, "There's some consolation for you. If you do become a whore, you'll be very good at it. You have no discipline or control at all."

That hit closer to home then she would have liked and it was a moment before she could force words to come. "You know nothing. I have logic and I ...."

"I am not talking about logic, 'Princess'," the man fairly spat, letting her hand drop, "S'task's way has attracted many thugs and vandals who think that the choice is between chaos and order - it isn't, you see. The choice is between two different kinds of order - in the poet's way, just like in Surak's, there are still laws and rules, methods to control recklessness and stupidity. You...you have mastered neither one of the paths open to our people."

Eela rubbed at her wrist. The first retort that came to mind was that maybe she didn't have any people. But that sounded fairly childish, even to her, so she told him again that he didn't know what he was talking about.

The assassin sighed wearily and rose to his feet, "Enough. I speak true...and you know it. Lying to yourself by saying over and over that the truth doesn't exist - as Surak does - is not logical." He picked up his weapons and smiled at her, "I like you though...Elements know why.... So come to my room when you are ready to learn a few things and bring a weapon - a dagger, I think, will do nicely. Down below in the red sector, ask people for Ahn'vahr. Everyone knows where I live and they'll tell you once they're done wetting themselves. Until then," he said as he turned to leave, "Try not to get yourself killed."

"Go to hell."

"Been there," he muttered under his breath as he walked away, "I think...."

"Ahn'vahr," Eela suddenly called after him, curiosity getting the better of her. "What is the dagger for?"

He did not to face her - but he did stop walking long enough to say, "To learn to fight...that's the only path to peace that I can teach."

She watched the man go and then put a hand to her collar where she knew her own red brand lay.

Eela was instantly comforted. What did she need to fight for when there was Mardek to protect her?

"The Widow and The Mother"

T'Pol, Cook/Bartender/Restaurant Owner (8-ball Hunter)

When you see dead children running around, you're used to a number of odd occurrences. So the fact that there were blurry pieces of food floating around her science station was unusual but not panic-worthy.

Stangely, it was when 8-ball could smell the food that she started to become seriously concerned.

"What the hell---" she started to say as the room around her started to swim in and out of focus. The smell of liquor hit her strongly, but she hadn't been drinking . . . at least, not in the last 24 hours. Pity, because being drunk might have made more sense. Instead, she really only had one other option.

The world darkened. She felt like she was falling.

"I think, I think . . ."

***

"I think I'm going crazy."

T'Pol's voice was distant and matter-of-fact, in a way that only supported her claim towards insanity. In some ways, she thought she might still be in shock; she went from feeling nothing to feeling EVERYTHING in a matter of seconds these days. All week she had been going through her routine: take her shower, wake up her boys, and at completely random moments in the middle of the day she would stop and realize ~I'm a widow~

Ael looked at T'Pol with that worried little frown she was so fond of. That everybody was so fond of, really, after one's husband just got himself killed.

"Really," Ael urged for about the fifth time. "Why don't you take the boys home and just . . . just relax a little. You really don't need to be here tonight. You've been through enough, don't you think?"

~God yes. I've been through enough.~

T'Pol knew without a doubt that she'd been through fucking enough.

Five years ago, and she had felt so much younger. A husband she loved, a little boy, and another baby on the way. Then everything had changed . . . Aev would not follow Surak and intended to separate her from everyone she loved. Her parents, her brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, friends . . . they all stayed behind. T'Pol's mother had begged her to stay to. Not that this was acceptable, but sometimes you had to do the unacceptable. "Family comes first," her mother always said.

T'Pol agreed . . . and this was why she had to leave. She had her own family now, and as much as it hurt, she had to stand with them.

Aev had promised her a lifetime of happiness. "You could not have been happy under Surak," he said. "All you'd have had there was cold logic, with no room to feel." He had kissed her softly and placed his hands on her stomach. "We'll build our own future, and nothing will keep us from knowing joy."

Their joyous future had lasted five years. And then Aev got himself dead.

~That bastard~ T'Pol thought viciously. ~That godamned fucking BASTARD.~

Outloud, she said to Ael, "No. This is my restaurant. I'm staying here. Just . . .just take the bar for me tonight, okay? I know I normally work the bar, but I'm just not sure if I can deal with that many people, and I can handle the food. Okay?"

"But T'Pol,"

"No," T'Pol said flatly. "This is how we're doing things. So get used to it."

Ael's frown deepened, but she left the kitchen, which was really all T'Pol needed her to do. She needed some time to be alone, damn it.

Well, alone except for her boys, of course.

T'Pol stopped stirring her ingredients for a moment to look at her children. Rhian and Tal were sitting on the floor, playing with the extra dough that T'Pol hadn't found necessary for dessert. Tal was using his pieces of dough to make the universe's floppiest starship. Rhian was attempting to stick a piece of the starship's bow up his nose.

"Rhian," she addressed her youngest. "No food in the nose, remember?"

Rhian giggled and obediently dropped the piece of dough. Tal moved his starship away from it.

T'Pol lifted her eyes to look at her eldest son. "Taev," she said. "Why don't you play with your brothers?"

Taev shrugged his shoulders silently. "I'm not a baby," he said softly.

~No~ T'Pol thought ~you're not, and she was saddened by this. Taev was a very old nine year old, and he seemed to have aged with his father's death. Rhian, she knew, was far too young to understand, and Tal seemed to think his father would be coming back to. But Taev was different. Taev knew Aev was never coming back, and he had been silent and withdrawn ever since. T'Pol didn't know if she could reach him.

~Godamn you~ she thought again to her dead husband. How could he leave her like this, with three boys to raise and a restaurant to run? How could he leave her all alone?

T'Pol kneaded the pastry dough harder to keep herself from crying. There was no relief in tears, no solace she could find in weeping. There WAS a good deal of relief in beating defenseless pastries to death. Surak would surely not have approved . . . but she was long ways away from Surak.

~To hell with logic. It's of no comfort.~

Not when she was a widow with three little boys.

T'Pol looked back at Taev, who was still waiting for a response. "No," she said softly. "You're not a baby. I suppose you're the man of the house now."

Taev nodded solemnly. "I know," he said. Then he frowned. "Do I have to get a job now?"

She almost laughed, but Taev was a very serious little boy and wouldn't take kindly to her amusement. "No," she said. "Not yet. But . . . if you want, I could use your help. I have a lot of cooking to do. It's a lot of work for just one person."

Taev looked at her, uncertain. "I could help?" he asked.

"Only if you want to," T'Pol told him. "If you wanted to play with your brothers, I promise I wouldn't tell anybody."

Taev looked at Tal and Rhian who were now throwing bits of dough at each other, completely oblivious. "No," Taev said, shaking his head. "I'd rather be with you."

T'Pol smiled then and Taev came over to stand next to her. "All right," she told him. "I want you to stir this, okay? Stir it really hard; otherwise, it won't mix right."

Taev nodded and started to stir, putting all his attention to the mixing bowl. T'Pol stopped kneading dough for a few minutes to watch her boys next to her.

~I'm a widow~ she thought and then, ~but I'm a mother first.~

"I miss Father," Taev said quietly.

T'Pol smiled sadly. "I know," she said and gave him a kiss.

"Resistance Is Futile"

Sulaed Vardek, Ship's Prime Engineer (NPC)
Chulak Vardek, Assistant Prime Engineer (Victor Krieghoff)

****

"You're too young to speak to your Uncle that way."

Chulak had heard those words - and many others like them - far too often to swallow them any more. "What does that have to do with anything, father?" he replied coldly. "I'm correct and he's not. He can be a thousand years older than me, and that won't make his diagram to modify the circuit any less wrong, or my changes to his diagram any less correct."

Sulaed frowned and looked down at the two diagrams in his hands; one, the original, penned by his wife's brother, and the other, marked and corrected like a child's homework - using a red pen no less - by his son and sighed inwardly. He'd known after only a moment's glance that this time Chulak's corrections were both justified and brilliant. Telling his son that, however, was another thing entirely.

The look in his father's eyes told Chulak everything he needed to know. He was about to get the lecture again, the one where his father told him that he was going to have to learn to deal with people - and *how* to deal with people - if he was going to succeed Sulaed as the Ship's Prime Engineer, because his father would not live to see the end of the voyage they'd begun. That he was, despite his faults, the best engineer to appear in the family in two generations, and the only one that could succeed to his father's position... if he could learn to deal with people as if they were something other than trained sehlats.

He'd heard it all before many times; so many, in fact, that he could recite the lecture along with his father in his sleep. He considered saying the words along with his father this time, parroting them back at him as fast as he spoke them like a reflex recording, but discarded the idea as a waste of time. The momentary amusement wouldn't outweigh the irritation of having to listen to the lectures that would follow.

As his father's words washed over him like the wind, Chulak wondered why his father spent so much time worrying with what people thought of him, and how to get them to do things the right way. Computers were easier, engines were easier, all machines were easier to deal with and understand. They had simple, clear rules that they functioned by, rules that could be understood and mastered - and that always functioned the same way, every time. Machines didn't react differently because of the way you smelled, or the phase of the moon, or what they'd had for dinner, or simply because they felt like being different that day. If a machine didn't do what it was supposed to, then there was a reason for it that could be found and fixed.

That was why he spent his time with machines instead of people. Machines obeyed rules, rules that could be understood. People were... illogical. They should be more like machines. Surek had, in a way , been right about that. Not about the way to fix things, of course; he'd just wanted to lay more rules that could be left to individual interpretation on top of people to make them like machines. He'd have done better to make physical changes to people, not social ones, if he'd wanted that.

In fact, if that had been the great plan for Vulcan, Chulak might have stayed. Not as a common machine of course, but as an engineer, to fix them. All machines needed someone to tell them what to do, after all.

A shift in his father's voice brought Chulak's attention back to the lecture for long enough to make certain that nothing new was being said. It wasn't of course; it never was, so he let his thoughts wander again, choosing this time to review the plans he'd made the night before to eliminate one of his age-mates, Benelak.

Despite their identical ages, Benelak was larger and stronger, and felt that this gave him the power to push people around and make them do what he wished. Ordinarily, this would mean little to Chulak, but Benelak had, for reasons that Chulak failed to understand, grown angry when Chulak had corrected him in front of several of their peers during a work session three days before. He'd been further angered when Chulak had refused to fight with him - a practice that Chulak found distasteful and stupid - and had struck Chulak, calling him a coward.

Cowardice had nothing to do with the situation. There was nothing to be gained from fighting; no purpose to it beyond soothing Benelak's wounded pride. Had there been a reason, then Chulak would have stood and fought to the death - but there hadn't been. Chulak had better things to do with his time than to make someone that would mistake a 756TL input jack for a 719JL output connector feel like less of a fool, whether he was stronger than Chulak was or not.

Strength didn't matter in any case. It was as irrelevant as Benelak himself was, and as irrelevant as Benelak's accusations of cowardice would be in... seventeen standard time units. Benelak might be strong, but all his strength would useless when the emergency blast doors he would be repairing because of a carefully placed and circuitously routed work order suffered an equally carefully planned fault while he was working on them. Mere flesh and bone couldn't match the power of the door's hydraulics backed by the ship's power grid, and any resistance - structural or otherwise - on the part of Benelak would be futile.

Chulak hoped that the recordings from the small cameras he'd placed in the corridor were of better quality than the last few times had been. Like a good engineer, he always liked to check his work during operation and after the fact.

His father's hand fell on his shoulder - the sign that the talk was at an end - and Chulak blinked and nodded once as he was expected to. This was all so tedious and predictable. If his father would change the lecture just once, in some small way, then he'd at least have to pay attention to it long enough to master the new variation. But that never happened.

Wait. What was that?

Chulak snapped back from his thoughts to watch as his father turned and walked away. Had his father actually said something different? Had there been something new to the lecture? Had his father really said...?

Marriage?

"One Day"

First Lieutenant Steven Jonas, Marine
Lorien, Fabrication Specialist (Steven)
T'Lara, Lorien's Wife (NPC)

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

Simply put, as he sat there in the cold, eerily quiet room, he knew that the universe had gone to hell. For no one should ever be subjected to so much torment and pain, from such a small device and yet, by the sheer quantity of the small devices that lay scattered upon his desk, the damned thing was ruining his life, sucking all the joy it held and turning the universe to dust. And there wasn't much the half breed could do about it. There were too many of them for one man to handle.

Damned Data PADDs!

With every passing hour, more and more reports had been piling up on his desk. With Bran away, he had been lumped with extra duties, and though he should have gone home several hours ago, he was still here clearing away as much of the damned paperwork as he could. The more he could clear today, meant that little less he had to do during his next shift, and with what he had been planning to do for Faylin tomorrow, he'd need the extra time that finishing some of the paperwork today would provide..

He wished that they could be curled up together on her couch, drinking tea and enjoying each others' company. But that wasn't to be right now. He was sure she was okay with it. He had mentioned that Bran had gone off on some adventure and that he'd likely have extra work to contend with.

Putting the report, regarding the last drill the Marines had done, down for a moment, he leaned back in his chair and took a sip of water. Faylin acted different these days; he had noticed. Ever since she had apologized, clutching at his legs, crying, begging for his forgiveness. It had been so far removed from what he was used to that he wondered if maybe something inside her had changed. While she had always shown her love for him, it was different now. Steven couldn't quite put his finger on it; couldn't explain it. It just felt more real; more like what he figured it should. And he loved it.

He had been through a month of personal hell. Feeling complete crap; hating life; hating Faylin; hating himself. And yet, in those few minutes in her quarters, as she wept upon his feet, he found his heart breaking free of the hurtful encasing that had enshrouded it within it's grasp. He had felt alive once again. And everything that she had done to him washed away. Pushing him away on the last day on ch'Rihan as the joint forces of the Rihan and Federation drove the Hydrans away; the hurt he felt when she 'took her own life'; the feelings of anger and despair when he found out she had slept with the old CAG; the feelings of betrayal he felt at finding out she had faked her death; that she had used him as bait to get at her 'father' and then the subsequent kicking out of her life after that incident. It all had slipped away, and he loved her with all he had to offer.

Who knew how long the good times were going to last. With Faylin, it was hard to tell. He had not had more than a month of joy with her before each disaster had befallen the relationship. He prayed that this time it might last longer; that they could be happy together. It could end tomorrow, a month from now, or several years in the future. He just didn't know. What he did know, was that given that he had no idea how long she'd have him in her life, that he was going to take every day by the horns, giving her everything he had; loving her the way he had never loved anyone before; cherishing her above all others.

It hadn't been that long since they had gotten back together, a couple of days. Yet he still had the majority of his stuff in his shambles of a quarters. Filled with empty bottles, rubbish and god knows what else, his quarters were still his, even if he had spend the majority of his free time with Faylin. They hadn't really talked about it, but given that they were still married, and very much in love, it wasn't going to be long before his stuff moved to a new home; her home. If only the damned paperwork would disappear.

Steven sighed. Paperwork; god how he hated it.

One more report, he thought as he picked up one of the PADD's, and then he would call it a night and go home to see Fay.

Steven almost jumped out of his seat as he realized the PADD he had been holding was now a paperback book. Well to describe it as a book was an insult. It was basically a handful of pages tied together with a ribbon, to form a crude book. He had picked up a PADD hadn't he? Drawing his eyes from the 'book' he looked at his desk, only to find it was gone, replaced by a small coffee table with several books on it.

He shook his head. "What the heck is goi..."

"Quieten down Lorien. You'll wake the baby."

Looking around, he saw a young woman, whom he knew to be his wife, sitting in a nearby seat, knitting. "Sorry dear. I just..."

T'Lara shook her head with disapproval. He was being too loud. And she had just put the baby to sleep. Gods help him if she wakes. Or Jacern for that matter. Their son, all of six years old lay sleeping next to his little sister in the spare room. More than a handful to control, Jacern was hyperactive to the core but she did her best, day in and day out, with little help from Lorien. She cast her husband a withering look. It was ridiculous. There were only so many hours in a day and he had to spend almost half of them working in that pit he called a job. Never there to help with Jacern, or little T'Kara. Always working hard to please the lords and royalty aboard. Like they needed his loyalty. All they ever did was leach off of the hard workers, spitting in their faces, treating them like crap.

Lost in her thoughts, T'Lara wasn't paying enough attention to her knitting and stabbed herself with the point of one of the needles. Though not too sharp, it had managed to break the skin, bringing a spot of blood to the surface. Sighing, she placed her knitting down and walked over to the small kitchen to clean the wound.

Lorien held the 'book' almost reverently, lovingly. There weren't many copies of this particular book onboard, and he wasn't willing to give it up for anyone. Though he was sure if anyone found it, he wouldn't hear the end of it. That his wife endured his devotion to 'his' teachings, was a testament to her resolve to make the family stay bonded together. He owed her more than he could ever pay her, and in his heart be firmly believed the way to make it up to her was from within the words in the book.

He was trying, as much as she was. She knew that in her heart. And at times it seemed like it was working, that things were settling down. But how many times had she asked him to get rid of that damned book? How many times had she pleaded and begged him? For five long years she had asked him, and he had refused. She knew he'd never forgive her if she destroyed it herself, but prayed that he'd see some sense and leave the writings of 'that' man alone.

For five long years they had struggled on board the ship, him trying to understand the teachings in the book, while slaving away building trinkets, furniture and who knows what else for others. And all that while, she had tried to resist the quiet sayings he read aloud from the book from time to time, while raising Jacern as best she could.

Looking back to where he was sitting, T'Lara wondered what their lives might have been like had she not been so eager to go on this 'journey'; had she not begged him to leave everything he had and join her and their tiny Jacern. Would they be have been happy under the teachings of Surak? Would they have peace in their lives? Would she have been able to give herself up to the ways Surak's teachings suggested?

One day, she surmised, she'd read that damned book and see just what Lorien saw in it.

One day!

"Vengeance"

T'Ris (Aristi Ferguson)
T'Les (NPC)

"Leave me!"

"I will not."

"It was not a request!" T'Ris shrieked, grasping the nearest object and flinging it at her sister's head.

The throw was a poor one, and T'Les easily sidestepped the vase as it went sailing past her. It crashed into the wall behind her and disintegrated spectacularly, a million tiny pieces rebounding against one another. "That is no matter."

T'Ris froze in mid-reach, arm dropping limply to her side before she could launch her next assault. She stared at her sister, the stern lines of her face softening as rage dissipated into anger, anger turned to sadness, sadness turned to despair. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she saw the compassion in T'Les' eyes.

A moment later, T'Ris sank to her knees and wailed, leaning forward and pounding a fist feebly against the soft carpet of the floor. "Why..." she croaked between sobs.

T'Les immediately went to her sister, cradling T'Ris in her arms, letting the battered woman release her pain.

"Why me?" T'Ris repeated after a moment. "Why?"

"The Elements test us in many ways," T'Les replied, gently stroking her sister's hair, pushing it back from her face. "Anything survived strengthens the survivor."

She felt T'Ris stiffen in her arms. "How can you say that, T'Les? How can you understand this; how can you know what it feels like? To...to be...to be raped! To be gang-raped!" T'Ris continued, her voice now harsh and shrill. "Then to go to your betrothed and beg him for help, only to be thrown out as an unclean woman? Discarded and forgotten like a soiled piece of garbage? You cannot!"

T'Les continued to radiate calm, hoping against hope that the feeling would transfer to T'Ris. Like most Vulcans they were natural touch telepaths, although neither had been trained in the use of such talents. "I know, sister," she said. "You and I are so alike, yet so different. I may never understand."

"That..." T'Ris looked into her sister's eyes once more, now finally seeing the sadness that lay deep inside. T'Les could not have been more correct. On the inside they were nearly alike: both had been bright, outgoing girls who had eagerly lapped up anything their parents and teachers had taught them. People had often commented that they seemed to share the same brain. But where T'Ris was tall, slender and graceful, T'Les was even taller and thinner, awkwardly long limbs making her forever clumsy. T'Ris had been blessed with long, glossy black hair and bright, sparkling grey eyes; T'Les made do with thin, unevenly wavy hair that never grew past her shoulders and dull brown eyes, one of which had a tendency to wander. Though they were twins, T'Ris was the perfect example of classical Vulcan beauty; T'Les was nothing more than an unfortunate byproduct of undesirable genes.

"That wasn't what I meant, sister," T'Ris finished at last, casting her gaze toward the floor.

"I know." T'Les smiled, her thin lips opening just far enough to reveal a mouthful of crooked, unevenly colored teeth. "Your beauty is your gift...and your curse, T'Ris. It will serve you better in this tiny world than cunning or intelligence, but it will also leave you vulnerable. You must always be on your guard."

"Only too late do I understand that."

T'Les nodded solemnly. "What will you do now?"

"The only thing I can do, sister." When T'Ris looked up, her eyes were suddenly blazing with fire. "I will seek my revenge."

T'Les frowned, releasing her sister and pulling back at last. "And how will you do that?"

"I saw a man that night. A man with white hair, wielding twin blades like fangs. He..."

"He did this?"

"He did...nothing. But he could have. I sensed it."

"And will you seek him out?"

T'Ris paused, contemplating the question for a moment. When she answered, her voice was like ice. "Yes."

"Judgment"

Yheasthai, Scientist (Jason Corinth)
R'Ston, Yheasthai's father (NPC)

===

T'Kuht, Five Years Ago - One Week Before Launch

"So, you have decided."

Yheasthai nodded, warily eyeing his father's back. "Yes, di'ranov. I have."

Slowly, R'Ston turned to face his only son. Yheasthai searched the elder Vulcan's face, seeking any sign of the man he once knew, the father he'd loved. But that R'Ston was gone, replaced by a man who had desperately sought comfort in the heresy of Surak following the death of T'Lana, his mate and Yheasthai's mother.

R'Ston's eyes met those of his son, and even more maddening than his lack of emotion, of *caring*, in his father's face was the absolute emptiness of his eyes. It was not so long ago that R'Ston had shared Yheasthai's beliefs, not so long ago that the family had been united in its stance against the followers of Surak.

Then T'Lana was killed in an explosion, the blame for which was cast upon one side by the other, with neither officially claiming responsibility. After that, Yheasthai's father was lost. He claimed that he had grown tired of the conflict, that in Surak's teachings he had finally found the peace he'd been seeking his whole life.

Yheasthai was convinced that his father was lying. In his eyes, R'Ston had fallen far indeed. He had once been hru'firh of a powerful family, and though that family had dwindled in the fires that laid waste to T'Kuht, their pride, particularly Yheasthai's, remained strong.

Father and son stared at one another for what felt like a lifetime, the father's cool, emotionless eyes unblinking against the son's eyes, even now still looking upon R'Ston with hope.

R'Ston exhaled, the motion so quiet that Yheasthai almost failed to notice, and he raised his right hand. His fingers separated, forming the salute used widely by Surak's disciples. "Peace and long life, my son," R'Ston said, his voice as devoid of sentiment as his eyes.

Yheasthai eyed his father's hand, barely reining in the contempt he felt rising within. He took a breath and stepped toward R'Ston, looking upon his father with sadness as he embraced him for the last time. R'Ston stiffened in surprise, before slowly returning his son's embrace, albeit awkwardly. Yheasthai closed his eyes and swallowed, steeling himself for what was to come.

"Bed aoi, di'ranov."

Yheasthai felt his father jerk as the dagger sank between R'Ston's ribs and pierced the older Vulcan's heart. R'Ston grunted in pain as hot blood poured through his robes and over Yheasthai's left hand.

"Why?" rasped R'Ston as he tried to stumble back, held fast only by Yheasthai's grip on his murderous weapon.

His son pulled back far enough so that he could look into R'Ston's eyes, the confusion and fear that had been evident in him now gone. "You are a traitor, di'ranov. You have forsaken your family for Surak's blasphemy, and by doing so you have brought shame upon us. I had hoped that I could change your mind here, convince you to come with the rest of us and leave this wasteland to the heretics, but I see now that you are beyond hope."

As R'Ston's strength waned, he began to stumble back, his body trying desperately to fall. Yheasthai held fast. He wanted his father on his feet when he faced his judgment. "I am a scientist. I have no desire to fight, nor have I ever. But I would never shame my own family, and I will *not* allow you to, either. This is the only way, di'ranov. I'm sorry."

Yheasthai's eyes again searched R'Ston's, but even now, at the end, there was nothing. Not the slightest hint of guilt, nor regret. Yheasthai's confusion returned. Did his father not understand his own indiscretions? Did he not understand that he had dishonored his family by cleaving to Surak's teachings?

Disgusted, the younger Vulcan pushed his father away, his dagger tearing itself out of R'Ston in sickening fashion. Free at last, R'Ston stepped away from his son, futilely grasping for something, anything to help him maintain his balance. And then he fell, collapsing to the stony floor in a heap. He managed a few short breaths, and then he was gone.

Time slowed as Yheasthai stared down at his father's body. He had done it. His family's honor was restored, and now he could leave this damned world with a clear conscience.

So why did guilt continue to tear at his heart? He knew he had done the right thing, and yet now that it was done, he could only feel repulsed by his actions. He had killed his own father.

Yheasthai looked down at his hand, covered in the verdant blood that had sustained his father. Trembling now, he let go of the dagger, only half-hearing it clash against the floor as he turned and ran out of the room, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and his father's body.

T'Kuht - Vulcan
Di'ranov - Father
Bed aoi - Goodbye forever

"aehallh" (Nightmare)

Ariennye (John Davidson)

****
Unknown Location
Talvalen 5 Years AL (After Launch)
****

He gasped in a breath of air, his lungs burning with a fire the likes of which he had not felt for many a year. An acrid smell pervaded the small room he resided in. The smell of burnt flesh sickened him no end. Bile rose up from his stomach, threatening to burst forth from his mouth. A moment passed and it returned to its resting place with the rest of his lunch. Unfortunately for him, the taste remained, and it was all he could do not to bring it all back up again.

He was being driven insane by the pounding of a tie-psie etrehh in his head. Groaning about on the floor in agony, he wished he was dead, so much was the pain and torment he was feeling. A wish that was not to be fulfilled, not for many years. Much to his chagrin. Slowly, as if by the will of all that was holy, he felt the pain ebb away. Hours could have passed, days even, but he didn't care. The pain was receding, and that was all the really mattered.

Finally he managed to open his eyes, immediately having to shield his eyes from the bright light above. He blinked away the blurry vision and the world, his world, came into focus. And a small world it was at that. Barely bigger than he was tall, the room looked to be a plain grey box, with walls and a door and that was it. Several bottles lay about upon the floor, mostly empty, amongst the masses of dirty looking rags and several mops.

A cleaner's closet? He was in a bloody cleaning closet.

Shaking his head, he tried to recall how he could have gotten here. He drew a blank, recalling very little of the night before. In fact, he couldn't recall much of anything. It frightened him no end that he couldn't. The pounding in his head returned and he closed his eyes and tucked his arms around his knees, wrapping himself into a small ball, gently rocking from side to side.

Moments later, he drifted off to sleep once again.

****

He gasped in a breath of air, his lungs burning with a fire the likes of which he had not felt for... how long had it been, minutes, hours, a lifetime? That's what it had felt... Like he had lived another lifetime, aboard a futuristic ship, smaller and a lot faster than the one he now travelled upon. Perhaps it had been a dream, yet it seemed too vivid for a dream. Maybe a latent memory of some past incarnation, of an inferior species to be sure. A strange mix of people had inhabited the ship. Of varying hues and shapes. Some he could recognize, like his own people, yet many, like the species that he himself had been, were a mystery to him.

He had been astonished, upon looking in a mirror, to find that his ears were not pointy. And he had been so much larger... Many of the inhabitants had been bigger than the average T'Kuht, with more thickness to their frames than he was used to seeing. The ship itself, what little he had seen was built for war, with several banks of weapons and a quantity of small, very fast and maneuverable ships, one of which he himself had been assigned to pilot. And the women... Despite their lack of pointy ears, some of them were very desirable. And at points in the aehallh, he had partaken of the bounty they offered. It had been a most odd experience, and though he wasn't sure yet what it meant, he was eager to try the experience again. One woman, her skin the most exquisite shade of green had this sensational talent using her tongue to... He shivered with delight at the thought.

He watched out of the others' eyes as he went about his life, almost as if a passenger in his mind. He wasn't sure of the name, but the man seemed pretty one dimensional, only interested in three things of note: drinking, women and flying his small craft as he battled against a plethora of enemies. There seemed no hatred in his eyes, no anger in his soul. He seemed boring. At least compared to the goings on around the ship. People were disappearing, having accidents, and worse. Yet it was all part of the T'Kuht culture. It was in their genes, and no man, not even the likes of this Surak, preaching his words would change that. He did have to give the 'man' credit though. Being cocky was a trait that he shared with the T'Kuht people. And his arrogance... He didn't need to say much about that.

So worked up over the vision was he, that he failed to notice the remaining liquid in one of the bottles on the floor swirling around on it's own accord. It would be some time before he could really comprehend why the was doing that. And more still before he would find a way to consciously control the strange action.

He felt fear though. For what if that was what they would become? They were heading out into the stars after all, and no one knew what would become of them. Would they change into these... these... inferior species. Would they grow fur or blue skin? Would they, for the most part, give up their animalistic ways? Becoming more and more like the people and teachings to which Surak preached?

His shiver of pleasure changed quickly to a cold chill.

No! Becoming like them was not something he wanted, and he was sure it wasn't something that S'Task or his brother Tellus wanted. It wasn't right; it wasn't their way. It was all a aehallh.

Yes, that's what it was. Simply an aehallh. Nothing to worry about at all.

Yet his stomach had other ideas. All he really knew, as yesterday's lunch decided it wanted to find a new home on the floor of the cleaning closet, was that he was in ariennye. He had to be, there was no other logical explanation.

Which was quite fitting, given that that was also his accursed name.

Ariennye!

Dictionary:
aehallh: Nightmare
tie-psie: One Thousand
etrehh: Machines
ariennye: Hell
T'Kuht: Vulcan

"Losing Sleep"

Eela (Ella Grey)
Mardek

***

Talvalen Eela and Mardek's quarters

Eela had expected grief to feel like drowning, sadness to feel like sinking, but all she felt was fire.

And it burned.

Her eyes opened. By the way her father was shaking her and because her throat felt like she'd swallowed one of Mardek's knives, Eela guessed that she had been screaming for some time.

"E ... enough," She rasped, pushing him away. The dream was already fading but she didn't want to be touched. Eela didn't want Mardek to sense the humiliation that always came after an episode and she certainly didn't want to associate her father with any part of the memory.

Mardek let go of her arms and then sat back. "Loras?"

Eela grimaced and then nodded. "Loras."

The look on her father's face was deadly and she might have been afraid if it had been directed at her. As it was, Eela almost felt sorry for whoever her father's assignment was tomorrow. If they lived, they weren't going to be happy about it.

"I don't want to hear about you losing sleep," The girl said. She had meant to ease the tension but they both heard the underlying thought - You wanted emotion, this is what you get. I was getting better ...

"What can I do?" His voice was pained and she hated herself for that. There was nothing he could do. He'd already taken care of the people who had hurt her and sent a clear and bloody message of what would happen to those foolish enough to hurt her again. But he couldn't turn back time or raise the dead. There was nothing he could do.

"Your job," Eela said finally. "It'll make you feel better."

"How Do I Deal?"

K'Lea / Naranda Sol Roswell

*****10 Years Before Exodus*****

K'Lea sat hugging her knees, crying. She felt ashamed. She felt ashamed because she was scared.

She didn't like what was happening. The fear washed over her like a heat-draining fog. She wanted to not be awake. She needed relief from this.

*****Currently on the Galaxy*****

Nara fought the beast. Klingon training holograms were the best and if she didn't have to follow guidelines, she would have had it turned the safeties off. She countered an attack and he countered her. The program froze and the computer announced her death. She plopped down against a rock to catch her breath. She needed to regain some strength to try again.

This is how she dealt with things.

Marks had gotten convicted. Two years in a brig. That's all. She was more than pissed.

*****

Fear, anger, pain and sadness are primal emotions. They are in every sentient being. How that being controls those primal emotions dictates their society, their culture and their well-being.

Control must be achieved. We cannot stop these emotions from coming. We can control how we choose to react with them. How do we release these emotions?

Is any being really capable of "meditating" it away?

"Shifting Loyalties"

Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce/Rh'dan

A planet that had sprung to life in a few centuries was not commonplace. From bare rock to lush vegetation in only, what, a few hundred years? No, not commonplace at all.

But not so disturbing that Miquelan had felt bad about not being chosen for the away mission. Let's face it, how could anything down there possibly top what had happened on Barzan? Yeah, it was unfortunate that so few of the species had survived, but what were they thinking invading the Federation to steal a single drone in the first place? Maybe the young Xenonian wasn't seeing the whole picture here, but what quarrel had the Barzan with the Borg?

Ah, well, it was 1600 and Ensign Dar'ce was just starting his day. His duty shift was between 0300 and 0930, so he slept from between 1030 and 1100 to around 1500. When he woke, he went to the gym for a quick workout and shower before breakfast, then onto the library to study for his continuing education program to get his Masters degree in Military History. He was just now studying what he could get his hands on pertaining to the Vulcan civil war from just before the "Great Exodus."

Glorious reading. The civil wars from other Federation planets paled in comparison, including the third World War on Earth itself. The wars of Xenon had been bloody, but the Xenonians had never detonated an atomic weapon in their own atmosphere. Atomic devices there were reserved for asteroid colony formation.

This early in his day, Dar'ce was surprised by the Yellow Alert signal suddenly coming on. He logged off the computer terminal and headed for the Weapons Control Center, because he'd just be in the way on the bridge. There would have to be at least three tactical officers that went down before Miq could take the controls.

As he rushed down the corridor, he felt something very odd. Very odd indeed. It was old, and large, and confused. There were more minds than he could count, and they were all distinctly of the same race. It was a familiar flavor, but somehow different than the one or two that were onboard the Galaxy.

They were Romulan. Rihansu. The other side of the Vulcan Civil War.

One month before launch, Near Mount Selaya

Rh'dan, Third Seidar, Talvalen Clan

Romulan? What was a Romulan? Rihansu was what some of S'kasks followers called themselves. Rh'dan was a Vulcan. A true Vulcan, not a watered-down emotionless shell that Surak's followers had become. Rh'dan would be glad to be rid of the planet of his birth, though it meant leaving behind his mother, and the majority of her family.

Rh'dan's father would be rolling over in his grave. His mother, the logical, emotionless witch she had become was nothing like the mother that Rh'dan had grown up with. She had been passionate about her family, loving, caring, and proud of what they had accomplished. She had been there after his father's death to comfort him and to represent the Talvalen clan when Rh'dan had gotten married to the daughter of Tuvok, and united the Talvalen family to the S'Koren family. It was rumored that Valen himself would give Rh'dan leave to form his own Crest, a sub-clan so to speak.

Rh'dan had taken everything he had left in his possession, along with his wife V'Kara, and their two sons Rh'mev and Rh'dan'el, and added their names to the list of Talvalen that would make the Exodus. The clan ship would leave in less than a month, and V'Kara was supervising the loading of Rh'dan's fortune. They would have a significant area on board, a privilege of being a noble in the clan.

While V'Kara had the children, Rh'dan had some unfinished business to attend to.

ooc:I figure, if Rh'dan is a strong telepath in relation to other Vulcans, he would probably seek out a strong telepath to inhabit. Seems logical.

"Saying Goodbye"

Rh'dan, Third Seider, Talvalen Clan (Miquelan Dar'ce)

T'Ness, Mother of Rh'dan, follower of logic

The foothills of Mount Selaya, Vulcan

Rh'dan made his way to the ancestral home of his maternal grandfather, Selek. He knew he was barely welcome, and the family would tolerate him only to a point. When he overstayed his welcome, they would let him know, in their superior, emotionless, stoic way. Rh'dan was looking forward to making one of them crack.

The guards said nothing to Rh'dan as he entered the front gate; he just walked right through. If he was not expected, he wouldn't have gotten within half a kilometer before the alarms would have been sounded within the walls. This city was still armed to the teeth from the war, and bitterness, though the "emotionless" veruule in this house would call it caution, still ran rampant, and would until the ships were gone.

The Master Servant was waiting for him in the main foyer, and stood there with a blank expression on his face. Rh'dan could see his eyes, though. More importantly, he could read his thoughts. He was following the logical teachings of Surak more out of loyalty to the family than because he truly wanted to be here. That knowledge was filed away, to be used later.

"You know, Selak, there is still room on several of the ships. If you wanted to come along. Just a thought."

For just a moment, Rh'dan knew the older man was thinking about it. Would he want to live this way forever? He was unmarried, and the only attachment he had was to the family he served. Would it be so bad to go with those that were starting a new life, with the old ways?

Rh'dan forgot about the man as soon as he asked the question. "My mother is expecting me. I know her room."

He followed the corridor back to the room that he had visited his mother in so often since her family had converted her to the new way. He stood in the doorway and watched her meditate for a few minutes, feeling her emotions swim beneath the surface of her psyche, oppressed, unable to do the job they were supposed to do. She had taught him to use the ability that was passed down the generations. She had taught him to read the emotions of others, to read their very thoughts, when she had been a true Vulcan.

"I know you are there, my son," the poised lady told him without turning around. "Just because I no longer use my emotions doesn't mean that I can no longer read yours. Tell me, are you always this angry these days?"

Rh'dan frowned slightly, knowing his mother had hit the nail on the proverbial head. "I am angry that it has come down to this mother. You and this family of yours, this movement, is what I'm angry at. The world was nearly annihilated because of this ridiculous pursuit of logic." He fairly spat the last word.

The tall woman stood, coming closer to her eldest son, the only child she had left. "No, the war was because you could not leave us to our philosophy. If we had been left to ourselves, we would have left you alone as well. We are a peaceful people, Rh'dan. We have no ill-will towards the old ways."

"But you still reject them as if they have no place on this planet. The Vulcan people will not survive very long, mother, if all they have is logic. We of the Talvalen Clan will survive. We'll find a new home, and the old ways will serve us well."

"The old ways will eventually destroy you, my son. But I wish you well on your journey." She moved to hold her son, putting aside the new taboo against physical shows of affection.

Rh'dan moved away quickly, putting distance between them. They were less than a meter apart, but for all the love that may have been transmitted, it may as well have been a kilometer. "Farewell, mother. I hope this planet serves you well. You paid enough for it."

"Live long, and prosper my son."

He walked away, never looking back. He couldn't afford to look weak, not at this critical juncture. He loved his mother, but she no longer loved him.

She wasn't allowed to.

~Forsaken~

Kharvre [Cutter Kara'nin]

He ran his hand over the stone slowly. The marble was cool to the touch, and though rigid, it felt soft, like fine hair. The artistry was breath taking, he could feel the undulating ridges between the vanes as his thin fingers delicately caressed them. They couldn't have been any larger than the ridges in the prints on tips of his fingers, and yet, someone was able to chisel them out flawlessly.

Gradually, his hand traced up the feathers to the limb to which they attached. The feathers here lacked barbicels and the vanes fanned out forming down. They were sturdy and sharp, unlike true down, like the material in the pillow on which he slept - a fault of the medium. Still, the sculptor was as devoted to the detail here as he had been to the contour feathers. Despite the covering of the feathers, the powerful musculature was not only visible, but he could feel it. It seemed to flex at his touch.

His hand continued its journey down the wing to where it joined with the back. The feathers became smaller and smaller, until only the rachii remained, forming tiny bristles that then melted into the skin. Here, another fault of the medium became apparent. Flesh should be warm to the touch, but the stone was cold. However, the firmness of the marble added strength, and a subtle element of ferocity. Ferocious mischievousness.

How he yearned for wings such as these. How he wished to fly through the air, and to leave the ground behind. He wanted it so bad that, on occasion, it made him weep. The people around him seemed to hold this wish, as well, though in their hearts, it had mutated and grown deformed. They wished to leave the ground behind, and they had, and he, as well, but it was not by becoming one with the air, for they had left that behind too. And it was not using wings like these, which were graceful and awesome. They used a machine - a ship, a rocket. They still walked around, but on a false ground, soothed by false breeze. That also, on occasion, made him weep.

"Kharvre!"

The shouting of his name caused his hand to jerk away from the statue. He was not allowed to touch the idols. He was caught once before, admiring the female, Asterope, with his hands, and he was beaten for it because it was thought his intentions were sexual, and therefore perverted, in nature. Today, he was at the male, Aethion, and if he was caught again, and if intentions were taken as sexual again, and therefore even more perverted -- well, he didn't want to think about it. But, his admirations were not sexual. How could they be, he had barely any concept of what sex was to begin with? The admiration was deeper than that.

He looked up, afraid, but his master was not yet in the room. Nor was the shouting one of anger, it was only a calling. He was being searched for.

Quickly, he hopped down from the statues' pedestal and knelt at their feet.

"Kharvre! There you are! You are supposed to be sweeping the baptismal chambers," the old man said, upon finding the boy staring at the statues. It was cleric Tonik. Kharvre liked Tonik. He was the one who pulled him from the orphanage to serve in the temples. He was the one who fed him and taught him and told him stories of the gods, and unlike the other clerics, Tonik had never beaten him.

"Will you tell me how Aethion and Asterope stole the fire boat from Haeliaos again?" Kharvre asked, ignoring the man's chastizing.

"Again?" Tonik sighed.

"Yes! Its my favorite," Kharvre said excitedly.

"Perhaps later. After you finish your chores."

Kharvre moaned.

"And after you read the scroll of Habakkuk and prepare the nightly prayer rites."

Kharvre moaned again. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Now run and sweep the baptismal chambers before cleric Saelikh discovers you haven't yet."

Kharvre started to walk off, his shoulders slumped in exaggerated sadness, but in the corner of his vision, the sodium colored overhead lights reflected off the gray-white marble wings of the airborne fire thieves. He stopped and looked at them once more. "Master Tonik, how come nobody talks about the gods anymore?"

The old man looked at his young ward curiously, trying to determine if the question was honest, or a child's attempt to avoid his chores. "Well, most people believe the gods are only manifestations."

"What does that mean?"

Tonik nodded, acknowledging the fact that he had spoken over the child's head, and tried again. "People believe that there are not dozens, or hundreds of gods. People don't believe there are gods at all, they believe that there are four forces at work in the universe."

"The elements?"

"Yes," Tonik nodded and sat down on a kneeling bench. "Can you name them?"

Kharvre frowned slightly. "Yes," he said, dragging the word out in annoyance, his intelligence insulted, "Air, Earth, Fire and Water. But don't the gods control the elements?"

Tonik nodded again, but this was a nod of contemplation. As he thought, the boy sat on the ground in front of him, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. "Your favorites, Aethion and Asterope, what did they do?"

"They stole the fire boat from Haeliaos and pulled it across the sky and hid it in a mountain in the west. And Haeliaos had to walk across the night sky behind them to retrieve it."

"And their father, who was he?"

"Maekhurris, Master of the Feathered Flock."

"And birds of a feather fly where?"

"In the air," Kharvre said, wondering where this was going.

"Good. Maekhurris is a manifestation -- he embodies, or he controls the element air, right?"

"Okay," Kharvre said.

"What about Haeliaos, what is his element?" Tonik asked.

"Fire?"

"Good. These two gods, they're like many other gods, all of whom embody a specific element: either fire or air. And there are gods who embody water and gods who embody earth. If you compare all of the gods who embody air, they're all similar."

"Nuh-uh," Kharvre said, "Zhefvr and Borreas are both winds and they're nothing alike. They hate each other. And Thrai, he's a wolf. What element is that?"

"Yes, the abstraction is more difficult to make for some of the gods, but in general, one can make this claim. The gods, if they're real, or even if they are not, it seems like they are reflections of the same four elements. Today, most people worship those."

"But elements don't do anything. They just are."

"Yes, you're right. We don't really worship elements like the ancestors worshiped the gods. We seek - well, again, Aethion and Asterope, children of air. They stole fire, yes? They took a portion of one element, fire, and mixed it with their own, air. Why did they do that?"

"Because Haeliaos was mean and kept the fire to himself."

"Yes, and by stealing it, they provided balance to the universe. Today, by studying and respecting the elements, we seek balance."

Kharvre hmmed and thought, trying to understand. "So, is the only way to have balance is to have nothing?" he asked suddenly.

Tonik was surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"We left home. We left the gods and all the elements behind."

Tonik shook his head. "The elements are everywhere."

"Nuh-uh," Kharvre intoned again. "There are no elements in space. There is no air or water or fire or earth."

"Planets, and stars --"

"But we left those behind. We left everything behind. Lord Valen is seeking balance by giving up everything. We have forsaken the elements. He wants nothingness."

All of a sudden, the look on Tonik's face became very sad and Kharvre felt bad, knowing that it was his fault, but he was unsure what he had said to cause it. Eventually he said, "You may be wise beyond your young age, Kharvre. This is something worth meditating over. Its a shame you are ineligible to apprentice for the priesthood."

Tonik thought for another moment before his face lightened up and patted Kharvre on the head. "Now, run and do your chores and tonight I will tell you a new story, one you haven't heard before."

Kharvre smiled widely at the promised reward and quickly rose to feet. "Okay," he said, and dashed from the temple.

"Terrible, TERRIBLE News!!!!"

V'tana Solvena (Eve)

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

"WHAT?!?!"

This wasn't the first time V'tana's parents had pulled something so ... so ... infuriating! The first time was around five years ago, just prior to departure. Somehow, her family had boarded the wrong Ship. She was supposed to have been on the Gorgon, not Talvalen. Lord Valen grudgingly deigned to acknowledge her family's nobility, but without the power or connections that came with such a status they were effectively almost common themselves. Her father was a cunning and ruthless man, and her mother no less a devious plotting woman, so this should have come to no surprise to their equally crafty daughter. There was only one problem.

V'tana was interested in machines, not people.

Oh sure, she was bright enough and had proven it in the years prior to departure. Always working up some scheme to get out of the family estate and into the nearby manufactories her family had lorded over, both before and after Surak. Her parents had indulged in her whims, believing it to be but a phase. Her father had had his head into the circuts in the past, but he had grown out of it and believed the same would be true for his daughter. Oh, how he wished his wife had borne a son instead. That she had produced any ofspring was a miracle.

But worst of all, in V'tana's eyes, wasn't that she was being married off. That was something she knew was going to come, though she had been a blind fool to think it wouldn't come so soon. No, it was WHO they said she was going to be stuck with for the rest of her life. It was an artsy brat, Levik. Yeah, his family was well connected and it would pull her parents status up from the bottom of the dung heap, but still, why LEVIK?!?! What had she done to incur her parents wrath that she was going to be inflicted with that pansy for the rest of his life?? This was terrible news.

Terrible, TERRIBLE News!!!!

"Duties of the Son"

Levik - Noble Brat (Artim)
Solok - Revered General (Thral)

With
Geshar - Family Servant (Liam Burke)
Aerin - Devoted Wife (NPC)

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

Artim was on his way from the transporter room up to his lab to begin analyzing the samples he'd taken from the planet below. Not that he had found anything that seemed particulalry interesting at first but it was his place to analyze them anyway. After the little spat he had with Inaria and the bird person on the planet he'd been thinking alot about, well, alot of things. He'd always figured that the reason he was still an Ensign was the fact that he wasn't an "adult". True there were Mirans that had proceeded further then him (something he liked to point out at crew evaluation time) and one even commanded a starship. However, that never quite mattered. If he were a man he'd be respected more, not that it was ever a problem before he joined starfleet, but apparantly it mattered here. Perhaps if he'd never joined starfleet and become an artist or something instead...

"Levik! You need to finish getting dressed!"

Thral wasn't sure why he was yelling. And who was Levik? He didn't have anyone by that name under his command. And what was he doing in someone's quarters and ones that looked so finely decorated as these. What the hell was going on.

"I'll be ready soon father. Would be easier if I didn't have to wear all this stuff! Why am I doing this again?", the teenager yelled back in a somewhat confused voice. It fit because of the way Artim was so friggin confused right now. The feeling he was getting fealt alot like those who'd been possessed by Dithparu reported all that time ago. His mind was being shoved aside by something far more powerful though what he sensed wasn't malicious but rather...confused. And why did everyone have pointed ears?

"Geshar, go help him. He needs to look good when his mate arrives. He needs to look like a warrior.", Solok replied as he looked to the servant who'd been polishing one of the metal scuptures.

"Yes master.",the servant replied. Liam seemed to be saying alot of that lately. On the Bonestell things were tight however his new Chief was, well, rather tight on him too. Still, that didn't explain why he was polishing some piece of artwork and now going over to help some vulcan kid get dressed.

"You know well I don't intend on being a warrior father, so why the cherade? And who is this girl you plan to give me too? It's not T'rei, is it?", Levik whined as Gehsar came over to straighten his very martial looking outfit.

"No son, its not T'rei. We'd never give you to anyone from her family much less to that...brat." , the voice of Levik's mother, Aerin, came from the other room. At least someone agreed with him on this one.

"It's V'tana." Geshar mumbled in the young masters ear. The servant had known for awhile who it was as he'd been running messages between Solok and her father for months. The girl wasn't bad in his opinion but he had a feeling Levik wouldn't approve. A feeling which was confirmed a split second later as the young man started off in his trademark whiney voice again.

"V'tana! She's always got her head burried so deeply in a technical manual or a power conduit that she barely knows what's going on! Why her!"

"We're doing her family a great favor Levik. Now please, at least make an effort to like her. No use whining anyway, its already been arranged, just like your officer training. Now do your duty and make us proud.", Solok snapped back at his son.

Levik just sighed as he straightened his own collar. Hopefully she'd die an early death or he'd be killed in battle or something.

"Lava Plumes"

Ariennye (John Davidson)

(OOC: This is the first post fleshing out his backstory. It will, over time, detail how he came to be a drunken bum aboard the Talvalen. The flashbacks should also help explain where he is headed, how he will get there and expand on his destiny, a glimpse of which can be found in his first post.)

****
Mount Tar'Hana T'Kuht (Vulcan)
10 Years BL (Before Launch)
****

Lava bubbled in the hollow that was the crater of Mount Tar'Hana. A sludge of red hot chemicals, minerals, melted and unmelted rock swirled about, occasionally splashing up towards the lip of the crater, but never quite reaching it; never quite reaching Ariennye, as he stood on the small platform that had been constructed several years before. A tourist attraction, Mount Tar'Hana had been belittled by someone wanting to make a quick buck. And yet despite the danger, and the cheap money making scheme, the people still came; still paid their money, to see lava flowing about in the crater of the mountain.

It was pathetic that they would pay to see such a sight. Ariennye believed, like many of the locals, that treasures such as the mountain should be free for everyone to enjoy. And not be made into a novelty money making scheme. That they called the charge a 'mandatory upkeep charge' for the upkeep of the platform and souvenir shop was a big joke. The platform looked unsafe in several areas and the gift shop, well, it looked about as tacky and disgusting as any shop he had ever seen.

It was a beautiful sight, the mountain that was, and he had snuck past the upkeep charge collector's to see it. If they had actually been using the money to make the place safe for visitors, or even making the place more beautiful, he might have paid, but as it was, he hadn't felt like lining the pockets of a group of people who had no care for the environment or the safety of the visitors.

A rather large plumb of lava sprang from the crater spiraling upwards with a hiss. The people ooh'd and aah'd and many a flash could be seen from the myriad of cameras that the paying tourists to the region had brought with them. While Ariennye was just as eager to see the marvel that was mother nature, he was rudely pushed aside by a rather large male.

"Excuse me? I was standing there!" Ariennye called out to the brute.

"So? You are only a commoner. And as such, those of a higher stature have priority to this space."

"You might be royalty, but you're still a Dha'rudh" he shot back.

The man was fast, faster than Ariennye could have anticipated, but then being with the Royal Guard, he was trained to be fast. His hand shot out before Ariennye even noticed it and he circled his grip around Ariennye's throat, squeezing the life out of him.

"Leave him be." An angelic voice called out.

The man didn't release his grip.

"RELEASE HIM!" the voice said, in a strong firm voice.

The arm withdrew and Ariennye doubled over, gasping for breath. His neck was bruised, he was sure it. The nerves tingling in pain told him so. He brought his hand up to rub at his neck. He knew the bruise was going to last days, if not weeks. Fvadt!

"Are you alright?" the Angelic voice asked.

Ariennye looked up to match a face to the voice. His breath caught in his lungs as he saw the woman. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. His heart pounded faster as his breathing became ragged. He willed the moment to last forever, so beautiful was she. Unable to take his eyes off her, he bowed slightly, knowing it to be the right thing to do. "Jolan Tru, lhhei"

"Jolan Tru to you as well." She smiled. "Yet you didn't answer my question."

"My apologies. I... I have never met anyone of such beauty. It lead me to forget my manners." He nervously stepped from foot to foot, unsure of what he should do in the situation. He had never spoken to a noble, or royalty before, and none as beautiful as the angel before him.

She gently slapped his shoulder. "Come now, you still haven't answered my initial question."

"Daie, I am fine. hann'yyo."

She nodded as a smile graced her face, before turning to indicate the man who had grabbed him. "S'harien is over protective of me. He means well, yet sometimes takes matters to far." With him several paces away, her voice rose so he could hear her next words. "He forgets that he was once a commoner until my father took him under his wing and gave him a place in the Royal Guard."

Ariennye merely nodded, unsure if he should say anything.

"S'harien, leave us."

The large guard looked like he was about to protest, but catching her eye, he bowed and turned to take up a post by the exit.

With S'harien gone, she moved closer to Ariennye, and the sweet scent of her perfume filtered to his nose. A gentle scent of Rosemary and Lilac if he wasn't mistaken. As she drew near, he felt like his heart was going to explode, so fast was it beating within his chest. "You are nervous?" she asked, seeing him shaking a little.

Ariennye nodded. "I... I..." He closed his mouth, unable to form the words he wanted.

She leaned in so close that her lips brushed his earlobe. "You have nothing to be nervous about." she whispered to him. "You are handsome and strong, wise and yet have an innocence I have not seen for a long time."

Ariennye visibly sighed. He was still nervous, but not so much as he had been.

"The only people I ever get to meet are those that di'ranov deems appropriate. They are all boring, arrogant, and think that I will do everything they ask of them."

She turned to look down at the crater and the lava swirling around below. Looking back at Ariennye, she smiled. "It is good to just meet someone plain for a change."

"So, I am just 'plain'?" he said in mock horror as he came to stand next to her.

"I didn't mean it like that," she replied.

Ariennye rested his hands on the railing and grinned. "Don't worry about it. I like being 'plain'."

She slapped his hand slightly harder than she had intended and felt a pang of sorrow when he pulled it off the railing to rub.

She took his hand in hers and gently squeezed. "Sorry."

"It didn't hurt that bad." he replied. The feeling of her soft, delicate hands against his own was something he was not ready for and he almost gasped at how supple her hand was.

"By the way, I'm Jaeih Tei."

"Ariennye." he replied.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. That's my name, 'Ariennye'. And yes I know it's also a female name. I guess my parents wanted a girl but got me instead." he shrugged.

She nodded, realizing that he hadn't been insulting her.

"I dare not ask you out for one of your stature likely wouldn't want to be caught dead with the likes of me."

She looked up from the lava. "Well, I'd dare not say yes to you."

Ariennye looked at her closely, trying to determine if she was saying what he thought she was. After a moment, he made up his mind. "Would you care for some lunch with a commoner?" It was nearly noon, and though she may have been royalty, she still had to eat at some point.

Jaeih nodded. "I'd like that."

Turning away from the edge of the platform, he held out his arm for her to take. He had no idea where to go, or what to have, but he didn't really mind. It was the company that was the most important thing.

****

Dictionary:
Dha'rudh:  Total Idiot.
Fvadt:   Damn
Jolan Tru: A greeting
lhhei:  Madam
daie: Yes
hann'yyo: Thank you
di'ranov: Father

"Phasers! Lirpas! Get your weapons here!"

With Proconsol R'aven, leader of the Sienae (blade) Guild and a couple of NPC's!

Time: 5 years after the departure.

As they sped further and further away from their home world, the Vulcans aboard the TALVALEN experienced a growing and distinct type of dark freedom.

Gone were the rules, trappings and expectations that they had to bind themselves with every day. No longer did they have to act and behave in the way that was expected, simply because that was what society demanded.

They were truly free now.

They could now do what they wanted, when they wanted with very little - if any - concern for consequences and repercussions.

This dark liberty had caused the group to dangerously devolve to a more primal state, indulging in base instincts on a whim. Incidents of rape, violence, theft, and even murder had begun to rise as the natural violent tendencies in those who found themselves now completely independent grew and festered.

Clans and guilds began to rise to prominence, each seeking more power and influence so then when they reached the NEW WORLD, they would be better positioned to rule or if necessary sway the opinions of those in power until such time as an….unexpected change of leadership could occur.

And so it was that two of the largest guilds on the ship - the Sienae (Blades) and the Shia (Disruptors) - found themselves gathered in the massive gaming room amidst the tables upon which the countless members of the crew who fancied themselves strategists could hone their skill while playing 3-D Chess.

Membership in the two factions swelled daily.

Over a third of the crew professed to be expert marksmen, some of whom oddly enough had never fired a disruptor in a combat situation. They favored more aggressive and contemporary military tactics and weaponry. They typically would congregate and espouse upon their vision of the universe - one where their people are so feared that no one would dare tread across their boarder without fear of starting an all out war.

During these discussions, the more philosophical and equally as large Sienae guild would passionately question the cons of such an existence.

A quieter more conservative group, their numbers - professed masters of the Lirpa and other elegant edged weapons - favored a more honorable violence and were somewhat resistant to surrendering themselves to the more base instincts that others of the ship so readily embraced.

This 'Dove" like attitude often time sparked quite a bit of debate amongst the "Hawk" like Shia.

Once such debate ignited just moments ago, leaving their sage leader to try to find a way to get his point across…..

"PROCONSOL R'AVEN, I MUST STRENUIOUSLY OBJECT TO THIS…THIS INSANITY!!!" Counselor Glork gasped, his bulbous green nose darkening and eyes wide with outrage.

"Duly noted Glork," R'aven said removing the ornate purple and green robe he wore and then dropping it rather unceremoniously upon the flustered man's head.

Glork tugged himself free of the robe and peered over at the black and silver clad Shia, leering creepily as though they were rabid jackals about to tear into the greasy flesh of recently captured prey.

"YOU CAN'T SIMPLY GO OVER THERE AND WAVE YOUR LIRPA AT THEM UNTL THEY RELENT!" he said wringing his hands.

"I don't intend to" R'aven said.

"Thank the gods! He has come to his senses!"

'Hand me my Ahn woon."

"YOUR…….YOUR AHN WOON!!!!!" Glock spat, "HAVE YOU MISTAKENLY TRANSFERRED YOUR KATRA TO YOUR ASS?!?!"

"You worry too much, my friend. I'm just going to go have a little talk with them." R'aven said tightening his sash and wrapping the whip like weapon around his forearm, testing it for strength. "Just a friendly chat."

"THE LAST TIME YOU HAD A FRIENDLY CHAT, ADMINISTRATOR ORLOS HAD TO LEARN TO WIPE HIMSELF WITH A HOOK CLENCHED BETWEEN HIS TEETH!!!

"In my defense, he has really mastered the hook so it has not been that much of a hardship." R'aven said placing both hands upon Glork's thick shoulders.

"They issued The Challenge, Glork. Here in front of everyone. If I back down now, it sends the message that their ways are more effective. Can you imagine a society where our people slither and sneak about in the shadows, killing and assassinating like cowards? Like spies? We would be better off staying with Surok and trying to hide our emotions. "

"Besides, I have a plan." Raven said.

"I HOPE IT INVOLVES YOU DYING WITHOUT SCREAMING." Glork said nodding at the mammoth Shia represenative who had taken to the floor before them.

"That's Imro. Nobody even knows his true name since his entire past is classified. He's rumored to be some sort of classified genetic prototype, engineered in a classified instillation where he gained classified augmentations that allow him to do classified things. He can see things nobody else can. Do things that nobody else could."

"And how do you know that?" R'aven asked.

"That part wasn't classified." Glork said, then grabbed his master's wrists.

"This…this is madness. Let us relent and live to battle another day. You can't fight a disruptor with an ahn woon! I just can't in good conscious let you do this. "

"Enough talk!" Imro growled loudly, muscles rippling beneath his black tunic.

He leapt nimbly off the small balcony, landing with a loud thud as his boots hit the deck plates. His right hand swung up and held an antique hand cannon that looked as though it could blow a hole through the nearest bulkhead with relative ease. He drew back the slide and racked a tarnished bronze shell into the chamber.

"Hmm. Conscious is clear." Glork said suddenly scurrying out of the way.

R'aven chuckled and casually walked over to the snarling Imro and observed him, making no attempt to either attack or defend himself.

Spittle hung from the beast's lips. His knuckles were clenched to tightly around his weapon that they were white. He trembled with barely contained classified fury.

The crowd was roaring and chanting, some banging lirpas on the deck plates while others rattled their disruptors and firearms against the wall.

Proconsol R'aven didn't appear phased. Like David approaching goliath, he took his place before the man mountain holding the Ahn woon limply in his hand.

Minutes ticked by.

Imro roared and bellowed threats of classified degree but still Raven wouldn't move to attack.

"Fool!" Imro roared finally finished waiting. He brought the pistol up and pointed it at the smaller Vulcan. The crowd assembled gasped as the Shia squeezed the trigger only to hear a dull click.

Again he roared in disbelief and began wrestling with the slide, trying to rack another shell into the chamber.

The ahn woon shot out with lightning speed and the weighted metal end connected with the bigger man's chin, splitting the flesh and sending green blood flying through the air. Letting the momentum of his strike carry him, R'aven then pivoted fluidly and snapped the weapon around the man's ankles and tugged, dropping him like a cut tree.

Proconsol R'aven stood over the unconscious Shia and slowly reeled in the ahn woon.

Glork had to nearly pick his jaw up off the floor.

"HOW DID YOU....HOW DID YOU KNOW HIS WEAPON WOULDN'T WORK?" R'aven's counselor asked while the leader of the Shia pulled his disruptor and shot the unconscious Imro, killing him for failing in the Challange.

"Know your enemy, Glork. The projectile in an archaic fire arm requires gun powder and a small explosive primer to operate. Gun powder has not been manufactured for scores of centuries. The original powder's chemical compound would have eroded by now. Technology involved to manufacture primers has been obsolete for even longer and the salts in the original primer would have corroded to uselessness. Since there exists no way to duplicate chemical compounds out of thin air, the logical deduction would be that his weapon was useless. At that point, the fight was fairly one sided and over before it even started."

"You be careful with that logic speak! People will start to talk about you." Glork cautioned.

"Hey what would you have done if he had a phaser instead of that piece of dung?"

"I would have died with a surprised look upon my brow." R'aven replied.

"As long as your brow didn't arch.' Glork said as an aide came running through the crowd, past the Shia who were dragging Imro's corpse away and knelt before R'aven. Proconsol.. your wife! She is giving birth now!"

"L'Eeo!" Raven exclaimed and dashed for the nearest hatch.

The Cycle - Part 1

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

“I’m not afraid of tomorrow
I’m only scared of myself
It feels like my insides are on fire
And I’m looking through the eyes of someone else”

SR-71 ‘Tomorrow’

In the belief of the Terran Coven, there is a belief that stories cycle, and that history repeats itself. Because people, regardless of race like find themselves in a familiar stories. Familiar yet not necessarily the same… That everything that happens today has happened in yesteryears… and will happen again. The specifics change, the characters switch sides, but the plot remains the same.

The Romulan Exodus… the larger faction stays behind, the smaller faction leaves… They left with well over a dozen ships… only six arrive at the destination… how many times had fracturing occurred within that the original fleet? Once? Twice? More?

The specifics changed. The first time, it was about Logic, Emotion… all the other times he suspected survival, but he couldn't be sure. Separation… It worked well for them… It was familiar and apparently it's what went down on more than one occasion.

What had to do with this big white happy place he was currently standing in had yet to come to him… but he felt the connection. He also felt that whole Speaker for the Dead destiny that the Prophets stuck him with regardless of the fact that he pissed on one of their orbs immediately afterward, somehow was relevant.

He also was feeling something familiar… yet different. It felt like people were dying around him, and as always… he was absorbing their memories, life stories, souls… etc.

What was different was he usually didn't need to have his conscious mind to do it… the plot was the same, but the specifics had changed. It was annoying. He needed a new brain… or maybe an old one twice removed and reinserted. Kind of like an IBM solution…

But that's where he was big ass white place… a collective consciousness before him. Well more like all around him… in him… in his head, but not physically there… It was familiar, but still different. And he wasn't sure what the mass consciousness would tell him differently than that of an individual…

He wandered forward unsure of what awaited him... but he knew this... he was going to be an whiny ass bitch about it the entire way through...

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