"Free fall pt 3"

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

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

"Well... looked what the cat dragged in.." a voice called out from behind. Baile glanced in the mirror in front and saw a small group of people standing behind him. For a short second his body tensed up, readying itself for a fight, but then he relaxed again.

"I thought someone had shot you by now, Rihermann." Baile replied after a few seconds. He could see the bartender tense up, hell, he could feel the look he gave the bouncers.

The man behind Baile started to laugh. "No, not yet. It helps to make friends in the right places."

"Apparently."

Rihermann turned to the small group of men and women around him. "This is probably the best scout and pointman that has ever lived... " The marine nearly sighed. Of all the people in the galaxy he had to run into someone like Rihermann. "He's an old friend from the Dominion Wars.. He was a part of the special forces team that beat the shit out of the Jem'Hadar when they had set up shop on our planet."

The group of people looked at the ragged man. Picturing the bald man on the chair as a special forces member was not as easy as one could believe. He looked more like a thug or a fighter than a highly trained military. But all of them could agree that he looked more the physical kind rather than the cerebral kind. Baile didn't know if he should take their whisperings as a compliment or an insult. Then he realised he didn't give a shit what they believed about him. Rihermann walked up to the bar and nodded to the bartender. Rihermann dressed expensively. Far more so than the usual rabble found in "Sinews and Osmosis".

"What brings you here then?" Rihermann asked as he walked up next to Baile at the bar. The marine unfolded his hand and dangled the glass at the bartender who refilled it. A nod from Rihermann showed he had understood. At least that was one good thing about the man. He understood when no words were spoken. Baile detested people that needed every single goddamn thing explained to them. He watched the marine down the liquid with a quick flick of the glass, grimace and slowly exhale. "Any good?"

"Nope."

"I'll have the same." Rihermann instructed the bartender who looked at him a bit doubtful. Deciding it could be interesting to see the scene play out the bartender took a small glass and filled it to the rim.

"It tastes worse than it smells.." Baile said after the bartender had refilled the glass once more.

"It does?" Rihermann asked him with a cocked eyebrow and sniffed it. It didn't take him many seconds to realise it hadn't been a smart thing to do. His nose felt like someone had stabbed him with a red hot iron poker dipped in pepper. It smelled sweet but at the same time ripe in a dead body kind of way, laced with rotten eggs. The man nearly gagged. "I guess it does.." he confirmed in a hoarse voice. "Fuck.. who drinks this without a gun to the head?"

"Me.. and now you.." Baile replied and raised his glass. "Blood and fire.. " the marine said and held up the glass a little higher, but didn't look at the man next to him.

Rihermann searched his memory. They had toasted that way when they had saved him. "Fuel for war." Weird toast, but then again Rihermann couldn't really say that the Crows had been the most sane bunch of individuals he had ever met. In fact he had never met people that had scared him more than they had. Their leader had been scary in a 'I'll break your spirit and own your soul' kind of way, but Baile had just seemed dead. It was as if his only purpose had been to fight.

"You here for the fights?" he asked once his voice seemed to have returned to him.

In the back a few of the guests had begun a loud argument. Baile couldn't really hear what it was all about. Nor did he care but he had the feeling it would soon escalate into a fight. "I don't do barfights.. "

The man from Baile's past chuckled. "It's not a barfight.. Prize fights, my friend. Some of the best there is."

"I could be wrong," the marine replied, "But I thought prizefights were illegal here." Again he felt out of place. Like he was just a puppet doing the will of some unseen master.

That made Rihermann laugh. "Of course they are.. but does this look like the sort of place that obeys the law? C'mon.. what do you say? I've seen you fight, my friend. You could get very rich here for just a few minutes of work."

"If it’s so easy why don't you do it?"

Rihermann chuckled. "I'm a businessman and a lover. Have you looked at these arms? I wouldn't exactly say that they're made for pitfighting.. " he put his hand on Baile's shoulder. "You on the other hand look even more fit than the last time I saw you. What do they feed you guys with? Steroids? You're made to fight. You'll win this without even breaking a sweat and we'll share the winnings fifty-fifty."

The marine straightened up and rolled his neck. Not even a little buzz. Would he never be able to get drunk again or would it be something else than booze that would made him drunk? What the hell had happened? He pushed the questions aside, sick and tired of them at the moment. "Why the sudden generosity?"

"Just a way to pay you back. I owe you and your friends my life." He declined a refill and looked at Baile. "What do you say? Give it a try?"

Had the question been asked a year ago he would have said yes without hesitation. He would have fought anyone. Prize fighting was something he had done his entire life. He had been sixteen years old when he had fought the first time. Naturally he had lost, but that hadn't mattered. People believed he fought to win, but Colonel Smith had understood why the first time he had seen Baile fight. It was about being the master of your own fate. In the ring no one could control him. No one could order him. In the ring he wrote his own history. His own fate. Win or lose. That didn't matter. It was just him and the opponent. The rest of the world didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that short moment. But now? There was no 'itch' inside at the thought of it. No restlessness. But there was something. Something.. He had no idea what and that irritated him. He had gone from knowing every urge, every desire to not knowing anything. Fuck it. "Sure."

"Free fall pt 4"

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

-------

Rihermann went from joy to despair as the fight went on. He had placed a lot of money on the marine and the odds had definitely been in his favor. When Baile won he'd cash out big. But the problem was the marine wasn't winning. As far as he could see the marine wasn't even trying. He had seen first time fighters with a better guard than the one Baile had. The crowd liked it though. They smelled blood and nearly all of it belonged to the human. A vicious right hook caught the human on the cheek and crimson blood sprayed the ones sitting closest. He watched Baile try an armlock on his opponent but the human lacked the strength to make it work. The Nausicaan was simply too strong. But there was one thing that disturbed Rihermann. He had never seen a human take so much punishment and still stand. The Naussican was getting tired and confused. Rihermann saw doubt had begun to settle in the Naussican's eyes. Both knew that a human wasn't supposed to take a beating like that. Had they turned him into a cyborg? If that was the case then the Naussican could beat on Baile the entire evening and still not take him down. He screamed at Baile, trying to wake the fighter up.

bad didn't even begin to describe it. Some very dangerous people had borrowed him substantial amounts of money for the bet. It had been the sure thing. He had seen Baile beat the shit out of a seasoned Klingon warrior and not even break a sweat. There was no way the Naussican could win and yet he was. "Get the fuck up!" his voice was hoarse from both the shouting and the cold knot that forming in his stomach. "Get up you faggot!"

It was strange. he had entered the primitive ring that was made of some cheap rope with the intention of.. what? Fight? Surely so, but that wasn't it either. Had he entered the ring to find that motivation again? Yes, partly. He wasn't sure exactly why but now he was there and was getting the beating of his life. The Naussican had pounded him hard. Every breath he took burned, every step he took fired spikes up pain all the way from his toes up to the top of his skull.

He hadn't felt so good in a long time.

It had taken him only a minute to realise that the real fight wasn't with the Naussican. That fight was just an additional motivation. The real fight was inside. The real fight was trying to be in control. It didn't matter how he or the Naussican moved. His desire to be in control had in a way let the fight get out of control. The Naussican beat him mercilessly but he could smell the confusion it felt as strongly as he could smell the crowds taste for blood.

Rihermann's voice carried over the noise but it didn't matter to him. All he wanted, all that mattered was driving the bus in the direction he wanted. Another blow to the head literally rocked his world. Slowly he sunk to his knees. The Naussican didn't hesitate to use the advantage. Baile couldn't blame him. At least the fucker had the mind of a fighter. If the situation had been the opposite Baile would have cracked his skull.

The Marine saw the kick coming but couldn't move fast enough. He tried to roll with the kick as it connected with the back of his head. Baile felt his teeth rattle. Had he ever been hit that hard? He doubted it. Nor did it matter. A few more blows like that and thye whole being in control part wouldn't matter any more. He'd be dead.

One thing was strange though. He couldn't hear the Naussican's heartbeat. There were no drums in his head, no pounding beats. What the hell did that mean? The Naussican grabbed his neck and pulled the goggles from Baile's eyes. The marine did the only thing he could. He closed his eyes as hard as he could.

Rihermann thought he was going to throw up when he saw Baile go down on his knees. He grabbed the thick black hair he sported and held tight. "Get up!" he shouted in a voice mixed with equal part dispair and fury. The crowd roared. They smelled blood now that the resiliant human was down on his knees. Blood ran from his nose and mouth in crimson tendrils, caught by gravity. Large drops of blood hit the ground one by one. The marine fell forward, supporting himself on his hands. Sweat dripped from his shaved head, mixing with the blood on the floor. More blood sprayed when a boot connected to his ribs.

He just couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was no way that a member of the Crows would go down against a halfwit like the one Baile was fighting. Rihermann had sat next to Colonel Smith and listened to the main praise his soldier up in the ring. He had seen Baile beat the crap out of another fighter and screaming for more.

Lirfor and Drano would cut off his hands. He would be dipped in acid and rolled in salt. He would be skinned alive and dragged across broken glass. He had promised them a sure win. A sure fucking win. He felt the heat drop from his face. It was bad beyond bad.

Any hope he nursed that the marine would get back up and turn it around was crushed when the Naussican delivered a truly viscious uppercut which sent the human flat on his back.

How long would it ake for Lirfor and Drano to find him? Running was out of the question. He couldn't even hear what his friends were saying to him. He just nodded before pushing them aside. He had to get out of there, get some air. It was hard to breathe. Panic clawed inside of him, laughing at him just like his friends did right now. He had lost everything. There was no chance in hell he would be able to come up with the kind of cash needed to settle the debts.

He ached all over but it was worth it. Pushing the door open Baile stepped outside the bar. It was raining heavily outside but he didn't even notice it. He would have felt a lot better if he had staggered out roaring drunk, even if that meant he had awokened in an alley somewhere. Unfortunately he was as sober when he left the bar as he had been when he had walked in. He still didn't know what he was to do - stay in the marines or just leave. Starfleet wouldn't find him if he left, but that wasn't the problem. Staying away from conflicts was. The lure of war was too strong for him to resist. He had understood as much after the fight. The old rush, him, the ring and the opponent, hadn't been there at all. Just a strong desire to eliminate the opponent and it scared him even more how simple it would have been to do just that. Pieces had begun to fall in place, one by one. The warrior in him welcomed every tiny little change, every step towards being a deadlier warrior.

The human in him didn't welcome the changes at all. The memories that had begun to surface told him the story about a man that was without mercy. A man that was made to fight wars. That was a man he didn't want to become. But maybe, just maybe he had started taking a few steps towards his humanity. He took a few steps outside, even daring a faint smile. He had been in control. Not by much, but his opponent still breathed, still lived. He wanted to tilt his head backwards and scream at the gods - "Is that all you got?". But he didn't. The marine believed in many things, but a god? They hadn't deserved his belief. His confirmation in their existence. They existed, whether they were true gods or some aliens with too much power for the good of the universe. It didn't matter. The smile grew wider despite all that was happening. For the first time in months there was a light in a very dark tunnel.

"Free fall pt 5"

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

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

Rihermann watched the human that had cost him just about everything he had in just a few minutes. He would make Baile pay back every single credit. They had all left him when they realized he had been ruined. Without money he was nothing. The only ones that had stayed had been Garner and Prodder. It did have some advantages of ensuring loyalty through cybernetics. They had been expensive as hell but worth every single credit. Now those enhanced and reinforced bodies would be the tool with which he would break the marine.

"Baile?" The marine stopped looking at the dark sky when he heard his name being called out. He blinked at the raindrops falling down towards him. His own reflection stared back at him, hundreds of them. The raindrops hit his face softly as he touched his lips with a finger, tasting the water.

Rihermann kept his distance staring at Baile with cold anger. The despair that had consumed him whilst Baile had fought, if you could call 'that' fighting, was dissipating. How he would recoup his losses was something that he could not contemplate now, for his mind was cacophony of questions, rantings, ravings, accusations, disbelief and disappointment. Baile had saved his life, and like a fool he had offered him his in return. A lamb lead to the slaughter. In all his years he never thought it would be him, Baile: a man of the Crows; that would sever his head from his shoulders. Anyone else, but not him. Bitterness lay at his core as he looked upon the man that he considered a friend. He would soon know the price of betrayal.

With a slight inclination of his head Garner and Prodder were making their way casually to his side. Taking a step forward Rihermann clasped his hands together and regarded Baile clinically. Emotionless detachment was easy for him, conscienceless as he was. In his line of work emotions were regarded as a luxury not afforded for the kind of transactions he dealt in.

He began to circle the ex Crow before him, keeping his pace regular, his eyes trailing over Baile’s body. Had the anger not consumed him he may have taken note that even though Baile had lost the fight, he was still standing. Indeed during the escapade he had noted with horror how Baile had taken each and every punch without so much as a yelp. But now, rage coiling inside him, his own life already served up to the Grim Reaper those facts failed to lodge themselves in his mind.

"You could have had him." he stated simply, his voice conveying none of the aggression he currently felt.

Anger. He could smell it. It hammered down on the senses like artillery shells on a green meadow. Anger and fear smelled the worst. No wonder animals attacked. "Yes I could." he admitted after a few seconds.

"You knew the stakes?" he asked his tone pitching slightly. The urge to lurch forward and strike the indifference out of the man before him was fierce.

"Of course." Baile responded. It was impossible to tell where he was looking with the goggles covering his eyes. "I most definitely knew the stakes." His stake had never been money. But he had won in the end. Finally. Now he knew how to beat it.

"Then why?" Rihermann spat angrily turning in mid stride to face Baile fully. Dust arose from his feat as he halted stones and debris coiling in the air around him. "You'll never understand why, Rihermann." Baile said. He could feel the fires start to burn again. "Take Hansel and Gretel with you and go home while you can."

"Go home?" Rihermann repeated enraged, "Go home!!!" he lunged forward, "Because of you I no longer have a home!" he bellowed staring directly into Baile’s goggles. His own reflection stared back; puffed reddened cheeks, flaring nostrils, beady little eyes. His eyes narrowed his frustration increasing as Baile simply stood; face neutral.

Slowly Baile pulled off the goggles. Silver eyes returned the gaze. The darkness around them vanished. The world around him sharpened. He could see every single reflex as the raindrops fell towards the ground. "Find a rock and crawl under it. It worked for you before you came here."

Rihermann stepped back crestfallen. His resolve set as he once more regarded Baile. His anger dissipated, mingled with the rising wind and was carried away like a shipwreck by the tide. He simply nodded to Garner and Prodder, as Rihermann had engaged Baile the two hit men had advanced, their eyes locked on the marines form calculating their assault: as the gauntlet dropped, the two charged in like missiles and Rihermann simply stepped back watching with out a trace of emotion across his rugged face as they began to pound upon Baile.

"Free fall pt 6 - final part"

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

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

Just like before the marine held back. Rihermann saw it this time, saw the resistance. He sensed Baile’s desire to strike back, to kill, now that his eyes were uncovered he could see as clear as day the effort he put into controlling himself. But Rihermann didn't care, nor did he understand. All he could tell was that the fire within Baile had ceased burning. The smoke that rose from the ashes that had once been Jebidiah Baile had asphyxiated him, and now he would watch as that same smoke coiled and churned in the lungs of Baile, he too would suffer the same fate. The Grim Reaper would be expecting two for dinner tonight.

The drums started, echoing in the alley. The fires were scorching now, eroding the walls in his mind once more. The guards moved fast. Even he had to admit that. Cybernetics made even the most average of fighters into a winner. "This is your last warning." he said to Rihermann. Restraining himself was a struggle he would lose unless they left. He was growling now, low and filled with a dark fury.

He had been so close. So damn close to the answer. Now Rihermann would take it all away. "Leave you little fuck and you'll see daylight tomorrow as well."

"I'll never see daylight." Rihermann countered grimly as he watched with disinterest as Garner slugged Baile. "Neither will you." he added whilst Prodder restrained Baile. He turned his face away from the scene, Baile was already coated in his own blood and he had no desire to have any of it splattered upon himself. He heard the thud as Garners fists connected with Baile, the air as it was forced from the marine's lungs, the blood too made a sound as it sprayed upon the ground.

Surveying his nails, picking the dirt out from beneath them he slowly paced, occasionally looking around to check for witnesses; there were none. As he stared down the ally watching the smog rise above the buildings and the steam from the ground mingle as the rain fell upon the hot paving he noted how empty his life had been, how hollow the world was.

"I remember you." he said slowly deep frown lines creasing his skin, "How you used to be. I remember a man of honor. As twisted and fucked up as you are Baile, at least you had that." he recalled, "But what do you have now?" his question was rhetorical. "You used to have principles, what was it you Crows always adhered to?" he paused for drama only, "Ah yes. never leave a man down, wasn't it?" he questioned slowly turning round to look upon the bleeding broken marine that sagged in the arms of Prodder. Raising a hand to stall Garners next blow he prompted Baile for an answer.

Prodder never saw it coming despite the augmented reflexes. All he felt was a sharp pain in his throat and a warning from his implants that half of his throat was missing and he was bleeding badly. After that it all went black.

Garners's tactical assist software in his implants summarized a warning into Garner's combat routines. That was all that it managed to do. A loud crack echoed down the alley as his neck snapped in right off. The body slid to the ground as Baile let go of it. He stepped over the dead bodyguard without a second glance. Slowly he wiped off some of the blood that had made a deal with gravity and ran down the corner of his mouth.

The fires burned freely now. His senses were sharper than ever. Strangely enough he recognized it. Welcomed it. It was like waking up after a long slumber. The knife danced in his hand as he turned to face Rihermann. "You know nothing of the Crows... but you are about to learn..."

Rihermann eyeballed Baile, an emotion stirred within him although what it was he couldn't tell. For a moment he just stared, and then he spat, a big mucusy glob of phlegm right into Baile’s goggle-less eyes. Like slime it oozed down Bailes face leaving a snail trail behind it, moist and shining; like a spider web coated in morning due.

Baile's arm shot out and caught Rihermann by the throat. "You always were a little shit." Effortlessly he lifted Rihermann of the ground. "You're the king of the hill here... well... let me tell you something Donna... out in the real world you're the king of shit."

"And what exactly dose that make you then Baile?" Rihermann got out in a hoarse whisper due to the confines of his windpipe. "King of shit I may be, but at least I am King." he retorted, "You are nothing. Do you hear me?"

He squirmed in the marines grip, pounding his little balled up fists into Baile’s stomach, kicking his feet against the marine's legs, hoping in vain to make him topple and release him.

"NOTHING!" he hollered as loudly as he could.

Baile's hand tightened. It was like turning off the sound. Rihermann could only croak and concentrate on sucking down the tiny amount of air he managed to inhale. "That I am.. nothing.." His hand loosened the grip for a fraction, long enough for Rihermann to think he was letting go. It all ended a second later. Baile practically tore the windpipe off Rihermann's throat. A crimson river rose from the open wound and hurled itself forward until gravity won the struggle and pulled it down towards its bosom. Rihermann dropped to his knees, frantically grasping his throat with blood pouring through his fingers. "You.. fuck.. " he croaked with the drops of life filling his mouth.

"It didn’t have to come to this.. " Baile said to the dying man. "You should have gone home... people like you always find a rock to hide under."

Blood had started filling Rihermann's stomach and lungs. His mind had started floating. Collecting the stray thoughts in his mind was becoming increasingly hard as he watched Baile walk away, leaving Rihermann to die alone.

Hope is a fragile thing. We tell ourselves it is the last thing that abandons us. A poet long gone once wrote: “When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle, And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death; When souls are torn to everlasting fire, And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain. O who can stand?”

Baile couldn’t.

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

Epilogue:

A figure broke away from the shadows in the alley. It just stood there for a few seconds, watching the marine walk away. The faint light from above fell down upon the human. It was an older man, perhaps in his late forties. He held himself with a posture kings would have killed for. Grey strands in his black hair near his temples added strange character to him. It wasn’t a good looking face. It seemed to be locked in a neutral expression of observation. The eyes was something completely different. They had seen far too much and could no longer hide it from the rest of the world. Yet they held a strange calmness to them, almost like a barrier between what ever passed as a soul and the rest of the world. As long as nothing could get past that barrier the calm would remain.

He walked up to the dying Rihermann with calm steps and crouched down. Death was rarely pretty, no matter what people said. Rihermann’s eyes fought to stay open. Recognition flared in them. A ragged breath made the blood that poured from his throat bubble. He tried to speak but his vocal chords refused to cooperate with him. Darkness closed in on him in the corner of his eyes.

Failure had been so close. So very close. He had sensed it when Baile had walked into the bar. There had been a strange sense of equilibrium. Like the marine had reached the eye of the storm. In another time and place he would have asked the marine how he had gotten there. But it wasn’t another time or place. He could only deal with the now and now he had to do something about it. With time on his side it would have been a simple thing to set the marine up for a very long fall. The only problem was time hadn’t been on his side. It had been pure luck that he had even spotted the marine. For a little while he had even contemplated finding a couple boosters and pay them to attack the marine. Desperation took many shapes. Luckily it had never become more than an idea. It would have been a purely physical attack, one that would have no effect on the marine except bruises and cuts.

Then fate had walked through the door in the shape of Rihermann. As he watched the events unfold during the evening he simply knew the marine would fall. Even when the marine had lost the fight. The stench of fury and anger had radiated from Rihermann so strong it had nearly made his eyes water. Even he had been forced to fight the urges it had awoken inside of him. The marine had simply done what he had wanted to do himself.

Rihermann’s eyes had filled with tears. The smell of fear rose from him, a sweet sickly smell, like rotting meat. He watched as the life faded from Rihermann as he finally gave up. Gently he closed the man’s eyes. It had been a painful and horrible way to die. “Thank you old friend.. you did good.” he whispered to the dead man and stood up again, glancing down the alley where Baile had left Rihermann to die.

Their brother had returned.

OOC: This is a re-working of a story that I had started on the Miranda, titled "The Akledor Chronicles." While I still intend to carry out that series at some future point, much of the original storyline has changed. I still liked the underlying elements of *this* story, however, so I've decided to write them in this newly-titled series. The prologue is basically a paste-and-cut from the original Miranda post. I hope you all enjoy! -- MJ

*****

The Optimus Key - Prologue: "Regret" (Part I)

* * * * *

THARIV UTTOR, GAIANOS
252 MILLION YEARS BCE

And so, it had come to pass.

Time was an interesting thing. At least, that's the thought that crossed her mind at the... time. She could look backward, glancing over her shoulder to see what was, or she could look forward, though limited the cataracal view was. Even doing just that would alter the future time-flow itself. It helped them, though--she and the others--when it had come time for their decision. It was why they had sent her, this time... again.

However, this time she would do things right. Do things proper. Space-time was fragile: There wouldn't be another re-do after this.

Speaking of time...

"Nacil, stop."

She paused, her name spoken in her language; her bronze-toned legs stretched apart in mid-stride. A smile plied the edges of her preternaturally wide, thin lips--amusement playing with the edges of her almond-shaped eyes.

"Darcil," she said, her polytonal contralto speaking his name tentively. She remained standing still, not bothering to turn to face him--was there a point? If he had come back, there was no point. She straightened her legs though, waiting for his answer to the question she hadn't asked.

"I *know*, Nacil," he drew closer. "But it won't change the end, here in the beginning. You know that," his strong poly-tenor softened to a gentle sheen. Carefully, he stretched his hand to her bare shoulder, elongated fingers clasping her gently, but firmly.

"Yes it will," she she replied, shrugging his grasp from herself. "This time, we can make sure it won't begin like it ended. This *time*... *I* can change it."

His solid cerulean eyes took her in, nictitating membranes rapidly flicking at her stubbornness. "And if the bend closes?" he asked, a slight growl entering the lower tonals of his voice. Almost unconsciously, he tipped his almond-hued head toward the way they had both just come from. "What then, Nacil? Who will come, after it begins again--you? I think not."

She squinted her emerald orbs, aquiline nostrils flaring at his words. "If you will stop me, Darcil, then stop me," she stated, proffering both her wrists in his direction. She knew he could do it; knew he would do it. Already, he *had* done it, before--at the end, before the beginning had even started.

Instead of cuffing her, however, he slowly raised *his* arms, stretching his fingers and turning his palms up... empty. No Neuroblaze. No psi-force inhibitor. He was, it seemed, unarmed.

"Foolish," she replied. Unarmed, she could disable--even cease--him in a matter of moments.

"Yes," was all he gave in reply, but not quite as an agreement to her statement, more like he already knew what was going to--

"Did you--"

"Yes."

"But the Overwatch--"

"They didn't Nacil. The Enclave... they're in bend, now. It won't be long. I came because... " he paused, turning his head down momentarily.

"Their gone," she finished, sensing his words before he spoke them.

He shook his head in the affirmative.

The shock hit her squarely in the chest. Searching, she stared out of the station's transparent bioshield, searching her gaze up into the planet's night sky. Realizing she couldn't change what had happened--or rather, what would happen--she turned her gaze, fixing on the planet's small, white satellite orbiting high above.

~So odd,~ she contemplated. ~Only one small, white satellite for this lush planet; this *Gaianos*--this Garden.~ Why the Overwatch had chosen it was a mystery, even to her. But it was *here*, on the plains of Thariv Uttor that it had all begun--or so they had been lead to believe. ~Or rather,~ she amended, ~had ended,~ depending from which end you were looking from.

She sighed audibly; she was too many cycles old for this. "Why *did* you come, hmm? To impose interstellar law again, Darcil?" She quickly looked away from the night while adding sarcastically, "*Without* a Neuroblaze this time?"

"No," he responded quietly, making no attempt to restrain her. *That* surprised her: Her nemesis was not here to once again escort her back, wrists-in-binds?

"Oh?" was all she could manage.

He reached inside his vest, pulling out a small, clear cylinder. "I had to deliver this to you, for your--for *our*--success."

Her eyes widened, her skin flushing a deep copper color as she realized what he held. Was it the one she had been searching for? Had he recovered it? But why would and Interstellar Agent be helping *her*, a classified rogue of the State? Unless...

Time.

He nodded, slowly, as his mind understood that hers was just beginning to. He reached down, the rough, battle-worn pads of his fore-fingers scratching over the back of her smooth hand. Transfixed by his gaze, she barely noticed the cylinder being deposited into her hand--she was more concerned with his body's general relationship to her own and the beating of her own hearts.

"Darcil, I thought you couldn't--"

"Shhhh. Just... go. Time is waxing."

She didn't know what to say. What he was doing was, was--it was tantamount to high treason. According to the Supreme Council, she and the Overwatch were criminals: time-shifters that were feared and loathed. IAs like him were supposed to capture and arrest agents like her, not assist them.

She looked up at him, green eyes searching pure blue. Slowly, she disengaged herself from him, pocketing the crystal in the flatspace satchel attached to her wrist. "Why, Darcil? The Council will surely strip you of your title, should they find out--"

Again, he cut her off, this time with a slow, sad nod of his head. He blinked hard, both sets of eyelids squeezing a solitary tear down his ochre cheek. "Because," he started to say, "The end has already met them, and if the beginning isn't changed... well," he paused, a single finger gently brushing her upswept cheekbone, "then their future is already gone."

Finally, she understood.

"Then we have a job to do, before the Enclave completes their bend, don't we?"

"Yes, we do."

"Then let's go."

They both set off, leaving the bend behind....

* * * * *

TO BE CONTINUED

"We come in Peace. Shoot to Kill"

Starring
Faylin McAllister
Allison Jimsdottir

The bright neon text of the mandatory Security Power Point presentation glowed on the wall opposite the main projector.

Apparently the USS Galaxy's security Department was getting a little trigger happy during Away Missions, and so a refresher course in how not to vaporize every new lifeform one came across seemed to be in order.

The Deck 7 conference room was filled wall to wall with confused looking yellow-shirts for whom the notion of NOT shooting first was almost anathema.

The slim form of Faylin McAllister stood at the front of the darkened room weilding a rather nasty looking wooden pointer which she used to tap out important points on the screen behind her.

"Now we see here in this situation the Three 'R''s of a succesful diplomatic negotiation. Can anybody name for me the three 'R's? Yes you.....uh Ensign?"

"Ensign Willis ma'am." a lanky youth in the second row nodded confidently , "The Three R's are 1. REMAINING Calm..... 2. RESPECTING different cultures....and if that fails 3. REDUCING the bastards to component molecules."

"Errrrr.......no."

In the back of the room young Allsion Jimsdottir (beloved by those near and far) stifled a yawn and slowly twidled a strand of blond hair between her fingers.

As an enlisted crewman she was not technically part of this briefing.....she wasnt expected to lead any away team mission after all. However she was here for the singular reason that she was the only one who knew how to run the overhead projector.

"Okay, lets skip this for now......next slide please crewman."

Dutifully Allison advanced the Power Point to the next screen. This one portraying a friendly looking alien waving politely to the audience.

"What do we see here in this situation?"

"Teeth." came the reply from somebody in the back.

"Teeth?"

"Yeah teeth. The alien is grittin gits teeth, and you can see big fangs.....we should set phasers to annihilate."

Fay double checke d the screen. "Its not baring teeth.....its smiling." v "All the same....best be careful."

***********
Time Passes
***********

Alli flipped to the next slide, a color coded 6 part list......that unfortuantely appeared upside down.

"Whoopsie." she popped forward in her seat to double check projector.

"Crewman....." came the warning from below.

"Chill already lady." Alli repleid, "Just loaded the slidesbackwards thats all....."

A few minutes of fiddling restored McAllister's screen back rightside up.

She used it however as an object lesson.

"This is exactly what I was talking about class," she indicated Allison in the back of the room. "The simplest little faux paux, can have the most drastic of consequences in a diplomatic situation. What if this was a delicate negotiation?"

"What if we inadvertantly displayed a precious religious icon upside down?"

She glanced back up at Allison who was blissfully popping her bubblegum, "What do you say crewman? What would your reaction be to a culture that we suddenly offended by a simple mistake such as yours?"

Alli frowned at the glowing screen for a moment and then down at Fay.

"Wah."

"Excuse me?"

"Wah.....Hel-lo....as in wah-wah-wah....poor little crybabies. Poor me my silly little powerpoint is upside down. Buncha alien weiners."

"Okayyyy..." Fay stated as she drew a long breath. Where the hell was that new diplomatic hottie of hers at? He could have taken this class and ran with it. "Front and center Crewman.....yes, that means you....." It took all she could to be 'diplomatic' as the little tart came bouncing to the front of the classroom with her eyes rollling.

Relieved to be pulled away from slide projector duty, Alli bounced down the stairs, little hoop earing jingling merrily. Careful to stand presenting her 'best side' to the audience, she looked up at the stern woman hovering over her.

Idly Alli wondered if some base would help cover up the crows feet at the corners of the ladies eyes.......she scowled too much.

"Excellent.... Now Crewman, pick a species....any species." Fay instantly knew what she had to do. As an instructor, it was always important to back up her lecture with examples of what 'could' happen in a given situation."

"Pick a species?" Alli repeated.

"Yes any species."

"Human," Allison declared......there was some sniggering in the back row to that one.

Fay merely gave her a look.

Geez again with the scowling......"Fine fine whatever," Alli said trying to think upsomething a little more....unique. "What about Borg? How do we negotiate with them?"

More snickering.

"We don't." She stated flatly. "Pick another Crewman....." Her voice dropped dangerously as she felt her back start to scale over. Closing her eyes and sighing, her smooth skin reappeared as she opened her eyelids and shot a look of warning to the blond.

Alli sighed and rolled her eyes. She popped her gum unconsciously as she pondered.

"Like how about a Kling.....what do you call them...oh yeah Klingons?" she finally replied hopefully.

"A Klingon....." Within a mere instant, McAlister transformed into the large species, using her height advantage now to peer down upon that pale Terran with dark eyes and a slightly ridged forehead. Staying silent, she received pleasure from the sheer shocked expression on the Crewman's face.

"Holee schmoozers!" Alli jumped back quickly nearly swallowing her gum in the process. "Where the zark did you learn that trick?"

"I suppose you did not take shape shifting 101 at the academy?" The booming voice questioned.

"Uh-huh......right." Alli sounded unconvinced eyeing the newly transformed alien quite suspiciously. Not only did she need some foundation, but she was practically screaming for some serious dental work as well.

"So...like now what?" she said.

"Exactly Crewman. Now what?" Fay retorted. "This is a very sensitive diplomatic situation that you find yourself in. The Klingon that stands before you is angered at the recent actions of Starfleet concerning a planet that his people have occupied freely for many years. What do you do? What do you say?" She paused as Allison started to open her mouth. "NO!" Fay bellowed as she watched the girl jump back yet again. "An offer of bloodwine will not solve this dilema....so, what do you do Crewman?"

"Like...uh shoot you I guess." Alli shrugged.

Her head raised slightly over the crowd. "Anyone?" The only sound that could be heard was the fragile popping of gum. Pivoting sharply on her boot, and almost loosing her balance from the stupid things, she barked yet again. "Lose the damn gum Crewman...or I'll rip it from your throat!"

Pop! Was the only reply.

The growl that eminated from the vocal cords of the Klingon was dangerously low and sinister. "Last warning....remove the gum or you will be written up for insubordination. Need I remind you that I *am* your superior officer?"

Apparantly.

Alli was quite the collector of insubbordination write ups, and they all seemed to stem from rather mundane things.....Dont chew Gum....Dont wear flashy jewelry.....dont throw spaghetti in the mess hall. Geez....she felt like she was back home getting lectured by Mother.

Holding up a finger to put Fay on hold, Alli walked back off stage to a trashcan and daintily plopped the gum therein. Walking back to the irritated Klingon she planted herself happily until she remebered she was supposed to be doing something.

"I'm an irritated Klingon crewman......" Fay growled, " What do you do."

Pondering that one for a moment, Alli stuck out her finger......"BANG....you're dead."

"You...my dear...just started a war. Congrats..." McAlister hissed before transforming back into her usual, much more pleasing appearance. "Which reminds me. Crewman, for that wonderful answer of yours, I will be presenting the Chief of Security with orders to have you take remedial diplomacy training every Saturday morning for the next three months." Her scowl was replaced by an overly sweet smile as Fay reached into her pocket, extracted a rather large piece of bubblegum, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. "Now....shall we continue class?"

Rolling her eyes, Alli turned on her heels and trudged back up the stairs to her waiting slide projector. Another series of Saturdays down the drain. Geez....she's done remedial seminars in everything from Proper Dress codes....to Care and feeding of angry Denebian Slime Devils......to how to polish a Photon Bazooka.

Somewhat angrily she stabbed a pink fingernail into the the advance button and clicked over to the next slide. Not that spending the next several Saturdays with Ms. Snagletooth was going to exciting or anything.

"Thank you Crewman.....now........."

"Predator and Prey" Part One

*Baile's language warning goes here. lol*

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

&

Lt. (j.g.) Faylin McAlister
JAG - Liaison Corp
USS Galaxy

--------------
Location: Some Random Corridor

On her own again, the new found sense of freedom wrapped around Faylin and offered a tight comforting hug. Walking through the corridors of the ship helped clear her head as well as the opportunity to make new acquaintances.

Lights. He had learned to hate it. Light meant pain. Pain meant anger. Anger meant.. a lot of things. He had learned more than he would have liked in that bar. Insight as a result of being sober. That was a first.

Raising her head, she took in the view of the man that looked worn. Worn, in this case was an understatement. "Are you...okay?" She half asked the question, inwardly wondering if part of her brain that permitted the question to be asked was firing on all cylinders.

Had he seen her somewhere? Faces blended into each other. So many. "Okay... " he repeated slowly. His right hand slowly opened and he watched the back of his hand. It now had a tattoo of a large stylized scorpion on it. The stinger extended out onto the thumb. "Define okay..."

"Geesh...." Faylin cringed at the sight at first, then was drawn to it out of a morbid fascination that was ingrained within her. "Um....shouldn't you have that removed? It looks a little painful."

"Why would I want it removed?" he asked, a little puzzled. Slowly he removed the sweater that covered his arms. Black lines in various shapes and forms circled his arms. The head of a crow rested on the his neck, wings spread across his shoulders. The tip of the wings ended far down on what was now a biceps much larger than when the tattoos were made.

"Nevermind." She stated slowly closing her eyes and shaking her head. First that dimwitted AV Crewman and now this.

"It's been a rough few days. Faylin McAlister...JAG...and you are?"

"Baile." was all he said. To say he was a marine would have been fairly redundant. Marines often lacked the well groomed appearance sported by most Starfleet personnel.

"I see." She grew silent for a moment. Swallowing the sudden nervousness she felt, Fay smiled a little soft unsure smile meant to attempt to ease. "It's nice to meet you...I think."

"You think?" he chuckled. "Going places?"

"Yeah....I think. I'll know better after a few drinks...up for it Baile?"

He eyed her from top to bottom. There was something that was not right. What it was he had no idea. Did he care? Not really. "Sure. Lead the way."

"K...." She winked at him before turning and leading him to the usual watering hole on board the Galaxy. Entering the establishment, her eyes instantly scanned for crew members that might spell out trouble. None spotted, no scenes, she breathed a rather large sigh of relief. Finding a spot, she sat, watching him with a narrowed, curious gaze as he sat. "What do you want?"

"Vodka. Tall glass, no ice." No drums. That was always a welcome change. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"K." She stated simply and stood, walking over and ordering their drinks without so much as another word to the man that she thought was rather odd, yet interesting. Sitting, she placed his in front of him and took a gentle sip of her Long Island.

Baile took the glass and emptied it. It burned all the way down, but the feeling was the same as it had been in the bar. Nothing happened. "I've seen you somewhere before." he said when the burn in his throat had vanished.

"You've likely seen me in more than one form.....I was on Romulus during the battle.....I've had a *past* that we could have seen each other....anything is possible." She stated quietly.

The marine nodded. "Anything is possible... " he cocked an eyebrow. "Are you the one causing Jonas all the trouble?"

She smiled, tilted her head and shook it back and forth with a recognition that admitted her guilt. "Yes....don't tell me you are going to come to his rescue as well?"

"I don't give a fuck what you two do.. " Baile replied. Once he had cared. He knew that. But to the victor goes the spoils. "Besides.. I didn't know he needed rescuing."

"Well, thank you." She retorted as she took the last sip of her drink. "You have to be the only person alive on this ship that doesn't care. And to that...I am thankful." Smirking at her now empty glass, she glanced over. "Want a refill?"

He nodded. "Same." At least the vodka didn't try and make holes in his stomach. Nor could it fuel rockets very well like the rotgut he had been drinking in the bar. "I'm curious though. Why?"

"Why what?" She stated as she came back holding the bottle and a shot glass for herself. "Why did I screw around with him?"

"That's one way to put it." He took the bottle and filled her glass up to the rim and did the same for himself although his glass was much bigger. "Cheers."

"Ass to the sky..." She muttered before shooting the glass upwards. Swallowing roughly, she pondered his question. "Cause I could....and if you have a problem with that...that's your problem...not mine honey."

"Don't mistake a question for caring.. "

"Why would I do that?" She smirked before pouring another shot and placing it down on the table gently.

"Because you seem to think that everyone else on board cares what you two do.."

"Touche' Baile. Do you care about anything? Other than your alcohol and sarcastic comments?"

He held up the glass, slowly rotating it. "I can't get drunk. I can't get fucking drunk. That I care about."

"Come again? You can't get drunk? Everybody can get drunk....I'm on my way...."

"I've tried.. believe me.. I've tried.. " he put the glass down again.

"You've tried? God..I am so tired of Marine's constantly whining...."

He leaned back and chuckled. "Attitude to go with the past, I take it?"

"You guys lack balls...period. When your not whining, your crying about loosing your women." She stated with smirk and slammed her glass down on the table. "Perhaps I've lost all emotion."

"Perhaps you have.. and perhaps we lack balls. Perhaps not. Who gives a fuck?"

She slightly giggled. "Nice catch phrase. You are...lovely company."

"That's a first.." Baile cocked and eyebrow and pulled off the goggles. He needed to see. Not watch. The light made him blink a few times before they adjusted to the sudden change in brightness.

"You okay?" She responded softly as he blinked.

"The light.. hurts my eyes.. " he responded with dark amusement. "I prefer the dark... it's more.. me.."

Fay shook her head again, smiling at the wording. "Join the club."

Maya had said it took evil to know evil. That meant it took a killer to know a killer. That's what she was. Or was trying to be. He didn't understand it nor cared enough to try and understand it. It was the Galaxy. Ship of screw ups and freaks. "Someone gave me these eyes."

"As long as you can see....who cares where they came from." She retorted, her voice falling to a dangerous level for the first time since they met.

"I do.. They didn't ask nicely."

"Who does anymore? No one that I know. People just take what they want....."

"Who's whining now?"

"Hey...I'm not whining....You'll know when I whine."

"Of course I will." He didn't even bother to cover up the sarcasm in his voice.

Clearing her throat, she sighed. "You don't get laid very often...do you?"

"Sudden change of topic that.."

"It would explain a lot."

"I'm sure it would. Not to mention my relation to my mother and father." he added. "Now that we've covered me - what's your excuse?"

"What do you think it is?"

"Too much sex, perhaps?"

"Jealous?" She retorted with a dark laugh.

"Very. Can't you tell?"

And with that, she laughed outright, the scowl lifted, replaced by the softness that was usually present.

"How old are you?" he asked her when her laugh had silenced. He had never been one to obey social rules. Why start now?

"I'm way past legal." She retorted with a wry humor.

"Predator and Prey" Part Two

*Baile's language warning goes here. lol*

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

&

Lt. (j.g.) Faylin McAlister
JAG - Liaison Corp
USS Galaxy

"I'm way past legal." She retorted with a wry humor.

"According to who?" Baile responded just as wry.

"According to my birth date...." 'Cheeky little monkey.' Fay thought to herself.

"Tell me something, Sparky.. what do you think about Starfleet?" he suddenly said.

Her head whipped around from the previous position of watching the bar. Knitting her eyebrows, her eyes narrowed and flashed somewhat dangerously. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering from your earlier statement.. no balls and all." He noted her movements. Touchy subject. Could be fun to explore further.

"Uh huh....." Was all she offered. She needed to pull herself together, for some reason, this man was able to dissect her with just a look and it was disturbing, but amusing.

"Well?"

She leaned forward and spoke in almost a whisper. "I've done what I've had to do...and I'm here because I have to be right now for the Fleet. Answer your question?"

"Not really. It only tells me you have to be here. Not what you think about Starfleet." Baile shrugged slightly.

"Well, we all have secrets to keep, don't we?" She arched her eyebrows, all playfulness gone from her eyes.

"Most definitely." Baile admitted, still leaning back in the chair. "Personally I wouldn't care if Starfleet got blown to shits... now that I've shown you mine.. " he let the words trail off.

"Well....mine is something I can't really show in public." McAlister stated with a half smirk appearing across her features. "Of course...I know you don't care about that...but...I do."

"Who are you trying to fool?" Baile interlaced his fingers behind his neck and stretched. "Me or yourself?"

She stayed silent, her eyes shifting from the table back to his gaze. "Uh....you?"

He shook his head. "You'll have to work a little harder.. "

Fay sighed with an aggravated manner. "You..okay..You and me both......Satisfied Baile?"

Again he shook his head. "Not really.. but the truth starts with you.. and truth is subject to.. subjectivity, isn't it?"

"So it is...." She paused, taking another shot. "What satisfies you honestly?"

"The truth?" he chuckled.

"Of course the truth..." She instantly regretted that statement.

"You can't handle the truth.." Baile said and gave her a cheeky wink."

"Oh give me a break Baile. I used to kill people for a living.....give it up." She stated with humor.

"That was the big mystery? Killing people?" Baile replied, running a hand over his newly shaved head.

"No...would you just tell me what satisfies you already? God...it's like pulling teeth..."

He guess he could try and find out if it had been the truth but to what end? It wouldn't matter to him any way. "Why do you care so much?"

"Fine....in all honestly, I don't. It was an attempt at feeble conversation." She spat.

"That's better... Is that the person you're trying to hide to everyone else? All anger and attitude?" he chuckled slightly and started polishing the goggles. In his mind he saw an image of a warped shrink that would shoot the patients to shreds if he didn't like them. He shook his head at the image and dismissed it.

"Yes." She stated simply. "Now...answer my question....or you'll really see some attitude...."

Baile's eyes flashed at the words. Aches and pains from old bruises faded away. With some irritation he forced his body to stand down. "Careful.. " he said and stretched out to reach the bottle.

"Or what?" She stated forcefully with a smirk. "You'll give me a tattoo?"

"You don't want to go there, Barbie.." Irritation was building up inside, but it was surprisingly easy to control it. Not like before. He was still dying, he knew that, but he had been granted some control over himself. Any control was better than it had been before.

"Barbie? That's a first. I'm about the farthest thing from silicone parts and dizziness that you've ever seen. However....'what do you care'" Her tone mocking in nature and was rising with irritation.

She pushed her chair back slightly, raising her left leg, placing the heel of her boot on the edge of the chair. The other leg extended slightly, resulting in a slow arch of flesh and bone as her position relaxed instead of tensed. Her elbow rested on her raised knee as she regarded him silently, knowing that she shouldn't push him...yet...as he stated so many times before, she didn't care.

Fay missed the challenge of angering someone to the point of action, even if it was missed by only a few hours. "Obviously, I know something that satisfies you.....those blow up dolls in your closet." She vocalized before downing another shot

"You best click your heels together three times Dorothy.. because if that's the best you can do then only thing here for you is a world of hurt." This was yet another reason to leave Starfleet.. every shit headed punk with a chip on their shoulders picked fights. "Start fight with me and I will kill you." he finished calmly and let the fires burn freely.

Shaking her head as he spoke, the light smile that formed broke into a huge grin. "Look, we could continue to sit here and wag our appendages in each other's faces declaring that our own is bigger than the other one, or we can just admit that we both house the ability to kill each other and move on with things. What would you like to do...my dear man?"

"Shooting the Bearer" [Backpost]

Set after the trip to Barzan and before the Katra Infestation

M'Kantu
Suder

*****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Outside Captain's Ready Room

His parents were hard people to fool, Andy reflected as he waited outside of M'Kantu's office. He'd only succeeded once so far in his lifetime- at age six and then he'd confessed because he couldn't stand the guilt. So it was little surprise that they'd seen right through his 'I'll be leaving here soon to get on with my life' and 'I'll probably leave next week' and called Andy on it. His father had said in his polite way that maybe life on board Galaxy was what he needed right now.

His mother had told him to cut the bullshit and that there would always be a job waiting if he got tired of playing nice.

Saul was going to shit a brick, Andy thought with a grin.

Of course, it ultimately depended on what the Captain decided and since Andy was about to tell him something the man wasn't going to want to hear, he decided he'd be lucky if M'Kantu even let him stay on board another minute, let alone stay.

"Come in," M'Kantu's voice announced through the speaker.

Here goes nothing, Andy thought.

Suder was not the last person that Daren wanted to see, or even one of the last dozen people on that list - there were a number of people whose names all started with 'Admiral' that currently occupied those positions - but he had the potential to leapfrog higher than anyone that didn't have that title. Dragging the Betazoid blackmailer to Barzan hadn't been something that Daren had wanted to do, but there hadn't been a choice to it. Now, however, the time had come to hear the man out and be rid of him.

"It's time," Andrus told him.

Actually, Daren thought, looking at his blackmailer, it was probably long past time. He chose to merely nod in acknowledgement though, seeing no reason to add verbal barbs to what he knew the man could sense telepathically.

"For what it's worth, Captain, I'm sorry you had to learn about your daughter this way," the Betazoid said as he took the small chip and placed it on the table.

Daren met Suder's eyes. "Not sorry enough, though, were you, Mr. Suder?" he asked, knowing that there wouldn't be an answer.

"I'll wait outside until you're ready for me," Andy said. He thought about that statement and then decided to clarify. "Er, outside your office that is."

"If waiting outside the airlock is more to your tastes, by all means," Daren offered with a false pleasantness, "feel free."

He looked down at the chip until Suder had departed, picked it up, and finally slotted it into the small reader on his desk and scanned the information once... then a second time... and then a third, as if it might have changed in-between readings.

It hadn't.

Without reading the information a fourth time, he set the reader down, closed his eyes, and offered up a prayer to Allah for strength, wisdom, and, most of all, the patience not to do something rash to the bearer of the news he'd just received. Only when he was certain that Suder's life expectancy was likely to extend past the rest of their conversation did Daren open them again and key the intercom. "Suder. Inside. Now."

Andy entered again, sat down and waited. You didn't have to be a telepath to see the turmoil in the man; didn't have to be a genius to know that it was safer to speak after being spoken to.

"You've read this." The words were a statement, not a question. "How accurate do you think it is?"

"It's accurate," Andrus replied. "The man who found the information was the best at what he does but to be sure, I went and checked for myself. She was there."

"You went... and checked?" Daren considered simply killing the man on the spot; actually going so far as to consider what story he could use to explain it before discarding the idea. There were more important issues at stake than personal satisfaction of that sort. Like why his daughter was in a stasis cube in a rental storage facility in a suburb of the third-largest city on Romulus in the first place.

Sticks and stones, Andy thought while he shrugged. "I guess I'd spent too much time with the Romulans not to be just a little bit suspicious. I can tell you what I saw but I also like the way my face is arranged so...."

"You went and checked," Daren repeated quietly, "and you did nothing?"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do, Captain?" The Betazoid said harshly, perhaps feeding off of the other man's emotions or perhaps allowing his own emotions to get the better of him. "Stick her on the back of a hover bike and haul her around Romulus in her stasis cube?"

"Considering what was about to happen there, yes," Daren snapped. "You might have tried. As it is," he stood up abruptly, blood roaring in his ears, "What you've done is guarantee that one of us isn't leaving this room without medical assistance." Daren hadn't been in a life or death hand-to-hand combat in over a decade, but he worked out regularly, just in case the moment came again. He'd just never thought that the moment would be like this - for this reason. He never thought it would be because his daughter had been left on Romulus to die.

"You're lucky I try to plan ahead," Andy said through clenched teeth. "I arranged instead to have your damned daughter taken off that hell hole and taken some place safe."

Suder's words stopped Daren as he rounded the desk, perhaps the only words - outside of a simple 'Stop' from June - that could have done so. What?" he growled." If Suder was lying to buy time, then.... "What did you say?"

"I said," Andrus replied. "I plan ahead. She's safe. I'll give you the planet; you let me stay."

"You...." Daren tried to master himself. "You... Stay? Here? On this ship? On *my* ship?"

Andy felt some pity for the man but not enough. It wasn't like he had made this mess that lay at M'Kantu's feet; he was just exploiting it. "I like it here, excluding the death threats of course."

"You... like it here." Daren brought up an image of June in his mind, her smile, the sound of her voice, her scent, and let it drain the anger from him. He couldn't let violence spoil his chance to help his daughter, not now.

"I'm tired, Captain," Andrus replied flatly. "Here's as good a place as any. And if you ever want to borrow a book, I can conveniently find someplace else to be for a few hours."

"And that's the only reason? You like it here?" Daren's anger was back under control. He wasn't going to fail his daughter again - no matter what it cost him.

Andrus wasn't so lucky. His whole body felt like it was shaking, anger coursing through his body like blood. "For no sinister reasons, I assure you."

"Just so we're clear, Mr. Suder, you need to realize that if you produce one more piece of information like this, introduce one more 'oh, I forgot to tell you,' then I am going to personally space you. Is that understood?"

"Agreed."

"Then you're staying until you leave of your own free will - or commit an act of a criminal nature that will allow me to remove you from this ship's personnel roster," Daren replied. "Now tell me which planet or station my daughter's stasis box is on is, and where you sent her on it."

"Earth," Andy replied humorlessly. "Tanzania. Home."

"Earth. Tanzania." Better - by far - than Daren might have hoped for, but worse in other ways than he'd feared. There were people there that didn't need to know about his daughter or her whereabouts. "Whose home?"

"She's with my parents," The Betazoid replied, his eyes hardening. "Refrain from any comments, Daren. Even I have my limits."

Oddly, asking if Suder *had* parents wasn't one of the things Daren had thought of. He was too busy with the thousand other things on his mind. "Earth isn't a safe place for her, Mr. Suder. If she's with your parents, then several of my questions are moot. I'll just ask the one, then: How is she?"

"She's doing better," Andy said. "My parents say she likes the sun."

"She... likes the sun." Daren let the words roll around in his head. His daughter liked the sun. Of course she liked the sun - that was one of the things that he'd always liked about home: the feel of the sun on his face as he stood on the plains that seemed to go on forever. "You took her out of the stasis box?"

Andrus rolled her eyes. "Of course we took her out of stasis." "I may be a bastard but I'm not a fucking bastard," He threw over his shoulder as he left.

Daren stared at the closed door after Suder departed. She was out of stasis. In Tanzania. With Suder's family. The ways that the situation could go wrong were so numerous that he couldn't even count them all. His daughter was on Earth, one of the last two places that she should be - and he was here. June, he should call June and get her to... no, this couldn't be discussed over an open comm., especially not with Livia Proctor probably scanning every word he sent for secret messages to find a reason to court-martial him. And how did he explain this to June? How could he when he didn't even understand it himself?

He sighed and put his head in his hands. This would be so much easier if June were here aboard the Galaxy. She'd know what to do. She always knew what to do. Allah, he missed her.

Tiny New Office Pt. III

John C. Richardson, Ph.D
Ensign, Starfleet Liaison Corps
Diplomatic Officer, U.S.S. Galaxy

&

Mary-Grace Stuart (NPC)
Yeoman 2nd Class, Starfleet
Aide, Diplomatic Officer, U.S.S. Galaxy

Offices- Liaison Department. Deck 17

'Score one for the new guy' John thought proudly as he approached the doors to the office labeled "Diplomatic Officer". His little verbal sparring session with Lieutenant McAlister was fun, although he realized he needed to make an effort to strike up real conversation in the future. That would not be a fun person to have as an enemy...

John set down his black Starfleet duffelbag and straightened his uniform coat. John had been in some pretty terrible work environments in the past, and he always braced himself for the worst concerning his office situation. John narrowed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and stepped forward to a 'Woosh' sound as his office doors opened automatically.

"Sir," said Petty Officer Second Class Mary-Grace Stuart, " welcome to your tiny new office."

Petty Officer Stuart's grin stretched from ear to ear as she saw Richardson's jaw visibly drop.

"My God," muttered Richardson "This is unbelievable...Miss Stuart, this isn't really my office, right?"

Mary-Grace stood about 15 feet away, next to a gorgeous oak desk with an executive-style chair behind it. The room was maybe 20 feet by 20 feet, with a hatch that was labeled 'Diplomatic Officer's head' on the far port side of the room.

"Oh yes, sir." answered Stuart with her signature Southern drawl. "This is as much your office as it is Galaxy's Diplomatic showroom. Any dignitary or otherwise who comes to the Liaison department has the potential of walking in this office, sir, and as such it needs to look the part. Also, I took the liberty of hanging your plaques and certificates, Docta. I had your personal belongings, save the duffel of clothing you carried aboard, moved to your quarters here on deck 17." She flashed her perfect smile at John as he stood there, dumbfounded, and said "If it's any consolation, sir, your quarters aren't nearly as nice as this office."

"Miss Stuart," mumbled John, "I'm in a bit of shock right now." John began walking around the office and observing the amenities, with Stuart still standing proudly at ease near his desk.

"These are my books!" John said loudly as he walked over towards the immaculate oak bookshelf near his obscenely-large desk. He stood up for a moment, and walked slowly over to Petty Officer Stuart. "You arranged all this, didn't you Petty Officer?"

Mary-Grace continued to stand 'at ease', but her face turned slightly red when she saw Richardson's face beam a bright smile in her direction.

"Yes, sir...I...Well sir, when I found out who our new Diplomatic Officer was going to be, I did a lot of background research. I read your Curriculum Vitae, got access to your personnel files...sir, you're an amazing man. I wanted to make a good first impression."

Now it was Richardson with a slightly reddened face, his head tilted down slightly as the young woman spoke.

"Miss Stuart, thank you for your kind words, but I'm definitely not a 'great man'. Now Willard Decker or Hikaru Sulu...those were great men."

Stuart was quick to interject.

"Docta, I mean, you served in combat in the Dominion War, and Sir you've published some really brilliant stuff. It's so hard to get a commission in the Liaison Corps, sir, I just really respect you. I wanted to do this right."

John smiled at Mary-Grace, and offered her a seat in one of the two chairs directly across from his new desk. She took his offer, and John sat next to her in the other seat.

"Mary Grace, you said you went to Ole Miss, right?"

"Yes sir." Mary Grace responded, delighted that he remembered the detail.

"So, you've got a college degree. You're, what, 26?" John said.

"25, sir"

"25, and already a Second Class Petty Officer! That's quite a promotion track you've got there." John smiled at Mary-Grace, paused, and then looked at her intently. "You want to be a diplomat, don't you Mary-Grace."

Stuart nodded her head slightly, and had a somewhat embarrassed grin on her face. "Since I was ten years old, sir. I already speak 3 languages, and I'm working on my Masters degree in in Diplomatic Studies from the Starfleet Postgraduate School's Non-Resident Program. I'd like to do what you do, Docta."

John stood up and put his hand on the young woman's shoulder, and smiled warmly at her. He then walked over to the door and grabbed his black duffelbag.

"So, here's how I see it." said Richardson, Stuart still sitting in the chair. "We both want the same thing, Miss Stuart, to stop wars before any blood needs to be shed. Right?"

"Yes sir" said Mary-Grace, popping to attention from her chair.

"No, none of that in here, Mary-Grace. We're colleagues, and in this office I'm not 'sir' or 'Doctor'. I'm Jack, and only my friends get to call me Jack."

Petty Officer Stuart looked surprised, and didn't quite know how to react.

"We work on a first name basis, unless 'brass' is flying around. It's our job to make people who don't like each other much come to understanding, Mary-Grace. That means hours and days and weeks of research, and it means being able to work well together. So what do you say? Are we a team? Can I count on you?"

Mary-Grace stood infront of her chair for a moment, before turning to her left and walking towards Richardson. She extended her hand towards her new boss, and smiled at him. "You can count on me, Jack."

"Good." said Richardson, returning the gesture and nodding politely. "Now Mary-Grace, I'm going to need some background information on Galaxy's past few operations, with a full briefing on any non-Federation entities involved by 0800 tomorrow." John winked at the Yeoman "I know things move slowly in the South, but we need to be able to get stuff done quickly here."

Stuart grinned back, and deadpanned "You'll have it, Jack, quicker than Union forces yelled "Retreat" at Bull Run."

"Great." shot back Richardson. "Oh, and Mary-Grace? I'm going to need some information on the Captain ASAP. I'm going to change into my Dress Uniform and go see him in 30 or so minutes."

Stuart dropped the grin, and gave Richardson a serious look. "I'm on it. I'll be back in 10 minutes. Good luck, Sir."

"Elder's Revenge"

V'Rix (Commander Brian Elessidil, Chief Counsellor)
Sotha (Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief of Intelligence)

***
Talvalen
140 years after launch
***

He lived a full, exciting life. He achieved his goals, ascended to the top of the pyramid, gained wealth, respect and power beyond the wildest dreams of those who grew up with.

But the path he chose had no rocking chair by the fireplace in the end of it, neither virtual nor real. Just like he hungered to climb up the ladder in his youth, there were now many other Rihanssu under his command - all of them born on the Talvalen, none of them ever setting foot on Vulcan's sands - that waited tensely for the old man to clear the stage.

Even now, when he was nearly a century and a half old, he could not rest and could not retire. In his position, death was the only way to resign your duty. For better and for worse, he was in charge of the Talvalen's entire intelligence and secret police agencies until the day he inhales his final breath.

And that day, as the cliche goes, was coming faster than he thought.

Unlike arch-directors before him, Director Sotha remained directly involved at field work. He relayed some of the less crucial responsibilities to his lieutenants (none of them too ambitious; He was smart enough to manipulate the ambitious ones into transferring to the armed forces, or to the wrong side of airlock doors), and the time freed was used by him to get his old boots dirty.

In the weeks before reaching the planet that would hopefully become his permanent home, director Sotha's attention was focused on V'rix, an old man about his own age.

For all those years that the director had spent reaching the pinnacle of power he had attained, V'rix had spent his in relative obscurity. It was likely no one would ever have even heard of him had it not been for a brief stint as sector representative on the tribal council. But in that time he'd learned that politics were not for him, that what he wanted, what he saw as possible, was not what the majority of his people wanted. So with little fanfare, he'd returned to the quiet life he'd led before Maec had talked him into running.

But deep within, the fire still burned. The angry, taciturn boy, the idealistic young man, the mature groundskeeper, all of those who were V'rix at different stages of his life were still there, and they all still felt the loss of the natural places that had so long ago been taken for other purposes or left starved of the simple resources needed to give them life. It had been like part of his own soul suffering as well; yet sometimes, suffering could kindle a fire of spirit that no amount of time or loss could extinguish. That fire still burned deep within this quiet man, waiting for the day when he could return to his vision of what could have, should have, been.

V'rix had every intention of making sure his home -- the idealized home that had existed now only in his mind for so many years -- was never taken away again. When he'd heard that a planet had been found, he knew it was time make his plans. He was going to start his own colony, far from the others, far from the near-sighted control of those who'd held power on the Talvalen for too long. Slowly, quietly, he'd already begun gathering the tools and materials he'd need to reunite with nature. He'd informed only a select few of his intentions, hoping they'd share his interest and would join him. He was a simple, reasonable man. He wanted only to be surrounded by other simple, reasonable people, and the bounty of nature.

A century ago, the director might have joined him gladly. Who needs to climb up the hierarchy when you can break loose from the chains of status? But time fixates people, and instead of sympathizing or even supporting V'rix, the director could think of only one thing.

If this gets out of hand it will be Vennetir and the massacre, all over again.

So he stretched his spying fingers, slowly but systematically unveiling V'rix's plan. One of V'rix's simple, reasonable men was reasonable enough to spy on V'rix in exchange for his well being, and from there Sotha could deduct much of V'rix's actions by monitoring the official and unofficial resource and equipment gathering. It was a tedious process, one that required much of patience.

An old man's patience.

* * *

With a shudder, Counselor Elessidil snapped back to his surroundings on the bridge. His eyes felt heavy, his vision foggy and even his telepathic sense somewhat askew. For a moment, he thought he'd dozed off, but he'd never fallen asleep on duty in his life, nor did he recall feeling all that tired.

What just happened?

Already he could feel waves of confusion coming from all over the ship, suggesting that whatever he'd just experienced wasn't isolated to him alone. Yet he still had no idea what it was. From what he could tell, nothing had changed on the bridge, nor could he even notice even a slight change in his own position.

He blinked a few times, then looked over toward Saul to see if he'd noticed anything.

He hadn't finished turning around when the fist connected with his cheek.

He tumbled and fell on the floor, not much out of the strength of the punch as out of the surprise. Saul followed, kneeling on his chest and reaching for his neck as though... as though he was trying... Vulcan pinch?

"Ma la'azazel?"

Saul rolled off him, letting his gasp for air. The intelligence chief shook his head, reaching for his pocket. It was empty. Thing was flying around his hair in horror.

"Ah, kus emek..." He swore and glanced at Brian, obviously dumbfounded. "Sorry V'rix, I... oh man."

Regaining his wind and stroking his now throbbing jaw with one hand and his sore neck with the other, Elessidil looked at Saul with a mix of surprise and frustration as eyes from all across the bridge focused on them. "What the hell...?" V'rix. V'rix? For some reason, the word sounded familiar, even though the counselor had no idea what it meant. He wanted to probe Saul's mind directly just to see if the other man had completely lost his marbles but that creature was buzzing around interfering with his telepathy.

"Maybe you'd like to tell what that was all about?" he huffed.

"I had them raid your outpost. Lord Valen wasn't happy about it, but it was hardly a threat on his leadership and with the bad things that began to happen his attention was drawn away. But I wanted to get the job done and it was easier to think about your outpost rather than-- don't look at me like that. You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"None whatsoever," the counselor honestly replied, though he did find himself with an inexplicable feeling of anger at Saul's admission.

Saul looked around him. The rest of the bridge crew looked equally puzzled, but from the half-sentences his ear caught it seemed that each of them experienced something similar to what he just did.

It was the route to Trill all over again, but this time it wasn't even their own memories.

Then, Saul's eyes met the chronometer. He bit his lower lip, realizing that he lived a century and a half in the span of minutes.

Inconceivable.

"It seems that... some of us experienced the lives of others. Exiling Vulcans, Proto-Romulans if you want..."

How could this be? Is this kind of hallucination he was having, as part of his Katra transfer? He never trusted that method; If he were a hundred years younger, he'd face the planet's perils without depositing his soul.

Brian got back to his feet. A moment later standing almost face to face with Saul. "Strike me down as many times as you wish, but I will live my life on my terms," he said menacingly. Then he blinked a few times again. Why had he said that? He meant it, he knew he had to say it, but he had no idea why. "Saul, I - I'm sorry," he added, sounding a little confused. "I don't know why I said that."

The Dutchman smirked bitterly. "V'rix said something like that when he tried to interfere with my... Sotha's... Katra transfer. My last memory before waking up here is his face coming close. Guess he wanted revenge... not that it mattered, they all died anyway. Must have. Otherwise the planet below would've been crawling with Romulans."

"Yeah - yeah, I guess so," Elessidil agreed, a little confusion still lingering in his voice. "Why am I not remembering any of this as clearly as you seem to be? I mean, the name seems familiar and the anger, but I still don't know anything beyond what you've told me." His unspoken concern was that these deep subconscious feelings might manifest themselves at any time.

"We'll have to figure it all out later." Saul said. The Captain was already giving orders to the disoriented bridge crew, and small talks in times of emergency were glared upon. "Let's just keep a safe distance for now, in case one of us goes berserk."

"Agreed...but Saul, I want to talk more about this when things settle down."

"Sure. Welcome back, counsellor Brian." Saul said. Usually, he would accompany this with a cordial tap on the Commander's shoulder, but he decided to take no more risks.

Both men returned to their stations, the echos of a past not their own following their trails.

"Familiar Faces"

Lieutenant Nathan Everett
Commander Arel Smith

===

Officers' Lounge, Deep Space Five

Nathan wasn't really sure why he kept coming here.

Sure, the drinks were good, and the view of the stars outside was spectacular, but Nathan was used to being with friends at a place like this. He didn't know anyone on DS5, and while he wasn't one of those quiet, dull introverts at all, it wasn't as much fun drinking with strangers.

He took another sip of his kanar and spun about in his seat at the bar, looking out at the small crowd. When he recognized the woman sitting by herself at a table near the viewport, he nearly fell out of his chair.

Fortunately for his public image, Nathan recovered, and actually managed to turn the near-fall into a rather graceful dismount from the barstool. He grabbed his drink off of the bar, looked around to make sure nobody had noticed the slip-up, and made his way over to the table.

"Arel!" he called out as he approached her table, a bright smile on his face. "Damn, it's nice to finally see a familiar face." He slid into the chair across from her without asking, leaning back and getting comfortable as he smiled at the Miranda's former security chief.

"So, how ya doin'?"

Once upon a time Arel would have nearly thrown her computer PADD (and its download of a Dickens novel) across the room in an attempt to hide that she could read but she'd changed since her "death." Now she only pushed it away with her elbow.

"I was enjoying a nice quiet drink," Arel replied although she couldn't quite bring herself to growl at him. Nathan had an infectious sort of personality - you either liked him or you wanted to smack him around a lot. Well, maybe both ...

"Eh, nice and quiet're overrated, darlin'." Cowboy grinned and took a sip of his drink. "What're you doin' out here on DS5? Starfleet kick you off the Miranda too?"

"Just about," She said, ignoring the 'darlin' bit. "I'm with the Carthage now as Jaal's XO. How about you?"

"Gonna be the XO of the Galaxy's fighter wing. If they ever get their slow ass over here, that is," Nathan answered. "Wait, Commander Jaxom's got himself a ship now? Why the hell'm Ah always the last one to know these things?"

"Because you're too busy chasing after girls or getting into trouble," Arel said. "At least that's what my sister says."

Nathan started to grin at that, but the grin disappeared pretty quickly. He looked down at his glass and picked it up, lifting it to his lips. "How is Rena, anyway? She regrettin' takin' Admiral Elaithin's offer yet?" he asked before taking a long drink of his beverage.

"I think it's taking her some time to get used to it," She replied with more care than she usually took regarding Cowboy's feelings.

He nodded. "Didn't think she'd ever leave the Rogues. It was weird seein' her in that Command uniform fer the first time." He shrugged before continuing. "Ah'm happy fer her, though. Ah think she'll do fine."

"Don't piss her off by not checking in every now and again."

"Please, Arel, Spitfire's got better things to do than worry 'bout how often Ah call," Cowboy replied with a short laugh. Suddenly he looked up at her, his eyebrows knotting together in worry. "Why? You think she'd come after me or somethin' if Ah didn't?"

"I don't know," Arel said with a laugh. "Better to keep on her good side though, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yer prob'ly right. Best not to tempt fate. 'Sides, it's prob'ly borin' as hell fer her over there now that the two of us're gone. Ah'm sure she'd appreciate the visit."

"So you have any better alcohol stashed away somewhere?" Arel said after a moment. "This synthehol crap is crap."

"You do realize who yer talkin' to, right?" Nathan answered with his trademark grin. "Ah got some of the real stuff back in mah quarters." He paused, suddenly realizing how that may have sounded. "Uh, that is, not that Ah'm expectin'--"

"Let's go," Arel said, rolling her eyes. "Oh and, by the way, you lay one hand on my ass, I'm going to dislocate your jaw. After I've broken all the bones in your body."

Cowboy laughed as he stood up. "Careful, now, threats lahk that ain't exactly stopped me before. Yer lucky yer a married woman, Arel." He looked over at her as they walked out of the lounge, quirking an eyebrow. "Wait, *are* you still--"

She glared at him.

"Nevermind."

"Pain is not enough"

By Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Chief of Operations
USS Galaxy-A

**** Deck 12, Gymnasium 2 - 0800 hours ****

Michael was sitting in a rower, a simple yet popular device, imitating the action rowing. Rowing, was and still is, one of the most popular sports in Starfleet Academy. There were still annual rowing events, but unlike the 21st century, nowadays, you could choose between two types of rowing. Traditional and modern. As traditions dictate, you've had the old rowing boats with high winds, fabric sails, gushing waves of the ocean or sea...but in the modern sport, they used hovered boats instead of the classic ones, and in space at zero gravity. Aiding to the speed of the hovering space rower, and making the life of the space sailor a lot easier, was a solar sail. Other than that, it was no different from the classic rower. Of course, you could always jump into one at the holodeck, and row away, but it wasn't quite the same, as many things in the holosuites weren't. The gymnastics type rowing machine enabled Jamson to work on many parts of his body, in the search for the perfect fitness exercise.

Even though he made it to the rowing team at the academy as a senior, he wasn't lucky enough to win anything and was always on the losing side. Losing, was never accepted with honor for Michael, so the angry cadet was constantly reprimanded for his non sportive behavior. Vandalizing the winning sides' lockers or equipment, kidnapping their mascot and others, were just a fraction of what he used to pull. And he's done it all by himself, without anyone else helping. Of course, that wasn't very helpful when being caught, which always happened.

Recalling the old days, Michael reached back to his neck, grabbing it firmly with both of his hands. It was sore and probably inflamed. In fact, it was always tender. It was an old wound from an accident almost 15 years ago. You'd expect the Medical science of the 24th century to be of modern status, but nothing except sedatives, such as improvoline would offer him any relief. Rubbing his neck back and forth while applying some pressure, gave a false sense of relaxation but what he really needed was a long and tedious session of physical therapy. He stopped going to those, as well as counseling sessions, years ago. He thought of it as a distractive action, a constant nuisance, since it never made him feel better in the long run.

Right after his terrible incident, he was prescribed with several types of pain killers. As time passed by, he decided not to continue with the medication, but with more natural or alternative healing arts, such as Vulcan Shiatsu, Trill Bikram Yoga and others. To much of his surprise, it worked for a bit, and even helped him achieve more tranquility and peace in his life. But unfortunately, it took much of his time, which he couldn't commit to, due to his duties as an officer. The pain came back slowly, yet he learned to live with it, but with the help of drugs.

Exercising and eating right, except for the occasional alcoholic drink, was embedded into him since young age. It was a part of him, a big portion of his daily routines evolved around it. 3 meals a day, morning, lunch and evening, plus food supplements existed like a firm table of covenant. Some thing he used to eat, and others had a big stop sign on them. For example, grains and fruit in the morning, along with yogurt or eggs was acceptable, but meat of any kind or bread was forbidden. Chocolate or fried klingon chips/potatoes was out of the question! However, the only type of chocolate he was allowed, was Vulcan, since it had no taste to humans, and proved not poses a high calorie value. For the majority of his life, he kept this cycle on a daily basis. He was thin, fit, and healthy, that all changed after the accident.

While practicing to the yearly Federation rowing competition, Jamson exercised in rowing with several other members of team from the Academy. They all took shore leaves from their respected ships, and came back to the Sol system to compete. This was a grand occasion, and many participated. All teams have been given areas to practice and row in. Michael's team, received a fairly large strip not too long from Jupiter and it's moons. Only several minutes after being cleared by Jupiter station station, his solar rower was rammed by another ship, carrying deuterium crystals. The craft was a huge federation transport, Bradbury class, converted into transferring cargos of various types. Several of his teammates were killed, and others were seriously wounded. It was later revealed that the Operations Center on Jupiter station was undergoing extensive repairs and renovation, so some of the systems were taken off line. Without some of the staff at the center knowing, they continued to operate regularly until this serious accident caused them to stop all activity in the area and check what was exactly the problem. 'Human error and misjudgment' was the final conclusion.

That fact didn't help the young Michael Jamson to rehabilitate. It would take him more than 6 months to get back on his feet, back into duty, with all the marvel of the 24th century medicine. He was lucky enough to escape death, but had to undergo several surgeries and treatments before his mind and body were some degree of ease. His body, many times, simply didn't want to play along and literally, laughed at him. Eventually, he learned to control it back and achieve superiority.

Ever since, he's being carrying the pain up until this very moment of him trying to pull the rower's bar to his chest. Ever pull reminded him of the saucer sections of Jupiter station. He was staring at them when they were hit. Every pass next to that station always reminded him of that dreadful moment. He's learned to face deal with this experience, but rowing was never a passion he'd want to come back to, and so were the beautiful moons of Jupiter and Ganymede.

The suffering was turning into torment, as Michael couldn't feel his muscles anymore. He continued, never the less, remembering the faces of his academy teammates that perished due to an 'error'."Pain is not enough..." he continued saying to himself. It was apparent he should stop, but he kept on going, he did so every time, and every time he also paid a visit to sickbay. On certain days, the pain would go away, leaving a mild trace and he'd be able to function normally. On other days, he'd almost feel his entire body falling apart. No one knew...not even the medical staff. He hid it from them all. They didn't know, and probably didn't care.

Holding his left should, and grabbing his neck, he left the machine and walked slowly to his bag which lied on one of the benches. Looking around, he let his hand search blindly in the pouch, until he recovered a small capsule. Carefully, making sure no one was looking, he opened it, closing his shaking first firmly. He then moved to wipe his face from the sweat and let one pill get crushed by his teeth, and slide down his throat. It was chloromydride, a powerful stimulant. Improvoline was just not strong enough. In stressful scenarios, combat, and others, he'd always carry some with him. "Time for sickbay...." the tired Operations Chief said and started to pack his things.

"Blind Date"

Flight Officer Ella Grey
S&R Pilot

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligance

***
Ten Forward
***

Talk about your blind dates from hell, Ella thought as she tugged at her sleeve. Of course this wasn't like your average, run-of-the-mill blind date. She was meeting someone from a past life, the love of Eela's life. And for all she knew she'd just set herself up for an evening with Leo Streely.

It was stupid but she wore her hair down because Sotha would have liked it down.

It all started yesterday. She went through the daily news and intelligence batch distributed to all officers, when she encountered one odd bulletin. It said 'Updeck girl, let's meet at the regular place in the regular time tomorrow.'. It wasn't the first time someone used the batch for a prank or to greet someone for their birthday, and the people at Operations tended to be forgiving toward this misuse.

Sotha and Eela's regular meeting place since the Water planet and until that terrible day when both submitted their Katras for preservation, was coincidentally on the forward section of the Talvalen's tenth deck.

Ten Forward.

And so here she was.

"I should've guessed." A voice hurled her from her thoughts back to reality.

The Galaxy's chief of intelligence circled the table, and sat on the chair opposite to hers. "Ella, Eela... it even sounds the same." He said.

Ella grinned. "Oh, thank God it's you! I was starting to worry who I was meeting with." She scanned his face, unintentionally looking for something of Sotha in there. "How are you?"

Saul chuckled. Nervously? Could it be?

"Still adjusting. It's not that different, I suppose - a Chief of Intelligence is a chief of intelligence, no matter the ship. Who were you expecting?"

"No one in particular," Ella replied. "But I have a terrible imagination sometimes."

"Don't we all.", Saul shook his head. Personally, he was dreading Faylin or that nutty girl from security. Fay-Fay must've enjoyed greatly being a Romulan - it was right up her ally, and she probably learnt some new tricks to torment the ship's male population with. Poor Jonas.

"We, um, they were very happy, huh? I mean in their own sneaky spy, assassin kind of way."

"Yes... they were... a cute couple. It's very cheering that two 90-years-olds could behave like they did on the water planet, and I think you... she... was probably the best thing that happened to his life. He was attracted to her madly since that time she nearly slit his throat, you remember that?"

"I do," Ella replied with a smirk. "She kicked his ass."

Saul laughed heartily. "It was the best ass-kicking he ever got!"

"Saul," The pilot said slowly. "I wanted to ask a favor. I wonder ..." It was hard to continue so she simply stretched out her arm and held her palm open.

Saul watched her hand, his face softening. It was milky and delicate, and somehow reminded him of Naranda. The most natural thing, he thought, would be to just--

Ella sighed. "I sometimes will be doing something and get these urges that aren't mine, like wanting to duck into the Jeffries tubes because I'm convinced I'm being followed. But I also sometimes just miss holding Sotha's hand, even though I know that I'm not her."

"It's hard, isn' t it? It feels like I've been Sotha more than I've been Saul, and I'm one of those who were less affected I think."

Pulling his chair away, he stood up.

"Let's get out of here." He muttered, not unlike how Sotha would, and patted her shoulder. She would understand. Too many people were watching, and Sotha and Eela didn't like being watched. Sotha was quite confident that nearly all of Az Shiber members were ignorant to the fact that he had anything to do with Mardek's daughter.

"Okay," Ella said quietly.

The doors to the ten forward lounge closed behind them, and as they slid Ella felt Saul taking her hand in his.

"Do you miss being in command of the Az Shiber?" Ella asked.

"Our jobs aren't very different. Neither are our childhoods. I can see why his Katra picked me."

They took a left turn. Ella realized he was leading her toward the evacuation lounges. Given that there was no emergency she wasn't aware of, he probably wanted some privacy.

She felt pressured to make conversation, even though Eela and Sotha had never felt such a need. "I can understand why she chose me as well."

Saul barely knew Ella - mostly through Nara's stories and by working together with her on senior staff meetings and other occasions.

"Really? Why?"

"We had what I guess you would call traumatic childhoods," She replied. "We tended to react in similar ways ... er, not her work of course but with similar mannerisms, train of thought ..."

They entered the empty lounge and she turned to face him.

Saul's free hand began to move forward, but he restrained himself. He knew he was blushing.

"Do you think we remember things as they really were, or perhaps our own personalities effected the memories?"

Ella smiled at the blush. "I don't think we remember things as they were. I don't think it could be otherwise, given our minds were taken over by souls who had several decades over us."

"This is all so logical. They would hate it."

The pilot laughed. "Definitely."

"They want..."

She felt his other hand gripping her hand, tightly. He turned his head, to watch the series of heavy double doors leading to the lifeboats.

"They want to cleanse him. Starfleet Intelligence, that is. They think that the Katras that possessed intelligence personnel are a security risk and shouldn't be preserved. I'm the only one on the ship who knows, and... I know I hate having my mind prodded - by the Dithparu, dead Vulcans, whoever - but he's scared. I've been him for one hundred and fifty years and he was never scared."

She could feel her heartbeat quicken. "They can't do that."

Saul tried to shrug, and failed.

"Can't you lie?" Ella asked. "Say the memory isn't intact. Damaged somehow. Something."

"I could lie... but why should I? If I were somehow to possess some alien mind five hundred years from now, would my host lift a finger to save me afterwards? Is it worth the risk?", He asked, but did not sound too convinced. The tapestry of subtle lies and hidden truths he weaved since he graduated the academy was complex and crowded as is. Adding this one more thread may cause everything to fall apart, to unwind.

Ella frowned. "Surely the Vulcans would have a problem with this. Emotions aside, this is a part of their history. Hell, even the Romulans should care."

"That's why you're not in intelligence." Saul said wryly. Sotha often said the same thing to Eela when they had an argument, usually earning a glare as scary as her knives. "There are many Katras and the slightly less complete historical picture gained from research the Katra is logically less important than the threat they may pose. Especially if the Rihanssu eventually obtain the Katras. There was probably some behind-the-scenes bargaining between Vulcan and Starfleet Intelligence, and this was their compromise. However..."

However, the security breach wasn't the only threat Sotha's Katra posed to Saul Bental. Sotha's katra was the only sentient being other than Saul himself who knew Saul's agenda and his entire plans intimately. SFI will surely extract all the information they can from Sotha before eradicating him, in order to relay anything unclassified to the Vulcans. And then, everything will be revealed.

Saul could not allow the soul of the proto-Romulan spymaster to fall into their hands.

"I do have an idea, but I'm not sure if I'm willing to go through with it. And... Sotha's soul isn't worth anything without Eela on his side."

Ella tilted her head, her expression puzzled.

"I'm just toying with it, but perhaps we can - with the help of an acquaintance of mine - transfer both Katras to the same receptacle, and bury it where no one will find it. On Earth."

"Together," She whispered.

"Together." He echoed.

"Yes, I'd go along with that. I can't stand the idea of Sotha being obliterated."

"Remember, Ella, that we're both influenced by their presence right now. If this stunt is revealed, it could be costly for both of our careers. After they leave our heads ... we might regret the risk."

"I won't."

"Good. Me neither."

Saul suddenly became very aware to the fact that he was still holding the hand of the woman, this person he barely knew and never spoke in length with. And yet... it didn't feel awkward. Even her mechanical voice didn't bother him.

"Unlike SOMEONE we both know, I'm not going to ask you to sign a contract." He joked.

She laughed. "Good, I'd hate to leave behind incriminating evidence."

"Oh, you won't. WE won't." Saul said. "It's settled then; I'll talk to you about it when we'll be two days away from Vulcan. I'll take care of all the arrangements, but we'll have to use some precautions. I don't want this to be revealed, and my standing in Starfleet Intelligence is a little shaky as is."

Ella had her own reasons for wanting to stay off of Starfleets radar. "Okay."

"You in any rush?"

She thought about it. "'No, why?"

Saul smiled sheepishly. "I also miss holding Eela's hand too, just sitting watching the stars like they did when they got old."

Ella smiled and tightened her grip.

"Memories"

Flight Officer Ember Lansky

*** Shuttle, en route to Deep Space Five ***

Six months. That was how long it had been since the last time she had been spaceborne. Ember could not remember a longer duration in which she had been confined planetside, and she could feel the all-too familiar stirrings of nostalgia surfacing as she gazed out the window of the shuttlecraft, seeing the countless stars that were twinkling back at her. It was starting to come back to her, memories of her past muted, but not eliminated by her convalescence. Memories that she had sometimes shut close, suppressed or ignored, and memories that she had at times confronted in the idyllic green meadows of the sanitarium – the place she had called home for the last few months.

Soon, she would be back onboard Galaxy. Soon, she would be a pilot again. There was the itching of re-ignited desire, burning stronger because of the length of time in which she had been forced to abstain from what she loved most. But there was also tinglings of unease. Because for her, it hadn't just been six months. It had felt like a lifetime, a lifetime which had altered everything.

Losing Ayden on Cheron, not knowing – even today, whether he was dead or alive; stealing a craft from Galaxy to go after answers on her own, getting captured and charged. It had been a drawn-out process with too many downs, and too few ups. She knew, looking out at the stars, that a piece of her spirit was lost forever with Ayden.

But... and she made a resolution there and then -- she would be damned before she let this destroy her completely. She wouldn't be who she was if she gave up on life and remained wrecked by loss.

Life goes on.

She was back.

"The Game Is On"

Lieutenant Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Flight Officer Ember "Orphan" Lansky

** Lounge, Deep Space Five **

It was grimly ironic that Ember was right back where she started. Nursing a glass of wine, she raised it to her lips, gently swinging her seat around so she could lean against the bar counter and stare out the viewscreen across the Lounge at the expanse of stars. It was beautiful, a sight she had achingly missed and thought she would never again see during the long months she spent on Earth.

Still, there was a little while to go before she could make her home amongst the stars once again. Waiting was never her strong suit, yet, here she was, waiting to return to a ship that was increasingly, as unfamiliar to her as the place she had just bade goodbye to.

"Nice view, ain't it?"

Further down the bar stood a tall, good-looking human man with light brown hair and ice blue eyes. He was leaning back against the bar as well, his hand holding a glass containing a somewhat blackish liquid. He gave her a half-smile before looking out toward the starscape again.

"It never really gets old," he added, sounding almost awestruck. He had a sharp, but not overwhelming, twang to his voice.

"No matter how many times I've looked out at the stars, it's never enough," Ember mused, agreeing with his sentiment as she turned her head to look at the man who had interrupted her solitude. From the smile she gave him, his presence didn't seem unwelcomed. It seemed instead, like she was grateful for the company. Knowing his reverence could only have come from someone who lived out in Space, she asked, "I trust you don't make your home down on any planets then?"

He shook his head, chuckling lightly. "Naw. Ah was born on one, but it didn't take." He stood to his full height and walked down the bar, sitting down in the chair next to Ember's, then set his glass down and offered her his hand. "Ah'm Nathan."

"I'm afraid I'm exactly the same," She said with a soft laugh, extending her hand to him. "I'm Ember."

"Pleased to meet you, darlin'," Nathan said, smiling as he let go of her hand. "What brings you all the way out here to DS5?"

Ember's brow quirked slightly at that term of endearment. "I don't seem to recall giving you permission to address me so affectionately," She said. It was clear from her tone of voice though, that she was only teasing him and wasn't in the least offended. "I'm waiting to rejoin my ship... I've taken a pretty long.." She paused for a moment, unsure what exactly to term the six months break which she had been forced to take. "... vacation. And yourself?"

Nathan gave Ember an easy, charming smile in response to her jest, and took a sip of his drink while she asked her question. "Ah'm in the middle of bein' transferred, actually," he replied. "Waitin' fer the Galaxy to show up."

"Looks like we have more things in common than first meets the eye," She chuckled on hearing the ship he was about to be transferred to. It was an uncanny coincidence. "You're going to love Galaxy," She promised. She had, most of the time she spent there, though once again, when she thought of the ship, Ayden came to mind for the millionth time. She would never forget the man that had come into her life and opened her heart, but it was easier now to accept the loss, and the memories were bittersweet, instead of painful.

"Let's make a toast," She said suddenly, raising her glass to him, a warm smile emerging on her face,"To new beginnings." It was so true for her, in more ways than one.

Nathan nodded, returning Ember's smile as he lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. "Ah'll drink to that." He took a sip of his drink, and his eyes narrowed a touch when something in his mind finally clicked.

"Wait a second...did you say yer name was Ember?" he asked, looking at her again. "Ember *Lansky*?"

She tipped her head, and he could tell that she was curious, almost amused that he knew her. "Why yes... are you a fan?" She teased.

Nathan shook his head, not believing this. "Ah thought Ah recognized you. You were the one who lead all those protests against Nova Squadron back at Starfleet Academy!"

Ember's eyes widened slightly and she laughed, recalling the silly stunts she would incite the other students to pull. She had probably done them all, from starting a food fight in their Mess, to 'spacecraft-hugging' when the Squadron had scheduled a training flight. She hadn't counted on meeting someone who knew that part of her past here. It felt like a lifetime ago. "Looks like I've blown my cover," She gave a grin.

"You little brat!" Nathan said through his laughter. "Y'all put superglue on our damn chairs! It took us hours to get outta 'em!" At the time, all those pranks had been infuriating, but looking back on it now, all Nathan could do was laugh.

Ember put up her palm in a mock gesture of surrender, a smile curving her mouth. "Guilty as charged," She said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I can't take credit for all the creativity though. My accomplices helped... *a lot*."

"Yeah, well, Ah don't think there was a single incident you weren't at the heart of, darlin'." Nathan shook his head and raised his glass in salute. "Ah gotta admit, y'all came up with some pretty damn good pranks. Nicely done."

She couldn't believe her ears. "You're congratulating me for doing a good job sabotaging you'all..?" It made her laugh harder, and she shook her head in disbelief. "I think that's a new one. You definitely take well to defeat..." It was a deliberate teasing jibe, since it didn't look like anyone came up on top in that tussle. She certainly hadn't with the reprimand she had been slapped, though it had been absolutely worth it for the stir she created. "Looks like I helped to rub away some of your snottiness after all..." She chuckled.

"Hey, what can Ah say?" Nathan asked, shrugging. "If Ah'd been in yer position, Ah'd've done the same. Ah love a good prank." He took another sip of his drink, and then gave Ember a devilish grin.

"'Course y'know this means Ah'm gonna have to getcha back somehow," he continued. "Much as Ah admire yer work, Ah gotta stick up fer me and mine."

Ember would never imagine that he would be so sporting, and it put a grin on her face as well. It seemed like they really *did* have a lot in common. "So, that means I'll have to watch my back on the Galaxy now? I might turn a corner and suddenly find you in a clown suit or something?" He'd have every opportunity to take revenge and she loved a challenge. "Unless of course, you decide to start your payback now... snce it looks like we'd be stuck together for a while on this station..." She said, looking at him warmly over the rim of her glass as she took a sip of the wine.

It felt so good to laugh out loud, and it suddenly occured to her that it had been a while since she had had such a good time with anyone.

"Careful what you wish for, darlin'," Nathan replied, smiling at Ember over his own glass. He'd been on Deep Space Five for a few days now, but he could safely say that this was the most fun he'd had since coming aboard. "Ah can think of a few ideas. You might not wanna lemme outta yer sight anytime soon..."

"Really? I'm just dying to see what you can come up with," She told him, doing nothing to discourage him from initiating his own pranks. She would probably enjoy it and it might even break the monotony of waiting. Ember had no intention of parting ways just so he could have the freedom and time to execute whatever crazy plans he had in mind though. She realised she really did enjoy his company.

"Do you think you can pull off your little tricks, while I'm beside you every step of the way?" She asked, the challenge - and invitation - implicit in her playfulness.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Finally, he finished his drink and set the empty glass down on the bar, then offered Ember his hand again. "Why don't we find out?"

She placed her glass on the counter and slid off the bar stool, holding his gaze. For a flicker of a second, there was hesitation; she had no idea what she was getting into, having just come out of a heartbreak. But, Ember had never been afraid to live, and so, she took his hand. "The game is on," She smiled.

"Second Thoughts"

Lieutenant Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Flight Officer Ember "Orphan" Lansky

===

"Here we are," Nathan said as he and Ember arrived at his quarters. He smiled at her, then hit the button to open it, and allowed her to enter first.

"Ah know it don't look lahk much," he explained as he followed her inside. The door hissed shut behind him. "But Ah figured there ain't a lotta point in decoratin' when Ah ain't gonna be here too long, y'know?"

"You should see my quarters if you think this isn't much.." Ember smiled as she walked in. It was basic, but it definitely sufficed. Not for the first time since she followed his lead, she wondered what the hell she was getting herself into. The bedroom-hopping which used to be second nature to her, had become absolutely alien in the last few months. The glaring truth was that she hadn't been with *anyone* after leaving Galaxy.

The direction her thoughts were taking was uncomfortable, and naturally, she started a conversation that would take her far away from there. "So, you haven't told me... what are you going to be doing onboard Galaxy?"

"Ah'm a fighter pilot," Nathan answered, nodding at his flight jacket, which lay strewn over the back of the chair in front of his desk. "Ah'll be workin' as Vanguard Group's XO. What about you?"

"Staying true to the Nova tradition, I see..." She teased, suppressing a laugh at the mystifying coincidence. "You're my boss..." She said with a helpless shrug, smiling, "Saber Squadron CO." That sure made things a lot more complicated.

He grinned. "Guess you were right, darlin', we do have a lot in common." He gestured towards the small couch, inviting her to sit down. "You want somethin' to drink? More wine?"

"I can't say no to more wine..." She said, still amused at how bizarre it all was as she took a seat on the couch. "So... do you have any scruples, what should I call it... fraternizing with your subordinate?" She asked playfully.

Nathan glanced over at her, an eyebrow raised, as he waited for the wine to finish materializing in the replicator.

He grabbed the two glasses and joined Ember on the couch, handing one of them to her. "We ain't on the Galaxy yet, Miss Ember," he finally answered, a playful smirk on his face.

She had to laugh at that answer. "Good job taking advantage of little technicalities, my dear... *pseudo* boss." Accepting the glass of wine, she took a sip. She was starting to feel a delightful buzz since she had a few glasses earlier at the Lounge, and while it wasn't exactly obvious, it was making her restless. "How about turning on some music? I'm in the mood for dancing.." She winked.

Nathan smiled and took a sip of his own wine, then had the computer put on something appropriate. He stood and took Ember's hand, helping her to her feet and pulling the two of them closer together as he began to lead her in a dance.

"Y'know, if Ah'd known you were this much fun back at the Academy, Ah prob'ly wouldn't've minded all those pranks as much..."

She leaned into him, swaying her hips to the sensuality of the jazz music. "Were you cursing and swearing at me after every prank?" She asked, whispering close to his ear.

He smiled softly and placed his hands at Ember's waist, gently guiding her as they moved together. "Every single one, darlin'. Ah was not a happy camper."

A soft chuckle escaped from her lips. "I should make it up to you.." And even as she said it, she moved nearer, gently tipping her head as she brushed her lips against his, first teasing, then again in a kiss that was tender, yet hinted of desire, and certainly of more to come. Warning bells were going off in her head; she didn't know if she was ready for this, but it was so like her to plunge headfirst, and she silenced them.

Nathan laughed quietly. "Yer doin' a pretty good job so far," he told Ember as he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her body close to his and brought his lips to hers again, kissing her hungrily as they slowly moved with the music.

She could feel his hands caressing her body, and she closed her eyes, relishing the gentle, sweet sensations of the kiss that was quickly growing with urgency, letting the warm taste of him fill her as she returned it with every eagerness. It blocked out all thoughts, rational or otherwise. "We're a little overdressed," She whispered playfully against his mouth.

He tilted his head to the side, chuckling as he gently kissed the side of Ember's neck, his lips moving lightly across her smooth skin. "So we are," he said as his hands moved to the front of Ember's top. He slowly opened it and let it fall to the floor, his hands taking a moment to caress her bare skin before beginning to move lower.

She wasted no time either, and helped him to quickly shed his cumbersome clothing, wanting to feel him beneath her. Her pulse was beginning to quicken, and her desire was blatant in the way she kissed him, as though she couldn't ever get enough.

Unable to wait any longer, Nathan grabbed hold of Ember and lifted her up in his arms, feeling her wrap herself around him. "And now we move on to the next part of the tour," he joked as he carried Ember into the nearby bedroom.

***

Ember was deep in the embrace of exquisite, electrifying pleasure, her senses overwhelmed and her skin burning with his teasing touches, gentle caresses and hot kisses at her most sensitive areas. But even as their bodies were entwined on the bed in the dance of sensuality, she couldn't dispel the image of Ayden who suddenly entered her mind and filled it with aching clarity, because it wasn't so long ago that he was eliciting these very sensations from her willing body. He was there, no matter how hard she closed her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to succumb to the raw unthinking passion. He was there.

The words "I'm sorry" tore out from her mouth raggedly as she abruptly sat up, pushing Nathan off her. She was breathing heavily, but whether it was from the near-peak of pleasure he had brought her to, or the churning thoughts in her head, it wasn't clear.

"I'm sorry," She muttered again, then as though belatedly realising that she might have hurt him with how sudden she pushed him off, she looked at him, concern reflected in her eyes, as she laid her hand on his arm. "Are you alright?"

Nathan stared at her, complete and utter bewilderment on his face. He looked away for a second, running a hand through his already tousled hair, and shook his head. "Ah was *great* until about five seconds ago," he finally said, still a little shocked.

He looked back at her. "Are *you* okay?" he asked, the perplexity in his voice quickly replaced by worry. "Did Ah do somethin' wrong?"

"No, no.. you didn't," She said, shaking her head with a wry smile. She didn't move to cover herself up, seeming unconcerned about modesty as she sat facing him, but there was definitely something weighing on her mind. She didn't know how the hell she was supposed to explain it to him, especially when she had played her part initiating and leading them to this stage.

Nathan stared at her, blinking again. "Okay, darlin', Ah'm a little confused. What exactly is the problem? Ah mean one second we were...and then you were lahk...and now Ah'm all..." He shook his head. "What's wrong?"

"A little emotional baggage from the past," She answered, lifting her shoulders in a shrug, trying to dismiss it. "So..." She said, and her face began to brighten as she mustered up a smile. "Are you going to be chasing me out? Or.. can I stay here for the night?" Somehow, she didn't feel up to going back to her quarters and staying there alone, at least not tonight.

"Uh...Ah s'pose that'd be fine," Nathan said, trying to ignore the strangeness of the situation. "Ah'll just go and sleep out on the couch." He moved to get out of the bed.

She gave a soft laugh, stopping him in his tracks with a gentle tug of his leg. "You don't have to. I'm not a complete prude.."

He looked back at her and smiled. "Okay, then. As long as yer alright with it." He climbed back into the bed and gave Ember a playful look. "You don't snore, do you? 'Cause that right there'd be grounds fer kickin' you out," he joked.

Ember leaned closer and kissed Nathan on the lips. "You'll find out," She said with a smile on her lips, seeming to have put the previous incident out of her mind. As she laid back down, snuggling beside him, it came to her just how unlikely this was. She couldn't remember the last time she simply slept beside someone, someone other than Ayden.

Nathan lay back on the bed and felt Ember move in close to him. Just lying there with her gave him a chance to think, and suddenly he began to feel a little guilty. He and Rena hadn't been split up for more than a couple of weeks, and here he was already in bed with another woman. Sure, that was kind of how he'd always been, but it was different this time. It wasn't like his relationship with Rena had ended badly, they'd just decided that with him on the Galaxy and her over on the Miranda, it would be hard to make it work. Granted, for all he knew, Rena could already be doing something similar, but somehow Nathan doubted it.

He glanced over at Ember, who had already closed her eyes, and he let out a quiet sigh as he laid his head back on his pillow and looked up at the ceiling, trying to sort out the confusing morality of the situation. As he lay there, however, no answers came to mind, only a question--one that had tormented men for eons.

~Why do women gotta make life so goddamn confusin'?~

"The Chivalrous Escort"

1st. Lieutenant Branwen London
Marine Psychologist

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Three years after he first boarded the Galaxy, there were still many things most of the other crewmembers did not know about Saul Bental. Hidden agendas, fishy contacts, shady past, questionable previous assignments, and even his loyalty to the fleet were amongst the things they were kept in the dark about. Plus, there was another thing that many did not know :

Saul Bental had a weak spot for saddened girls .

Especially ones which once saw him as their own private knight .

Branwen was coming down the hallway, the expression on her face spoke for itself. There was a lot of anger there, and indeed a touch of sadness. She wasn't looking at anybody, hardly noticing those she passed. That's why she didn't say hello to Saul either .

" Hey there." She heard his familiar voice. "How much will it cost me to see your pretty smile? I can afford it, I hope ."

Distracted she stopped in her tracks. "Oh hello." The smile she showed him wasn't exactly pretty or bright. "Just be very lucky that you are not on my shit list today." Bran said warily .

Saul rubbed his chin, and grinned. "Very lucky indeed. I recall what happened last time. Mind if I escort you ?"

" Sure." She smiled. "Sorry about that. I was angry at you for a long time ."

" I've got to say, Branwen, you've changed." He told her, softly. "It's the first time I heard you say 'shit'. Must be the influence of that green collar."

" I'm not so naive anymore, Saul."

" Part of your charm, Branwen. Don't lose it all." Saul shrugged, "So who's on your shit list today?"

" My new commanding officers. Nothing new you would say, I am so used to being angry at Baile. Did you hear what happened?"

" Shaw and Arvelion." The intelligence chief sneered.

Saul had some spider software running for him inside several systems on the ship and back at HQ. There was nothing irregular about it, and in fact many intelligence officers had similar software running in order to notify them about important events. With so much going on in the quadrant, it was one of the best ways not to drown in the ocean of information.

Saul's spiders, however, were camouflaged and detached from his own logins, dropping their search results and alerts onto virtual mailboxes. He preferred that his interests will remain his own.

One of these spiders was monitoring important events happening to people in the fleet which Saul was interested in. Promotions, transfers, reprimands, changes of martial status, anything within his access levels. The Miranda's marine CO and XO unknowingly found themselves on Saul's spider's list after the events prior to the battle of ch'Rihan, and that was how the Galaxy's chief of intel found out about their transfer to the Galaxy not long after they first heard about it themselves.

" It's no wonder." Saul told Branwen. "Those arrogant tin-heads are on my shit-list too." Quite literally.

" oh?" Bran was surprised, it actually helped to cool her own anger down. "Why?"

Saul summarized his clash with the Colonel and the Major to Branwen. He told it from his point of view, which fundamentally insisted that both were jerks whose miniscule and sealed brains (Saul didn't dare saying 'Marine brains', he preferred his jaw intact) prevented Starfleet from obtaining information that would save many in a not intrusive fashion, and that it was done in a way that would make kindergarden brats seem mature.

" You mean that conflict with them not wanting you to install Intel devices in the computer? I remember that." She said. "I kind of kept out of that, because it's not really my field of expertise. They are probably very good commanding officers, but I feel that Baile and I have just been pushed aside as if we are totally useless. We have worked really hard the last couple of years, you know."

" Surely I do." Saul assured her. "After I heard, I tried to think what would I do if they dumped the Miranda's chiefs of intel on top of me, and I would probably react worse than you did."

He would probably undermine their authority and try to manipulate the Captain into transferring them off the ship, or ask for transfer if that fails. These were not things he wanted to offer Branwen, though. The girl may swear on occassion and host a strong right hook, but despite her Ph.D. in psychology Saul had no doubt that she was a novice at political interplay.

" You know, I don't even mind the fact that they are here so much. It how they did it. The informed all of us together, without talking to the officers first, and giving us a chance to prepare the men. And ourselves. It was so rude and unnecessary. I don't understand." She vented her frustration .

Saul felt a sudden pang for not notifying Branwen about the new COs arrival as soon as he heard it.

"Here's what I would do if I were you or Baile.", He said, "Make sure the men's loyalty remain on your side; Make Shaw and Arvellion leaders on paper only. Breaking the news to you together with the troops was their first mistake. If I were you I would gather the platoon together and make sure they understand that nothing changes. They answer to you and you only. Make it subtle enough so Arvellion won't have concrete material to chew you up with, but obvious enough for the troops to understand. By the time Shaw and Arvellion realize they hold no true power over the platoon, it'll be too late for them to amend."

"don't like that, Saul It is not my style to go behind their backs." She said honestly. "I just want them to understand they did things wrong. I want them to apologize, and then move on. It is better for the Marines to be one unit. Dissension in the ranks is never good. The corps comes first ."

" You are not, essentially, going behind their back." Saul insisted. "Just making sure that your status as an influencing officer is preserved because, Branwen, it sounds like these guys are trying to toss you and Baile aside. I assume you tried talking to them and got an answer such as 'shut up or go to the brig'?"

Branwen mumbled something. She didn't want to say that he had been right in his assessment .

Saul sighed. "I don't want to push you, do what you think is right. It's just that... I hate to see you like this, so frustrated and angry ."

" I thought you would prefer this over the naive little girl I was." She looked squarely at him. "I am not so vulnerable anymore . "

" I prefer you happy." Saul shrugged. "And it's impossible to be happy when your heart completely turns to stone."

He should know. He escaped his home to avoid that fate .

"…But you're still the lady Branwen I know, thank god. But I agree, I think a lot has changed in you during this year. Most for the better."

As these words left his mouth, he wondered what would've happened if Branwen was more mature when he made the decision to go with Nara. 'Greedy Bental' he rebuked himself. 'Settle for one girl, for once.'

She smiled at him. "You think so? I guess I have to take that has a compliment. Sometimes I am not sure myself."

Saul's lips arched. "Confidence, milady."

" You don't understand, I have more confidence. Sometimes it feels like I lost something. Some kind of innocence. I guess that's a good thing?" She looked at him .

Saul contemplated this for a moment .

" It's a trade off.", He finally said, "Perhaps this trade off is part of what people refer to as 'growing up'. Most of the people I know miss the simpler world they lived in before, say, the academy. Where I come from most of the people have to make that switch of thought before they hit 12 or they never hit 18. But I suppose... that you should be happy with what you have. New confidence, and innocence not completely lost."

He chuckled. "Look what you made me do."

" Nothing wrong with that you just did." She smiled. "I guess I should be surprised by was naive for that long. It wasn't as if my youth was such a fairytale ."

"It's still not a good enough excuse for me to blabber like that. And besides, perhaps it's your childhood that gave you that naive view. It's easier to live in a dark world when you color it pink. I don't know - you're the psychologist amongst the two of us ."

" Sometimes I don't want to be." She smiled. "What about you? How have you been keeping up?"

How WAS he keeping up? Sotha was doing just fine, aside from Saul's intention to subdue his Katra or cleanse it from his mind. But Saul wasn't Sotha. No. The question was directed to Saul, and Branwen did not know who or what Sotha was.

Saul wasn't doing exceptionally well either, but he couldn't talk about it with anyone. Not even Branwen.

" Recuperating from my Romulan experience, like the rest of us." He finally said. "I intend to visit earth while the Galaxy will orbit Vulcan. It should make me feel even better ."

" There is nothing for me on earth. My sister is serving somewhere else, and I have no desire to see the rest of the family. Where they to see me" Branwen did manage a small smile .

" I had no family on earth at all and I still travelled half the Federation to get there. It was a worthy trip." Saul said, slyly pointing at his twin golden pips .

Her eyes twinkling she ignored it. "Really."

Saul's brow furrowed. He rarely spoke about the life he lived before the academy, but Bran seemed to be focused on her trouble .

Women .

" Really Really. You don't have to visit your family at all. I offer my services as a tour guide if San-Fran, Amsterdam or Jerusalem are of any interest to you."

" I think I would like that., is Nara coming? How are you guys doing?"

" Nara? Haven't asked her yet, it depends on her." Saul replied, avoiding the main question. The princess, as much as she was fond of Branwen, will not be too happy to find out that her boyfriend and the other woman who desired his affection were going on a trip together.

Then again, Saul preferred not to take Nara with him to that particular trip. Branwen would serve as an adequate cover for his main visiting purpose; And it wasn't the red light district .

"She won't be jealous? Probably not, now that I have a boyfriend. It's such a gift from God that Dar came back." She smiled all over now .

" Oh?"

" you haven't heard that he is still alive, and he's even been assigned to the galaxy." She beamed.

" Not exactly." Saul replied. The door to the marine barracks was now right ahead, but Saul wasn't going to let her escape without an explanation. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend at all . "

" I didn't? I'm sure I did." She said laughing .

" I would have remembered."

Was the fact that Branwen had someone made him feel less guilty about his offer, or more? Good question. Remorse was not something a Bental had on his Standard-Hebrew-Dutch dictionary. But Saul had to admit that he was greedy enough to feel a hint of jealousy. Thank goodness that Nara isn't a a mind-reader, he reckoned.

' Oh, crap, Nara IS half Betazoid.' He recalled, and shuddered slightly .

Out load, he said, "I'm glad he's all right, then. Tell him he has a good taste in women... and I'll talk to you about the trip once we reach Vulcan, Okay?"

" Sure. Take care, Saul." She said. "I'm so glad we can be friends now."

Saul shook his head, hiding his amusement. Branwen could declare whatever she wants about changing and losing her innocence; She was still naïve.

"Transforming the Future into the Past"

Lt. JG. Faylin McAlister
Location: Fay's personal quarters

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

Her quarters looked empty as she entered. Jonas had since moved out, leaving her with her collections of various artifacts from different cultures that offered little comfort other than to look pretty, or if needed, to be used as a projective weapon at an enemy.

Sighing, Fay moved over to the lone shelf that sat above her couch. Boosting herself up, she extracted the rather large figure carefully off it's resting place. Cradling it in her hands, she sat on her sofa and studied it, turning it over and over gently.

Humming the song to herself, Fay was caught in memories that could be considered childish. The thing was a link to her true childhood. The figures were ancient, had a lot of value to them, but more than that, held a special place in her heart. Yes, she was often teased as she was viewed 'playing' with them. However, as a Chameloid, she felt drawn to anything that was a symbol of her race, no matter how unrealistic they were in the past.

Her finger lightly traced the robotic face. This one was her favorite, why? He contained strength, took charge of the situation, and wanted peace. She thought that, if she ever met her true father, he would have the characteristics that this....thing had. Her fingernail traced the blue metallic flames on the red background as her eyes grew soft. What would they all think if they knew she played with toys? Who cared?

Placing him down on the sofa, she picked up the remote to her display, pressing a button signaling the playing of her favorite movie that no one knew about. Picking up the toy, she absentmindedly started to transform with grace as ease as the opening scene unfolded in front of her.

A slight smile crossed her mouth as she placed the blue, red, and gray semi truck down on her leg. The similarities between her biological father and Optimus Prime were staggering. The far off future was to reveal that simple fact to her.

"Tiny New Office Pt. IV"

John C. Richardson, Ph.D
Ensign, Liaison Corps
Diplomatic Officer, U.S.S. Galaxy

&

Faylin McAlister
Lieutenant ( j.g.), JAG Corps
Staff Judge Advocate, U.S.S. Galaxy

Liaison Corps Offices-Deck 17

Richardson looked at himself in the full body mirror in his office, turned 90 degrees to the left, then 90 degrees to the right, before sighing heavily.

"This looks ridicules."

The elegant 'Fleet Officer's Dress Uniform', a new uniform for John, looked absolutely absurd with Richardson's 14 medals dragging down the left side of his tunic. Instead of appearing to be a "professional and poised" Diplomat, John looked like some sloppy old soldier trying to show off. That was not the image he wanted to send in his first meeting with Captain M'Kantu.

"Ok, to hell with this." John mumbled to himself. "No medals, and no love lost..."

John hated his medals. They were certainly an impressive collection, and his Silver Star, Bronze Star, and Purple Heart never failed to turn heads or start uncomfortable conversation. But the decorations John was most proud of; his President's Medal for his outstanding service to the Marine Corps, or the Meritorious Service Medal for his time as an attache on Bajor...well, those achievements were covered quite literally by bad memories.

But regulations are regulations, and John couldn't pick and choose what medals he wore on his uniform. It was an "all or none" policy in Starfleet, and John almost always choose the latter over the former.

'Beep ditti beep'

Lost in his thoughts, the loud sound made John jump up a little, making a mental note to adjust the settings on his office bell. John walked over to the doors and unlocked them. Lieutenant McAlister stood at the doorway.

Her head was turned downwards, looking at the padd as she swiftly entered the room. Fay's thoughts were swimming as fast as a hungry shark as she started to talk at a rapid pace. "Doc....this is what I need you to............."

There's very little in this world that makes Lt. Faylin McAlister drop something. Trained in the art of weaponry and hand to hand combat, her mind knows that dropping a weapon, even if it is a padd, makes the difference between life and death. Yet, as the padd slipped to the floor with a thud, her mouth found itself opening just slightly at the sight before her. The woman froze with a look upon her face that could be described as......wonderment.

John looked at McAlister apprehensively, his body tilted slightly back slightly and his left eyebrow dramatically arched. "Hi" John said a little too loudly as McAlister stood frozen, staring at John intently, "what can I do you, Lieutenant? Is everything alright?"

As her eyebrows arched upwards, she shook her head slightly. "Oh, Doctor Richardson...I am so sorry..." Fay muttered as she took a step forward, dropping down with ease to pick up her abandoned information that found itself alone on the floor. Standing back up with an attempt at searching for an element of grace to her features that was lost, Fay blushed. Her thumb shot out, pointing at the door. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I should go....."

John smiled warmly at McAlister, and shook his head adamantly. "No, no, I was just getting suited up to introduce myself to the Captain. There's no need for you to leave, Lieutenant. You're the boss, and I'm the...well, whatever position is under the boss. Here," John pulled out a chair in front of his desk and beckoned McAlister to sit, "what can I do for you?"

She took the seat.

"I have set up a remedial diplomacy training for a crewmember every Saturday morning for twelve weeks. I was actually attempting to find someone to load it off on...interested?" She stated sweetly with her best pageant winning smile.

John, Still standing, frowned dramatically. "So basically, you're asking me to babysit some crewmember on my weekends?" John shrugged, and then bowed theatrically to the sitting Lt. McAlister, "It would be my pleasure, Lieutenant. Actually, I love teaching about diplomacy. I was even thinking about starting some kind of, I dunno, program or class here on Galaxy. I'll have to find out ho to talk to about that..."

Richardson walked back over to the mirror, and adjusted his tunic uncomfortably, shaking his head at Fay. "God, this uniform looks terrible. What do you think, Lieutenant, medals or no medals?"

She narrowed her eyes, surveying him upwards and then downwards in a very large predator type manner. "Medals....yes...." Fay stood, yanking on her uniform ritualistically. "Besides doctor, you never know when you might just run into the girl of your dreams....and....first impressions are...in your case....impressive." Fay stated with a wolfish grin.

"I...umm...thank you?" John stood looking at his 'acting' department head, feeling a bit confused. John spent his years at remote embassies or with his head stuck in a book. Needless to say, reading women was not one of his strong suits.

A slight, low chuckle cut through the air as the Cougar kept her gaze steady on the man in front of her. "Your welcome. Okay....I'm off like a prom dress.....catch ya later doc." She blurted before leaving him.

John stood there, dumbfounded, as McAlister left the room. He didn't know if the woman was joking, serious, or somewhere in the vast spectrum in between. Suddenly, John's chest began to speak to him

=/\= "Docta, it's YN2 Stuart. I got you scheduled for five minutes with the Captain" =/\=

'I'll never get used to that' thought John as he tapped his communicator.

=/\= "Great job, Petty Officer. When do I have him?" =/\=

=/\= "Umm, in three minutes, Sir." =/\=

John left his office in a sprint.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished Part Thirteen: “Alien”

Captain Darren M’Kantu – Captain of the USS Galaxy
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – Chief Medical Officer
1st Lieutenant Branwen London – Furies Psychologist
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe – Chief Engineer
Ms Livana Ulani – FCO Internal Investigations Rep

***USS Galaxy, Conference Room 3***

“There was one incident at dinner though that really spoilt the evening,” Turning to Dhanishta Kimberly raised an eyebrow, “Turns out they’re not that fond of the idea of aliens among them,” she added cryptically.

“Please explain Doctor.” M’kantu asked. He hadn’t felt the need to interrupt so far, Burton, Eshe and London all seemed quite content to outline the complete timeline of events in a reasonable order, but a xenophobic reaction during a first contact warranted some further explanation.

~*** The Holy City, New Rhea ***~

Dhanishta laughed with delight as she was sent once more into a fast spin, the room around her becoming a blur of color. Her stomach tuned summersaults as it tried to digest the food she had so recently eaten, threatening to churn it up in protest. Smiling brightly, she almost collapsed into Ali’s arms as he pulled her back. She grinned at him breathlessly; content in his arms she practically glowed.

He smiled back at her as he took her into a closed posture, her body pressed against his. This dance was a lot faster than the first, and much more familiar. Where as the couples dance had been similar to ‘country dancing’, each participant keeping a respectable distance, almost viewing each other, very much like a first date; parading round, keeping the other at arms length whilst you idly conversed. The Alaz Trot was much more animalistic. Again with the parading around – keeping each other at a distance but this time it was an electric distance, a distance where both were set wanting, filled with emotion. And then there were moments where they were pressed up close against each other, draped over the other, dragged across the floor, then spun until they could no longer stand up straight, tossed away and caught… very much like a third date, Dhanishta mused now incredibly giddy. Even though she was only walking now, back two steps, to the side two steps, lean out… the room around her was still phasing in and out of scope, tilting far too much to the right…

“-I told him it was too far fetched but he did it anyway..” Albrect continued another of his anecdotes laughing heartily, Dhanishta simply nodded and smiled. She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about any more, her head felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton wool, her knees were wobbling – though she tried not to let it show, and she was having a lot of trouble concentrating on where she was going let alone what he was saying. Loathed to request they take a break from dancing, afraid that it might upset him, she continued on, taking several deep breaths trying to focus.

“Prospero tells me that you girls toured the City this afternoon. Tell me, what do you think of it.”

“It’s beautiful.” Dhani replied counting out the steps in her mind, aware now that she had to focus on what he was saying, “It reminded me of a City in Italy on Earth.”

“Why do you refer to Earth as … Earth.” Albrect asked perplexed. “Keep your chin up Miss Eshe,” he chided, “dancing flows from within, not by staring at the ground. Besides I do so enjoy looking into your eyes. I have never seen eyes as dark as yours…” he trailed off as she lifted her gaze to meet his, he nodded with approval.

“I refer to Earth as ‘Earth’ because that’s how I know it.” Dhani tried to explain slightly put off by his intense staring. Looking away would only prompt him to request her to regain eye contact so she had to grin and bare it – all in the name of diplomacy. She sighed inwardly, was this the sort of thing that diplomats had to go through of First Contact? She doubted it. Clearing her throat Dhani half smiled, “It’s cause of my mixed heritage.” she explained, getting peeved with the staring and for once grateful that he spun her.

“Mixed heritage?” he questioned bringing her back into his arms, “That would explain the tribal tattoos.” he exclaimed with an ‘a-hah’ expression, he had been trying to work out why such a beautiful woman would scar herself in such a manor all evening.

Dhani smiled softly, “They are not tattoos.” she said trying not to chuckle as she stepped back from him and encircled him slowly, reminding herself of the steps once more.

“They aren’t?” he questioned perplexed as he moved around her with his back to her.

She shook her head, “I am Trill.” she replied as he came to stand before her once more, taking her hand in his.

“Trill?” he questioned stiffing slightly.

Dhani bounced her head from side to side gently, “Well..” she said contemplating how to put it, “I’m a hybrid.” she finally settled as he prepared to ‘toss and catch’ her once more, “I’m half Trill half Beta…”

“You’re not human.” Albrect stated rather than asked. His gaze set straight ahead, like a lump of wood he just stood as Dhani reached out to him, the momentum carrying her across the floor, yet he just stood; making no attempt to catch her.

Dhani yelped as she stumbled, unable to steady herself she just kept going, banging into other dancers, pulled by gravity she tumbled to the floor, landing in an ungraceful heap with her dress puffing out around her. Staring up she flushed with embarrassment and hurt, he turned on her so suddenly that she actually flinched.

“YOU’RE NOT HUMAN!” he bellowed at her with nothing but hatred in his eyes.

Everything changed in an instant. Sitting on the cold marble floor she felt the atmosphere around her electrify. All the feelings flowed through her like a power surge through a warp core. She stared up at him, bewildered by his sudden ferocity, startled by the amount of anger she felt seeping out of him.

The music stopped.

The dancing stopped.

The conversations stopped.

Everyone took a step back, gasping loudly as they did, repulsed by Dhanishta.

Shaking slightly Dhani stood up slowly, making sure that she retained what dignity she had left. Once upright she leveled her gaze at him, “No, I am not Human.” she replied feeling hurt and betrayed, but she didn’t show it, she took a deep breath and dusted down her dress – the rustling of her gown now the only sound in the ornate hall.

Hearing the voice that carried across all others in the room Kimberly paused in surprise at the words, there was only one person she knew around here who fit that description right now. Stepping away from her oversized dance partner she turned to the voice and felt uncomfortable as everyone in the cavernous hall turned in the same direction and silence descended as if a privacy field had been activated.

Weaving her way through the crowd she felt eyes on her as she brushed passed people quickly to Dhanishtas side, “What…?” she asked Dhani in confusion as she stopped beside her, looking at the cardinal who was still stood there, staring at Dhani as if she were some specimen he had just found on his boot.

***USS Galaxy, Conference Room 3***

“We never got the full details Sir of ‘why’ they don’t like aliens, maybe it’s because they sorta found out suddenly without any warning. It doesn’t really excuse their actions though,” she muttered with a touch of disgust. “Lieutenant Eshe was asked to leave the reception there and then, and there was talk of making her leave the planet. I was all for leaving at that point to be honest, but Dhani reminded me of First Contact protocol, be patient and tolerant wherever possible.” Looking as though patience had been the last thing on her mind after her friend had been insulted so, Kimberly took a breath and continued in a more level tone. “I didn’t like it, but she returned to our rooms and Lieutenant London and I remained for a while longer, though they asked several times if ‘I’ was Terran after that, I guess they’d never seen hetrochromia before.”

“The dance continued for a while longer, though the mood had obviously changed, but it got back to its earlier atmosphere after a while, but there were a few people who wandered off and we didn’t see them again that evening, most of the high ranking council members left after things got going again. Never really found out what happened there.” Kimberly admitted in a slightly confused tone.

“Anyway, after things wound down the young prince insisted on walking me back to my room, where I managed to ‘finally’ loose him, and settled down to sleep. We’d planned on departing right after our morning meeting with the Minister for Offworld Affairs, however, that’s when things started to go wrong.” Shrugging she looked to her friends again, “There wasn’t any way we could have anticipated what happened next,” she admitted, “but in hind sight, next time, I sleep on my shuttle in orbit with the shields up.” she announced in a decisive tone.

“Middle of the night suddenly someone literally tears through the wall into my room, and before I’m even awake properly I’m hit with something that knocks me out cold. What happened next I can’t really say, but I wake up somewhere else, with that damn annoying prince stood there smiling like he’s just won the five world cup.” Starting to look angry now she turned to Dhani, “Lieutenant Eshe can explain what happened in our quarters while I was asleep, I was, otherwise detained.”

"Academy...Borg" (Part 1)

By
Lieutenant Junior Grade Eve, Intelligence Officer
Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Operations Chief

In Holodeck Two 'class' was in session. Explosions were filling the air with acrid smoke and the stench of ozone mixed with burnt flesh. Various individuals were working to repair systems while others put out fires or tended to injured. Through it all, lances of ruby and ivory pulses, the visual indications of lethal discharge from various fleet issue phaser weapons, flashed through the air. Ocasionally, one would find it's mark, but more often than not they would be stopped by the emerald distortion of the adaptive shielding built into each Borg Drone that marched inevitably forward, intent on destroying or assimilating all in their path. The entire USS Galaxy was the playing field, not to mention DS5. Admiral Proctor (the holographic representation, at least) was one of the first to be assimilated - though it was still under debate as to who really got the short end of that stick.

Behind it all was one LtJG in the black uniform of Intelligence. Perched on a stool in a chamber separate from everything, and technically an "asteroid" out in space, Eve watched the results of the various Galaxy crew as they went about their 'business' in her training program; at least a half dozen personnel from each department were participating in the event as players. Reaching for a consol, she ensured that the Borg reacted apropriately towards newly devised countermeasures. So far, the Galaxy crew was holding their own, though it wouldn't last even if Eve let the program run unaltered. Eventually there wouldn't be any more adapting the Federation could enact short of pursuing new, radically different technology paths. They made the best headway whenever klingons were involved, which was a curious note. Finally, after an alarm in her pod chimed thrice, Eve had all of the borg 'beam out' and the explosions halted. As everyone gathered their bearings, the simulation faded back to the familiar yellow gridded black walled sight that indicated an inactive holodeck. "Congratulations," Eve called out from the corner she apeared in. "Thanks to your sacrifices, Task Force 13 was able to intercept and destroy the Tactical Cube." She paused as the assembled officers and crew cheered, even though they had all 'died' in the end. "On the down side, the entirety of the Galaxy and DS5 were assimilated. That would include the wealth of knowledge and technology contained within the computer cores of both starship and facility." Everyone fell silent here, puzzled and dismayed. "They loose one cube, and we lost all advantages we owned in this sector."

Michael came last, walking heavily while dragging his type 3a compression rifle. His tactical uniforms, similar to the ones of the Hazard team were dirty and were stained with grey and black smudges all over them. He's been fighting drones for the last several hours with his teamates, and although he 'had them in his sights' and couldn't understand why the Borg just vanished without a trace, deep inside he understood they lost. That meant, that next time, when the Borg decides to drop in for a visit, they wouldn't be able to stand as in the past unless they came up with a suitable solution. "I had them....damn it!" Michael punched lieutenant junior grade Freeman from his department in the shoulder, "You should have blown that central node instead of covering the others...". Too many of the crew decided to save each other instead of concentrating on the tasks and the completion of their mission.

Jamson was assigned to deep space 5, and helped carrying the offensive in braking the progress of the Borg teams for a short while. After a few hours it was evident, that their weapons, including the ones who randomally changed their power settings and frequencies, were not effective whatsoever. The Borg just moved forward and destroyed or assimilated anything i t's way. Many crew members, real and virtual fell as the cyborgs closed on them on. This experience, although virtual, was terrifying non e the less. It simulated their darkest fears, humanity's end. If it was up to Jamson, he would have activated the self destruct sequence on both facilities, the ship and the station. Knowing this wasn't the solution, he didn't really care...all he wanted, was to take a part of the Borg collective along into the grave.

Eve looked around the assembled personnel, thinking as her gaze passed over every face, making eye contact with all present. "We all know our standard procedures won't last long against the Borg. There are some that work well over others, however." She pointed to one of the engineers, an Ensign Gof. "You were the only member of your engineering detail to survive to the end of the scenario. Display your weapon of choice." The scraeny terran raised a sword into the air; whip thin and razor sharp on both ends and the stabbing tip. "A rapier. This ensign, after the announcement that the Borg were inbound, rushed to an industrial replicator and used his engineering overrides to replicate a basic sword, no frills. While not a weapon of brute strength, it is such a simple object that most contemporary 'modern' societies eschew their use. Phasers and other similar weapons are easily controlled and operated, and are relable in most everyday situations. The Borg are not your everyday criminals. Ensign Gof terminated 64 drones with that single weapon."

The cyborg began to walk around her 'students.' "We know the birg's strengths - unity of purpose, near omnicience: Every drone knows, through the collective, the actions and events any other drone performs or percieves. Near instantaneous inter and intracomunications networks. Adaptive technologies, the list goes on. They have but a single weakness that we can exploit, one that high technology has dificulty adapting to: Physical Assault." She stopped and turned to Jamson. "What protection does the Hazard Tactical Armor provide?"

Being the Operations Chief and the occaisional warfare expert as well as soldier, Michael was able to recite the features of his gear "To be accurate, this rapid response tactical suit and armor poses several defense mechanisms, and not just an armor. First, a forcefield, which runs as a personal projector unit, attached to one's arm. With a micromilled duranium foam housing that protects the miniatureized graviton polarity source generator and capacitance cell, and it's standard sarium krellide pack of a total energy charge of 2.1 x10`7 megajoules, the device generates an oval shaped force field. Unfortunately, the force field is less effective against high energy weapons, and can operate for 50 hours before you have to replace the power cell. For added protection, another modified version of the force field device is attached to the belt. This modified force field however, provides 3 dimensional shielding, 540' angles on the x, y and z axes. It reaches 4 meters in hemispheric field measures in diameter and 3 meters in height. Similar to the personal arm force field, it is slightly stronger, 3.1 x10`8 megajoules, but has other disatvantages, like interferring with transporter operations, oxygen levels inside the field, 48 hours of use in standby mode, the inability to attack from within the force field, and the immobility of the user, or lack of movement". Michael sighed before moving on, "Other than that...it your standard nano technology, organic kevlar body armor, that provides breathing and contraction in various scenarios".

Eve nodded and continued walking. "Our protective devices are geared primarily against an energy assault. In space this is the norm, but Starfleet had yet to develop or field protective gear effective against the Borg in a ground based drone assault. This means we get to figure out what works best. Recordings of battles with the Borg have shown only one constant - physical trauma to the organic components is the only sure way to kill a drone every time. Break their neck. Bat'leth to the gut, provided you swing hard enough to penetrate the dermal armor. Projectile weaponry, though inefficient and decidedly lethal. Ensign Gof's rapier."

She strode to the center of the group and a line of drones apeared upon command to the computer. "We all know the drone dies if the body dies. However, as our intrepid ensign learned, there are artificial comonents that, when damaged or rendered inoperative, will kill a borg as effectively as hot lead injections." Someone in the back chuckled. One by one, Eve ripped a cable here and there with her hands. She took Gof's sword and used it to break devices as well, seemingly at random. "The components are dificult to identify in a firefight, so your best bet is is the cables." The drones faded from view and Eve turned to face her students. "Any questions?"

The operations chief reached for his personal choice and side blade, a beloved and dear D'k tahg, the formidable klingon dagger. It was a sentimental gift, given to him a long time ago. It had several engraving ont he main blade and a few more, on the accompanying ones. Feeling the sheath behind his back, he decided to leave it at rest, and not display it as a trophy. He killed before with that blade, and more relevant to their training, his last victim, a Borg drone, back on Barzan. Listening to Eve, he thought she knew her job well. Little did he know of her, nothing special but rumours here and there. On a large Starfleet vessel such as the Galaxy, rumours passed quickly, and could only do harm than good. Accessing intelligence personnel dossiers, wasn't his favorite hobby, and he'd probably have to ask a favor or 2 from Saul if he wanted to read hers.

Thinking outload, Michael remarked unwillingly "At least one good thing came out of it", he paused "Proctor didn't make it...". The entire room started to giggle. Humour wasn't a characteristic he was good at, but every now and then, even Jamson could tell a joke. Surprised by everyone's reaction, he tended to himself and fixed his uniform for a bit, before dropping his damaged phaser rifle onto the floor. It instantly diminished and was dematerialized by the holographic emitters into particles.

Eve regarded Jamson with a curious expression before returning her gaze to the group as an entirety. "If there are no further comments of questions?" She paused long enough for a responce before continuing. "Class dismissed." As the holodeck doors ground open she turned to the PADD in her hand, and the performance ratings she was compiling on the participants of today's event.

The tired yet satisfied officer turned to look at Eve. His body, still soaked with high levels adrenaline from their training, didn't know it was time to stand down. He was eager to know his performance ratings, and so in an unusal gesture and interest, he approached the intelligence officer; "How did I do?". Killing was a part of the game, Michael's point of view. If one was to survive, then killing, unfortunate as it was proved to be a necessity. Watching comrades and colleagues, assimilated, could cause hesitation and disburance in real time. This happened to almost half of the group that was in session, and THIS time, it was alright...since they were practicing in a holosuite. However, this shouldn't happen when their lives were at stake, and would certainly not happen to Jamson. He'd been through this before and hadn't failed, and he didn't intend on failing in the ! future.

Eve looked up from the PADD to regard Jameson with the same curious expression as before. "When it comes to killing drones, you are one of the best I've seen." She paused for a moment, violet eyes locked into his; he HAD asked her for his performance rating. "As for the overall scenario? Revenge doesn't pay bills, sir."

"Academy...Borg" (Part 2)

By
Lieutenant Junior Grade Eve, Intelligence Officer
Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Operations Chief

Eve looked up from the PADD to regard Jamson with the same curious expression as before. "When it comes to killing drones, you are one of the best I've seen." She paused for a moment, violet eyes locked into his; he HAD asked her for his performance rating. "As for the overall scenario? Revenge doesn't pay bills, sir."

The veteran operations officer was, for a moment, captivated by eyes. He's never seen such eyes before, they appeared to be purple. A hunch told him the answer could be found within her biography, and thus it has become far more interesting than before. Lacking the ability to deal with people, or tact as some called it, he wanted to ask her straight away about her eyes, but decided not too, after noticing some of the crew members were still chatting around them. "I'll take that as a flattery...for both the killing and the revenge parts".

"You did everything right, but at the wrong times, and from what I saw, for the wrong reasons," she explained. Eve brought up hard telemetry onto the PADD display, skimming through it and highlighting exactly what she had seen and what she belived his motivators to be. "I've already read your bio, I look at every crewperson before tossing them into the meatgrinder. Your actions today smacked of revenge; letting that color your actions is not healthy. You're Chief operations. Given your position and skills the entire simulation may have turned out much more positively had you completed certain tasks instead of 'covering the party.' A few more marines would have died, but Galaxy and posibly DS5 would have survived in the end, long enough for the task force to arrive."

"I don't see 'revenge' as a wrong reason, or bad stimulator, but as a supplemental addition to my arsenal of skills that allows me to survive..." he looked at her PADD. "If it was up to me, I would have blown both DS5 and the ship in order to get rid of that cube and sent it into oblivion...I know it doesn't serve the eventual purpose, but both us know exactly what a single Borg vessel can cause. Too many lives have been destroyed, too many ships have been blown to parts, too many planets have been assimilated, the vicious Borg must be stopped one way or the other". The subdued pleased officer shared his emotions for a nano second. He related it to the endorphins in his body, since in a normal day to day situation, he wouldn't have done so, especially with someone he didn't know.

Eve caught, for a moment, the depth of conviction in Michael's soul. The whine of the holodeck doors unexpectedly drew her attention as the remainder of the 'students' filed out, leaving her alone with Jamson. The moment lost, she turned back to the lieutenant. "So you'd advocate sacrificing over 8 thousand of the Fleet's best and brightest - and The Admiral isn't included in that number - just to destroy a single cube when you could do the same for one tenth the price in personnel and keep the ship at least?"

For a moment, life in service without Admiral Proctor sounded like a true dream. "I believe that under the right circumstances, as you claim, I would have acted differently". Admission in wrong doing was a big red stop sign for the proud operations chief, in some cases he'd rather die than accept the fact he was wrong. He also had a hard time acknowledging somone knew more than he does about the Borg and how to fight them. For him, it was chop chop, kill kill, bang bang, and get this over with, and now someone came along and told him how to do it. "Do...you" he lowered his head and burried his face inside her PADD before whispering, "Have a better...idea?"

She lifted his head to face hers with the PADD and nodded slowly, once again looking straight into his eyes. "First," she began, her voice suddenly soft and less commanding. "Remember that a Drone, while certainly dangerous, is just a limb. The collective looks at loosing drones the way we would look at getting bit by an ant. It's anoying and enough can impair functionality, but in the end it's of little consequence. Look towards the biger picture. I was designed to wipe out drones en masse. My tactics differ from what I need to teach you and the others. Some of it is usefull, especailly in the arena of physical combat."

'Wipe out drones in a masse?' Michael's first thought caught him off guard. Her purple eyes, her alternative tactics for destroying the Borg, all indicated she was unique yet not different. "Mind if I ask you what kind of methods do you prefer when it comes to killing cyborgs?" Jamson was eager to know more of her. He wondered if in any way she resembled him, aside from the known fact of despising the Collective. Before Eve could answer, he added "When I look into every drones' eyes, I see the entire hive..." And so it was, he never cared which type of species he killed, or how, all he did was to stare in their white faces for a second before and after. It wasn't respect, shock or awe, but a feeling of detest.

Eve bit her lower lip as her mind worked over that request. Describing her methods of wiping out limbs of the collective would by it's very nature require detailing, to a certain extent, her physical nature. Finally, she came to what she felt was an acceptable solution and pulled off her duty jacket, revealing the short sleeved undershirt of Intelligence black. (Yeah, cheap knockoff of Terminator 2 :P)

Opening the case of the PADD, she withdrew the isolinear chip from it's socket and jabbed one of the short ends into her left bicep. She described an arc completly around her limb before turning the chip and dragging it through the flesh of her arm to her wrist. Cleaning the memory stick on the inside of her discarded jacket she plugged it back in and then bent to the task she had designed. Plunging the fingers of her right hand into the gash cut into her left arm, she slowly peeled the skin away to reveal muscles not of organic flesh. Coming to her wrist, Eve let go and turned her attention to her fingers.

Inside of little more than two minutes, Eve had pulled the skin from her left arm as if it had been little more than a glove: the entire area of synthetic skin had been pulled away to reveal the gleaming yet non-reflective components underneath. Her bones were pure matte-silver in color, the artificial muscle fibers a blackish purple. Tendons could also be discerned, unique in that they were a rather bright neon green, ligaments a muted neon pink. She moved her arm and hand, working as perfectly as if nothing untoward had occurred. There was no hum of servos, no whining of mechanistic qualities - ultra-high, precision quality craftsmanship had gone into her synthetics, on a level far surpassing even Savant's android body.

Michael has never witnessed such an event before, he wasn't digusted, but deeply amazed by the intelligence officer's action. Except for Soong-type androids, that were created by the cyberneticist, Dr.Noonien Soon, or Borg drones, he has never seen such a robot before.Was she human? or purely made of metal? the skin didn't look that real when observing the peeling, and the bones were metallic. This technology was far beyond Starfleets' capabilities. It was a first for Jamson who stood there, not budging, except for his heart, pounding like a madman.

"I am a cyborg as well," Eve declared. "My creation was not for scientific advancement, conquest, pleasure, profit, or any other mortal ends, save two. Destruction and Survival." She paused here, and then began the process of sliding her hand back into the 'glove' of skin. "I was created as a weapon against the borg, to destroy every limb of the collective so that others would survive. Ivor was my first action against the Collective, one I am loath to repeat." By this time she had finished reinserting her hand, carefully drawing the remaining synthorgano flesh up her arm and settling it into place.

Michael raised his hand, to scratch both his head and eybrow, as he didn't have anything clever to say "Impressive....". He wanted to help her putting her skin back on, but at the last second stopped. He looked the other way around, and then returned to stare at her arm, and then examined her body in disbelief. She was the embodiment of the perfect cyborg, a non organic body, and the brain or true sentient being - of a human. Did she have feelings? could she feel pain? or was she a 'drone' that complied to commands only? 'At least she has a nice figure...' he thought, 'for a cyborg'.

"As far as my tactics are concerned, they are in truth the pinacle of what our quadrant's powers have steered away from, Klingon society notwithstanding. I fight with, shall we say, brute strength." She called up a line of drones. "Now, we know their physical defences. Dermal armor, ignorant of pain and discomfort; a drone only knows The Collective and Death." She stepped up to the first drone and quite literally punched her right fist into it's bowels. With a sharp jerk, the drone colapsed to the deck, a pulsing organ in her hand. Her limb and the flesh was covered in an almost black colored green - upon closer inspection one could note the points of the drone's ears. "Diabolical sacrifice, anyone?" Eve held the heart up with a smirk.

Jamson jumped back. It wasn't easy to surprise the klingon wannabe soldier, yet Eve has done just that. The pumping heart of the drone in her hands was not an easy sight. He guessed brawling and rattling their swords together in the holodeck had no point, since he didn't stand a chance. In fact, not only did he have no chance, but she'd wipe the floor with his organs and carcass. "Ok...and for the ordinary, non robotic enhanced species...what would you suggest?" he nodded in the view of her hand squashing the greenish black heart.

"Kinetic weapons. Ranged - bullets, arrows. Melee - bat'leth, knives, swords. Things that can cut a neck, slice through the exterior cabling." She dropped the remains of the heart and shut down the simulation. Just as she was about to speak further, Eve paused. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, her right hand on her stomach.

"Are you alright?" Jamson moved slowly towards her.

"Sorry," she said, opening her eyes. "It's that time of month. Only my arms, lower legs, and eyes are completly artificial. Bones and musculature are reinforced and strengthened, and other choice components are scattered here and there. I'm still more organic than not."

"Is that so...?" Jamson almost happily asked Eve while staring directly into her purple eyes once more. "And I thought you were entirely a robot", he remarked but immediately backed off, "I apologize...this might have been inappropriate". He didn't know her feelings in this matter, and like he questioned himself before, he didn't know if she had any feelings at all. But now, after she revealed her organic vulnerability, and after noticing she did experience pain, he started to feel more comfortable than before. Now he definitely knew, she wasn't just a cyber-being with a consciousness, but also a person.

"It's all right," Eve replied with a little smile. "Most people don't even know I'm not completly organic." She held up her left arm, the skin having repaired to perfection: not a single trace of the fact that she had pulled half of it off remained. "That was one of the purposes behind this particular design, I think."

The regeneration of the synthetic skin was almost perfect. Michael haven't noticed how it was repaired, and by itself, while the two were interacting. "I must say, this is truly, magnificent". He crossed his hands while examining her hand. He was intrigued by this technology. She was designed for a single purpose, and was good at it. With Eve on their side, their enemies would fall on their knees. But what would become of Eve? has anyone ever thought of her needs? emotions? wishes? or was she just a tool in the hands of the warlords? How long would she live? did she have any natural enemies? who created her? he had many questions and for a moment, looked puzzled.

Her gaze swept over his body for a moment, almost as if inspecting him for an unfathomable purpose. "Would you ... like to get something to eat?"

Like a snap, the invitation drew Jamson away from his own private little world. He wasn't sure of what she just asked him. This was kind of awkward for the secluded operations chief. He usually ate and performed his duties alone, unless was ordered otherwise. "Hmmm.......sure, why not?". The words just flew out of his mouth, he wanted to decline, but that didn't happen. As much as the technology Eve was 'conveived' with, interested him, she was by far, much more interesting. Joining her, as the doors of the Holodeck slide opened, he suddenly stopped. "Wait a minute...what do you eat?"

From somewhere came a giggle, and Eve blushed a little. "Just about anything," she said with a wink and walked out the doors.

"Anything?" Michael said in disbelief, "Then pasta is is!".

"Talk"

Major Peter Shaw - SFMC
Lieutenant Branwen London - SFMC

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

Pete sat in his office and stared at the door. He knew someone was standing just outside it, just not announcing themselves. He finally keyed in the command and the doors open. "Come in Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir." She came in hesitantly. "You wanted to see me, sir." She was pointedly not looking at him. The last time they had met had not been a great success.

"You may not like me and I may not like you, but you can at least look at me, being a superior officer in rank after all."

That made her look at him. "Yes sir." Branwen would not give him a reason for a court martial.

"You may not think it," he started, "but I am actually kind and a fair person. I have a lovely girlfriend who has more humanity then I ever could, and I try to mimic her when I can." He paused. "Do you want something to drink and would you like to sit down or stand there? And please stand at ease... I have already had one Doctor talk to me about repetitive injuries within the marines... I don't want to add someone else to that list and have her call me."

"Coffee please, sir." She sat down not believing he was a kind person at all.

He got up and walked over to the replicator, "one coffee and one orange juice with pulp." A second later the two drinks appeared and he walked back over and sat the coffee down in front of her.

He sat back down in his own seat and took a sip. "You may not believe it, but its true," he said. "Even if you don't want to believe it we have to learn to work together. You and I are both professionals. And so is every other marine on this boat. Now, we can go through the rest of this tour completely hating each other, not being able to work together, which the marines will see. And most of them would end up siding with you. This will then make mine and the Colonel's job incredibly hard as their will be distrust throughout the Battalion."

He paused again to let her spoke it up. "There is a war coming, and if nothing else we have to work together so that we don't lose our home." He took another sip, "you may speak freely in here."

"With respect, sir, the last time I spoke my mind in your presence you threatened to have me court martialed. Trust takes a long time to build."

"Look Lieutenant, I am tossing you a line here. We HAVE to work together. Starfleet Marine Corps says we do. Now, this can be easy, or it can be hard. And with a war looming I much rather go the easier route."

"Would you?" She took a deep breath and calmed herself down. "I totally agree that we have to work together, and it would be nice if you and the Colonel did so occasionally, instead of trying to rebuild our marines as if Baile and I are not here." She hoped he had been serious about speaking freely.

He was finally starting to make progress with her. Half the battle of being a CO was being able to play politiocion, to make everyone happy, or at least not have everyone hate each other. "With you, we do want to work on brining you in more. The problem is we just got the orders from HQ and they want a lot of changes, and for speed wise we have kept it close. But I will mention it, and we will include you, one way or another. Fork is a resonable man, and I am sure we can come to something. After all you know these Marines the best."

He then paused and Baile. "There is issues with Baile," Pete said. "He tends to go AWOL and hes a general pain in the ass, and not the joking kind eather. I mean a real large thorn. HQ likes to keep him around as he is good, when he sits down to it, but hes a loose cannon. When he pops up again we will bring him in, just not sure how much."

He knew that wasn't everything she wanted to hear. There were a lot of changes going on, and people would have to just go with it. "And here is the first sign of my promise," he said sliding a padd over to her. "All the marines on this list have had the same injury more then once. Be it a pulled mussel or something else. Medical is getting woried that to much exposure to outside treatments will make it harder for the body to heal itself. I would like to know your thoughts on these individuals. What they do to get the same injuries, what kind of trianing where they involved in. As you know there is about double the trianing schedualed now. Some due to the changes and more marines on getting everyone used to working together, and again the upcoming war." There was that W word again... war...

"Sir, the marines here have come to trust Baile he is one of ours, our lunatic." She also knew he knew about the problems she had had with her Lieutenant in the past. "You and the Colonel still have to earn their trust. They don't trust easily, they are close group our marines. Probably because we lost so many over the years. They are tough and overworked. For the right kind of leadership they will go to hell and back. You have to earn that thou. They trust me." She looked at the list. "I will talk to them, and try to find out if anything is wrong. I think with most of them is just trying too hard, too many dangerous emissions close together. There's only so much an individual can take." She had never been so busy as a psychologist as the last couple of weeks, and was working more hours than usual herself as well.

"Well, we need to work something out or Medical is going to start pulling them off the roster so they can heal naturally. Any help in understanding how they get the injuries will help us design a better trianing program." He really didn't want to touch the Baile issue, but, "and Baile is something I am not trying to deal with. Leaveing that to the higher ups. It may not sound fair, but its the way it is."

"It takes a while to understand and apreciate Baile. Give him a chance, sir. Give us all a chance."

Pete didn't say anything, he just nodded. "Will keep that in mind, if you give Fork and myself a chance. We both know we came in hot. Its the style we work with. We are both used to working with much large groups of people and letting the Lieutenants take care of their own groups. We are slowly relizing that this group is a little more tightly nit with their COs then our last group were they saw us for trianing, drills, meetings and action. We let the Lieutenatns get to know them and we got to know the Lieutenants, and with this kind of a group that isn't going to work."

Something close to amusement filled her eyes for the first time. "Sir, is that your way of apologising for coming in hot?"

He looked at her like she was on something, "take it as you will."

Branwen smiled. "Thank you. I guess that makes it a lot easier to work together."

"Don't expect it a lot. But its something that needs to be done at this stage."

"I know. I won't expect it often. But I think it was needed for us to work together."

He stood up, "if there is nothing else."

"Ehm, how do you feel about my other job, my being the marine psychologist." Baile had never accepted that and fought it every step of the way.

"Lets put it this way, as a general rule, am not a fan. But this other job is also the reason I came to you with this list."

"That's fair sir. If you will read my report of the last year, you'll see that it does make a difference. I think this experiment is working."

Pete nodded. "Have it to me by the end of the week."

"No problem sir. It is ready." She looked at her superior. "My office door is open for you and the colonel as well."

"I will keep that in mind."

"Very well, sir. And I look into the medical report." She promised.

"Thank you, if there is nothing else you are dismissed."

"That's about it, sir." She said coming to her feet. Somehow she felt better than half an hour before.

The Rookie Part 2

"NOOOOO!!!!!" Gahhhhh....

The hideous gurgling was right behind him, the sound of someone's throat being ripped out. Ryan kept running, fast and hard, ducking under fallen bulkheads, trying to outwit them. Everywhere he turned, there they were, their laser designators piercing the coolant that seemed to be leaking everywhere. Broken bodies were strewn about the deck, and Ryan tripped over them as he continued to run. His pulse raced, his hands shook with fear... if he stopped to rest they would get him. The deck heaved under him again, and Ryan collapsed near a comm station. There seemed to be a phase shift, and then as if coming from every direction at once, he heard it... the artificial, monotonous, and unified voice of the Collective.

"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."

Pulling himself up from the floor, Ryan kept running. He had no idea where he was going, but he just had the urge to keep going. From around the bend in the corridor, he heard a faint scream... a young woman. "Help!! Help me! Help me Ryan!!"

Ryan kept running, the voice becoming louder and more distinguished. And there, just around the bend, he saw her... his sister. Her gold Starfleet uniform, from the 2360's, was torn and bloodied. She was being held down by a Borg drone.

"Get off of her you son of a bitch!" Ryan shrieked and ran after his sister, ready to rip the drone in half. But before he could reach her, the drone lifted his hand and injected Ashley with the assimilation tubes. She cried out, obviously in terrible pain. "Nooo you bastard!!"

Just as Ryan grabbed the drone by the hand....

... he sat up from his bed, screaming! Out of breath and covered in cold sweat, the junior tactical officer looked around his room, his skin crawling with the feeling that he was being watched.

"Damn it." Ryan let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the disorientation. It was just a nightmare... one he hadn't had in quite some time. The room was dark, save for the dim glow of starlight that crept through the observation ports. Outside, the stars were gracefully streaking past the hull of the Nebula Class USS Endeavour as she gracefully slipped through space at better than Warp 6.

It was a good thing Captain Amasov allowed Ryan to stay in the ship's guest quarters rather than bunking up with another Junior Officer. The perks of having parents who had friends in high places. Realizing that he was not going to get any more sleep, Ryan slid out of bed and took a few minutes to grab a sonic shower and a shave.

He put on his uniform, smoothing out the black and gray over tunic, and adjusting his comm badge. Shining his sole rank pip, he walked out of the temporary quarters. Knowing that the Captain was almost always up, he touched his comm badge.

=/\="Ensign Davidson to Captain Amasov."

=/\="Go ahead Ryan."

=/\="Sir, do you have a few minutes?"

=/\="Of course, report to my Ready Room."

Taking the turbolift to the bridge, the doors parted, revealing a rather cramped command center. Anticipating a Galaxy-Class like bridge, this surprised Ryan a bit. He glanced at the First Officer sitting in the Command Chair. The Andorian Female looked over at Ryan, and scoffed. "Can I help you Ensign?"

"No ma'am, I'm here to see Captain Amasov."

She lifted a blue finger, indicating the Ready Room door at the bottom left-hand side of the tiered bridge. Ryan tried not to scowl at the rudeness of the XO and hit the door chime of the Ready Room.

From the door speakers, the thick Russian accent of Captain Amasov filled the air. "Enter!"

The doors parted before Ryan, revealing a small but well decorated office. Behind the desk sat a large man with thinning gray hair. His electric blue eyes darted over to the doorway, and he let out a massive burly laugh.

"Come in Ryan come in! Please have a seat. Can I get you something?"

A little unsure of how to act around the man, especially now that he was a superior officer, Ryan timidly sat down across from him and shook his head. "Um, no, no thank you... sir."

The Captain leaned back in his leather chair, and chuckled slightly to himself, taking in the new Ensign that was before him. "My how times have changed. Look at you, all grown up, ready to take on the galaxy."

Again, Ryan smiled, albeit a bit weakly. His nightmare was still weighing heavily on his mind, and it must have been obvious. Amasov leaned forward, steepling his fingers on his desk. "What is the trouble son? You look distressed, and you haven't even reported into your first Captain yet."

Ryan sighed heavily. He felt like a 5 year old running to his mommie... but the Captain had a unique tie to the Davidson clan. If anyone could understand what Ryan was dealing with, it would be him. Ryan squared his jaw, and then met the Captain's gaze.

"I just had a terrible night's sleep sir. I went ahead and had everything organized since we are only a few hours from Vulcan, and then... I just... had the worst nightmare. I was on the Melbourne... I saw the Borg... I saw my sister, and heard things that I could not possible have ever heard in my life. It was all so real." Ryan scratched at his uniform, allowing the Captain to digest everything he was talking about. Amasov gave him a reassuring smile.

"Not to worry son. I know you were close to your sister. I know she took you on a tour of the Melbourne before it shipped out. You know, the year we engaged the Borg at Wolf 359 was actually my first year as Captain of the Endeavour. I lost many fine young men and women that day, and even now it still comes back to haunt me every so often. But I remind myself that the very fear and terror I may experience in my dreams is exactly what makes me different from those damned automatons... makes me human."

Ryan leaned his arm on the rest of the chair, trying not to look too pathetic. "So I'm not crazy then?"

That evoked a jolly good laugh from the stocky Russian. "Niet. You are just being human... something these counselors refuse to tell you in this day and age."

Just as Ryan was about to speak up, Amasov's comm badge bleeped.

=/\="Captain, we are entering orbit of Vulcan."

=/\="Excellent, tell our transfers to be ready to beam down to Vulcan Space Central within the next hour, and then prepare to beam up the last of our cargo."

He closed the channel and then looked at Ryan. "Well then, I suppose this is your stop. All I can say is that I hear the Galaxy is a fantastic assignment Ryan. I haven't met Captain M'Kantu personally, but I hear he is quite a man. I'm very proud of you."

The two men stood, and shook hands. "Tell your mother and father I said hello and that I will try and visit them when the Endeavour passes back through this system next month."

"I will sir. And thank you."

With that, Ryan turned on his heel and headed back towards the guest quarters. Within 15 minutes he had all his belongings packed and was in the transporter room. As he stepped up to the pad, the Chief asked for coordinates. Ryan told her to beam him to the Shir'Kar Province.

The cool wash of the transporter enveloped him, and in an instant he was staring at the face of his mother. "Hi Tiger! I've missed you so much!"

Instantly Ryan blushed at the embrace of his mother. "Gosh hunny I am so glad to see you, its great to have you home!"

Ryan shook his head, trying to keep from becoming too irritated. "Ok Ma, thanks... I'm only here for a day or so until the Galaxy arrives."

Stepping down off the pad, and was greeted by his father. The two exhanged a steely gaze, but Warren reached out to shake his son's hand. "Its good to see you bud. You look well. C'mon, lets go to the house."

Scooping up Ryan's luggage, the Davidson's walked out into the hot sun of Vulcan. It was time to deal with the 'rents.

"10 Victor, Part I"

By Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Paramedic,
NCOIC Emergency Medical Response Team (Current Status: Prisoner #8813-E419M25) (PC)
USS Galaxy

Corbin Blaylock, Paramedic (NPC, for the purpose of this story)

Marinde Ulbescas, Hypochondriac (NPC, for the purpose of this story)

Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York, Earth, 2369, 0228 Hours

"10 Victor, for the assignment."

"10 Victor, for the assignment."

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

"10 Victor, for the assignment, 0228 Hours." The on board communicator's incessant barking did nothing to faze Max. He knew based on the time of day, the day of the week, and the current weather exactly where they were being sent. Max looked over at his partner, who was sound asleep. Corbin Blaylock had spent the better half of their tour trying to study, but lost out to fatigue sometime after 0100.

Wanting so bad to just get toned out of service and let his partner enjoy his nap, Max begrudgingly tapped the transmit control twice to indicate that they were available for the assignment.

"10 Victor," advised the EMS dispatcher, "Second Avenue and the Old Roosevelt Avenue Tram, for the Chest Pain. Acknowledge?"

"Acknowledged and en route," Max replied. He glanced at his partner again. The man was completely unconscious and that was perfectly fine with him. He could get his ass up when they got to the call location.

The mapping software popped up in a HUD format when Max tapped the control to display the dispatch information. They were about eight blocks away, hiding by the FDR-Giuliani Drive on a side street. The caller was a 59 year old woman who had the same complaint: Chest Pain. But it wasn't related to any cardiac condition. The weather had been stormy over the past two days, resulting in her anxiety disorder flaring up and making life miserable for whoever picked her up, which usually meant 10 Victor, which was first due for that area.

Shaking his head, Max put the ambulance into gear and rumbled down the street,lights flashing, sirens blaring.

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

Four minutes later...

"Let me get this straight," started an exasperated Corbin. "You heard the thunder right outside your window and suddenly got this crushing chest pain that's the worst you've ever had in your life?"

"Yes, yes," replied Marinde, who had called for EMS. She was decently dressed, but called EMS for every conceivable thing that she could think of, last week being the current chart topper of something being in her ear telling her to do bad things. She had been transported to Bellevue then for a psyche eval. Apparently, she didn't convince the good doctors that she was mentally ill, so was released with the admonishment of the Psychiatrist on staff for wasting valuable resources and time.

Max applied a relay probe to Marinde's chest and scanned her with a medical tricorder. There was no cardiac ectopy, no enzymes, not even a sign of respiratory infection, which might explain the non-cardiac nature of her pain.

"Did you suffer some kind of injury or attempt to lift something heavy," Max asked, hoping that this wasn't another psychiatric episode.

"No, not at all," Marinde answered. An her next statement made Max's heart fall. "It started, like maybe three days ago and won't go away."

Max simply nodded and helped the patient into the ambulance. He nodded to his partner, who closed the hatch and moments later they were rumbling across to York Avenue then heading north to NY-Presbyterian-Caledonian Hospital. Marinde proceeded to inform Max that there was something wrong with her lights at her condo, and wanted to know if he or someone he knew could look into it. Max said he couldn't help out, but would look into finding someone who was more knowledgeable.

The ambulance made the right and headed up the highly angled ramp into the Emergency Room bay. They parked near the sliding glass door entrance and moved her into the ER on the hover-gurney. Dr. Sung, the shift Psychiatrist looked up at the trio and immediately flustered, "No, no, no! Absolutely not! She can go into the main ER for evaluation, get her new prescription, and get the hell outta here!"

Sufficiently admonished, Max and Corbin looked at each other, shrugged, and went to the main ER, where the Attending Physician took one look at Ms. Ulbescas and started waving his arms and yelling, "Uh-uh. No. I said NO, gentlemen! She can go out to triage. We are waay to busy in here for her nonsense, tonight!"

"Obviously not a fan," quipped Corbin. Apparently, his sotto voce wasn't 'sotto' enough. The doctor turned and had a look that could only be described as rage, and the two quickly found the exit to the Triage area before they were incinerated by the doc's fury.

"Nice going, pal," muttered Max to his partner.

"What? He's a douchebag, anyway."

"Yeah, and the doc who's gonna be your boss once you finish med school."

Corbin seemed to take that into account and nodded in agreement.

"I'll buy him a coffee on our next run. He'll like that, won't he?"

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that," replied Max, not at all convinced that a cup of coffee and a few words of contrition would help matters.

By then the Triage Nurse took one look at the woman who was brought in by 10 Victor and immediately pointed to the waiting area, not even uttering a sound...and without even stopping or skipping a beat, the two Paramedics turned for the exit to the waiting area. Marinde was let down from the gurney, helped into a chair and left for whatever fate the forces of modern medicine had for her.

"It's funny," started Max as they were loading the gurney back onto the ambulance.

"What is," asked Corbin, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I read somewhere that this very hospital was one of the busiest in the nation, only behind Bellevue and Johns Hopkins a few centuries ago. In fact, this very building was obliterated as much of Manhattan was during WWIII back in the early 21st century."

"Man, you read too much," whined Corbin. "Not to mention it's time for dinner."

Looking at the chronometer over the ER entrance, Max nodded his agreement and put the ambulance in reverse to back out of their parking spot. Just as he put the vehicle in gear to drive, the on board communicator hissed to life.

"10 Victor for the update, 10 Victor, status at Hospital 14?"

Max looked at Corbin, who just shook his head sadly, knowing what was about to occur. Max tapped his own communicator.

"What?"

"Unit, identify yourself appropriately," came the snippy response.

"10 Victor, what?" Max said, a bit of snippiness in his tone, as well.

"10 Victor, your status?"

"You can show us available, heading to La Gourmet on First and East 65th."

"No you're not. You're heading to this assignment I'm sending you-"

"MOTHER FUCKER!" screamed Corbin. He never liked to be kept from his regular meals.

"-to 955 Amsterdam Avenue-"

"And to the West Side, at that," groaned Max. He hated the fact that the West Side units played "hide and go sleep" while while the rest of the borough worked their asses off.

"-for the unconscious. Transporter protocol not available at this time. Acknowledge?"

"10 Victor," acknowledged Max, "from Hospital 14, send me a BLS back up."

"Sorry," came the reply. "You guys are it."

"Fuck man," complained Corbin. "When am I gonna get to eat?"

"Quit your bitchin'," chided Max. The ambulance engaged its emergency mode and careened down the driveway out to York Avenue and made a left, their sirens piercing the pre-dawn gloom of Manhattan's Upper East Side.

"Pain...Lots of Pain"

Nathan
Arel

***

DS5

"What did I just tell you?" Arel asked before throwing a punch.

Nathan let out a squawk of surprise as he tried to dodge the incoming fist. "Hey!"

Pitiful, Arel thought and shook her head. "Did I not say 'don't put your hands there' or did you think that I was I just talking to hear the sound of my own voice?"

"Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean to...well, actually Ah...whoa! Hey, c'mon, Arel!" he said, bringing his arms up protectively as she swung at him again. "Look, Ah'm sorry, alright?! It was an accident. Sorta."

He peeked out at her from between his hands. "Urge to kill fadin' yet?"

"You're a lousy warrior," She replied.

Cowboy frowned and dropped his arms to his sides, standing to his full height. "Yeah, well, the enemies Ah'm used to ain't of the punchin' and kickin' variety," he said. He winced and put a hand to his jaw. "Ow..."

"Baby."

"Hey, gimme a break! That hurt!"

She glared. "You wanted me to teach you. I'm teaching you. Defend yourself better."

"Shouldn't you, y'know, be showin' me *how* to defend mahself, or is this one of them self-teachin' things?"

She just kept glaring, and Nathan sighed in resignation. "Alright..." He brought his arms back up and began to dance back and forth in a classic boxer's pose. "But Ah'm warnin' you, darlin'--"

Arel kicked him and he went down. "Don't call me darling."

"Sorry," Cowboy grunted from his back. "Force of habit." He pushed himself back to his feet, grimacing. "Listen, Ah thought you said you were gonna teach me how to fight, not gimme a lesson in how much gettin' knocked to the floor hurts."

"I am teaching you," Arel replied to that. She was also seeing how hopeless he was and had decided that there was some chance of helping him become a better fighter. "Learn faster. And stop that boxing shit. It's great if we're in close quarters but -" She came at him again.

Nathan reacted without thinking, bringing his hands up and grasping Arel's arm as she came at him. He pivoted, pulling Arel along with him, and flung her away.

He blinked and looked down at his hands, then at her, and grinned. "How was that?"

"Better," Arel admitted. "You're not a total loss."

"Well, it helps that Ah have such a good teacher," he replied with a good-natured smirk, his posture relaxing somewhat.

She grinned. "So why now? Someone kicking your ass or something?"

He shook his head. "No. Well, not recently, anyway. Ah've just been feelin' kinda useless lately--Ah mean, what good am Ah in situations that don't require fighter activity? Ah figured if Ah learned how to handle mahself in a fight Ah might be able to do some good outside the cockpit."

Nathan cocked his head to the side as he looked at Arel, and he gave her a roguish grin. "That, and Ah just wanted to see how you looked in yer PT outfit. Ah gotta say, Ah'm impressed."

Arel smiled and then pulled out one of her knives. "Thanks."

"Aw, crap." Nathan quickly checked himself, suddenly getting one of those bad feelings. "Um, Ah don't have one of those..."

"That sounds like a personal problem," She said unsympathetically.

"Actually, Ah'm pretty sure it's normal *not* to carry knives around all the tahm lahk you do," he responded as he moved into a defensive posture. "Try to leave somethin' fer the docs to identify me by..."

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