"The Man For The Job"

Lt. Shelley O'Rourke
Lt(JG) Victor Krieghoff

*********
USS Galaxy
Scene of the second attack
****

The sounds of one of the new security ensigns retching in the hallway outside were, O'Rourke decided, a perfect counterpoint. Not to the sight of the crewman's remains that she was trying not to look at too closely, but to the knowledge of what she was going to have to do to make certain that it didn't happen to anyone else. Still, there was no getting around it; despite the fact that she outranked him, he was not only her technical superior as Commander Corgan's Security Second, but also... well, he was the man for this job.

=/\= "O'Rourke to Krieghoff. It's official - we've got another one." =/\=

****

It was not, Victor decided from the compartment doorway, the worst crime scene that he'd ever seen. That had been years ago, had involved children, and wasn't something that he particularly wanted to think about at the moment - or at any other time, for that matter. For sheer gore, though, this was certainly in the top five. Unlike the rest of the ones on the list though, he'd known that this one was coming.

After what had happened to Grey, it was inevitable.

"Have you gotten all the forensic scans, O'Rourke?" he asked, frowning as he tried to decide where the atack had started from the blood spatter without waiting for the analysis. Over there, by the viewport, he decided. The spatter seemed to all flow out from a point over there, anyway.

"Yes."

O'Rourke's voice sounded better than usual, he noted. At least, with respect to talking to him. Maybe her time with a katra had helped with that. Or maybe she was just learning to deal with the fact of what his presence did to her. She had, he decided, been getting better marginally each month since she'd had her breakthrough back during the battle against the Breen. That didn't mean that she viewed him with anything resembling friendship - he doubted that would ever be possible - but it did mean that she didn't suffer from the need to lash out at him verbally to cover her fear up any more. Now she just let people see it.

"All right." Victor stepped into the room, aware that O'Rourke was following him at a distance, but paying no attention to her. She was alive, unlike the girl on the floor, and that meant that the dead girl was more important now. He hadn't failed O'Rourke yet - she was still breathing. He had failed the woman on the floor, though. Badly. He'd let someone or something aboard the Galaxy that was willing to hunt and kill here in his territory, had let another monster aboard his ship to kill.

Which meant that he now had to kill it in return.

"What... what did this?"

That was O'Rourke again. Victor considered the ruins of the human body in front of him, searching for the answer. The blood sprays were arranged so, the remains thus, the tiny scraps of disssociated flesh there and there and there and there... He frowned. "It wasn't an animal, the violence is too directed for that; but we already knew that. a sentient did this, then. They didn't use a welder, or cutter, or mining torch," he decided. "No cauterization eliminates those and anything like them. It wasn't some sort of force field projector or projection used like a knife or a pair of sissors - the points of disassociation aren't clean enough for that." He crouched down and examined one of the woman's arms on the floor without touching it. "They're not clean enough for a sword or knife either - there are no tool marks on the exposed bone or flesh. They didn't hack the limbs off."

"So how then?" O'Rourke sounded torn between her need to know as a security officer and the same horrified dread that made people watch those holovids of space monsters eating teenagers engaged in premarital sex.

"She was torn apart by brute force."

"What?" She was all horror now, there was no professional detachment left.

"She was torn apart by brute force," Victor repeated, perhaps unnecessarily. "I can't tell if it was done with assistance or not yet.... Were there any unusual power surges detected on or about the time of death?"

O'Rourke gagged.

"Was that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" Victor inquired, distracted by his study of the corpse. "We need to rule out the use of a mechanical device or some sort of portable tractor device...."

Feet pounded out of the room behind him.

Victor looked up in time to see the lieutenant making the turn around the door and into the corridor outside. "O'Rourke? Are you all right?"

"Nnn... rauuuugghhhhhhhh" ecoed back down the hall.

"No, you're not." Victor looked down at the dead woman. "It's all right, I understand, O'Rourke. You shouldn't have to see things like this. No one should have to see them... or have them done to them. Don't worry about it - you don't have to deal with this any more. I'll take care of it. It's what I do"

He looked closer at the detached arm. It hadn't been done with mechanical assistance, he knew that. No tractor beams or hydraulic claws, or any of the other ways this outrage could be inflicted on the human body with assistance had been used here. It felt wrong for that. This had been done by hand - literally so. The woman had been torn apart as if she had been a doll by the killer's bare hands. He couldn't back that up with forensic evidence - not yet - but he knew that he'd be able to do that in short order.

He was never wrong about death.

=/\= "Ensign Mannino to Krieghoff. Lieutenant Grey is awake and ready to... er... talk, sir."=/\=

That was good, Grey should be able to help them. Given the nature of her injuries, she'd seen her attacker, and the description she could give would be necessary to figuring out who the killer was. And, he realized, it was good to know that she was awake and going to recover. You wanted your friends to live and that's what she was now: a friend.

=/\= "Krieghoff to Mannino. I'm on my way. Get get in touch with whoever our Counseling Officer for violent crime analysis is - I think it's Elessidil this month - and... Commander Rex. I'll want to see both of them here at the second scene after I finish speaking to the Lieutenant."

=/\="Aye-aye, sir."=/\=

All he had to do was talk to Grey now - and then he would know what he needed to know to start his hunt.

"Mountain Air"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Intelligence Officer

* * *

Saul transported from the orbiting transport to Haifa spaceport, then took the maglev to Jerusalem. The train station, like the maglev itself, was crowded with types you can see together only in this parts of Earth: a noisy mix of pilgrims, tourists, religious Jews with their Kippahs, Muslims with traditional Kafiah and modern cloths, and many more.

Saul skillfully merged into the crowd, hidding himself in the throngs like a blanket. He exited the station at the Jaffa street exit, stopping for a moment to fill his lungs with chilly mountain air. The station, like many other facilities in the city, was subterranean so that it won't intermix with the holy city's view. It worked - from his vantage point, Saul could see all the way to Giloh, the ridge which marked the southern border of the city. The six-floor buildings on top of the ridge must have a magnificent view of Bethlehem on the other side.

Instead of taking a taxi or even going in a straight line to his destination, Saul took a detour through the Judah's camp marketplace, a colorful bazaar beneath the open sky. Perhaps one of the last genuine markets which survived the progress that this land made in the last four centuries. The markets that were squeezed in the confinements of space stations could never really imitate the smell, look and FEEL of a true open marketplace.

Saul bargained for several bottles of olive oil, and filled a small bag with vegetables, freshly-baked bread and a nice jar of Humus. The only downside about Jerusalem's Humus was that he was going to have a hard time eating the replicated Humus when he returns to the Galaxy. He recalled how Raven Darkstar sniffed his table after he smelled the Pitah with Humus hiding in the locked drawer, and the funny memory brought smile to his lips.

Then, unable to wait for later, he picked a piece of bread, wiped the Humus with it and put it in his mouth. Paradise.

Satisfied with his purchases, Saul returned to Jaffa street and crossed it. Jaffa street traditionally marked the southern border of the north part of the city, which was inhabited mostly by very orthodox Jews save for the high-tech industrial zone and of course the Arab neighbourhoods northeast of the old city. The Dutchman's memory was sharp as ever, and his feet soon led him to the Yeshiva he was searching for.

The gate to the outer court opened smoothly. The students, their ages mostly around twenty, took great care in maintaining the place. Oiling a gate or sweeping a room was a nice break from studying the Torah and the Talmud, even if none of the students would admit it.

One of the Rabbis, a man with long black beard and barely no eyebrows, identified him and greeted him. Saul wasn't religious - quite the opposite - but he did bring to this Yeshiva one of its finest, most dedicated students.

"Adon Bental, are you looking for Avraham?"

"Ken." Saul replied, taking the chance to practice his Hebrew.

"He's upstairs at the library. Take the left corridor and go all the way. He doesn't wear the hat on the library, so I'm sure you'll identify him."

"By the ears." Saul chuckled. "Yes. I'm glad you're not calling him 'Hazar' anymore." HaZar. The Stranger. Saul often felt Zar in many places as well. The Galaxy, and the city where he was right now, were among the few places he wasn't a Zar in.

"He's not zar, adon Bental. He's a good Jew. And an ilui." A prodigy. Well. Starfleet Intelligence also thought that Avraham was a prodigy. He wasn't known as Avraham back then, of course.

"Adon Bental?" The Rabbi added, and pointed at his own head. Saul got the hint, and grudgingly took the Kippah out of his pocket and put it on his head, feeling rather stupid. He began to climb the stairs.

* * *

Later, after he convinced Avraham to help him, he found himself back at Jaffa street. The pavements weren't broad enough for the amount of people filling it, so once in a while he had to sidestep someone and get on the road. He continued that way, traversing the city from west to east.

At the end of the street stood the gates of the old city.

The walls were marvelously preserved, and a lush green lawn surrounded them. These walls were much newer than the city, but still they had a Millennium or so in their backpack and had to be carefully maintained. Moss grew between the heavy stones, And the Jaffa gate loomed over his head. His mother once told him that one of his ancestors was a paratrooper who crossed these gates when the IDF liberated the city at the famous (or infamous) six-days-war.

That paratrooper would've sold his mother for the hand phasor in my pocket at that time, Saul thought.

The old city itself was very crowded, and urban warfare in its narrow alleys was probably a nightmare. The buildings, churches, musks and synagogues meshed onto a single stone entity. It wasn't large - one could probably cross it from side to side in fifteen minutes - and yet a stranger could easily get lost in the alleys. Saul, however, was no Zar to the old city.

Out of habit, he chose to walk through the Jewish quarter, one of four quarters which made up the old city together with the Armenian, Christian and Muslim quarters. The pavement was made of cobblestones, smoothened by centuries of boots, shoes and sandals. Every wall was shouting history.

Where the 'Hurbah' synagogue used to be until three centuries ago, just a stone throw from the temple mount, stood a building plated with bright Jerusalem stones. Saul, like any other salty merchant, knew not to judge the jar by its appearance but by its contents. The three-story building was packed with modern infrastructure. And security measures. It belonged to an accounting company, of all things.

He stepped inside.

The beautiful clerk at the entrance smiled at him, a smile that said 'You're the 1000 person today who came in thinking this is some sort of tourist trap.'

"Shalom, Ayala." Saul said. The woman stiffened in her chair. She never saw him before. But she did not flinch. She would not work here otherwise.

"Shalom rav." She greeted back. "Welcome to Zalman et Zalman accounting. How may I help you?"

Saul licked his lips. This was why he came to Earth. This, and Ella.

He made his declaration of war.

"My name is Shaul Joop Bental, and I would like to open an account please."

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished Part Seventeen: “Dark Spaces”

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – Chief Medical Officer
Inquisitor General Marcus DaSilva – High Inquisitor
Captain Aurelius – Knight of the Church

* * * * * Office of the Holy Inquisition * * * * *

~Right now I’d settle for the caterwauling of Klingon opera!~ Kimberly decided as her mind snapped back to the still unnervingly silent present. ~Is this it, is this what they do to Witches ~ she wondered, ~Sat here with this guy just staring at me until I go completely and totally ‘Nuts!’~ she wondered, cause that was what was going to happen.

Wishing again she’d followed her first impulse and spent the night on her shuttle, she thought about that small cozy room that had several times now gotten more than one comment about its lack of tidiness, yet was more home now that anywhere else. ~How did Sara put it when she first went aboard?~

[Oh my god!] Came a voice over the comm line.

Standing straight, Kimberly raised her voice, “What is it Sara?” she asked, worried.

[What… a… mess… Do you actually live here?] Sara-Jayne said, partially shocked, partially disgusted.

Caught between a sense of relief and of being insulted at the same time, Kimberly realized that Sara-Jayne was in her room, the one ‘really’ untidy portion of the KittyKat, “Hey, you just leave everything where it is, ‘I’ know where things are and that’s all I need,” she explained.

[If I left my room like this, my dad would freak!]

Chuckling, Kimberly nodded, even though there was no-one to see, “Is that a not so subtle hint that a Starfleet officer should be a little tidier?”

[A ‘little’] Sara-Jayne said with a little laugh, [try a lot!]

~I did promise her I’d tidy, I really should get around to that if I get out of this.~ Kimberly reminded herself, ~And to contact the Calleva as well, see if they have any more information about her fathers ship.~ For a brief moment the distraction of thinking about what she had to do ‘after’ New Rhea pulled her mind away from the Inquisitor again, but every time her mind wandered it snapped back to that enigmatic figure before her.

~C’mon!~ Kimberly thought irritably, her stubbornness to make him say something, anything first was rapidly receding, ~Either say something or ‘do’ something, or put me back in the cell, Goddess above, anything!~ she complained silently, thinking back to the tiny cell she had inhabited last night, right now even that was better than this.

~Though, there are times when small dark places ‘aren’t’ good.~ she added as unbidden a reminder of another dark and lonely place surfaced. Another dark and cold place full of bad memories, though in all fairness the cave hadn’t really been the worst part of the whole POW thing, what had ‘put’ her in the cave had to rank as the worst part of that whole experience.

~That’s an order cadet!~ ‘His’ voice emerged from the now silent depths of her mind, ~I’ve explained the situation, and you will do as you are told. Clear!~

~But Sir…~

~Shut up cadet and get out of my sight, I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow. After it’s done!~ Looking at her he motioned to the door, ~Get out. GO!~ There had been more, but he had muttered the remainder in a language she didn’t understand. Leaving the small shack where the Lieutenant was billeted she wrapped her coat around her to try and ward off the biting wind.

As she walked across the compound she felt the stares of the others and heard the occasional comment, though no one spoke to her. They all knew who she was and what she was doing though no one knew why, the Lieutenant had told her they would know after but for now their reactions needed to be genuine. She felt very much alone.

~Their reactions genuine enough though!~ she thought sourly as she approached the overseers compound, someone pitched a rock in her direction, it fell short but the intent was there.

Passing the guards without a word she walked up the stairs to the cave that he had turned into his home. Smelling the alcohol before she opened the door Kimberly paused and closed her eyes, if he had alcohol that meant the weekly quota had been exceeded but it also meant he was likely to be drunk. Checking the bag on her belt was laden with the ice gems she hoped it would be enough to put him in a good mood. Finally, before opening the door she checked her hair was tied up, and the small sheathed knife secreted in her hair was secure, a little something to put him out of her misery.

Opening the door she saw at once the bottles on the table, ~Obviously a ‘good’ week!~ she thought as she looked around. Seeing him turn as she entered she tried not to cringe or let her feeling show as she closed the door behind her. Out of all the things she had been asked to do since she got here, coming here each night was the most distasteful of all.

~Where have you been!~ he snapped, taking a swig from a half empty bottle as he turned.

~Working,~ she replied, dumping the pouch of uncut gems on the table as she walked over, ~how else do you expect me to eat?~

Simply shrugging with an ‘I don’t care’ sort of attitude about him he turned to the bedroom, indicating with a wave of a hand for her to follow.

This is how it always went, she realized with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was always the same, there was little conversation, no feeling. Just empty lust. Following him slowly, undressing as she went, her skin feeling the cold as she took off the heavy furs that everyone here wore, she recalled the conversations of the other girls at the Academy, how they had described pleasant evenings with their boyfriends, and wondered what they were doing tonight.

In the silence she climbed into bed and lay beside him, closing her eyes and her mind she tried to ignore what was happening, and let her mind focus on what she had to do next. For long minutes she moved beside him, relaxing him, lulling him into a sense of security and control.

Sliding on top of him she closed her eyes as she moved slowly, keeping him occupied as she reached her arms up and behind her neck as she had done so many times before, letting him touch her as she tried again not to let her revulsion show as his hands traced the contours of her body.

By touch alone she undid the small clasp that held the small knife in its sheath, a practiced move she had rehearsed in the darkness of the mines for weeks. Opening her eyes she looked down at the face below, his own eyes closed and his mind on the body atop him. Sliding the knife into her hand she fixed her eyes on her target, set her mind to the task before her…

…Her reverie was interrupted as the Inquisitor tapped his desk suddenly and the door behind her opened. Bringing her attention back to the here and now she wondered just how long her mind had been wandering while she had been waiting for him to say something.

“This heretic shall be tested.” He said simply.

Suddenly very alert and no longer daydreaming Kimberly sat bolt upright, then found herself literally picked up off the chair by a knight. “Whaddyameantested!” she got out in a single startled yelp.

Ignoring her the Inquisitor turned to face the knight, “Remove this heretic and take her to the Inquisitorio.”

Dragged backward out of the room Kimberly tried to get out an objection, a question, a statement, even a simple threat about the Inquisitors’ balls and a pair of pliers, but she found her airway somewhat hindered by one of the knights massive hands.

~ Tested! ~

TBC…

"10 Victor, Part II"

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

Alyssa Cohen, Paramedic (NPC, For the purpose of this story)

Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York, Earth, 2369, 2216 Hours

If there was one thing Max thought wore thin, it was getting hit with a call right after they got on duty. And this was one of those nights...

"10 Victor, for the assignment, 10 Victor," Squawked the On Board Comm System (OBCS). Max rolled his eyes and looked at his partner, Alyssa Cohen, a rookie Medic. For her part, she cheerfully picked tapped the response control and answered, "10 Victor?" "10-4, 10 Victor," replied the dispatcher. "Response to Grand Central Station for the unconscious, 2216 hours."

Here we go again, thought Max to himself. This was the third time this week they got called for some party hound who had a little too much and passed out waiting for the commuter rail back to Westchester or Connecticut or someplace like that. It always happened on a Friday night. He tapped the 'RESPONDING' tab on the touch screen data terminal, and put the ambulance in drive.

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

Medkit in hand, Max walked up non-chalantly to the snoring man, in his early 20's, who was laid out across a bench in the waiting area. A rail Cop was standing nearby, obviously writing a report for something he'd rather not deal with.

"What's his story." asked Max.

The Cop gave him a derisive snort and answered, "You're the Paramedic, you figure it out." With that, the officer walked back to his nearby perch and hooked in an earpiece, no doubt trying to catch the end of the Knicks game. They were up by nine points last Max had checked. The Knicks won the last seven Championships, and were well on their way to winning an eighth.

Back to sleeping beauty (or lack thereof), Max decided to try an old fashioned sternal rub to see if the kid would get up. The snoring machine stirred a little, and then turned over. Max was close enough now that he could smell the alcohol.

"And to think they say Alcohol isn't served much these days," he muttered. For her part, Alyssa had already taken out her medical tricorder and scanned their patient.

"His blood glucose readings are down to 58 milligrams per deciliter," she chimed, "and his thiamine levels are low as well."

No shit, rookie, Max thought with a slight sneer towards her. He hated working with rookies as they thought they could change the world, one amp of Dextrose 50% at a time. Although he would have like nothing more than to start an actual intravenous line on him (Dextrose is hypertonic and thus not a good idea to give via hypo...unless you liked to see a man's skin slough off before your very eyes), he figured a dose of Glucagon would do the trick. He reached into his bag and found the appropriate vial, inserted it into his hypospray, set it to mix the glucagon with sterile water, and then injected it into the patient's left deltoid.

Alyssa opened the portable transport chair and they both lifted the hapless man onto it. The cop smiled as the 'ambulance guys' took his latest problem away, then flinched when he heard on his earpiece that Arthur Hammond missed a shot as the Knicks went into overtime against the Centauri Bulls (the Bulls left Chicago over a century ago when the city would not share the cost of building a new arena with Paragon/Warner, the owners of the Bulls). Max and Alyssa were just about at the entrance to the Terminal when the young man stopped snoring and opened his eyes.

"Wha you doin'?" he asked, his speech clearly still slurred.

"We're taking you to the hospital, sir," replied Max, as if reading from a long memorized script. "We found you in what appeared to be a deep state of intoxication, and have given you medication to help with the glucose levels in your blood."

"Glu-huh?" slurred the drunk, obviously not exactly your garden variety rocket scientist even if he were sober.

"Glucose...the amount of simple sugars in your blood, in simple terms," answered Max. Alyssa was giving him a look that indicated that she didn't like where this was going, but being the good rookie, she kept her mouth shut and simply watched the drama play out.

"Yeah, whatever man," said the inebriated bar connoisseur. "Lemme outta this chair, man. Where's Jessie and Walt?"

"Don't know, don't care, bub."

"What? did ya just call me a bum?"

"No."

"Oh, so now I'm a liar?" The speech wasn't as slurred and the young man was getting angrier and redder by the minute. Max was as unflappable as ever since coming into the job. He simply gave the chair-captive a blank look.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you! Lemme outta this chair."

"So you're saying you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"Fuck, no!"

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Let me the fuck out!"

"Okay." Max tapped the restraint field button and the young man suddenly lurched forward and landed on his face. He had been straining forward so much against the field that he had simply developed sudden momentum from the sudden absence of resistance. Max so loved physics at times.

"If you change your mind, be sure to utilize the emergency request function at the nearest CommTerminal," Max said, turning and waving in departure. When they reloaded the ambulance and started out to find food (for Max; Alyssa only ate healthy nutritional supplements which she brought in with her to work), Alyssa turned to Max with a disapproving look. Max caught sight of that look and was silent for a few blocks of travel. Then it began to annoy him.

"What?" he asked, not hiding said annoyance.

"You're mean," Alyssa replied, pointing a finger at him.

"Whatever, rookie. Eat your healthy pills, or something. Or better yet, go in the back and check out the truck, make sure it's good to go." Alyssa made a gesture with her middle finger that Max simply chose to ignore, and disappeared through the hatch into the back of the ambulance.

"Fucking rookies," Max muttered. "Always so willing to be so righteous..." A good speed bump made him smile and he was sure adjusted the attitude of his uninitiated partner. He was happier when he heard the dull thud indicting that his partner had fallen in the back. Maybe he should have turned the ride stabilizer on. Oh, well..............

TBC..... (maybe)

OOC: Timeline clarification - My last post and the majority of this post takes place before the Manslaughter series.

"United Forever"

Flight Officer Ella Grey
Vanguards S&R Pilot

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

He paced into the darkened hall without making a sound. Silent motion was a skill he has mastered as a youth, sneaking into forbidden places without being noticed. The Galaxy's chief of intelligence wasn't banned from sickbay, but he preferred to remain unseen.

Even by the one he visited.

She slept heavily on the biobed, blanket covering her entire body up to the chin. Beneath it, the tissue regenerator fixed over her throat could be seen.

Saul sat on the vacant chair by the bed. He patted her hair, moving aside a stay strand that would have tickled her nose had she been conscious.

Before last mission, he barely knew her. Had this happened half a year ago, he would probably express politely his concern upon hearing and then return to his own private business. Maybe muttering something about Corgan not doing his job or ordering his Counter Intelligence specialist to monitor the investigation. He would not even consider visiting her. Definitely not like this.

He whispered her name, or a name that closely resembled hers...

* * * Earth, earlier that month * * *

"Here we are Ella."

The city of Jerusalem was considered holy by three of the most major Human monotheistic religions.On its graceful foothills king Solomon built the holy temple of the Jews; The prophet Mohammad took his final leap to divinity on the exact same place; And Jesus had carried the cross through the narrow streets of the ancient city.

It was, Saul thought, probably divine protection that saved this place from being burnt to ashes by the many armies which conquered it over the years, often just to lose it again several centuries later.

His ancestors, the Israelis, eventually prevailed, and maintained their fragile sovereignty over the western part of the city until the founding of the UFP rendered planetary governments archaic. That was the main reason why mount Herzel, a forested hill used as a military graveyard, wasn't desecrated.

Benjamin Herzel, who wrote a novel foreseeing the founding of Israel, was buried here. He wasn't the only honorable person buried in the mount's soil. Centuries of Prime ministers, presidents, and chiefs of staff ended here, as well as many soldiers who fell while serving their country.

All of these permanent residents of mount Herzel were about to be joined by two, quite extraordinary, souls.

Saul sat on a bench overlooking the Jerusalem hills. The lush forests and the small village of Beit Zait on the valley below did not hint the fact that a city of 1.2 million people sprawled behind Saul's back. All that could be heard was the hum of people visiting their dead loved ones, and the solemn song of the birds on the trees. Even the avians respected the sanctity place.

"It's perfect," Ella said, unconsciously signing the word as she spoke. She sat down beside him and smiled at the valley below. "I would have never thought of it."

"Thought they deserved a place with a view." Saul replied, holding her hand. It was probably the last time he was going to have a viable excuse to do so. A smart woman once told him that there was nothing more intimate than holding hands.

"I hate the idea that one day it is going to be me." He admitted.

"I wouldn't trust a person who thought otherwise," She replied. "It's a decent place to be put to rest though. Not like the monstrosity that is my family's plot."

'You shouldn't trust even those who think that way.' Saul thought. Did she truly trust him? What a mistake.

"Monstrosity?", He asked.

"Flowery plants, ornate gate, and a large weeping angel." Ella said. "I'm so not making this up. My mother is probably going to have all our headstones quoting Shakespeare or something."

Against himself, Saul grinned. "I'm sure there's a tombstone with Shakespeare's words here somewhere."

She smiled. "As long as it's not mine. So, should we say something. For them?"

The intelligence chief inhaled deeply the clear mountains air.

"Sotha... he led an admirable life. He decided something as a child, followed his own dream and achieved his goals, no matter how improbable they seemed. He suffered from the same 'disease' every true intelligence officer have, but died respected and even loved nonetheless. He feared the end, but he knew he wanted it to come when he was old AND on a planet instead of the confinement of the Talvalen. I am sure he finds this place... satisfactory."

"Farewell, Eela," The pilot said. "I'm glad you finally found peace with yourself. I hope you continue to find rest with Sotha and remain content."

"You can come now." Saul raised his voice.

A man in black coat and equally black wide-brimmed hat left his post next to one of the tombstones on the other end of the plot, and approached them with a heavy step. As he came close, Ella realized that beneath the traditional 'Haredi' attire was a Vulcan. The noble cheekbones and arched eyebrows were unmistakable, even if the ears were obscured by his grey hair.

"Avraham, meet Ella. Ella - Avraham." Saul introduced.

The Vulcan scowled.

"Lema'an hashem, Avi - you're going to mind meld with her, she'll know your name anyhow." Saul exasperated. He turned toward Ella. "He doesn't like others knowing his name."

A scowling Vulcan, that was something new, Ella thought. "Be gentle, it's my first time."

His scowl deepened and she hid her smile.

The Vulcan placed an ornamental receptacle, which looked not unlike a clay jug, on the bench between Saul And Eela. He then began murmuring.

"Shma Israel adonai eloheinoo adonai ehad..."

Saul rolled his eyes with frustration, but soon the lids closed as the chants shifted from Hebrew to ancient alien words never before heard on this mountain.

It occurred to her, a bit too late - this whole business had obviously muddled her brain, that she might not want a Vulcan poking around in her head for certain reasons. She felt her mind tense and try to start pushing certain thoughts away.

She FELT Avraham, and Saul. The Vulcan with the weird name was like a surgeon, his mind clinical, his mental shifts accurate and touching exactly what layers of Ella's mind he wanted to touch.

Saul, however... it was like the two of them were naked, with only a thick, semi transparent veil to separate them from one another. And through that veil she could sense that he was hiding thoughts, just like she did. But things passed through the veil... as if a light breeze shifted it, and she could see part of his naked body. Or rather, naked thoughts.

There was a place. A room. A conference room. And people she never saw before. Humans. Bolians. Tellarites. One of them... she was almost certain that she saw her on the Galaxy. And digits, many digits, representing commodities and trade lanes. And then there was a raft all alone in the ocean...

All of the sudden she found herself bombarded with intimate thoughts, with Saul and Nara. Her ex-subordinate was naked, too.

Ella felt her cheeks flush. There was only so much she needed to know about Nara's life and where Saul liked to trail patterns with his tongue was not included.

Um, Saul, Ella thought mentally as a vivid image of a Nara writhing was playing out in their minds.

It seemed that she was amused with herself. Or was that Saul? Or the Vulcan? No; The Vulcan part of her mind kept extracting more and more of Eela's essence. She sighed and tried her best to focus on what the Vulcan was doing, not her own mind, not Saul's ... wow, that was really creative, Ella thought at him.

You peeked, the thought surfaced in her mind.

Then came another thought, which was not formed by words but the intention was clear. Cut that out, you two. Avraham.

The image flickered suddenly and there was a dark alley, sounds of fists smacking bone and muffled sobs. Ella felt herself stiffen. That's not Eela, she thought at the doctor. Someone ran through the alley. Two alleys, joined, merged across the timespace of memories. The teen skipped, not slowing down at the sound of sobs although he did turn his head, curious.

Don't peek, Ella warned.

As though some insane murderer tore ribbons off the flesh of their memory, shreds of what Ella recognized finally as the 'real' reality - was there ever such a thing - emerged. Fragments of hills, of a forest, of the small dam by the village below and the elegant tombstones of dead soldiers around them.

Someone was holding her hand, tightly.

Avraham the Vulcan left the receptacle on her lap, bowed slightly, and just left as if the three of them weren't a single entity just a moment before. "Wow," Ella commented.

"Yea..." Saul's voice drifted. He stood up and took a few steps forward, until he reached the beginning of the slope. He looked back at Ella, and gestured.

She joined him. The two Starfleet officers kneeled on the moist soil. Both of them slipped the receptacle into the small hole Saul made in the ground earlier. Then, they began covering it with dirt, hands occasionally touching.

The katras of Eela the assassin and Sotha the spymaster found their final resting place, forever interweaved. The souls of Ella and Saul remained behind to roam the ungrateful, lonely universe.

“On my way now” - Ens Larkin J. Kelley

Star liner ‘Whitestar’

The ship had been traveling for about six hours now. It was packed with all kinds of people; civilians, merchants, military personnel, drifters, old people, children, and probably criminals on the run from some law enforcement agency somewhere in the quadrant. The berthing area was ripe with the stench of body odors from the various species of life from the different planets. Luckily for him, Larkin wasn’t bothered with bad smells, at least the kinds he had experienced in the first 22 years of his life. Growing up on a livestock ranch and always being outdoors exposed one to the many odiferous scents nature had to offer. A run-in with a skunk when he was 12 years old came to mind.

He was lucky in that he found a seat next to the outside and had a viewport. He leaned against the bulkhead and tried to sleep to pass the time. Sleep had come, and with it dreams.

Dreamscape, location unknown

Slowly opening his eyes, he groaned in pain as his head was pounding from the blow that had rendered him unconscious. He fought to push himself up onto his knees and hands. The ground beneath him was wet and cold and he was filthy, either from a fall or a fight, or both. “Easy now” he thought to himself. “Don’t stand up too fast or you’ll go down again.” Determined, slowly he got to his feet and it was then he realized he was not alone. There were three of them standing there in the dim twilight. He remembered the attack now. The occasional flash of lightning was enough to illuminate the figures, easily recognizable as henchmen for someone with enough credits to finance them. He could taste blood in his mouth, his cheek and bottom lip swollen from a blow to the face. He put his sleeve up and wiped the blood from his mouth. A hard blink or two and finally his vision was clearing. “What do you want?”

The biggest of the three stepped closer now and was within a few inches of him. “I want your security codes Mister Starfleet Intelligence man” the low voice said from the hulking man. Kelley could smell the man’s hideously bad breath and he made a wincing face as he leaned back. Suddenly he was poked from behind as one of the other ones pushed him toward the leader again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” he replied, trying to play off ignorance. He was poked again from behind, this time by the other one. Larkin was not a small man himself, standing six foot four and weighing in at a healthy 235 pounds. But these thugs were monstrous and they knew they could easily have their way, simply by the numbers of three to one. The leader drew back his bear-like paw of a hand and raised his balled fist to swing at Larkin again.

“Hey, Starfleet!” the man yelled. Larkin blinked his eyes as he was jolted awake by the rude crewman. He took in a deep breath and looked around to see the empty seats all around him. The cobwebs cleared from his head and he realized it was just a dream. He was still on the transport ship. He quickly got to his feet and looked at the man. “Thanks” he said shortly as he grabbed his duffel bag next to his feet.

"Evaluations"

LOCATION: San Francisco, Earth

Nara rubbed the bridge of her nose and stared at the exam. She had checked and re-checked her answers several times. She kept telling herself that was the best she could do. But still, she sat there staring at it until time was up. She handed it over and with a polite smile and official solute, left.

Checking the time, Nara sat at a bench in the midst of the garden at Starfleet Academy. Saia still had some time with her solo time with the counselor and Saul was...doing what Saul does.

Twenty minutes later, she was in the counselor's office with Saia. Nara had her solo session upon arrival. She looked over at Saia who sat there looking bored, but sketching on a PADD. The counselor finally looked up at Nara with a polite, but evaluating gaze.

"Despite the current state of the Federation and the past fatal occurances on the USS Galaxy, you plan to continue serving there with Saia under your guardianship?"

Nara looked at Saia a moment and back at the counselor. "I know it doesn't make much sense, but yes."

The counselor looked at Saia, "Saia?"

Saia looked up. She had been listening. She wrinkled her nose to resist a snide remark, remembering Nara's warning to be polite. "It's the only home I know now."

"Trill is making remarkable progress on the rebuild. You can go live there with your Grandmother."

"I've known Nara longer than her." Saia's resistance faded.

The counselor sat back and sighed. "I see no reason to take Saia from you, Lt. However, we must inform her Grandmother of these facts and if she decides to take action to get Saia, your case is very weak. Until then, you are still Saia's guardian. If you decide to adopt Saia, it will have to be approved by Saia's Grandmother."

Nara nodded. She didn't really see the need since Saia would be legally an adult in a few years anyway. She would discuss it with Saia and with Saia's Grandmother. She also doubted there would be action to take Saia. It is well known the dangers a Starfleet officer faces.

"Taming of the Shrew" Part 2

Lt Jebidiah Baile
CO 1st Platoon
USS Galaxy

&

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

Location: Baile's personal quarters
-----------------------------

There was a tiny trickle of blood running down his shoulder. He wondered how just in how many places she had broken his skin. With morbid fascination he followed its journey down his arm. No wonder she had messed up Jonas' mind.

Stretching with a cat like manner, McAlister glanced over to the slightly wounded Baile. Saying nothing, just exchanging a knowing glance between the two of them. "Still licking your wounds I take it?"

"You could say that..." he admitted with a chuckle. The wings of the Crow ended on the edges of his torso. The bird which had given name to his unit held its black wings protectively around him. "You?"

"Oh..somewhat." She responded, flipping herself up off the chair and walking to the other part of the room where he sat. Sitting behind him, she once again started to trace the crow. "For some reason...and it's likely disturbing....doing this comforts me."

"No one has touched it in a long time.. not like that.. " Baile finally said. There was a smell in the room he couldn't place, one that had nothing to do with what they had just done. But it smelled light years better than fear or anger.

"Do you mind?" She posed. Smirking, she realized it was sort of redundant now that she was actually doing it. "What a stupid question..."

Baile pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, spreading the shoulders as much as he could. For a second it looked as if the bird was trying to break free and take off. "Yeah.. I hate it.." he chuckled in response.

She coughed back the chuckle before clearing her throat. "I love that sarcasm of yours." Pausing, Faylin took a minute. "Wanna do it again?"

"Think I can handle it?" Baile rolled his neck until a series of loud cracks could be heard.

She shivered, instantly yanking away from him at that particular sound. Standing, Faylin actually shook her whole body before turning and meekly smiling. "Sorry."

"Don't be.. and never apologize unless you truly mean it.. " The stern look from Baile's face faded and the smile returned. "People apologize too much.. "

"Okay, I'm not sorry." She stated with another playful growl. "So....did you like being with a shape shifter?"

There was something.. not desperate.. in her voice but a faint hope that he had liked her. Maybe a faint desire for someone to see something other than what the rest of the people around her saw. The image of the warped shrink with guns popped up in his mind again.

He just nodded and gave her that sly and wolfish smile again.

Shaking her head back and forth, Faylin knew when she had been bested at her own game. "You win....I admit it...I know when I've been defeated."

"Good.." Baile responded and got up on his feet. "I won't be around for long.. " he wasn't sure why he had said it, but maybe he had the same desire. To share it with someone before it was all over.

"Another mission?"

He shook his head. "No.. not a mission. Its easier and more complicated than that." Baile said. "I'm dying."

"Why? How?" She came around and stood next to him, absentmindedly starting to trace the crow yet again.

"I guess a religious man would say its a spiritual thing. The docs don't know but then they don't know anything."

"That...is a pile of crap Baile....Not being able to find anything...give me a break." She muttered before wondering around picking up the scattered pieces of her uniform.

It became an involuntary display of just how fast he could move. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Before any of them really understood what was happening he had her pinned against the wall. "You never saw me on Romulus. You've never seen what happens to me after I fight. You've never seen my body cramp so violently that my muscles snaps... " He wasn't angry although it didn't occur to him until he held her that it might appear that way. It was a desperate plea to her. Believe me. Please.

Her eyes grew wide as she felt herself pinned. Instinctively, Faylin's eyes narrowed dangerously as her breathing accelerated to a violent pace. 'Hunter/hunted' her mind kept screaming at her.Heaving her chest out and in, she really looked at him....knowing that there was more to his act than just sheer show of strength. The act of trying to break free was not one that she executed at that moment, Faylin's eyes slowly softened, letting him know that she was not frightened by his action. "Okay...." She found herself whispering. "I believe you...." Leaning out as much as she could, she placed a small, yet gentle kiss on his cheek. "I believe you..."

He held her for a second. Just a second. But in that second, time seemed to stop. A myriad of thoughts and emotions rampaged through him. God dammit Maya.. what the hell had she done to him? His hand opened as if it had been burned and for a confusing short moment he thought it had been.

He could say he was sorry, but he wouldn't mean it. She was a big girl. She could take it. She could take it even if she was just half of what he suspected. "I woke up in a hydran interrogation cell.. I don't even remember how the fuck I got there.. "

Backing up slightly, she sighed. "Tell me everything....only if you want to."

He took a deep breath. There had been enough revelations for one day. Maybe enough revelations all together. "No.. that's something between me and the bastards who stole my eyes."

"Alright...." She responded quietly.

"I just wish I had better aim." He responded thoughtfully.

"I believe your aim is dead on balls accurate." She chuckled.

Despite himself he started to laugh. It took him a while to recover. Had his eyes been able to shed tears then he would most likely have been forced to wipe them. He grabbed her around the waist and placed them both on the floor, him leaning against the wall and his prize leaning against him.

She closed her eyelids as she leaned into him, finding solace in the strength of his chest and signaling in part to the beginning of an odd yet strangely comforting 'thing' she felt forming between herself and Baile. As much as the hunted wanted, desired, and naturally needed to separate herself from the hunter, she no longer possessed the sheer will to do so.

~Can I Ask You a Ques---~

Saul Bental
Cutter Kara'nin

Morning.

Saul was still tired after spending a couple of hours last night by Ella's side. Luckily, Nara did not stay at his place that night, so she didn't ask any questions about him coming and going like that. Not that she ever did, his princess; She seemed to respect his privacy and accept that there were things he did not tell her.

She, however, shared much with him. One thing in particular came up on a conversation last afternoon, while they were still on the shuttle. She mentioned something abuot 'never spar with an angel', and when Saul became curious she told him about meeting and challenging a winged science officer to a sparring match.

Saul, of course, knew exactly which winged officer she was talking about; Cutter was the only person on the Galaxy he was familiar with when he came on board. In fact, his presence there almost convinced Saul to ask for transfer again. He listened to her story with interest, especially to the last part.

'Flashed out of the way?' He demanded back then. And she said that she was sure of it, although Cutter denied it.

There was one way to find out, and it involved something he enjoyed greatly, which was to bug his ex-tutor from the academy.

* * *

"Sorry," Cutter mumbled as he nearly ran into a passing crewman. He wasn't watching where he was going. Instead, his eyes were reading through the most current draft of a paper he was planning to submit to a few astrophysics journals. It would be his first paper since the destruction of the singularity science station and one of the few that were currently in progress whose analysis wasn't completely disproven by the data collected during the event that surrounded the destruction of the station.

'The events surrounding the destruction of the station,' Cutter thought as his eyes lifted from the draft. A nice euphemism for the near destruction of the universe set in motion by an over-religious, psychotic psychiatrist. With his finger, Cutter rubbed his dryed eyelids. He hadn't slept well since the incident. He wasn't sure if it was because he was upset at the loss of all that work or because of some side effects of the unique form of radiation he was doused with when Dr. Virgil Maro tampered with machinery he didn't understand.

As he removed his finger and his vision cleared, Cutter saw a face that did not make his thoughts any happier. As the man approached him and waved, Cutter frowned, "Saul."

Cutter knew Saul well enough to realize that the smirk smeared on the intelligence chief's face was a proof that this rendez-vouz wasn't a coincidence.

"Shalom, Cutter! How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Cutter sighed.

"Don't look SO disappointed." The Dutchman said. "Hey, I've got several free minutes. Come on, I'll escort you."

He turned around without asking for approval, joining the astrophysicist.

"What's in there?" Saul glanced at the notes Cutter was holding. "Ugh, physics."

"Yes. Physics," Cutter said flatly. "You need not trouble yourself with such intellectual matters."

"I'm in intelligence, we're forced to deal with intellectual matters - it's almost the same word, you see."

"I am aware of the etymology of the name," Cutter said, "but the appropriateness is debatable. Is there something you want, Saul? I'm a little too busy at the moment for idle chitchat."

"Actually there is," Saul replied, "You were mentioned by a friend of mine the other day. She sparred with you a while ago, and mentioned some unusual move you did."

Cutter squinted at the human, confused, his large blue-feathered brow knitting up into little balls. "I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You're just practicing your acting skills again. Still got a lot to improve." The blue balls didn't budge. "Human-Betazoid, brown hair, at the gym?"

"You mean the lunatic woman, who accused me of magic or some such nonsense?"

Saul grimaced. "The lunatic has more sanity than your merry gang of man-size pigeons."

The avian smiled and uttered a quick cough of a laugh, scoffing at Saul's defense of Nara's character. "If you say so."

"Look Cutter, W--"

Both men naturally silenced themselves as they noticed someone else approaching down the corridor, not wanting to let a third party privy to the exchange. It was a Vulcan. "Sirs," he nodded politely as he approached.

"Tarik," Cutter nodded, and Saul nodded as well, waiting for him to pass. The Dutchman took the oppertunity to glance at the notes Cutter was carrying.

"Are you a--"

He never got to finish his question. Cutter suddenly jumped, startled, and he opened his mouth to curse. Then a man leapt out of no where onto the Vulcan, mere feet from where they stood.

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

I popped the Vulcan's head off first showering the ceiling in an emerald spray that darkened the cheerful hallway lighting scheme into something a bit more soothing.

Not a big fan of green blood mind you, but beggars cant be choosers.....

Some sort of law, and Im a law abiding citizen......

The human and the wingie-thing are already spinning to react, shock and hostility resgistering on their faces respectively.

They look mad at me.

Great.....accosted by a couple of meanies, and Im stuck here holding a headless vulcan in my green stained arms.

Will wonders never cease.

The human opens his mouth to say something.....something like 'Ahhhhh' or 'Arrrrrrgggghh' or something to that effect.

I toss the Vulcan at him, 150lbs of flailing limbs slamming him to the bulkhead with a satisfying wet "splat"

Featherhead is giving me disapproving looks.

Dont judge me.

Im already launching myself through the air at him before I realize that he's next on my list.

With a satisfying snap I rip one of the silly wings from his body........

......huh?

.....waitaminute....

There seems to be no satisfying snap, as wingie-thing seems to not be where I thought he was.

Im slammed by a huge buffet of feathers and while Im flying through the air and richcheting painfully off the far bulkhead I take a few moments to consider the errors of my ways.....

Oh.......he's one of THOSE.

Picking myself off the deck, I shake my head ruefully.

How silly of me.....its so obvious now.

I watch how wingie reaches up to tap his chest. There's something shiny there. I like shiny things.... they're shiny.

"Kara'nin to--" he starts to say, but I have to butt in. Sorry dont mean to be rude, and all, but I'll be taking that there shiny piece of metal.

My fingers close on the sparkling badge ripping it away from wingies chest.

The fact that I take a few inches of skin along with it seems to upset him, but I pay no mind. He reaches out for my new sparkle, but I swipe at his arm. My sparkle slits through his shirt and skin and sends a spray of red on the wall.

Pretty!

I like red. Red really makes a room pop, not like that ugly beige.

I want to see more. More red.

If he wasnt wiggling around so much I could have done this easier......

B-ZAP.

What feels like a million joules of electricity slam through my body almost causing me to lose my footing.

Holy FUCK! That hurts!!!

Whirling around with a snarl I see the first man...the human holding a smoking phaser and wearing a confused look on his face.

He shoots me again, but this time I'm ready, stumbling only slightly as I thunder down the hallway towards him.

B-ZAP! B-ZAP!

I'm 15 feet away and Mr. Phaser is starting to look nervous, he's making rapid adjustments on his weapon.

10 feet away....Im gonna make you eat that phaser!

5 feet away....B-ZAP....shit thats gonna hurt in the morning......

Gimmethatdamnphaser!!!

I snatch it away from him taking a few fingers along with it. Shutthefuckupbastard, I smash the weapon into the man's face in a spray of teeth and blood.

He's still making noise and waving his arms.

His arm is in the way, so I bend it back out of the way where it cant bother me.

There's some more hollering and some snapping.

Oh crap....I think I hurt him....

I try to bend th arm back into position but its stuck....

SNAP SNAP...I rearrange a few bones and manage to force the limb back into a semblance of normality.

It'll look okay as long as he doesnt move it too much....or at all.

Shit.....

Where was I again?

Whats with all the red lights and sirens?

Time to go......something tells me that, but Im not sure what.

Aye aye Colonel sir. On my way....over and out.

I fade away into the backgorund......watching the chaos evolve around me.

What a waste...what a waste.....

I weep and dont know why.

"Hot on the Trail"
Manslaughter Part VI

The sun was going down over in the Eastern skies of Angosia III.

For most of the population that meant a return to hearth and home, a warm hearty meal, and giving the kiddos a welcoming hug.

For the three weary figures entrenched in the Government offices of Militray Minister, the end of the day only served to underscore how long they had been at work without producing any actual results.

The minister himself, Roga Danar stood at the huge floor to ceiling windows gazing out over the citiscape lost in thought.

He had fought battles....terrible battles to protect the world he loved. now he wondered if the price of peace had been worth it.

The other two occupants of the Miniter's office wore the heavy black trenchcoats of the Federation Marshal's office.

Brilliant gold stars shone at their breasts, and concerned expression hung on their faces.

"A bar fight in the Ceti Alpha system.....6 men wounded...two dead....?" the first asked. A young human woman with straight blong hair pulled back in to a ponytail.

"Crap." her partner replied. Bin Hux sat with his heavy boots planted atop Roga Danar's polished desk, a thick file laying open on his lap.

"Right....ummmm. How about a mystery killing abourd the S.S. Britain......Lady found strangled in a shower."

"Crap."

Marshal Melissa Daughtery frowned and hunched closer over the computer terminal. It was amazing really how many crimes were associated....however loosely with ships that had recently left the Vulcan system.

One of them...presumably......would be the handiwork of their escaped criminal.

"OK, kid assaulted on Starbase 46.....assailant unidentified."

"Crap......are we really scraping the bottom of the barrel Mel?"

Daughtery looked first at Danar who merely shrugged, and then frowned at her hulking partner. 6 years of being teamed up with the grumpy Angosian had taught her much about patience, but there were times she still wanted to smack him.

"I'm trying Bin," she sighed, "There's still a half dozen files to sort through, and new reports are coming in all the time."

As if on cue the computer beeped softly indicating a new message.

"Hmmmph.....something from the USS Nebula......fight in ten forward...."

"Crap crap crap. Give me something more than barfights Mel." Hux grit his teeth annoyed. A product of the Angosian super soldier project, he didnt need much sleep, but the long hours did nothing for his charming personality....such as it was.

Mel wasnt too happy either. "Well hell Bin, give me something to look for." she snapped, "Why the hell did we zip halfway across the sector to Angosia when we could have cut off the jerk at Vulcan itself? What's in those Top Secret files you keep reading?"

Looking down at the thick opened folder on his lap, Hux made an ugly sound and frowned. "More crap Mel." he replied. "Roga and I knew this guy back during the Tarsian wars.....he was a spooky sneaky bastard back then.....but this...." he indicated the file. "Shit Mel...I thought the Government messed with our heads, but this guy was a regular bonanza of top secret conditioning and chemical treatments."

Danar turned from the window, his old warriors build framed by the setting sun, "Even today we still dont know the extent of the psychological conditioning Marshal Daughtery. Many of us have been able to receive treatments and return to a semblance of normalicy. Others like your Marshal Hux have refused to even try and have found life outside Angosian society."

The blond lawwoman leaned in and narrowed her brows. "Which catagorey does our maniac fall into? He refused the treatment Im assuming?"

Hux and Danar exchanged a look, and it was Roga who answered. "On the contrary Melissa, our friend was the first to volunteer for treatment for removal of his military conditioning.......it seems however it didnt take."

"It fucked his brain up." Hux interpretted.

"And.......?" the blond prompted.

"And....Shit." Hux rubbed day old stubble on his massive jaw. "I've always been the toughest bastard I ever met Mel......but this psycho scares the shit out of me."

Melissa didnt respond for a moment letting that sink in. She'd worked with Hux long enough to know that his gruff attitude was not entirely an act, but this was the first time she'd ever heard her partner admit fear.

He didnt so much as laugh in the face of death, as just not give a shit.

But this guy scared him.

The computer beeped again indicating another incoming message across the police wire.

"Ummmm...new one just in from the USS Galaxy......Girl found in a swimming pool with her throat ripped out....another girl torn into several pieces....damn.....another attack leaving a Vulcan without a head, and two others badly maimed."

She trailed off waiting for a responce from Hux.

The Marshal was looking at his old war buddy Danar.

"Bin?"

"Mel."

"Well?"

"Warm up the ship and get on the horn to Starfleet for an update on Galaxy's position.......we found the bastard."

OOC: Occurs a day or so prior to the events of "Manslaughter".

"No Long-term Relationships Here"

Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

Andrus Suder, apc

****

Ten Forward

"I don't do long term relationships," Andrus stated after their food had been served.

It seemed best to get it out of the way now, especially given the thoughts he was picking up on, but he wished his voice had sounded more harsh and less regretful.

"Oh?" Brian nonchalantly replied. It was, actually, a step in the right direction. Only a few weeks ago he was still wasn't certain if Andy did any relationships of any kind. "Is this based on some bad past experience, or are you just hedging your bets?"

Andy frowned "Are you asking as a counselor or the man I want to share a bed with?"

"I'm asking as me," his dinner companion answered, his face a study in calm. This was obviously not Andy's favorite topic of conversation, but it was important to know. If whatever was developing between them was going to go anywhere -- if it even *could* go anywhere -- they still had a lot of learning about each other to do, because from what he'd learned so far, Brian couldn't deny that there was something about Andy that drew him in, one moment, one glance, one kiss at a time. It would be nice to know what it was.

"I don't usually stay in places for long enough for them," the Betazoid answered.

Brian smirked. "And yet here you are, already longer than you ever expected to be, thanks to Captain M'Kantu."

Better the other man knew what he was getting into, Andy supposed. "If M'Kantu had his way I'd be dissipating in space right about now, Brian."

"What's with you and him anyway, Andy? I've gotten the impression more than once that there's a lot more to your professional relationship than anyone's perception that the Galaxy needed a good librarian."

"He owed me a favor; I told him to let me on the ship," Andrus replied. 'Favor' was a little nicer than 'blackmail' he decided. "And after Romulus, well I could use a boring stint as a librarian."

What had started as curious conversation had suddenly taken a rather serious turn. Brian couldn't help but hear Saul Bental's voice somewhere in the back of his mind reminding him that there was another, darker, side to J. Andrus Suder that the counselor still knew essentially nothing about.

"No doubt your life is certainly much more 'conventional' than it probably was," Brian remarked. He regarded the man across the table from him a little more seriously for a moment. Owing to the potential sensitivity of the topic, Brian decided it might be wise to change the mode of conversation. ~Is this something we can talk about at all, let alone in public?~ he sent.

~Perhaps not,~~ Andy sent back. ~~Another reason I don't do long term.~~

~Then maybe it's best we focus on the short term for now.~ There was an unmistakable twinkle in Brian's eye as he returned the thought.

Andrus looked across the table and the look was far from merely friendly.

"Let's get out of here."

****

Chief Counselor's Quarters....a few hours later....

The relatively small amount of starlight that filtered in to the chief counselor's quarters lent a certain pearlescence to Andy's hair that wasn't obvious in full ship's lighting, a fact he pondered over and over as he gently stroked the other man's head. It hadn't been the only thing that had crossed his thoughts in the quiet minutes during which Andy just rested back against Brian's chest, the simple coolness of the sheets and the warmth of their bodies the only sensations that remained now after all the much stronger ones were past. There was the purity of the starlight, the subtle breeze that the ventilation system passed through the room, the residual smell of the candles that had gone out he wasn't quite sure how long ago . . . and a few fleeting echoes of the conversation they'd had back in Ten Forward. There was something odd, maybe even unsettling, about how without a single word they'd become so intimate with each other, and yet in direct conversation there still seemed to be invisible barriers that kept Brian from really knowing this person, this man, this fellow Betazoid; one who, despite his emotional reticence, very obviously had to be feeling something of the same mysterious tug that Brian was finding more difficult to ignore with each hour he spent in his company.

~~You may have to get used to the fact that they're really one in the same,~~ he sent, not wanting to break the silence that still enveloped them.

~~What are?~~ Andy replied lazily. He was content, more content then he'd been in a long time. It would be a shame when he had to leave.

~~The counselor and the man you shared a bed with. I hope it doesn't bother you too much that they're both me.~

~~Not as long as they both had a good time~~ The Betazoid sent with a smirk.

~~Heh...that goes without saying,~~ Brian replied, tousling Andy's hair slightly at the same time. ~~But only one of them has really gotten to know you, Andy. We -- I -- can't help wanting to know you better. I don't want to push, but at the same time, I'd like for there to be the possibility of more than just a good roll in the sack now and then.~~

"The more you know, the less likely you're going to want to know," Andy said aloud. Then he laughed. "What a horrible sentence."

"Try me."

"Brian," Andrus sighed. "Ah well, don't say I didn't warn you."

It took a little while for Brian to process the thoughts Andy now revealed, including what he was really doing on Romulus and how he ended up on the Galaxy. The nature of Andy's recent past didn't surprise him too much; Brian knew from the moment they met that there was more to him than he let on. But the specifics were something of another matter.

"You shuttled dissidents," the counselor whispered in a somewhat awe-struck voice. "Andy, the risk, the complications . . . ." A quiet smile crossed his face. "There *is* a lot more to you than meets the eye...a lot more."

Andrus stared at him for a moment and then laughed. "Don't put me on a pedestal quite yet, Brian. You're forgetting why I was there in the first place." If he hadn't betrayed his friends, it was very unlikely he'd ever have found himself risking his neck on Romulus for forgiveness. "And you're glossing over the whole blackmail thing quite well."

Brian gently shook his head. "There's no pedestal, and I understand you're no angel, but that cool, mysterious, aspect is what you like to project. Even without knowing the particulars, I already knew about that. It's the rest, the 'good' Andy, that gets pushed off into a corner somewhere and is rarely ever seen. I suspect even you don't give him much attention."

Andy smirked. "He gets enough. So you wanted to know about my past. There's this little trick I picked up on Risa ..."

"What Makes You Tick"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

Lt. Mark
Counselor

Mark walked into his new boss' office. He'd been unceremoniously transferred to the USS Galaxy. His head was still spinning at how fast it happened. He took a glance at Commander Elessidil behind his desk and scrutinized him before announcing his arrival. "You look like you've had a fucking, pardon my French, nightmare of a frustrating day... Sir."

Brian's eyes widened somewhat as he looked up in response to the unusual greeting. He didn't have any appointments scheduled right now. "Um...thanks for the assessment, Lieutenant. And you would be...?"

Mark looked around the office frantically for a second, "You mean they didn't TELL you?"

"No, I'm not sure 'they' did, whoever 'they' are."

"Oh! For the love of GOD," Mark slapped his forehead in disbelief then stuck his hand towards Elessidil as an offer to shake hands, "I'm your new subordinate, Lieutenant Mark, at your service...Sir"

"Ah, okay," Brian said, rising from his chair and accepting the handshake. "Then they did indeed tell me about you -- you just forgot to where your name badge," he said with a slight smirk. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. We're always glad to have some more help around here. Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the collection of comfortable chairs and sofa arranged at the other side of his office. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?"

"Jack Daniels?" Mark asked hopefully while taking a seat in one of the more comfortable looking chairs.

"Mm...no, I don't think so. Try again."

"Johnny Walker Red Label?" he tried again.

"Nope. Third time's a charm."

Mark frowned, "Ice Tea I guess."

"Iced tea it is. Two iced teas, unsweetened with a hint of lime," Elessidil directed the replicator. "So Lieutenant," he said, conveying the glasses with him, "I hear from some reliable sources that you're cut from something of a different cloth when it comes to counselors."

Mark looked at Elessidil suspiciously, "Really? I've heard that same rumor."

"Heh...no doubt."

"People don't like to see counselors to begin with. When they come to me, I simply try to make the time they have to see me minimal. I don't waste the time asking about the nonessential stuff. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do, and it's an approach I highly endorse. But there's always the trick of determining what's essential and what's not. As I'm sure you know, in our business, not everything can be taken at face value. What do you find as the most effective way to make that determination?"

"I take nothing at face value," Mark replied cryptically while going on to explain, "I usually use body language and other physical clues along with the usual answers to certain questions about the subject's given situation."

"Of course, sometimes a cigar *is* just a cigar," Elessidil suggested, casually citing the old psychology quote. "So what got you into this business in the first place? Why are you a counselor -- and a Starfleet counselor at that -- instead of an engineer or a doctor or a chef?"

"I'm not quite mechanically inclined enough for engineering," Mark started ticking off items on his fingers, "I can barely keep house plants alive and you'd trust me with people? And... I can't cook to save my life."

Mark folded his hands in his lap, "How about you?"

"We can get to that, but first I'm interested in the real answer to why you're a counselor. I doubt it was just a matter of there being nothing better to do."

"Oh, that's not fair," Mark's eyebrows furrowed in slight perturbation.

"Ah you know as well as anyone that life just isn't fair sometimes," Brian replied, smirking.

"True," Mark conceded, "There were several better things to do ... but helping other people appealed to me. That's part of why I got into counseling... and doubly so by joining Starfleet. Part of Starfleet's job is helping those who can't help themselves you know."

It was certainly a reasonable answer, probably even the most common for the counselors Brian knew. "Certainly an aspect we try to remind everyone of now and again. What made you decide that counseling was the best way for you to help? I mean, shuttle pilots can be very helpful too in their own way."

Mark smiled, "I really, just don't have the talent for that... I'd make a disastrous engineer or operations person. You can forget security and I'm too much of a pacifist for tactical."

"Seems we're back where we started," Elessidil noted. "Becoming a counselor because there was nothing else. How about a positive rather than a negative reason? A counselor who doesn't believe he or she has some pretty clear reasons of why or how to help people in this specific way are usually on the fast track to burn out. Hmf...I know because I've been there and it took me a little while to get that crucial perspective back. I promised myself when I was moved into the chief counselor seat that I would not only work to keep that perspective for myself, but to make sure the people in my department could do the same. So why? What's going to make you get out of bed every morning and want to help people -- many of whom don't want to be helped -- and what skills, abilities or insights do you have to really be effective?"

Mark stared at his new direct supervisor for a moment without even blinking. 'What a pain in the ass.' he thought privately. He answered in a very matter-of- fact tone, "I have a degree in psychology and I'm very interested in how the mind works, also in healing it when things sometimes go wrong. I've been doing this for a long time and haven't burned out yet. On the off chance that starts to happen, I'll be sure to let someone know."

Brian would have liked to have felt fully satisfied with the reply, but the truth was he wasn't. For all his good natured dealings with others, Lieutenant Mark still came across as a very private person. In and of itself, Brian might not have given it much more thought than that, but Mark's whole demeanor seemed more evasive than private. Still, there was no obvious reason to raise any objections or concerns regarding his joining the department. For now, Brian would observe.

"So tell me about your last assignment," the chief counselor said, shifting the topic and tone to something a little lighter.

"Ahh the Miranda," Mark mentioned looking as if many fond memories just came flooding into the forefront of his mind. "I had many good experiences there....

As Mark launched into the narrative of his time on Elaithin's ship he carefully watched Mister Elessidil. He could almost tell what the commander was thinking without the benefit of telepathy.

"Who Are You?" [MANSLAUGHTER]

(Takes Place Immediately After 'The Right Man For The Job')

Principle Characters

Lt. Ella Grey
Lt(JG) Victor Krieghoff
Ensign Carmela Mannino

***

USS Galaxy
Sickbay

Consciousness came slowly and her first thoughts were "Oh, no. Not again."

Ella opened her eyes warily, found that she was in Sickbay, and then closed them again. She was safe, she was alive, and she was never getting out of bed again. At least for right now.

"She's awake now." The voice was quiet, and unmistakably a Vulcan woman.

"Lieutenant?" That was a human, also female. "Lieutenant Grey? Can you hear me?"

She tapped her index and middle finger to her thumb. ~~No.~~

There was a pause as the Vulcan woman undoubtedly lifted an eyebrow.

Ella rolled her eyes before opening them. She nodded slightly before lifting her hand to the thing presumably regenerating skin on her throat. No more implant meant no more speech for now. They'd either figure it out, get her an interpreter or computer PADD, or they wouldn't.

"What was that, some kind of a hand signal?" The female human, an athletic young woman of Mediterranean descent in a security ensign's tunic, her dark hair cut short in a style that Ella normally only associated with Marines and masculinized women that were playing for the other team, asked the Vulcan, a vaguely familiar figure in a nurse's uniform.

"Yes," the Vulcan nurse answered.

"So what did she say?"

For a moment - just one - Ella was certain that the Vulcan was contemplating saying something outrageous, but when the answer came, it was a simple, "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" the ensign retorted, with a scowl. "Is this some doctor-patient confidentiality thing? Or are you being obstructionist?"

"No," the nurse replied. "That's what she said."

"No what? No she can't hear me? Why would she say that when she had to hear me to know to reply?"

The nurse arched one eyebrow. "I believe that speaking about her as if she were not there is 89.456% likely to have created a mental condition known as 'irritation' in the patient. Continued conversation in that manner will cause a rise to 96.311%. As increased levels of stress are documentably detrimental to recuperating patients that have suffered traumatic injury, logic dictates that you direct your questions to my patient in order to prevent this."

The ensign blinked. "What? But she's got that thing on her throat - what of it that there is left. How am I supposed to do that?"

With perfect Vulcan delivery, the nurse pointed. "Talk to the hand."

The patient laughed, which was to say she exhaled and some sort of noise was produced. Still Ella managed a weak smile and signed to the nurse that she was now her personal hero.

The nurse nodded in recognition of her elevation to heroic stature and adjusted Ella's pain meds slightly before moving away just enough to make the Ensign stop glaring at her and turn to Ella.

"All right, Lieutenant," the Ensign started out, speaking slowly. "I can't understand what you're doing with your hand there, but right now I don't need to. I'm Ensign Carmela Mannino, and I'm your assigned security officer for the day shift. You get another officer this afternoon, and a third one tonight, just in case. Understand? Just wave your hand up and down for 'yes' and side-to-side for 'no.'"

Ella wondered why some people felt that if you couldn't speak that your IQ was that of a vegetable. She thought about toying with the woman but then decided that she really did want Security's protection -given her track record and all - so it was probably best not to piss her off. She waved 'yes.'

"Okay, good." Ensign Mannino's relieved smile made her look less severe. "I'm supposed to ask if you're up to answering some questions, and, if you are, call the Lieutenant. Do you want to rest a little before I do that?"

Rest sounded good but it was probably better to give her statement first while the memory was still -somewhat- fresh. And then she could tell her nurse to up the meds and pass out for a couple of days. She waved a no.

Mannino nodded. "Okay, It may take him a few minutes to get here, so it's not an immediate thing... he's... he's working right now." She frowned at the awkwardness of her phrasing and reached for her combadge. =/\= "Ensign Mannino to Krieghoff. Lieutenant Grey is awake and ready to... er... talk, sir."=/\=

She was calling Victor. Ella thought about that, and decided that it wasn't a surprise; after all, who else was going to investigate something like this? As she was thinking, she looked up and suddenly realized that Mannino was one of the ones that had an especially bad reaction to Victor when the woman bit her lip and clenched one fist while waiting. It made the ensign seem somehow less annoying to realize that she was terrified to just talk to Victor on the com, while Ella was looking forward to talking to - or waving her fingers at - him in person.

=/\= "Krieghoff to Mannino. I'm on my way. Get in touch with whoever our Counseling Officer for violent crime analysis is - I think its Elessidil this month - and... Commander Rex. I'll want to see both of them here at the second scene after I finish speaking to the Lieutenant." =/\=

Mannino flinched despite herself when he spoke, looked down at Ella and flushed in embarrassment, and snapped out a response. =/\="Aye-aye, sir."=/\=

****

It took several minutes for the sound of Sickbay's doors opening to be followed by the inevitable staff reactions to Victor's presence, nurses and doctors altering their paths or moving to be further away from him as he moved through the section to the secure ward where Ella was housed.

He paused, nodded to Mannino, who managed to get a reply to his greeting out and move away without doing more than minorly embarrassing herself. Once Mannino had moved off to get some coffee - or whatever it was she was drinking - Victor turned to Ella and studied her for a moment before saying a simple, "I'm sorry."

Ella didn't mean to, she really didn't, but those words, the look in his eyes, and the sudden realization of just how badly she'd been hurt that came to her in the moment she heard them and saw it overwhelmed her. She started to cry, the tears welling up without warning, and refusing to stop, her breathing suddenly coming in gulps.

Victor blinked once, looked around, and reached for a tissue beside the bed, offering it to her wordlessly, as if he was afraid to speak further and make things worse.

She snatched it from him, drying her eyes until the tissue was too damp to be used, and then snatched the second and then the third one he offered her, growing more embarrassed with each tissue and each oddly-strangled gasp she made. She hoped he wouldn't try and hold her hand, she knew she'd never stop crying then, and besides this was Victor, he didn't do things like that... no matter how much she wanted him to.

The nurse looked over with a frown, studied the readouts on the biobed, and didn't approach, apparently satisfied that Ella was in no danger.

Once the tears were finally under control, and her face was so hot with the effects of the crying and her embarrassment that it felt like it was the approximate temperature of the surface of a white dwarf star, she flicked out, ~~It wasn't you.~~

"What," Victor replied with a tilt of his head, "wasn't me?"

~~The tears; that wasn't you - you didn't make me cry.~~ Not at least, in public; never there. Dammit, she was starting to tear up again. Ella snatched the tissue from the dispenser before Victor could offer her one, pleased with that small victory. ~~I'm not crying because of you,~~ her fingers snapped out, lisping a little because of the tissue. She knew he'd blame himself no matter what she said, but at least she'd tried this way.

He nodded, and said quietly, "I believe you. You've been hurt, and we both know you have a history that makes this worse for you than even a normal person. I won't - and don't - think less of you for having a normal, human reaction."

Ella glared at him. Since when did Victor say things like that? ~~Who are you?~~ she signed suspiciously.

"You know who I am," he returned with a frown she'd know anywhere.

Ella relaxed inside. No one in the universe had as many frowns as Victor and she knew them all by heart. This was him. Rather than explain herself, Ella asked, ~~Questions?~~

"Yes." He considered her for a moment. "Do you want to do this now? Would you rather someone else asked them?"

~~No, you're fine. Ask away.~~

Victor nodded and set a tricorder beside the bed to record things, and offered Ella his padd. "All right then." He flipped the tricorder on, the padd blinking over to an incident report form as the two synced up. "Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, Case Log #27645-A, Assault on Lieutenant Ella Grey. Initial Interview of Lieutenant Grey conducted in Sickbay." He paused, looked at Ella, and added, "Due to the nature of Lieutenant Grey's injuries, her responses will be written, with additional comments in sign language." He pulled up a chair and sat down before continuing, "Lieutenant, in your own words, please describe what happened to you...."

Ella nodded and started to type, the words flowing up out of her as fast and furiously as the tears had a few minutes before.

****

Victor paused outside Sickbay to forward the report and attached video recording to Security Main. Grey had done well, all things considered; much better, in fact, than most would have been able to do under the circumstances. With any luck, her description would be enough to identify the killer - despite the fact that he'd not killed Grey, it had to be the same individual that had killed the woman he'd looked at before coming down to Sickbay. Even on the Galaxy, having two psychotic individuals capable of acts like this was too much to be coincidence - especially when they weren't a member of the crew.

=/\="Krieghoff to Barnes."=/\=

After a moment, the Duty Officer's voice responded. "=/\="Barnes here."=/\=

=/\= "I just sent in the initial interview with Lieutenant Grey. She describes her attacker as male, human or a close variant, early to mid 40's, with pale skin and faint reddish hair. Thin build, wiry muscles. Very strong and fast; the Lieutenant reports that he seemed to just pop in out of thin air and was on her before she could try to escape. She also reports the attack and removal of her vocal implant was carried out without the use of an instrument." =/\=

=/\= "Okay, that's gross," =/\= Barnes observed.

Victor ignored the comment and continued, =/\= "I don't think you'll get a match, but run the description against Galaxy crew and have Mannino show any close matches to the Lieutenant for possible identification. Go on and post the MO and description up on Starfleet's database too and see what we get." =/\= He considered his options for a moment. =/\= "Try the Star Marshal's listings as well, maybe they have a case with a civilian victim that'll match." =/\=

=/\= "Understood." =/\=

=/\= "I'm headed back to the scene of the second attack if someone needs me," =/\= Victor continued. =/\= "I've got a meeting with our duty counselor and a consultant there. I'll be meeting with the XO after that, and it would be nice to have something to tell her."

=/\= "Will do." =/\=

As he headed to the turbolift, Victor pondered what he'd be telling the XO at their meeting. She was likely to want answers he didn't have, and even more likely to object to his suggestions that they post extra security around areas where groups of defenseless victims congregated, like the school and nursery. That would mean calling in marines for the additional sentry duty, but Victor didn't care - the only thing that mattered was stopping this killer before he killed again.

No matter how long he'd lived as Chulak, or how good that life had been, it had never felt as right as this did.

This was who he was - a hunter.

Slight Back Post

Free Fall [Manslaughter]

Featuring:

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zev Raynor

And technically unauthorized use of Flight Officer Ella Grey's Bleeding Carcass... though she isn't dead yet... not that she's going to die or anything...

USS GALAXY
HOLODECK 01

5 miles from where Raynor stood and the ground... 5 miles of nothing but air, and every conceivable anti air defense he could think up... Anti Aircraft batteries... Small area Forcefields... Lock On Missiles... Aerial Mines... Enemy Fighters... and of course those who would jump after him about 10 seconds after who would be descending the same way he would be... only they were trying to kill him...

All this to find out not only his potential... but that of his chosen equipment he decided would be the future of ground troop engagements. In spite of it being around for over a century... no one had really caught on to this in any major sense. And science fiction had come up with this ages ago... and still no one had caught on to its effectiveness. Raynor would change that soon enough, given the Hazard team would soon be reorganized... Apparently Corgan was working on it...

Rocket boots.

The goal holoprogram was simple enough...

1) Touch the ground safety unharmed
2) Make it past an entire army and capture his objective
3) Make it to the rendezvous point in four hours...

The idea was test how doable it was when transporters would not work...

And so... he jumped... to begin his descent... excited that he was challenging his limits again... That he would for the next four hours be pushing himself for the sake of pushing himself...

This feeling lasted about 5 feet down when he heard a psychic echo enter his mind... the cry of someone dying... to which he swore very loudly as he ended the program... not bothering to remove his rocket boots instead he used them to speed to the nearest Turbolift... not having his comm badge with him...

20 seconds later... he saw a figure leave though the other door... and Ella's ground on the ground. Not wasting time he looked for Ella's comm badge... it took him a minute to locate, even with the enormous assistance by the memories that were not flashing out of her mind... though putting out all romantic feelings he suddenly had for the men in her life was somewhat distracting...

Finding it at last he made a call to both security and Medical to get their asses in gear because they had a little problem... and for once it wasn't Raynor psychotic side...

"10 Victor, Part III"

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

Luther Barnes, Paramedic (NPC, For the purpose of this story)

Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York, Earth, 2369, 1547 Hours

This was definitely a mistake. Someone, somehow, somewhere screwed the pooch on this one. Shit on a stick, man, thought Max vehemently. It's one thing to get sent to another unit, different Tour I start time, whatever. But to actually get sent to another Tour (and Tour III) at that was totally unacceptable. Heads were gonna freaking roll for this one! For now, however, Max had to deal with his partner: one Luther Barnes, who seemed more interested in talking to the ladies and running his scams off of his personal communicator, than to actually focus on the job he's getting a regular salary for.

At current, they were sitting near Central Park where there was a nice breeze coming through the trees. Max decided to take advantage of the rare downtime and took a stroll through a patch of trees, admiring the raw nature still present in Manhattan. Bending down, he took note of a caterpillar trying to climb the tree, certainly on its way to making its winter home by way of cocoon. Before he could try to identify another insect on the tree, his portable communicator chirped.

"10 Victor, New York Harbor via Battery Park for the Mass Casualty. Passenger Ferry Collision. Switch to Citywide frequency for further."

Max was already back into the truck by the time the dispatch was complete, out of breath and gasping for air from the run. He went to put the rig in drive when he noticed that his partner wasn't in the vehicle. A glance out of the passenger side window revealed one Luther talking to some tourist type, Bajoran from the looks of it.

"Barnes!" bellowed Max. "We got a job, c'mon!"

Luther looked at Max with a withering look, kissed the Bajoran tourist's hand and got back into the vehicle.

"You know, Maxwell," he started in on Max as he closed the vertical lift hatch behind him, "you could really fuck up a wet dream. Thanks, man, really." Max had already made it to the West Side Highway and floored it on the left turn, throwing Luther into the hatch. At their rate of speed and minimal ground traffic, they should be at the harbor in about four to five minutes.

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

"C'mon, man," whined Barnes. "We got all kinds of fly honeys out here watching this. We can stay dry, and get the hook up while we wait for technical rescue to get the people to us."

Max, to his own credit, already hit the thirtieth or so repetition of the mantra he learned a while back, staying calm instead of slapping the taste out of his partner's mouth. Instead, he donned his dry suit, neoprene footwear, and a Draeger breathing device. He topped it off with a pair of polarized goggles and walked straight to the pier edge, Barnes chasing him the whole way.

"Maxwell, are you listening to me? Why are you going in there? It ain't our job!" Max was already dropping into the water before Barnes could finish his attempt to sway Max into staying on land. Meanwhile, in the water, Max found a little boy slowly sinking, not moving a muscle. The water echoed the groans of both seafaring vessels as they leaned into each other in the choppy bay waters. Max swam faster as he dove further down. He knew that he only had a few more feet before he would have to wait for a dive team to get him. All technology aside, physics and human physiology were constant. And Max had no desire suffer an embolism. He managed to grab the boy's collar and immediately arched himself to aim for the surface.

Although trained in water rescue, Max never actually used his skills before. Everything he did up to this point was automatic, training, instinct. As they broke surface, Max held onto the child, not letting him go until a water rescue team was able to relieve him of his charge. Not waiting to find out the outcome, he dove right back into the water, looking for more victims. After a couple of minutes, he found one. An older gentleman bleeding from his neck, flailing weakly just under the surface closer to the collided ferries. He must've fallen off one of them and hit on the way down.

His skin already pale and going cyanotic from the lack of blood and oxygen, Max managed to grasp a hold of him, and while using one hand to try to slow the bleeding from the victim's neck, he used the other to grasp the man around the waist, and began swimming upward. Again, he broke surface, again a hand off. Max didn't feel anything, no fear, no sadness, nothing. He didn't even care how the accident occurred, although intellectually with all the navigational technology these days, he couldn't see how it did. He rescued a total of eight people before coming back to shore, the exertion of the effort already taking its toll.

Max wound up treating a teenager with multiple fractures throughout his arms and legs. Apparently, when the ferries collided, he was tossed from one to the other, and gained his injuries upon landing. In the organized chaos, Max had a different partner drive him to the hospital, where the patient was immediately taken to an ortho suite for care.

A meal, some water, and an hour of rest was all Max needed to feel a lot better. In all, there were seventy four people injured, nine deaths from the ferry accident. Max would go on to receive a commendation for extraordinary efforts on that day. As for his partner...well his partner found solace in the hotel suite of a pair of models who happened to be twins. Talk about double your pleasure........

TBC.......................

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