"Alterations" - Part I

* * * * *

STARDATE 61605.8

USS BATTLESTAR (NCC-70075)
INBOUND, UTOPIA ORBITAL PLATFORM, MARS

SPEC-OPS LOCKER ROOM
DECK 61, SECTION 8

"The Captain saved your scaly ass, and you know it, Trigger."

The Basik gunner glared at the Stith commando, the saurinoid's yellow eyes irising down dangerously as her scaled lips pulled back across her snout, flashing her impressive inventory of curved, razor-sharp teeth. "You want to re-think that, Clutch?" Tessa "Trigger" Razzik hissed.

"No, not really, *Tessy*," "Clutch" Memmis smiled sweetly through her flexible beaked maw, knowing that the saurinoid absolutely hated that version of her name. It had the desired effect, though. The Stith had to admit, Trigger was their best heavy-weps humper in the bush, but she was also a product of her species: single-minded to the extreme, and easy to get riled-up. Now days, it was one of the few enjoyments Clutch could still get, since getting laid had been off the table for the past 9 months.

Sauntering over, Clutch's large, macropodial body easily blocked the smaller gunner near her gear locker. "Actually," Memmis began as her thick, semi-prehensile tail slid up between her legs to poke Tessa in the belly, "when you got pinched by those squid-heads, and that... *cry*. Well... it reminded me of my bond-sister's pups, when they were just whelps, too weak to--"

"RAAAAAAAHHHR!"

The Basik lunged toward the Stith, lifting her left foot to attack, the long dewclaw on the back of her leg extending and swooping toward Memmis' midsection. The Stith easily dodged the initial attack and swung around, showing her back to the scaly attacker. Setting her powerful hind-end, she swung her massive tail, catching Trigger square in the middle, slamming her upwards and loudly banging her into the gear locker. Both arms pinned behind her and her own tail and legs useless in mid-air, Trigger dislocated her jaw, seized her eyes on Clutch's exposed flank, and flashed her teeth for the bite--

"What the *FRAK* is going on here?!"

Both soldiers - Basik and Stith alike - quickly looked at each other, then at the solitary figure standing at the end of the locker row. Quickly, Clutch released her tail-grip, unceremoniously dumping Trigger onto the deck. The Basik quickly stood, though, relocating her jaw with a loud *pop*.

"Nothing, sir!" they both responded in unison, forming at-attention and saluting.

"*That*," Second Lieutenant Lexxis L'Riss growled, "was most definitely *not* 'nothing'!" The LT's words were heavily colored by her Lenaran accent; the one that usually came out when she was really, really pissed.

Like now.

The black furred Caitian officer strode menacingly toward the two enlisteds, her long, digitigrade legs carrying her swiftly down the aisle, gray-tufted tail switching high and dangerous behind her back. "You two monkey-humpers must think I'm pretty frakkin' stupid, don't you?!" she yelled.

They knew better than to respond.

She paced in front of them, tail still switching, ears laid back as she glared at them behind giant electric-green eyes. "You must think I'm dumber than a Pakled, don't you?! Whatever in the name of Fates you two have in for each other, get it out of your head, right now! We just got off our mission, and you two go bouncing off the bulkheads as we pull into port? Are you going completely jingo on me?!"

"Sir, no sir!" Clutch replied quickly. "The Gunner and I were just having a... matter of opinion, sir!"

Lieutenant L'Riss eyed both of them, crossed and uncrossed her arms over her chest, then looked up, canting a short prayer to the Fates. "Look," she snarled, getting right up between them in both of their faces, flashing her *own* set of impressive denture, "I don't know *what* it is between the two of you. Maybe you hate each other. Maybe you both just need a good screw. Or a good fight. I don't give a frak. As long as you are in *this* team, and I'm your squad leader, you will *not* start this shit. ARE WE CLEAR?!"

"Clear, sir!" both rang back.

"Good, then." L'Riss stepped back. "As for punishment, you two are gonna just *love*--"

"Attention on deck!" Tessa interrupted while again forming at-attention. Memmis followed her lead.

"Funny, ladies," Lexxis chuckled, "but that won't get you out of--"

"*Ahem*"

L'Riss's hips and legs stayed planted as her upper torso snapped around almost a full 120 degrees - the advantage of her Caitian hyper-flexibility. Both Tessa and Memmis stifled their chuckles as the Lieutenant stared momentarily in surprise. "C-Colonel Alindal. I didn't know you were aboar--"

The cool-skinned Deltan narrowed his space-black eyes at the Caitian, shutting her up instantly. "Where's your actual, Lieutenant? Where the hell is the Captain?"

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't--"

Clutch quickly stepped forward, saving the LT the embarrassment. "Updeck, sir: MedBay Two. She is having her alterations removed." Memmis purposefully gazed away from the Lieutenant, who was in no doubt staring daggers into her now. The Stith just *knew* she'd be scrubbing conduit for the next three weeks.

Just then the All-Hands call issued from the bulkhead speakers. [Now hear this: USS Battlestar is docked with Utopia Orbital. Mooring crews make ready for interconnects. Highbay teams to departure stations. That is all.]

The colonel's gaze swept from the Caitian, to the Stith, then to the Basik. He shook his head slightly, then barked out a crisp "Carry on" before quickly turning toward the hatch.

All three soldiers sighed in relief as the pressure doors slid shut behind him. Then, Second Lieutenant L'Riss slowly turned back toward the two grunts. "You two are soooo deep in shit, now."

* * *

MEDBAY 2
DECK 48, SECTION 8

"Sorry, but you can't go in there; they're in the middle of a procedure."

The Colonel looked down to where the corporal's hand laid resting on his chest, holding him back. He didn't even bother looking at the man, soon enough he would look at his collar and see the silver deltawings....

"Colonel, sir!" the Marine suddenly stiffened and saluted, realizing just *who* he had put his hands on.

Colonel Alindal Markaydin reminded himself not to chuckle. "Where is the Captain, Corporal?" he asked, instead.

"S-Sir! the Captain is in the main operating suite, sir!"

"Very well, then. Carry on." Alin moved toward the large double-slide door marked 'SUITE 1'.

"But, sir, that's a sterile..."

The doors swished shut behind the Colonel, blocking the corporal's protestations. Slowly, he walked into the operating theater, glancing around the room at the various carts of tools and equipment on the periphery of the main table. Around it stood three scrub-garbed individuals; presumably one doctor and two nurse-assistants. One of the nurses caught his eye and quickly pointed to her mouth, or rather, the mask that was covering her mouth. Understanding, he looked around, grabbing a sterile mask from the plastiwrap box on the table.

The doctor looked up from his work, his mask and holo-onoculars obscuring his face. "Good evening, Colonel," he greeted coolly. Though Alin couldn't tell by looking at him, he assumed the man was Vulcan; his words had the efficient clip of someone who spoke Ankaran dialect.

"Good evening, Doctor...?"

The doctor looked back down at his work, his assistants scrubbing and suctioning as his hands moved across the patient's body. "Sonak. And you are Colonel Alindal, I presume?"

Alin couldn't help but smirk. 'Leave it to a Vulcan to know *everything*,' he thought to himself. "You presume correct, Doctor Sonak. How is the patient?"

"You may inspect for yourself, Colonel," Sonak replied, motioning for Alin to step forward. As he did so, he felt the chilling electric tingle of the outer biofield passing over his body. He clutched the mask over his mouth a little more tightly. "She's almost done."

The nurse on his side stepped away to check the settings of the monitor at the patient's head, letting Alin step up beside the table. She laid face-down, completely nude. The surgical arch covered her hips and lower back; presumably the area where the 'alterations' were being removed. He had to steel himself against reaching out to touch her, reminding himself that he wasn't properly sterilized. But she looked so... so peaceful, restful, even if it *was* just the backside of her he was seeing.

His eyes traced her body as it slowly rose and fell with her breathing. He followed the long curve of her neck down her spine to the small of her back, then back up again, resting on two scars at the outside-left of her mid-back. Unconsciously, he reached out for her cobalt skin, but was stopped short by the flash of the sterilization field.

"Please do not touch her, Colonel," Doctor Sonak instructed dryly. "Those scars are old; nothing I've created. She insisted on not having them removed."

Alin squinted closer at them. He knew every inch of her body - at least, he *had* at one time, when they had been younger. He didn't remember those. The one she kept - oh yes, he remembered *that* one. But not these. He'd have to ask her about these when she woke up.

"She will be awake momentarily, Colonel," Sonak informed, seemingly able to read Alin's mind. "Though she will be quite groggy from the anesthesia." The doctor removed his hands from the arch and looked forward while the nurse removed the onoculars from his face. "The surgery is complete," he announced. "Ten cc's tantroquine," he instructed the nurse, who quickly dialed the dosage into the hypo and pressed it to the patient's neck with the slight hiss of the mechanism's actuator.

It took a few seconds, but her breathing soon began to pick up. Though her face was down and supported by the 'catcher's mitt', he could see her antennas begin to twitch and flex.

"Captain... Captain," Alin called softly.

"Mmmmmmnnnhgg," she groaned in response. "Allnnn," she slurred his name as the drugs started kicking her metabolism back into gear. "Uzzz thut... you?" She tried to lift and turn her head, but the restraints kept her from doing so. Instead, she turned both antennas up toward him.

"Shhhh," he patted her shoulder, the sterilization field now deactivated. "The procedure went well: you're you again. General Houghton sends his regards and compliments on a mission well-accomplished."

"Ppppbbbbbpththhhtttppptt," she blew raspberries in her semi-coherent state. The nurse removed the head restraint and helped her roll onto her side while laying a warming blanket over her body. "I'm glad the *General* could make it, too," the woman bit back.

'Same old shen, even drugged,' Alin couldn't help but think. Instead of making excuses for why Tanner Houghton hadn't come on his own, Alin got right to the point. "The Division has a new mission for you. We need your expertise on one of the front-line ships."

She blinked her eyes hard, several times, the bright yellow irises not quite focusing yet. "Where to?" she asked groggily.

"Galaxy, Tish. You're going back to the Galaxy."

"Something Starts...."

Captain Jaal Jaxom
Cmdr Arel Smith

==Carthage's Gym==

Arel was in the mood to beat the crap out of someone. To utterly pulverize their face into their brains.

Short of that, there was always the punching bag in the gym.

Two men were walking out of the gym as she approached muttering, "Damn, he's worse than the XO today..."

"Sure put a whoppin' on you're ass," the other ensign mentioned, "Maybe learning the lirpa wasn't such a good idea after all."

When they noticed who they were about to pass in the corridor they immediately clammed up.

Arel frowned as they passed. Worse than her?

Impossible, she snorted.

In the gym, the Carthage's fairly new captain was working out with his lirpa. He'd learned the practical and ceremonial uses from his MIA wife, Taalis. In an effort to get to know the crew better he's offered lessons in their use. The four Vulcans on board didn't necessarily approve but they had little say in the matter and though they'd never admit it, were somewhat impressed with their captain's skill with the device.

"Playing with your stick again, Captain?" Arel smirked. The lirpa was a decent enough she supposed - for Vulcan standards. It was nothing compared to Klingon weapons though.

Jaal considered the newcomer into the gym with a critical glare. His mouth twisted into an evil smile. "You always make it sound like such a bad thing." He twirled the lipra a few times and stuck the blade end into the mat and leaned against it. He was still breathing hard from his workout which was prompted by his many frustrations of late.

Upgrades to his ship being delayed for no reason. Crew transfers that should have happened weeks ago. Erastus suddenly transferred out of his life. The list went on and ninety nine percent of it was Admiral 'Bitch's' fault.

"What brings you down here?" he finally asked Arel.

"Wanted to kick someone's ass," She replied. "Looks like your it, Sir."

Jaal rolled his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for this. There were too many other things he wanted to blow off steam about and dueling with Smith wasn't going to solve anything. "Now really isn't a good time for this," he told her in perfect deadpan.

She had her knives of course but she didn't think it would be good if she started slicing on him. Beating the crap out of him, though, she oddly didn't have a problem with. Arel got into stance.

Jaxom knew that look. There was no quitting now. He tossed the lirpa aside, gave his knuckles a crack, and slowly got into his own stance. 'What was it going to be today?' he thought, 'Mok'bara? Nausicaan? The style they'd both learned from Elaithin?' The Trill decided he would go with something a little different to keep her off balance... if that was even possible. Without realizing it, his mind settled in to it's tactical analysis mode and the thoughts of what made him come to the gym in the first place were shoved aside.

Arel attacked. She noticed the change in fighting style, of course, but easily switched to accommodate. Still, she didn't think she'd ever seen Jaal fight so hard before and they'd sparred a few times in the fast.

Jaal dodged her first lunge easily enough. He rolled and came up behind her just out of Arel's reach.

Whatever, Arel decided. She'd learned her lesson trying to help people by letting them get out their aggression while sparring; Arel just wanted to kick someone's ass.

"Wait a sec..." Suddenly Jaal relaxed and stood with his arms folded. "I 'know' what my problem is today... who pissed in 'your' gagh this morning?"

"The Gods," She snapped, striking simultaneously with her left fist.

Jaal blocked the strike and twisted out of the way of her next move. He offered a lame rebuttal with his right hand that blocked as easily as killing an insect.

"You fight like a girl," Arel said flatly.

Jaal smirked. "So do you." Then he attacked with both fists in furious motion in a style he hoped she didn't recognize. If she didn't, he just might land a decent hit.

The sudden burst of energy surprised her and the Captain was able to land a solid blow to her stomach. She fought against her body's natural reaction to protect itself and struck out with her foot instead.

Jaal had expected that from Arel and jumped over her attempt to trip him. Staying on the offensive he crouched and swept his own leg in an effort to topple her while she was off-balance.

Arel went down, swearing all the way.

Jaal smiled inwardly. It was the first time he'd gotten the better of Smith in a sparring match. All the other times they'd sparred he'd held his own but never had the upper hand. He asked himself if it was skill or the anger he felt over Erastus getting transferred away.

The Trill had several witty retorts on the tip of his tongue but stayed silent figuring that would unnerve Arel even more. He simply stood ready for the next assault.

Arel just grinned and got back into stance. "I'm going to make you bleed for that, Sir."

Jaal stood stock still and answered simpy, "You're the one that wanted to spar... and I've bled for less."

Without any prior indication Jaal went at her first blocking her most used defense in that situation. Really, they'd sparred too much over the years now Jaal was taking advantage of what he knew while being as unpredictable as he could.

"What is this crap you're throwing at me?" Arel snapped. He never fought like this, or at least he never had before.

"Crap?" Jaal asked somewhat surprised. "I thought you'd be glad I can finally get a few good licks in for a change." He stayed ready for anything in case she was trying to throw him off.

She appeared to think about it, while trying attack, of course.

"That's true," Arel finally conceded. And then she socked him in the face.

Jaal only half expected that move. He rolled with the punch but still felt it. He spun and attempted to go under the blow while rolling towards her to throw her off balance.

It worked but at the last minute she brought him down with her.

"I suppose," Arel said with a smirk. "That this where I ask you what's wrong."

Jaal chuckled while sitting upright to face his XO. "I already know you'll call me a whiny little bitch so you go first. Why the sudden need to kick someone's ass?" He rubbed the cheekbone where her fist connected with it.

"Not so sudden," She replied. Then made a face at his look. "I miss the kid. I miss ... I'm not good with change is all. Now you."

Jaal looked at the floor a moment. "Change is... not easy on anyone. I miss someone too," he told her finally. He looked up and went a little further with his explaination, "I mean, the Captain gig is great. The only thing I'm upset about is Admiral Asshole over on DS5." He made a fist and shook it in the starbase's general direction. "That woman makes things WAY too difficult! And for nothing!"

"She's a fuckwit," Arel agreed.

Jaal looked at Arel again, "And I miss Era too... don't know when I'll ever see her again."

Arel opened her mouth to speak but the Trill shook his head. "Well, we made some plans but you never know what's going to happen when the war gets here."

"Pretty sure that's going to happen?"

"It's not lookin good," he continued, "Especially after Romulus and all. Intel is being tight with information. When that happens it usually means something is going on." He stood and offered Arel a hand to stand.

"Well," Arel replied. "It's a good thing you got me to save your whiney bitch ass."

Then the red alert klaxon started blaring.

"What the ? how can we be at red alert while docked??!!" Jaal started talking but Arel didn't hear the rest of the sentence. The Carthage's captain was already out the door and half way to the turbolift that would take him to the bridge.

He burst onto the bridge still in his workout clothes. He froze when he saw what the main viewer was focusing on.

"Hydrans," he whispered to himself. "Great..." Jaal moved to the middle of his bridge and started firing off orders ...

TBC...

"The Light Is Green"

Occurs just before and simultaneously with 'Something Starts'

******

Deep within the core of DS5 a circuit hummed.

It was a small circuit, with nothing exceptional about it to distinguish it from the hundreds of thousands of others clustered around it in the secondary computer core of the great station.

It had been designed that way.

It hummed and hummed, singing a wordless tune to itself day and night; hiding undetected among its fellows and waiting for the moment when it would do the thing that it had been created to do, for the moment when it would fulfill its purpose and become complete.

It had been designed for that, too.

The circuit itself, like all of the ones around it glowed a cheery red color as it hummed, the crimson light that emanated from it flickering in time to its happy, wordless tune as it went about the task of checking and rechecking for a single condition hundreds of times a second.

It had also been designed for that.

The happy circuit hummed and hummed and flashed and flashed and checked and checked, just like the cloned engineer who had designed it and surreptitiously installed it at the directions of her creators had intended.

Until the day that the happy circuit discovered on the 65th check of the 49th second of the 13th minute of the 6th hour of a particular day that there was a signal coming in to the communications array that it happily monitored; a signal from a sector of space that the station's sensors said was totally empty, thanks to some of the happy red circuit's humming brothers and sisters.

And everything changed.

Just like it was designed to do, the circuit sent a signal to another set of circuits, which, in turn, sent still more signals to still more circuits, and so on and so on, just like the cloned engineer and her creators had intended them to do.

****

At 0614 Admiral Livia Proctor sat down at her desk and clicked the LCARS screen on to review the day's meeting schedule. Instead of her normal baseline screen, however, she was (courtesy of one of the happy red circuit's siblings and the Hydran sleeper-agent engineer, O'Shea) presented with the image of an apparently human hand, middle finger raised in a gesture that had remained in the human lexicon for millennia. Underneath the hand was a sixty-second countdown clock with the label: "Seconds until Hydran attack on Deep Space 5 commences."

At 0615 on a Tuesday morning, as Livia Proctor screamed in frustration and outrage loudly enough to be heard in the vacuum of space upon discovering that her quarters had sealed themselves and all her access codes and com channels had been disabled, Deep Space 5, the most newly refitted deep space station in Starfleet, changed hands without warning, becoming the newest and most recently-refitted deep space station in the Hydran Empire.

The station's powerful weapons arrays, kept charged and ready at all times per the station commander's orders, powered down, draining their charges back into the reactors. All sensors not needed for station-keeping purposes deactivated. The shields, also kept raised at all times at the station commander's orders, went off-line, exposing the station to attack and damage from bits of space debris. Those of the station's internal forcefields not needed to maintain structural integrity clicked off, venting the atmosphere - and in some cases, the cargo and personnel - in the station's loading docks to space as the fields holding it in place vanished.

>From out of a section of space thought empty - because, after all, the station's sensors had said it was - a pair of Hydran battle cruisers swept out of warp, disgorging their flights of fighters. Fusion beams lanced out at the ships currently docked on the side of the station they arrived facing, targeting only those ships currently in dock that were manned and passing the unmanned vessels by, the beams of radioactive fire burrowing deep into them with surgical precision, destroying command and control centers to disable the ships without causing catastrophic explosions.

Simultaneous with the sudden cacophony of alarms that blared throughout the station, squads of Hydran assault marines encased in their familiar battle armor beamed to points all over the stations, seizing command centers and other critical operations points with practiced military precision, their smaller fusion weapons striking the personnel manning them with deadly, merciless flashes whether they stood and fought or surrendered. No one was spared - no one, that is, except those few members of the command staff whose capture was deemed a necessity... and the cloned deep-cover agents that were spread across the station.

On the station's promenade, more armored Hydran troops appeared in flares of transporter energy, their mission simpler: eliminate resistance by eliminating the population. Fusion beams searing through civilians and fleet personnel alike, they set about doing just that with ruthless efficiency, littering the stores, shops and restaurants with the bodies of their victims.

Outside the station, the fighters swept around the bulk of the station ahead of their parent vessels, sweeping the area clear of shuttlepods, workbees, and space-suited individuals with terrifying precision and continuing on to do the same to the space dock beyond.

****

Deep within the core of DS5 a circuit hummed.

It was a small circuit, with nothing exceptional about it to distinguish it from the hundreds of thousands of others clustered around it in the secondary computer core of the great station.

It had been designed that way.

It hummed and hummed, singing a wordless tune to itself day and night; no longer hiding undetected among its fellows and waiting for the moment when it would do the thing that it had been created to do, for the moment when it would fulfill its purpose and become complete - because it was complete now.

It had been designed for that, too.

The circuit itself, like all of the ones around it, glowed a bright color as it hummed, the light that emanated from it flickering in time to its happy, wordless tune as it went about the task of signaling that it had completed its assigned task.

It had also been designed for that.

The happy circuit hummed and hummed and flashed and flashed and signaled and signaled, just like the cloned engineer who had designed it and surreptitiously installed it at the directions of her creators had intended.

Except now, the light was green.

"Springing Into Action"

Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Paramedic,
NCOIC Emergency Medical Response Team (PC)
USS Galaxy

Billeting Section, Maxwell's Quarters, DS5, 0616 Hours

The near wet dream was slowly dissipating as he was being drawn to full consciousness by an annoying blaring sound. As he opened his eyes, he noticed the room bathed in a slow flashing red. It took but a moment, But Max's eyes opened wide and he snapped to full wakefulness. Red Alert! What the... he began to think, all the while in motion and getting his uniform on. He rummaged through his Starfleet issue storage box, found his K-Bar knife (a gift from a patient back in his civilian EMS days), and before he could find his issued phaser began to hear screams. Blood curling screams. The kind that froze a person in his or her tracks in fear that whatever was causing those people to scream was coming your way.

Thankfully, Starfleet training kicked in quickly, and Max started throwing out anything that didn't even remotely look like a phaser. At last, he found the energy weapon complete with holster and attached it to his hip. Then he took out the phaser to ensure that it was charged and functional. The self diagnostic was passed and the pistol rehostered, while at the same time Max searched the room for a means of escape. He knew that walking into that hallway was like stepping in front of a vehicle at high speed: a bad idea and suicidal.

The ventilation shaft was behind a plant that was there for decorative purposes only. Max quickly pried off the grate and crawled in, but didn't proceed until he pulled the grate back into place behind him. He was approximately 30 meters and around a corner when he heard a blast, then felt the air pressure increase from the blast force being pushed through the duct system. Wishing this was just a part of his wet dream gone bad, Max crawled much faster. He passed a junction and for whatever reason decided to head down.

Proceeding further, he eventually reached an exit door, which indicated that he was in the lower decks. He hadn't realized that he had crawled/climbed, moved that far, that fast. All the while, his mind somehow shut out the explosions that were going on above him, more screams, more rumbling. Max exited the tube system and came out to find he was behind two Hydrans shooting whomever it was in front of them. Max didn't even think. His phaser was already out of it's holster and firing before the first Hydran knew what hit him. The second began to turn and was possibly about to say something when Max cut him down, as well.

After waiting a moment to see if any more would come, he advanced slowly, phaser trained just ahead of him, as training dictated. He didn't think he would ever have to fire a phaser again in his career, especially after one incident while he was on the Nobel. He gingerly stepped over several bodies, charred and burned, severed in many cases. After turning a corner, he found three crewmen, one pointing a phaser at him. "Friendly!" Max shouted before the security crewman wielding the phaser could pull the trigger. The woman hesitated, then lowered her phaser, not reholstering it.

"Who are you?" she asked. She clearly didn't know who this Petty Officer in Medical blue was, and wasn't taking any chances.

"Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell," he replied, "currently unassigned, waiting for the Galaxy, just recently saving your asses. And you?"

"Petty Officer 3rd Class Gisele Moreau, Security," she scoffed. She didn't like the idea of some Medic saving her ass.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but it would seem best to keep moving. Any objections?" The other two crewman quickly shook their heads, and then even Moreau was forced to agree. They took off for the lower decks.

"Rude Awakening"

Lieutenant Nathan Everett

===

The room shook, and Nathan jolted awake. "Thehllwzat?" he muttered groggily, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes. He glanced over at the chronometer and groaned. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been asleep, but he knew it wasn't for very long.

Cowboy rolled out of his bed and got to his feet, yawning and stretching. He felt the floor shake again, and then a flash of light in the window caught his eye. Frowning, Nathan trudged across the floor and peered outside the viewport, his palms resting on the wall. Unsure of what he was seeing, he blinked a few times, shook his head, and looked again.

A pair of Hydran battle cruisers were out there, led by a swarm of fighters, their fusion beams cutting through the ships in dock.

Nathan's eyes widened. "Oh, *shit*!"

Klaxons suddenly blared, and Nathan whirled away from the window, running around the room as he picked up his discarded clothes, pulling them back on as quickly as he could. He stopped when he realized he couldn't find his left shoe, and looked around wildly.

The woman who'd been sleeping next to him sat up, awakened by the alarms. "What's going on?" she murmured sleepily, rubbing her eyes.

"Git dressed and git to yer station, darlin', we're under attack!" Nathan said. As she scrambled for her clothes, Nathan finally found his shoe and tried to pull it on, hopping toward the door on one foot as he did so. He suddenly lost his balance and fell to the floor with a squawk.

***

Cowboy peered around the corner, his phaser raised. A squad of Hydran commandoes stood at the other end of the corridor with their backs to him. They were making their way down the hall, and bodies were littered all over--some in Starfleet uniform, some not.

One of them, a Bolian NCO, turned out to still be alive, and was trying to crawl to safety. Blue blood streamed from a ghastly wound in his lower back. One of the Hydrans caught up to him and kicked him in the side, rolling the Bolian onto his back. The commando brought his fusion rifle to his shoulder and took aim.

"No! Please!" the helpless Bolian pleaded, raising his hands as if to shield himself. He received no mercy, however, and his wailing was silenced with one clean shot from the Hydran's weapon.

Kicking the body aside, the commando rejoined his comrades and, with one last look around to make sure there weren't any survivors, they continued on their way.

"Dammit," Nathan breathed as he spun back around and pressed his back against the wall. He'd been trying to reach the fighter bay, but those Hydrans were blocking the only route there, and he doubted even Arel could fight her way through an entire squad of Hydran assault marines on her own.

Not that he'd ever actually tell her that.

He stayed where he was for a second while he tried to figure out where to go. From what he could tell, the Hydrans already had most, if not all, of DS5's vital areas under their control. The only place he figured was safe enough to go was the lower decks.

~Well, here's hopin' Ah run into someone who knows what they're doin',~ he thought as he pushed off the wall and started off. ~'Cause Ah sure as hell don't.~

BREEN INVASION: "Little Big Horn"

or

Ol' Joe's wacky war against Corvallis!

Featuring one of my favorite villains: The Breen!!! (Well, they have been my favorite since I turned Commander Thomas heel and gave him an illegitimate, psychopathic, Amish son - Zeke Wikkins! You old timers may remember him.)

Also included are various NPC members of the Corvallis colony world and the adjoining star base Deep Space 3 (since I do so love creating NPCS!)

Note: Naturally everything I do has a comedy slant. Please keep that in mind as you read. That's my schtick. Thank you.

Time: Occurs simultaneous with the invasion of Deep Space 5 - illustrated in the post "The light is green" written by Robert.

Location: Deep Space 3, Corvallis

"Conn, sensors!" Ensign Finny Bracers cried into the communicator, dropping his dolphin filled tuna sandwich to the floor. His young voice cracked betraying his surprise. Sweat began to bead across his smooth forehead.

"Conn, aye." came the immediate reply from Commander Fern Yin Crabbs.

Commander Crabbs, currently standing night watch on the Bridge of Deep Space 3 and owner of the largest collection of antique edged weapons known to man, had a reputation for being a very careful young commander. In his mind, careful was what made a commander a captain and the Asian officer was always mindful of anything that could further the advancement of his career in Star Fleet.

Down in the sensor array catacombs located beneath the station, Ensign Bracers nervously toggled between various long range sensor readouts.

"Contact on the sensors!" he said, "Bearing 024, Mark 35!"

"Breen?" Commander Crabbs asked, the tightening of his jaw muscles nearly biting the word in half. His hands clenched as if he were hoping he were holding his quadruple edged katana, given to him in honor of his near ninja mastery of the blade.

"I don't think so, sir! Its...this thing is big, sir." Ensign Bracers said unbelievably as he examined the readouts. "I'm trying to refine readings now."

Seconds ticked by at a glacial pace and tensions mounted with each passing moment. In the Starfleet community, a station hovering near the Breen Confederacy was seen a nessicity - especially with the flourishing human colony at Corvallis. Recent hostility between the Federation and the newly formed Triad had caused some of the "doves" to adopt a more "hawk-like" attitude when it came to securing the Federation's boarders.

They expected danger. They trained for it daily, however no amount of training could keep that icy ball of fear from taking hold in the pit of the stomach's of the officers on the watch. (You like that ice reference in a Breen post? I crack myself up! - Joe)

After what seemed like an eternity, the sensor analyzer resolved its indecision sending Ensign Bracers stumbling to the microphone again.

"CONN, SENSORS!!!! IT'S THE BREEN!!!! HUNDREDS OF WARSHIPS!!!! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!!!!" he yelled as a large urine stain soaked through the front of his dark uniform pants.

**** Moments later ****

"OH PISS!" Admiral Marcus Holt said, tugging at the back of his tunic. " Right in the middle of an Earl Gray colonic these freeze dried bastards decide its time to play cowboys and Indians."

The view screen stretched across the front of the bridge of the star base was filled with countless Breen warships.

"Where the hell did they get those ships?" the Admiral whispered shaking his leg.

Immediately behind him, Lt. Fancy Binners, manning the communication consol, suddenly and inexplicably found herself smelling hot tea.

"We don't know sir. Star Fleet should be made aware immediately!" Commander Crabbs said, his voice as sharp as one of his antique Bat' Liths.

"Communications are inoperative. Its as though ...were being jammed." Lt. Binners reported, her statuesque chest heaving as she drew deep, anxiety laden breaths.

"Well then!" Admiral Holt said, plopping down in the command chair. "Scramble the Shamrock Squadron! Charge the stations defense systems and raise the shields as soon as the fighters are free!!! Then advise Governor Byrne that he should expect a bit of Breen debris raining down on their heads!"

"AYE, SIR!" the crew shouted in unison. The Admiral motioned with his fingers to Commander Crabbs. As the younger man leaned in, Holt whispered "Have Lt. Bif Crannersy prepare the USS HENDERSON in case I need to evacuate the station."

**** Moments later ****

"Alright, men. Keep on your toes. Stay in your formations and don't take any chances." 'Scary' Bin Fern said as he banked his fighter starboard. The Arabic commander of the Shamrock Squadron was as cool and calculated as a human could be and his men drew courage from that. No doubt this was due to him working for 50 years in the intelligence community. His triple double dog classified personal file made him a man of mystery and as such, he commanded the unwavering belief and loyalty of his men.

Plus they knew he was a master of 101 martial arts and if push came to shove, he would simply leap out of his fighter and do things to the enemy that would only be described as classified.

"Preparing to execute maneuver: Cassius 22!" Commander Bin Fern ordered as the Breen craft closed to striking range. "We'll funnel them into the defense fleet!" he said nodding to the fleet of nearly 50 federation starships to his port side.

"Copy Bin Fern. Lets raise a little bloody hell and get home for dinner!" Fleet Commander Nibsfry Crane said from the bridge of the USS IRENE DEMERCEAU.

"Cheerio!" The Englishman cried out. His fleet were renowned expert marksmen with ships phasers and he was eager to open up a dog fighting clinic and had aspirations of seeing what happened next being taught at the Academy for decades to come.

That changed as a Breen torpedo volley streaked across space and hit the USS IRENE DEMERCEAU broad side reducing the ship to smoldering cinders in a matter of seconds before Commander Crane could even order shields up.

Queen's Gambit - The T'Kith'Kin

"And It All Came Tumbling Down" part 1

-------------------
Cardassia Prime

06:15 Coordinated Starfleet Time
Stardate 60332.1

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

Prime Miniser Alon Ghemor looked from his window at the view their labors had wrought. Nearly ten years after the carnage of the Dominion War - over a billion Cardassians dead in the final battle, their world in ruins - life was truly beginning anew. Cardassia City had been rebuilt. The government had been reorganized on a new, democratic model. For the first time in centuries, the omnipresent Central Command and Obsidian Order did not rule with an iron fist, drawing the resource-poor citizens of the homeworld into a never-ending pattern of Duty and Obligation to the state. They had a military still, true, one adequate enough to defend their territory. But that was all.

Indeed, Federation and Cardassian science had transformed the formerly barren world - it now teemed with a life Ghemor could never have imagined in his youth.

Cardassia had learned, finally, what it was to be free.

To be alive.

"I never would have imagined ten years ago, Elim, that such a glorious world could be reborn from the ashes of the old."

It was a favorite statement of Ghemor's. And one that his... well, Elim Garak had no formal title in the Government's roll of order. He did.. whatever was required of him, as always.

But the sentiment was one the former spy agreed with. "Of course, Alon." he replied diffidently. They'd had this conversation often - Elim saw no need to remind his friend of his own paranoia.

That nothing good lasts forever.

Sadly, the universe is often not a happy place. And the cynics - like Elim Garak - are often proven all too right.

-----------------
HMS Mr'Hata
The Grand Fleet, the Cardassian 'northern' border

Grand Admiral gr'Chinick gazed out at the observation deck from his flagship, the HMS Mr'Hata. The grandest ship in the T'Kith'Kin's fleet, she was nearly a kilometer in length, as the Federation measured such things.

But the power his flagship weilded on it's own was nothing which lay before him.

Though near-space was brilliantly lit by what the Cardassian's called simply "The Cluster" - a close-grouped formation of several G-Type stars that made navigating through the Cardassian's border nearly impossible - Gr'Chinick could track the movements of his fleet easily, thanks to the genetic trackers that marked their places on the large film of bioplasma that served as a T'Kith'Kin viewscreen.

Fleet hardly seemed the term for it. It was too.. weak a word, not matching near enough of the immenseness of this gather.

At nine hundred ships strong, it wasn't a fleet. It was an invasion force.

"And we will bring Cardassia to it's knees." the T'Kith'Kin breathed under his breath to himself.

And then, he cursed himself for such an action.

Speaking to oneself was such a filthy human habit, after all.

-------------------
Cardassia Prime

Ghemor took a sip of his tea as he enjoyed the view, before his peaceful morning was forever shattered.

A young aide crashed through the doors. "Prime Minister, Prime Minister!"

He saw Garak's hand flash to the knife Ghemor knew was hidden in his sleeve, and put up a hand to stop the other man. "Calmly, son. What is it?"

The aide didn't reply verbally, but instead activated the large communications screen on his office wall.

["This is... Gul....... from the outer system def... T'Kith'kin ships - more than nine hun..... Repeat! This is G......... if anyone's getting this, evacuate Cardassia Prime! Evacuate NOW!]

"Something Continues..."

Captain Jaal Jaxom
USS Carthage

==Bridge==

Before the turbolift doors were completely open the Trill captain left from out and pointed to th helm console, "Get us space borne, now!"

"But the umbilicals are still?" the ops officer tried to protest but Jaal was behind her tapping keys. Her twin at helm looked on incredulously.

"Jettison'em, we don't have time to properly disembark." He tapped his commbadge, "Engineering, this is the bridge, we need full impulse now! Auxillary power to weapons and shields!"

"Vam'wa, attack vector beta sigma on target one, it should be on sensors now." Jaal stepped back and settled, as much as he could, into the command chair, "Tactical, I know you're already scanning for weak spots in Hydran's shield matrix."

"Scanning now sir," came the voice of the calm Vulcan tactical officer.

The Carthage was freed from her moorings and racing to the nearest of the attacking Hydran ships. Her shields were raised and weapons hot. Jaxom would make every one of her shots count.

Of course, the Hydrans had other plans.

The two enemy battlecruisers already had their weapons trained on the ships docked on DS5. Even before the Carthage was moving, enemy torpedoes were streaking to her waiting to wreak havoc on the tiny vessel.

The first volley struck with surprising power. Anyone not in a chair was thrown to their feet. The tactical officer's head landed against a bulkhead. The force of the fall broke his neck. He landed with a sickening sound on the deck.

Jaal shook his head as he recovered, "Smith, take tactical," he ordered his XO. Try to target weapons arrays. Vam'wa, new attack vector, beta theta and give her all she's got."

The Carthage, on her new course, avoided a second blast while shooting back at the larger Hydran ship. Smith's shooting was impeccable but the enemy's shields were still at full power and easily repelled the attack.

Despite the lack of damage caused by the Carthage's barrage, the Hydran ships veered off. Before Jaal could order pursuit?

"We've got a new set of signals coming in," Net'wa announced from her position at the ops console. "Enemy fighters coming our way."

"Evasive maneuvers," Captain Jaxom ordered.

Without warning the space surrounding the Carthage seemed completely filled with Hydran fighters or their pulse weapon beams.

It didn't take much to beat down the shields of the Carthage. She wasn't a 'capital' ship my any means and sheer numbers of fighters attack her simply overwhelmed the defensive systems. Once the shields were down it was only a matter of time...

"Survival By Any Means"

By

Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Paramedic,
NCOIC Emergency Medical Response Team (PC)
USS Galaxy

Various NPC's for the purpose of this story

*Lower Decks, DS5, About ten minutes after Max met up with the first trio of survivors...*

By this time, Max had a fairly decent amount of people with him, some armed with Starfleet issue phasers, the rest with assorted Hydran weapons which were...liberated from those that were cut down. At this point, however, they haven't seen, heard, or smelled a Hydran for about 3 decks now. Either they hadn't gotten that far yet, or they hadn't deemed it necessary to worry about anyone in those parts, Max figured.

So far, only enlisteds were with Max as far as survivors were concerned. He wondered if anyone else was able to get out of top side before all hell really broke loose. There was a distinct sound earlier of heavy metal shearing off, somewhere above them. One of the survivors was an engineer and reasoned that a part of the station was sheared off. Max said a silent prayer for those that died, and then moved on.

The Petty Officer from Security, Moreau, more or less became Max's right hand while he led them deeper into the bowels of the station. After a while, she asked the ineveitable question: "Do you know where we're going, Maxwell?"

Max stopped, and so did everyone else. He then turned around, looked Moreau in the eyes and simply answered, "No, I don't."

There were a few gasps from the civilians that were among them, and curious glances from the 'Fleeters that now realized that they didn't even know who this Medic was.

Moreau, for her own part, took on a superior look and a smug smile. "Then it stands to reason that I should lead us to safety. In fact, we need to get get back to the higher decks. I'm sure we can find an Officer to help us out." That last part stung Max like a Tarkanian Wasp - hard. That was low, especially for a Petty Officer to throw into the face of another. "Moreau," he began, "that was really unecessary. And another thing: If you haven't noticed, there aren't any Hydrans down here. Up top they're swarming everywhere. I should know, I was up in Biletting when the attack started." He paused to let that information sink in.

"We need to get to a position where we can do the most good and consolidate our efforts and resources. And while I do agree that it would be nice to have an Officer with experience-" he cast a sidewise glance at Moreau before continuing "-we need to understand that currently I am the highest ranking person here. I received the same survival training all of you have, and will do my damnedest to ensure that we all get where we need to go safely." *Even if I don't know exactly where that is,* he added silently.

There were several moments of silence, then Moreau spoke up. "Then at least let me show you the quickest ways to the 'Bottom' Decks." Max nodded. He was all about utilizing resources to get the job done. "Take point, Jerud, Yancy, take the rear," he directed as Moreau took lead and two Crewmen took the rear. The little group had some organization now, and proceeded without much incident. Save for the one Hydran they caught off guard, who got nailed by Moreau. She and Max exhanged glances, and moved on.

"All hell is breaking loose"

Ens Larkin J. Kelley

Larkin Kelley was anxious to get to his new assignment onboard the USS Galaxy. He was excited and proud to be going out into space to serve his beloved Federation. A wondrous creation he had studied during childhood, been taught to respect the ideals of, and now as an adult was ready to serve and defend, with his life if necessary. Little did he know just how that ideology was about to come into play. He had been able to breeze through the physical aspects of the academy thanks to his upbringing on the Texas ranch of his family. Rugged physical living in the outdoors had helped to make him strong and tough. While he had struggled through some of the academic studies, he had still earned his commission and had just began to learn about the "big picture" out in the vastness of space thanks to his chosen career field of intelligence. Not everyone shared his views and those of the Federation member worlds. In fact there were quite a few entities in the other quadrants who downright despised everything the Federation stood for. Larkin had come to realize that as long as those races still existed there would be a threat to the sovereignty of the United Federation of Planets. And this morning had found him in the gymnasium getting through his exercise routine. The thoughts swirling through his head as he "pumped iron". His time to be alone with his private thoughts.

He was thinking about the so called beer he was served the night before. It sure wasn't as good as Texas beer, but it would do considering he was so far out in space. ~Have to see if I can get a case of Shiner sent to me~ he thought. He dropped the barbell down on the deck with a thump. Something wasn't quite right though. The deck shouldn't have shuddered like that just because he dropped a few pounds of free weights on it. It hadn't done that at all throughout his morning workout. Then the deck shook again, violently this time. There was an awful grinding sound and rumble from an apparent impact to the outer hull of the station. Kelley stumbled toward the viewport after he saw a bright flash of light. There was no one else in the gym but he still spoke aloud. "Could something have happened onboard a docked ship?" No one answered as he reached the bulkhead and peered out the window to space. A dark gray blur rushed by and he instinctively jumped backward. Something was wrong now for certain. He pressed against the window again and saw more blobs of gray now. They were floating slowly in space. His mind rushing about, trying to figure out the solution. ~Cargo sleds?~ he thought. ~Worker bees?~ Then the image of the wreckage was blocked by something much larger. The ship flew by the viewport, moving among the wreckage. Larkin's eyes were wide with shock as he saw the markings on the ship as it glided by totally unopposed by the station's defensive systems. "Hydrans" he said in a slow, incredulous hiss of a whisper. The gut wrenching realization that this was an all out attack hit him like a jab to the mid section and his training kicked in.

Larkin ran out of the gym and toward his billet in the guest quarters. He was frantically trying to get the door open to his billet. The power systems had gone out by now, the emergency lighting casting an eerie glow upon the corridors. ?Come on!? he yelled as he braced again and managed to get the doors opened just enough to get his fingers into. Now he was able to pull them apart and run in. He immediately searched for his duffel bag among the darkness, finally stumbling upon it where he estimated it would be. He tossed it upside down and emptied the contents, searching for the one weapon he knew he had. ?There you are? he said as he found his Bowie knife and tossed it around his waist and attached the old leather strap and sheath that held it on when he carried it. He stumbled through the darkness back toward the doors. Finally he found the emergency hand light and affixed it to his left forearm and headed out the door.

A few minutes later he had arrived at the command deck. The first place that he had thought of going in an attack and boarding situation would be command and control. It was logical to him. However, he would never get that far. Not even close. As he stealthily moved through the corridors he eventually heard a commotion. He stopped to listen. After the sound of energy weapons he heard the familiar stomping of combat boots. ?Shit? he cursed in a low growl. He knew that it had to be the Hydrans that were boarding the station and not friendly forces. It was obvious that they were sweeping the station and clearing all areas to secure their war prize? DS5. Larkin looked around and found a maintenance hatch and entered it as quietly as he could, replacing the hatch. He activated the light on his arm and kept moving through the tubes. This was his only chance, as a direct confrontation with armed Hydrans in battle armor was out of the question. He was sure he could take one individually, and that was only counting on surprise and disarming the alien degenerate creature first. But there was no way he could take more than one at a time. And he knew that they would be roving the corridors in groups, like a pack of animals looking for their prey.

So on he crawled in the tightness of the tubes. He had never been fond of small spaces. And at 6?5 and two-hundred thirty-plus pounds he was not all that small a person. ?Damn crawlways? he grumbled to himself as he kept moving. ?Why don?t they ever make maintenance tubes big enough to stand up in??

~Ottomans~

Thyago Carneiro

Everybody has a song - a special piece of music that was never written especially for them. This is not music one can hear, or sing, or even really know about. But, despite having never been written and having never been played, it is true that everything thing which has ever lived has a song. Or, at the very least, they have a sound.

Napoleon Bonaparte had quite a powerful song. It was, of course, a march, with thundering timpanis and bombastic trumpet and brass fare, every bit as big and powerful and loud as the man was short. Had it have been played while he was alive, it would have taken an orchestra of over a hundred angels, each a virtuoso at their chosen craft, to play it right. When he marched across Europe, this orchestra followed wherever he went, playing to sold out audiences of souls that have yet to be created. Unfortunately for all involved, the conductor sprained his wrist before the performance at Waterloo, and History is well aware what happened then.

Kato Kailen, on the other hand, had the downward falling scale played on a slide whistle.

Thyago Leandro Domenico Carneiro had quite a bizarre song, if you could call it a song. It had no cohesive melody or style. Instead, it seemed to jump between them after every few measures. There was a good deal of fast paced music, some of it techno and synthesized, some of it played by strings, some on the piano, and there were two distinct sections played on a bass guitar that sounded like theme music to a low budget spy thriller. There were moments of graceful woodwinds and moments reminiscent of a tango. Much of it was light hearted and upbeat, played on a major scale. There was a bit of club music and a healthy dash of bow-chicka-bow-bow. It was as if some one had knocked Humpty Dumpty's CD collection off the wall, shattering it, and all the king's horses and all the king's men blindly glued it back together again. But, i did have a decent samba rhythm running throughout.

Thyago had no concept of his own song. Few people in the universe know their songs, and these are usually the most powerful and successful of beings. However, most people have some knowledge of it, hidden in the deepest recesses of their subconscious or locked up in the core of their souls. If they heard a bit of external music with a similar rhythm or similar chords in the melody, they might get a curious sense of familiarity. Or, when they're very busy with some mind numbingly dull task, they might softly hum their song without realizing it. Some of the most self aware people are able to hear their song in their dreams.

Thyago did none of these things. He truly had no idea what his song was, or whether he even had one. But, deep down, on some level, he knew that his song ended in the same way as the theme song to the Dick Van Dyke Show, when Dick trips over the ottoman. Thyago knew that much.

But, at the moment, Thyago was listening to a different song. Playing over the speakers in the small abandoned gym was an old jazz number, from the mid twentieth century. Thyago was prancing around in front of the mirrors that lined one of the walls of the gym, his chest puffed out, his arms held back, his head bobbing forward and backward to the beat of the song, like a pigeon as it hurried across a populated city square. This was good, because Thyago was trying very hard to look like a bird of some sort. He was toying with the idea of a new dance routine, one based on the movements of a bird, a neo-contemporary jazz number. He, of course, longed for a partner, because then it could be a bird mating dance, but alas, he was alone. He considered mating with himself, but there had been enough of that recently, he needn't portray it through dance.

Satisfied with the strut, he began to jump up into the air, exploring which of the different positions he could reach appeared to be the most avian. Despite the suggestions offered by the ending to his own personal song, Thyago was quite a good acrobat. He very rarely fumbled the landings to his leaps and bounds. The high frequency at which he found himself sprawled across the floor was due largely to external causes. Like those darned ottomans.

Or, in this case, whatever it was that shook the floor.

Thyago had just leapt high into the air, thrusting his arms out and spinning his body back, up and around, trying to achieve the look of a diving falcon. He held this position for a split second (but when people are hanging in the air, any pause in the movement seems to last forever), and continued the spin. Had things gone as planned, he would have landed squarely back on his feet and his torso would have followed through into a slight bow, but instead, something shook the floor. Something shook the entire gymnasium and his foot slid back behind his center of gravity, and instead of a slight, graceful bow, Thyago's torso took a slight, graceful face dive into the polished floor.

"Po! Caralho!" he cursed, pushing himself off the ground and rubbing his now sore forehead. Bruises were part of a dancer's life, but it was still unpleasant when they appeared on the face. Though, they were still better than cuts, he thought, as the entire gymnasium shook once more and the mirrors on the wall cracked and shattered. Fortunately, they were made of smart-shatter glass, and there were few sharp edges to slice his skin as the shards rained down on his huddled form.

Slowly, cautiously, Thyago stood up and walked to the gym entrance, kicking the fallen glass shards out of his way his bare feet with each step. The doors whooshed open and he calmly peered out into the hall, looking to see if it was shaking as well, or if it was just his room. It was a silly investigation, he knew, because rooms didn't shake by themselves. If they shook, they shook together, as a community. Rooms were socialist in that way. If a room on a starbase was shaking all on its lonesome, it was a sign of a larger problem. Although, if many rooms on a starbase were shaking, that was also a sign of a larger problem, but it would be especially curious if it was only one room.

The hall was empty, but he could hear commotion down around the bend, out of sight. He couldn't tell what, for it sounded rather far away. He slipped back inside and slid down the wall of the gym, reaching for his sneakers and putting them back on his feet.

As he stepped back out into the hall, the station shook once more (solidly proving that it was more than just his little dance gym). He tried to think of the reasons why the station might be shaking in the way it was. One vibration could be many things but there were not so many options for the series of spasms he was feeling. A series of decompressing explosions, or an attack, a series of meteor or comet impacts, a large scale gravitational tug on the station by a large planetary body....

As he walked down the halls of the lower decks of DS5, Thyago mentally ruled out the last two options. Surely, those events would have been detected and prevented ahead of time. No, something unexpected was likely occurring - a catastrophic accident or an attack.

He was approaching the commotion, his hand tracing along the wall as he walked. He was feeling nothing but mild curiosity, which was odd, and probably stupid, because of the two options he had narrowed things down to, one implied the commotion was a group of frantic engineers and the other implied an invading army. And Thyago was armed with nothing more than his good looks (which were damaged by the growing lump on his forehead). They would do little good against an invading army, unless it was an army of Amazons, and then, only if they weren't lesbians.

He turned the corner, expecting to discover what was going on. But, instead, he found another body, running from the other direction and smashing into him, knocking him back, once more, to the ground.

When you're expecting to find answers, oftentimes, the universe throws you ottomans.

"Getting On The Move"

Captain Jaal Jaxom
Cmdr. Arel Smith
Cadet Aina Mason
Petty Officer 3rd Class David Howe
&
the rest of USS Carthage's Crew

==Bridge, USS Carthage==

Forty fighters and two battlecruisers proved to be too much for the outgunned Carthage. So many systems were offline or destroyed it was a wonder the vessel was still in one piece.

"Captain," Arel shouted at the Trill. He'd ordered the immediate evacuation of the Carthage for all personnel but was refusing to leave until everyone was clear. Arel was no engineer but even she could tell that the Carthage wasn't going to last long enough for that. "We need to get you off the ship."

"We need to get 'everyone' off the ship!" Jaal hollered over the noise as he frantically tapped away at the operations console. The core was about to breach and he was doing everything he could to hold it off while the rest of the crew was being beamed back to DS5.

Arel looked over at the Chief of Security and for once saw that she and the officer were in total agreement. And then she shook her head, sucker-punched her new captain, and ordered an emergency beam out to the station.

In a fantastic explosion, the Carthage blew to pieces a minute later.

***

==Somewhere on DS5==

Jaal came to rubbing his chin. "You... bitch..."

Arel shrugged, the closest way that she could say 'blow me' but still be respectful.

"Where are we anyway?" he asked looking around trying to get his bearings.

"The station," The XO replied shortly and nodded to the transporter officer at his post. "Transporter room. Sensors read two Hydran battleships, Sir. Looks like that war we were talking about is officially on."

"Zoikes," Jaal exclaimed quietly in his native language while standing up. "Who all made it with us?" His head looked one way, then the other in an attempt to ascertain who, from the Carthage's crew, made it to the starbase before the ship exploded.

"About 35% of the crew including Net'wa, Vam'wa, Stovok, and Mason," She said.

"Okay, next order of business," Jaal's expression was, perhaps, the grimmest anyone had seen to date, "We need weapons. There has to be a supply locker around here somewhere."

Arel nodded. "On this tier." She produced two knives, one of which she handed to the Captain. Just in case they ran into some into some resistance before they could get to the phasers.

"Thanks," Jaal knew how much Arel's knives meant to her. For her to give him one was a sign of great respect. "These are good for close quarters but we still need something to fight with at range." He started moving down the corridor looking for storage lockers damning himself for not learning the layout of the starbase better. "We also need to gain access to the main computer. Keep an eye out for a terminal."

She nodded again and not so subtly moved in front of him to take the lead. He could bitch about it later, Arel decided. They got to the storage lockers, collecting a few people along the way, and the weapons just in time to hear phaser fire down the way. "The Hydrans have boarded, Sir."

Every so often a deep rumbling was felt throughout the station. There was definitely something bad happening. Jaal paused for half a second while looking around at the ceiling.

"Great," Jaal replied with a tone that oozed sarcasm. He was handing out phaser rifles to the Carthage's crew that made it over in the mass transport as they filed in and out of the small room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a computer terminal. "Aina," he called to the Carthage's only cadet, "Get on the system and see what you can find out. It won't be long before the Hydrans come looking for us."

"Yes Captain," Aina returned, thankful for something else to think about, other than the death of many of the crew of the Carthage. She had gotten to know many of them and now that they were gone, it was...something that she didn't want to think about.

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts at logging into the terminal, always with the result of 'access denied' brightly on the screen, made Aina very suspicious, especially with the time it took to return with the message. Levering off the edge of a panel on the terminal, she brought out her tricorder and made contact with it's internal diagnostic cache. Spending a few moments, using her data miners and the knowledge of exactly how the terminals worked she was able to grab the terminal's security credentials.

With that, any computer security would see any data access she made as a simple terminal diagnostic request. Of course, she was limited on what she could access - but it was enough for her to find out whether her suspicions were correct or not.

Tapping the terminal screen and watching the data flow on the terminal and on her tricorder for a couple of minutes, she looked at Jaal and Arel. "Most of the system is down. Shields, Weapons, Internal Sensors are off line. Comms is working, but I can't access it, something is refusing my requests. But Life Support seems to be functioning fully."

Jaal was shaking his head. "Either they came in cloaked... or..."

"Captain..." started Aina.

She interrupted his train of thought. Jaal's attention went right to her screen.

"The Comms System is still running, just not authenticating. It will mean having to access every Comms Relay that we can, but I can set up a secondary network that we can use," Aina returned.

Jaal nodded appreciatively. As much as he was loathe to admit it, she was better than he was at her age. 'It's a good thing she's on our side,' he thought.

"Won't they realize what we're doing?" Arel asked.

"Only if they look really hard and know what to look for. It took Captain Jaxom awhile to find my Secret Network on the Miranda, to let us kids talk privately, especially when one of us got grounded," Aina smiled, half remembering her time on the Miranda.

"If you think I was bad, she's worse," Jaal added. "Aina, see if you can do anything with the internal sensor net. We need to find out where people are." The Trill turned to Arel, "Make sure everyone is armed to teeth. If the Hydrans are boarding they may not be planning to destroy the station. I don't intend to let them keep it. We may have to get to main engineering and set the self destruct sequence."

"It's a good day to die?" Arel asked with a scowl.

"I prefer the Dwarven Battle Cry," muttered Aina as she was working on the terminal.

"And what's that?" asked Jaal.

"It's a good day for someone else to die," returned Aina.

"I'd prefer to show my son what a Hydran hide looks like," the XO replied.

"I'd like it to be a last resort," he told her with a mild smirk, "I'm finding it hard to fathom why they're only attacking with two ships. Things are going way too easy for them. Something has 'got' to be up. I want something to trump that surprise."

After a few minutes, Aina called Jaal over, "Captain - I can't get access to internal sensors at the moment, something is actively blocking me, but I have been able to access the comms positioning system. I can display active comm-badge locations, but that is about it, till I can bypass the blocking."

"Show them," then a look of horror came across Jaal's face. He took his own commbadge off and crushed underneath the heel of his boot. "Everyone else, do the same! If the Hydrans get control of the upper decks, they'll be able to track us way too easy. Lose the badges, now."

Everyone followed the Captains example and destroyed their comm badge.

On Aina's display, it looked as if the entire senior staff of the starbase was located in the command center. "Aina, can you track the Hydran on board by their biosigns? That would be a big help."

Aina looked at Jaal, "I can't do it at this terminal, I can't hack past the ice. Two levels down, Brown six nine seven...oh...oh...four one...five...oh...one...three, is a engineering sub-node. From there, if they haven't put some rogue ice on the recovery servers, I might be able to get the AI seed files for an secondary internal sensor suite. It won't be pretty, pretty basic - but it will be faster then trying to hack that ice right now, best thing, the black hats won't know that we have it."

"How long?" Arel asked.

"No security from the black hats, less than ten minutes for a full compile, say another two minutes for a shimmy in the recovery servers...say twenty minutes!" returned Aina.

Petty Officer 3rd Class David Howe set his rifle for level 4, perhaps the most efficient level the standard rifle could be set at. It provided an incredibly heavy stun at range, and could kill if used up close. As an armorer and weapons expert (the Terran kid always had what some would call an unhealthy, almost clinical view of weapons), he had the training to handle weapons... albeit usually much larger than the small arms they were dealing with now. In his two years in Starfleet thus far however, the 19 year old proved himself capable of adapting fairly easily, especially when someone was around to tell him what to do. "Twenty minutes? Will we even be around that long?"

Aina shrugged, "I don't have my hacking padd or the software. That would make life a lot easier. That rogue ice on the sensors is good."

He didn't know what Aina's fascination with ice was, but he gave up trying to understand most officers a long time ago. David looked to Jaal, despite his red collar he had little 'actual' experience in these situations outside the holodeck. (Little being none.) "What do we do now, sir?"

"We go two levels down and set booby traps along the way," the Trill hoisted a rifle onto his shoulder making sure the strap held it secure. He grabbed another rifle and a hand phaser from the weapons locker. "The Hydrans will start at the command levels and work their way down. I doubt they'll be taking prisoners. We have to get to main engineering and attempt to shut the station down and send a signal to the rest of the fleet. I got a hunch this sneak attack was well hidden... I just wish I knew how they did it." Next he buckled a belt of spare hand-weapon power packs to his waist.

"All right people," he addressed what was left of his crew, "Lock and load. If we run into Hydran forces don't stop shooting until they stop moving. Aim for the joints in their armor if you can. Net'wa, Stovok, take point. Smith, you're next. Mason, you're with me."

Jaal then divided up the rest into three groups. Two would go between the pointpeople and Smith, followed by Jaxom and Mason, then the third group would bring up the rear. "The rest of you bring keep your eyes out for station personnel that may need help. Once we're moving we'll use hand signals only unless we know an area is secure."

Next the Carthage's former captain gave the signal to move out...

"Drinks in Tahoe"

Lt. JG Faylin McAlister
JAG Officer - Chief Liaison Officer

Dr. John C. Richardson, Ph.D
Ensign, Starfleet Liaison Corps
Diplomatic Officer, USS Galaxy

Location: Holodeck 2
==============

Snow fell slowly outside the large bay window. It was soft and gentle, and although completely faked, offered Fay something to look at as she sipped her warmed Brandy. She sat in one of two large chairs that were upholstered in a deep burgundy fabric with a paisley pattern. Legs crossed, mind unwinding, she waited for her partner in crime to arrive.

A small wooden table sat between the two chairs. It looked as rough as she did as of late. The duty of Chief of the Liaison department had fallen upon her shoulders, which did not mean that much more work...but with title comes responsibility. Or was it, with greatness comes great responsibility? Her mind fluttered, chugged at the thought, then threw it away into the deep recesses that housed all the information she deemed unimportant.

Looking over her right shoulder, she viewed him as he entered and smiled. "Doc...." She sang out clearly as he rounded the chairs and took a seat.

As John pulled out the chair to sit down, his left eyebrow arched dramatically as a smile lifted across his cheek. He wore a loose-fitting "Hawaiian" style shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals. He carried three PADDs in his left hand and a finely wrapped cigar in his right.

"Lieutenant," said Richardson with a hint of amusement in his voice, "this definitely is not the bustling street corner in Havana you were gushing about. I've got to say, though, this is one of the better holo-recreations of Tahoe in winter that I've seen. Next time, I'd like to dress for the occ-"

John caught sight of the coffee mug Fay slid across the table to him, smelling strongly of a French roast/double scotch combination. Richardson picked up the mug and gave his ambrosia a loving sip. "Mmm. Consider all forgiven. See, you can a real diplomat if you try. So what's up?"

"Me, a diplomat? Perish the thought. As far as 'what's up', nothing much. Just wanted to touch base with you informally." Fay eyed the padds and frowned dramatically. "This...is a social call...not a business endeavor. Remember?"

"Oh, I know. This is just a little light reading" John set the PADDs down on the table with an audible 'thud', and reclined in the comfortable chair. "So, how are you feeling about the new 'Department Head' status? Enough paper work?"

"You can say that. The worst part is, it's really going to put a crease in my personal life. You know what they say about all work and no play." She paused, eyeing him suspiciously. "Speaking of personal lives....." Fay leaned over, tilting her head to the side, still eyeing him. "Do you have one?"

John grinned broadly, and took another sip of his wonderfully strong Irish Coffee.

"Sure, if you consider publishing three Academic papers and two dozen op-eds a year 'a life'." John set his coffee mug down, and looked whimsically out at the holo-snow.

"To be completely honest with you, I've always found it difficult to make time for myself in Starfleet. I'm very dedicated to this job, and the women in my life (what few of them there've been) don't take kindly to the fact that I've either been stationed at remote embassies or knee-deep in academics for the last 20 or so years."

"So basically, you're an overzealous nerd." Fay stated with a giggle before coughing. "Sorry." The woman straightened her posture. "My dear doctor, you are simply dating the wrong type of woman. You need someone that appreciates your academic prowess and respects your station. Find someone like that and....your set! See? Simple!"

John chuckled as he slightly shook his head. "If it were that easy, I'd be tucked away in some cottage on Risa with a beautiful and intelligent woman, employed at an amazing university that required little to no effort on my part. Oh, "Lieutenant" and if you're going to use 'Doctor' in such a psuedo-demeaning fashion, just call me John."

"So instead, you pick the Galaxy... and a department now led by a woman who speaks before thinking. Gooood choice there *John*." She tossed a lopsided smile his way before taking a long sip of her brandy.

"Actually, I never had the opportunity to *chose* Galaxy. Not three weeks ago I was a SFMC Reserve Chief Warrant Officer teaching classes at the Academy. I applied for the Liaison Corps expecting the usual 6 month turn around. I heard back in two days, and was on my way to Vulcan not three days later. If that's the kind of stability Starfleet offers, then God help my so-called 'personal life'."

Richardson took a deep sip from his coffee, and began to felt the tingling sensation that only the finest scotches awarded their patrons. He sighed audibly, leaned further back in the chair, and placed his feet on the table. "So, you alluded to your personal life, but so far have let me do all the talking. You're a good lawyer, Lieutenant, but a bad conversationalist."

"Ah, there you are partly correct. I am an excellent defense attorney... and an excellent conversationalist. I listen and ask questions about the other person, gathering more information on them than they gather on me." She stated with a wink. "As far as your personal life... I can.... help you with that. I know a few women that might be up your ally...so to speak."

"Really!" John blurted out, and suddenly looked surprised at his own outburst. "Wow?How much Scotch did you put in here?" Richardson grinned, and slightly tilted his head downwards. "So, uh, who are some of the people you have in mind?"

Fay chuckled lightly before watching him with amused eyes. "Oh, an assistant here or there. I'd offer myself...but I doubt you could handle me quite honestly. I prefer my men a little on the non-intellectual side with a little more brawn."

Richardson looked at McAlister very seriously, and nodded his head with understanding. "Of course you would, Faylin. I've seen the brood you run with, after all" Richardson deadpanned. "I mean, heaven forbid you were with a man who could read Plato in his original Greek and bench press 330. What would that do for your reputation?"

Her eyes shot open wide for a moment as she regarded him. "Did you...you did...." Fay pointed her index finger at him, then leaned over and gently took the mug from his hand. "I'm cutting you off you mouthy little thing!" Shaking her head, she laughed outright. "I'm still your boss you know..."

Richardson leaned back over the table and retrieved his mug, a look of amused defiance on his face. "I am," he began, "one half Irish, my mother being born in County Cork, Ireland. If you think one cup of this wonderful elixir is going to knock me out, you have another thing coming. And while I acknowledge that you a more senior officer, my dear lieutenant, I am certainly too charming and generally wonderful for it to make much a difference."

"Touch?' John." Lifting her glass, she saluted him.

John lifted his glass, bowed his head slightly, and gave Fay a quick wink before finishing his drink. He leaned back in his chair, his body feeling wonderfully warm and relaxed. John hadn't felt this good, or this bold, in quite some time. He glanced down at his antique Panerai watch, frowned for effect, and looked over at McAlister.

"Well, its getting late Faylin, and we both have duty shifts in the morning. I was planning on heading back to my quarters for a nightcap... would you care to join me?" Richardson's face displayed an image of complete innocence, though he certainly hoped Faylin would infer otherwise.

Tilting her head to the side, she arched an evilly high eyebrow at the man beside her. His previous statement, "I mean, heaven forbid you were with a man who could read Plato in his original Greek and bench press 330" ran wildly through her mind, causing her eyebrow to arch even higher if that was possible. Biting her lip for a moment while still studying him, she nodded. "Sure, what the hell?as long as you read Plato to me." Fay retorted with a chuckle.

MANSLAUGHTER : Memories

The nearby thud of a plasma mortar brings me back to reality.

Muddy trenches, rain soaked uniform, and the hissing of plasma lasers lighting up the night sky.

Shit.

Im back on Hill 103.

Resting my head back on the warm stock of my carbine, I try to get back to sleep and the odd dream I had been having.

Running around on a starship?

Being chased by the local sherriff that looks like my commanding officer?

Choking some poor girl by the swimming pool?

The three day old beans I had for chow were messing up my dreams......

Just a little more sleep...

"Mann! Get your ass up and on the line!" the gruff voice of Lieutenant Hux brings me back.

Oh yeah....Hill 103.

We'd been on the piece of crap mudpile for almost a week battling everything from the incessant rains, summer heat, and those damn swarming bugs that got into everything.

Oh yeah and the bastards shooting at us too.

The Tarsians were holed up somewhere on top of this heap, and it was our job to go up there and dig them out.

The crack of artillery underscored that one.

Hunched over me in the trench is the huge form of Lt Hux.

"Morning El-Tee....I was just having a dream about you." I yawn remembering the sherriff.

"Have your fantasies about me on your own time M.S.." The Lt. grumps. "Grab your gear and follow me."

Lieutenant Hux's foot in my ass got me moving quicker, shouldering my mud sodden pack, and hefting my carbine. The weapon is small and seemingly insignificant compared to the huge automatic laser rifle Hux carries, but then again my job is to travel a lot lighter.

Hux grabs my wet collar and drags me up the muddy embankment.

"Got a job oppurtunity for you M.S." he's saying, an arm pointing out into the smoke and mist. "Pillbox.....bout half a klick up the slope....kinetically-shielded so we cant call in arty."

M.S.

I've had that nickname since basic when some wise ass drill sergeant noticed the name on my file....Mann, Sleitor was a homonym for Manslaughter.

Gory, but better than some of the nicknames other people got.

The Lieutenant is still talking but I'm already peering out from under my helmet....plotting a path up the muddy slope.

Patch of rocks should provide a natural defilade.......

Im not worried about tripping any perimeter alarms.....they're useless on us. Im also not worried about being singled out by enemy snipers.....as long as they're not looking directly at me, I can mentally filter out their vision....

.....Still there are enough random shots flying all over a battlefield that even the invisible man would be wise to proceed slowly and under cover.

A crackle over energy lances overhead as if to prove my point.

"Pillbox.....got it." I drop my pack back into the trench. No need to lug it uphill at this point. Flipping the carbine over I wipe mud off the little power readout......full charge....groovy.

A flash of lightning and Im off and running.......sloshing actually...... forward through the mud.

Somewhere behind me Hux is rattling away on his heavy MG....hot needles of light raking the enemy lines to keep their heads down.

My mind is elsewhere......probing the minds of enemy troops in my viscinity.....I cant read their thoughts, but I can pick up on their sensations.....

"You cant see me.....you cant see me....." Out of habit I run the mantra through my head as I convince them that they really didnt see a shape move out of the corner of their eye.

Its slow going......I have to doubleback twice due to a minefield, and once am almost flattened by friendly fire as a gunship screams out of the mist making a strafing run on the line.

Still I make it........cause Im such a sneaky bastard

500 yards uphill and Its raining harder now.

The grey green of my uniform has long ago faded into a dull muddy mess. Even without my mental abilities, I look exactly like the surroundings that nobody would notice me.

I see the pillbox now.......a duracrete mound set into the hillside and covered with foilage.

The enemy is firing high energy X-Ray lasers downhill.......invisible enough to not reveal their position, but still deadly enough to punch through anything.

Shit....no wonder Hux neede me to take it out.

Sloshing my way under the barbed wire and around back, I hear the voices of the enemy inside........those that would kill my buddies.

Big mistake.

I'm on them in an instant, bursting through the rear door and into their midst.

Carbine's pumping out hot laser death one instant, and the next I'm hand to hand tearing off limbs and beating their sorry asses with them.

Damn Tarsians.

Kill my buddies?

I smash the enemy into the walls....stomp them into the floor.......rip their heads off........... laugh at thier cries for mercy.......

I wake up back in my dream.

The dull beige walls of a Starship all around me.

Im standing in a lake of blood.....the shattered bodies of several security guards laying in pieces all around me......

The hell?

I laugh again because Im dreaming......

I cry at the same time because Im afraid Im not........

"Take A Little Peek At My Soul"

Corran Rex
Ella Grey

Takes place before the "Manslaughter: Revelations" series, while Ella is still in Sickbay.

****

USS Galaxy
Sickbay

Her dreams were surprisingly languid - images of the past and present rolling into each other, her emotions dulled and her reactions delayed - but she awoke sharply and it took a few minutes to slow her breathing, get her bearings, and realize that there was someone sitting beside her.

~~You're awake~~ Ella signed, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

Corran looked at her from shadowed eyes. He'd come here from the.. Well, crime scene was the wrong word for it. Slaughterhouse was a lot more apt.

"So're you." he noted quietly. As he looked at her, he felt the pressure in his head build again - those voices, so many voices, so quiet, and yet he couldn't hear them over the din.

Corran pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, concentrating his thoughts a moment.

She frowned, reaching out a hand to confirm that he was actually there and not the side effect of some drug. His hand felt solid in hers, warm, and she pushed aside the sudden memory of his body next to hers, the desire to be safe in someone's arms, and pulled her hand back to be free to sign. ~~You're different~~

"Aren't we all?" he snorted.

"What's wrong," Ella mouthed.

He lay a hand on her face, casually, a lover's touch - or a former lover, as the case may be.

And then.. something happened.

Ella understood immediately what was happening, having gone through a mind meld with Saul and the Vulcan with the extraction of the Romulan katras. The Vulcan had been experienced, picking memories from her mind while shielding his own. Corran, to be blunt, didn't know what he was doing.

This, of course, may have had to do with the fact that this was both a completely unintentional occurrence and something that he, and any other member of is species had completely lacked the ability to do.

He felt his sense of self - selves - dissolve as the connection became tighter, and then ...

Can't breathe, he/she thought. He's torn out my throat! Who is he, he came out of nowhere. Somebody help me .. I can't believe he actually I can't ... I can't sing anymore, you lunatic. My throat's hoarse. I can't sing, it *hurts* ... Please don't hurt me, Mister. No, please .. I don't want to go in the alley ...

Corran/Ella pulled back and started shrieking, at least in his/her mind he/she did in shock/fear that this was being shown/seen.

Corran stood shaking in the darkened alley. He knew what was coming and yet he didn't want to believe it, didn't think it could actually be happening to him, despite the past few days. But when the first blow landed and he found himself pushed to the alley floor, his hands ineffectually blocking his attacker's fists, he knew that it was real. He knew that he was probably going to die. And when the large hands encircled his throat, he knew for sure that he was going to die.

Life just sucked like that.

And things fast-forwarded, filtered, changed - or was that rewound? It was a city, an old one, and Ella didn't recognize it, though she knew it intimately, instinctively. She felt the blood pulse in her veins as he chased the target down - no...

It wasn't a target he/she was chasing. It was prey. And the prey's fear - it was alive, burning is his nostrils as he hounded after.

The Prey turned in the alley, the sweat shimmering in the dim light, standing out in stark contrast to her dark spots. "Please... no, I'll do anything..."

"I know you will." Ella Rex said cruelly, and brought the knife down..........

She didn't know exactly when she was back in her right mind again - and even then Ella couldn't be really certain - but she became aware that she had curled herself into a ball and was making a sort of whimpering sound.

Corran wasn't in much better shape - he'd collapsed to the side, and only the nearby bulkhead had kept him from collapsing entirely.

Not being a complete and total moron, however, it took him only a few moments to understand what had happened - though he had absolutely no idea as to HOW it had happened.

"Ella..."

There was still enough of a connection between them, even though it was fading quickly, that Ella could almost see his intention, his hand reaching for her, even though her eyes were squeezed tight. Ella couldn't help the startled sound that fell from her lips - feminine and all too human sounding - although she was quick to stop it. The scream that sounded in her mind however was loud and terrified and even though it wasn't quite her *voice,* Corran could hear her the words she screamed.

DON'T TOUCH ME!

The Trill stepped back - completely horrified - and knew, knew that it had been REAL. Ella had seen the deepest, darkest part of his joined soul...

And he terrified her.

Without a word, as the medtechs came scrambling in to see what was happening.... and he left. He ran, in all the ways that counted but the actual act itself.

"The Dutch Patient"

Lieutenant Ella Grey, S & R Pilot
Lt. J.G. Naranda Roswell, Engineer
Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief of Intelligence

* * * Nara's Quarters * * *

With the new threat aboard, Nara had Saia stay with her usual babysitter and hoped she would be safe. She stopped by to check on them before doing what Ella had suggested she do. Nara hoped that if this person, or thing rather, wasn't found and taken care of soon, the children would be taken someplace else. She sent a note, even though she figured others had as well.

She had cleaned up, and was now finishing dinner, which she barely touched. Last time she remembered Saul's jaw like that was when he body was used by the Dithparu to damage it.

"Ensign Hart to Lt. Roswell," a voice came over the comm system. "Lt. Grey has asked me to tell you that Lt. Bental is awake."

Nara nearly knocked over her plate standing up and made it out the door before realizing the channel was still open. "On my way!"

* * * LOCATION: Sickbay * * *

Ella held up a notepad. THE DOCTOR WOULD LIKE YOU TO WAIT WHILE HE EXAMINES SAUL, NARA.

Nara nodded and tried not to fidget. It was sort of nice Ella couldn't talk. Nara felt no pressure to make small talk.

Ella, on the other hand, felt anxious and again it struck her that she felt like a cheater even though her and Saul weren't doing anything. Of course, meeting in secret wasn't exactly nothing but it wasn't like well, what it would look like to others.

Nara looked over at Ella curiously. There was something about Ella. Something she couldn't put her finger on. Was she worried about Saul? That was likely. "I'm sure he'll be ok."

Sometimes people just needed you to confirm what they hoped so Ella nodded reassuringly. The Federation had good medical technology; she was sure that they'd help Saul.

Nara looked toward the door and remembered something. She felt insensitive. How lame of her. She looked back and Ella. "Have they mentioned anything about re-installing a voice box?"

Ella shook her head. The Sickbay staff had surprisingly skirted around the issue and she had gladly let them. The idea of putting the implant back in was less than thrilling but she knew some kind of compromise would eventually have to be made.

Nara frowned. "They need to get on that." Then again, "If you want them to, that is." Ella had seemed grumpy at hearing the mechanical voice.

Her old chief shrugged. She didn't want to discuss the implant or how it had been removed as she was sure Bran would 'grill' her about it all later. She just wished that the doctor would hurry up with his examination of Saul.

Nara bit her bottom lip. She wished they would hurry too. She wanted to see Saul, not struggle through small talk.

The tense silence was broken when Dr. Slen strolled into the room. The Trill's eyes fell on the two women, and he muttered something that may and may not be 'Lucky bastard'.

"Are you waiting for Lieutenant Bental?"

Nara nodded, "Yes." She was sure she sounded anxious, but she didn't care to hide the fact.

"He is awake and joking with his doctors, as they say. Biobed three." He gestured, then headed to the next patient.

Nara smiled. He sounded like normal Saul. She strolled over and paused to watch him a moment before coming closer.

Ella tried to slip quietly out of the room but Doctor Slen repeated loudly that Saul was in bed three. Damn bastard. She went over to join Nara, hoping to make this uncomfortable situation be as brief as possible.

Saul smiled broadly at the two women as the came into his sight.

"Slen told me that if I behave nicely I'll get a reward. ", He said.

Nara put a hand gently on his shoulder, "I'll double it."

Ella waved a hello at Saul and then pointed at the door. She was going to give them some privacy. She was going to get the hell out of dodge.

Saul blinked at her. He was still slightly dazzled from the medical examination, but he nonetheless realized Ella's intentions. Eela and Sotha often communicated without speaking, sharing as much as a node or a slight change of facial expression to commute their intention.

"Good to see you too... and toda." He told the pilot.

Ella smiled in spite of herself and then pointed at the door. She hoped that Nara wouldn't read too much into the familiarity of their actions but there wasn't really much she could do. She turned to leave.

If Nara noticed, let alone cared, it didn't show. Her concerned eyes glued on Saul and examined him. Her hand trembled slightly where it lay on his shoulder. She had become so comfortable with him that he was one of the few people that she'd let her guard down with. She didn't like the moments when she had to face her own and her loved ones frailty as soft skinned humanoids.

Saul reached up with his healthy hand and patted her cheek. He watched Ella's back for a moment as the pilot backed off. He wanted her to remain, as her presence gave him an inexplicable sense of security. But Nara was here right now, she wasn't going anywhere, and that is more than a villain like him could hope for.

"Hey princess." He spoke softly.

She smiled and swallowed, trying to not let herself get too worked up. She went for funny, "Your jaw has the worst luck."

"Irritating Branwen had nothing to do with luck. But yea, I should try to keep it safe from now on. By the way, the doctors tell me that it healed enough for me to kiss someone without feeling pain."

Nara smirked, "Oh, now?" She bent down and gently kissed his lips.

As Saul returned the kiss with passion, he saw Ella vanishing through the doorway from the corner of his eyes. He caressed Nara's back, letting the intoxication sensation of her lips and her very presence remind him what was real and what was an emotion based on false memories embedded in him by the spirits of dead aliens.

However, no matter how wonderful this intimate moment with his princess was, the memory of waking up holding Ella's hand firmly remained in the back of his mind.

~An Army of One Tracked Minds~

Lieutenant Nathan Everett, Starfleet Starfighter Corps
Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell, Paramedic
Lieutenant Thyago Carneiro, Engineer

Thyago was approaching the commotion, his hand tracing along the wall as he walked. He turned the corner, expecting to discover what was going on. But, instead, he found another body, running from the other direction and smashing into him, knocking him back, once more, to the ground.

"Dude, Sundance, watch where you're going, mano," Thyago spat up from the floor upon noticing who he had collided into.

Nathan had been looking over his shoulder as he approached the turn, and so hadn't seen Thyago coming. When the smaller man collided into him, Cowboy nearly leapt out of his skin. "Holy--!"

He raised his phaser, but fortunately, he recognized the Brazilian on the ground before he started pushing buttons. Nathan heaved a sigh that was a cross between dread and relief. Probably more of the former. "Thyago," he muttered, relaxing slightly. "Of course it'd be you."

"Were you expecting someone else?" the Brazilian asked as he dusted off his shirt, "What're you doing? What's going on? Why do you have a phaser? And that was not a setup for a witty jibe."

Nathan reached down and helped Thyago back to his feet. "We're under attack, in case you hadn't noticed," the pilot answered. "Ah tried to git down to the fighter bay, but the Hydrans've got it locked up tighter'n yer sister--"

"We're under attack? Seriously?" Thyago asked incredulously, his voicing squeezing up into that soprano that one hears when they are being very incredulous. "I mean, 'cause, like, how could they be on the station already, don't we have she-- Wait, what was that about my sister?"

"Uh, nothin'," Nathan said quickly.

"Anyway, yer the first friendly Ah've come across who ain't dead or close to it," he continued. "Been tryin' to get down to the lower decks, seems lahk the sensors down there're down, so Ah figure whoever's still alive'd be makin' their way down there. Lemme tell you, it ain't been a fun trip--Ah accidentally ambushed a couple'a Hydrans just down the hall. Managed to shoot one of 'em before they knew Ah was there, but the last one wasn't as easy." He used the back of his hand to wipe some Hydran blood off of his forehead.

Granted, it would have been a lot harder if not for Arel's combat training. If she was still alive, and Nathan hoped to God she was, he'd have to make sure to thank her.

Thyago watched him wipe the odd-colored goo from his face after his breathless spiel, and once again asked, his voice higher than before, "Seriously?"

"C'mon," he said to Thyago, once he had caught his breath. "We gotta keep movin'." He wiped at the blood on his forehead again to make sure it wasn't going to drip into his eyes, and then took off down the way Thyago had just come.

His mind was working especially slow today, Thyago realized, back in the small part that was self-aware and introspective. He watched Nate run off toward the gym Thyago had just left for a moment before he turned and peered around the corner. His eyes widened when they saw two Hydran bodies on the floor, a smoking, black burn on the back of one of them.

"Dude!" Thyago said to himself (or rather, the small, intelligent part of his brain said to the rest), "He's serious!"

It was then that Nathan came racing back by. "That's a dead end," he said.

"Yeah," Thyago said in a way that indicated Nate should have known better, but then realized it was uncalled for. "Oh, I probably should've told you that before you ran off."

Nate made a face and growled, holding up his phaser for a second as if he was going to shoot the man. Then he sighed and said, "C'mon."

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

PO3 Moreau: Dead. Cmn Salias: Dead. Dead, dead, and more dead. His people were being picked off one by one, and Max was practically throwing off static charges as his brain worked on something he didn't have much experience in: running a combat unit. Although he recognized that they were not really a combat unit, per se. Just a bunch of people trying to survive an apparent attack, the first volley in a war rumored about for months since Romulus.

He didn't know how the next event occurred but he was sure that his inhibition to harm has completely stripped away at this point. Coming around a corner, they found a trio of Hydrans, who immediately opened fire on them. Max got burned as one beam passed the space between his neck and shoulder on the left side, incinerating the person just behind on the left. His phaser still set to kill, he hit one square in the head, vaporizing it. One of the few remaining had fired off a burst that whacked another, leaving one. The Hydran began firing and the remainder of the group back up around the corner. They could hear the enemy talking, possibly into a communicator.

Then they heard footsteps walking away. A set of three feet, just walking away. Max peered around the corner and watched as the Hydran prepared to enter an access shaft. He no longer had control over his body, moving faster than he ever thought he could, he simply watched, as if through a frosted window as he pounced on the Hydran at full tilt, knocking them both to the deck. Max saw a glint, and with dull realization knew he had taken out his K-Bar. He heard feral screaming as he plunged the blade into the blue monstrosity, again, and again. The survivors watched with numb fascination as their Medic-Leader brutally stabbed the hell out of their would be executioner.

Max finally stood up, soaked in Hydran blood. He turned to face the ragtag bunch.

"Let's find our people and start pushing back." He turned and began heading down the access shaft.

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

"Ah think it's this way!" Nathan called over his shoulder as he led Thyago down a corridor that seemed strangely familiar.

"Really? 'Cause I think we've been here before," Thyago said. "Like, four right turns ago."

"Hey, gimme a break!" Cowboy growled. "This is a big damn station, Ah don't know where the hell everything is."

"Huh. You'd think a pilot would be better at navigating."

"That's it! One more word outta you, you annoyin' little prat, and Ah swear Ah'm gonna--"

Nathan paused as he heard movement around the corner. He raised a hand to silence Thyago as he began to ask what a 'prat' was, and brought his phaser up. He slowly approached the corner, then spun around it, falling to one knee to duck under any Hydran weapons fire. "Freeze!" the pilot shouted as he raised his phaser and prepared to shoot.

He moved out of the shadow a few more steps, then stopped. His uniform was bathed in blood, his face set in such a manner that indicated no nonsense. Max cocked his head to the right just a bit. A couple of the survivors were behind him, weapons lowered. "You two guys are kidding me, right," he asked, no humor in his voice.

Cowboy's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he slowly lowered his phaser as he got to his feet. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered. "Thought y'all were Hydrans." He looked the NCO over, then took in the ragged group with him, and frowned. He thought what he'd had to deal with had been bad, but these poor bastards looked like they'd been through Hell.

"Who's kidding? We're kidding? I didn't know we made a joke," Thyago said, poking his head around the corner. "Was 'freeze' a joke? Is that an ice gun?"

Normally Nathan would have laughed, but he was working on barely any sleep, and he had a killer headache after getting cracked in the side of his head by the butt of a Hydran fusion rifle. He glanced over his shoulder at the Brazilian. "You are startin' to damage mah calm, you know that?"

"I'm sorry," Thyago apologized, throwing up his arms. "I talk a lot when I'm nervous."

"Exactly *how* is that *any* different from how you normally act?"

"Yeah, I talk a lot when I'm calm, too," he admitted.

Shaking his head, Cowboy turned to face the NCOs again. "It's good to see y'all alive, though Ah don't recognize any of you." He inclined his head, deciding that he should probably introduce himself first. "Lieutenant Nathan Everett, Starfleet Starfighter Corps."

"Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell, formerly of the USS Miranda, waiting for the Galaxy to get here for my next post. Call me Max." He looked at the two people in front of him, his vision losing that haze one gets when they're ready to whack everyone around them.

"I'm Lieutenant Thyago Carneiro, Engineer," Teo said, following the others' example, and giving an awkward wave. "Hey, we're all from the Miranda!"

"Great, now we're all friends," Nathan muttered. He looked to Max, who seemed to be the leader of his group. "Thyago and me're tryin' to find a way down to the lower decks. Ain't goin' so well--there's Hydrans all over the damn station."

"Yeah," Max nodded. A quick image of the Hydran he stabbed to death popped in and out of his mind. "It looks like they've got extermination squads sweeping the station...guess they're not here for the cuisine." He shook his head, hearing the screams of people being struck down by fusion weapons. "We actually had about fifteen people with us. Now it's just us three...and you guys."

"It'd prob'ly be best if we all stuck together, then," Nathan replied. "If we come across anymore Hydrans on the way, we'll chuck Thyago at 'em and run."

"What? I don't want to be thrown at the Hydrans," Thyago squealed.

"Keep yer sombrero on, Ah was just kiddin'."

"We don't wear sombreros. That's Mexico!" the Brazilian exclaimed.

"Hey," Max interjected, in no mood for the goofing off, "You're an engineer? Maybe you can figure out how to get sensors working, see how many of us are left?"

"Are the sensors down?" Thyago asked.

"Ah told ya they were down in the lower decks," Nathan said. "Why d'you think we're goin' down there?"

"When?"

"When Ah first ran into ya!"

"I wasn't listening to you, then," Thyago shrugged. "I didn't know we were being attacked, I thought you were joking around."

"Well, the sensors're down."

"But, that doesn't make any sense. Why are the sensors down? The internal sensors are a redundant system, surely, we haven't taken enough damage for them to be down."

Max felt a growl begin somewhere in his chest and willed himself to suppress it "Can you fix the sensors, Thyago?"

"Not from here, I can't," Thyago said, indicating the empty corridor.

"Cute. Where do we need to go for you to get 'em going," Max pressed.

"I don't know. OPS? The computer core or a secondary processing relay, maybe. Sensors aren't really my forte, and I don't really know this station."

"Well, we're not getting much done here, then." He indicated an access shaft. "We can head to lower decks and go find the sensor controls." Max didn't know how or why, but he didn't shy away from the fact that officers were present. Yet it felt natural giving direction, no flat out orders. Later, when they were all on the Galaxy, he would realize that survival is indeed a strong instinct.

"Good idea," Nathan said. NCO or not, he didn't mind going along with Max's suggestion. The man was older, probably more experienced at this sort of thing, and by the looks of him he knew what he was talking about.

The pilot crossed the hall to the access shaft and opened it up. "Let's move," he added, looking back at the others before he climbed into the shaft. "Ah hope none of y'all're claustrophobic..."

"Hmph," was all Max would utter as he climbed in after the pilot. The other two crewmen climbed in afterwards.

"Wait, manos, do you even know where we're going? How do you know where the sensor controls are?" Thyago asked, still out in the hall.

Everyone froze and began to look at each other up and down the shaft. "Actually, we thought you might know where they are," Max answered.

"How am I supposed to be able to find them? I said I didn't know the station."

"Well, we're heading down anyway. Seem to be less Hydrans the further down we go."

"Well, if you just want to go down, why don't we take the one of the six primary air shafts? They run vertically through all the decks. And, they're segmented, we can just hop down from ledge to ledge. There's a vent we can climb through, like, ten meters from here."

Max came out of the shaft after the other two crewmen got out to make room. Max was about arm's length from Thyago, and gave him a straight edge look. "I thought you didn't know the station," he growled.

"Oh, well, I know the atmospherics systems. See, I met this cute girl in engineering, in environmental control. So, I studied up on the station's ventilation hoping I could catch her at work and lend her my expertise in plugging up shafts, if you know what I mean."

"You met this cute..." Max trailed off. He shook his head and turned to Nathan. "You have to deal with this all the time," he asked indicating Thyago with his thumb.

Nathan was sitting at the entrance of the access shaft, and he raised an eyebrow at Max and gave the man an innocent shrug.

"Dude, please. He's way worse than me."

Cowboy frowned and looked back at Thyago. "Hey, Ah am not!" he protested.

"Yeah, I wasn't the one reading 'Bridges of Madison County' two months ago just so I could have something to talk about with the hottie from the deck nine book club," Thyago said.

"Did you *see* that girl?" Nathan asked. "Hell, Ah'd've read any of those stupid books on her list if Ah had to." He sniffed self-consciously.

"I told you to just watch the movie. That's what I do."

"It was a waste of time anyway. We didn't spend much tahm talkin' about it," Nathan answered, grinning.

"Gentlemen," Max said in a very quiet, yet dangerous tone. "While I enjoy tireless banter and buddy moments from time to time, let's keep in mind that there are Hydran extermination squads that would just love to add us to their body count. So shall we proceed?"

The pilot cleared his throat. "Uh, right, sorry. So...Thyago, why don't ya show us where that airshaft is?"

"Oh yeah, okay, um," Thyago said and pointed down the hall with his hand, letting it tug his body behind it. "Over here."

Note that two characters will be speaking in the first person....dont get them confused.....

"Manslaughter : Titans"

Starring
EVE
Manslaughter (NPC)
Marshal Bin Hux (NPC)

E.V.E.
Mann
========

Eve was hunting. She had first caught a glimpse of her prey some hours ago and was following him through the great starship. Glimpses were all she saw though, for he was always two steps ahead of her. The chase wound on - he knew he was being followed, this hunter was different. For hours Eve chased him, corridors, jeffries tubes, cargo bays and even the transporter room. In and out of access hatches and standard doors. Twice she had nearly snared him only to be brought to a momentary halt by the large hydraulic doors of a cargo bay. Of particular interest was that he distinctly avoided everything from deck 6 and above - much too close to the main shuttle bay for comfort, aparently. Finally, it came to an end. She had used a PADD to interface with the starship door controlls - he'd either be funneled in the direction she wanted or he'd have to force his way through, which would leave visible evidence. He had chosen to hide in one place perfect for a one on one Clash of the Titans.

10-forward.

Tossing the PADD aside, she entered the compartment and pressed the cosol set into the door frame. The large double partitioning doors hissed closed, and a double chirp from the computer indicated it was locked - the one on the other end chiruped the same. Normally well lit and populated by one or two individuals, Eve had seen to it that all had been evacuated from the section and someone had thought to dimm the lights on the way out. No matter, Eve could see easily in all forms of illumination. And right now what she saw was quite curious. A figure, standing off to the side and aparently concentrating rather hard.

~~~~~~~~

Heads hurting again.

Spinning and spanning.

Dancing and planning.

Planning for fun...planning for danger......planning the little explosive surprises for the bad guys to find.

giggling now a bit........surprises are fun.

So apparently are bars.......Im in a bar..... a bar.

bar bar bar bar.........what a fun little word.

Almost as fun as the merry little chase I've been on all over the ship.

Now normally Im the chaser......I chase people.......follow them.......probably kill them....but then again who doesnt?

But she's chasing me.

The little girl with the magic eyes.

She sees me ....she really sees me in spite of my brain dancing in her head..... Isnt that what we all want?

For a girl to really see you?

Anyhow I guess she's 'it' because she was chasing me.......how fun.

Bar bar bar bar bar.

ouch....head hurting again.

The girls standing next to me now....something about power vested in her by Starfleet blah blah blah.....

She lays a hand on my shoulder.....under arrest blah blah blah .......

Bad touch.

I grab her wrist and twist it breaking bones, ripping cartilidge....

Huh?

Shit.....she's made of steel....no broken bones....

Still holding her wrist I twist it extra hard flipping the whole girl over and to the floor.

bar bar bar bar

My reward is a one way ticket across the bar, slamming myself into the huge floor to ceiling windows in front.

Wow......what a great view from here.....look at all the stars......

Robogirl interrupts my sightseeing .....again with the 'under arrest blah blah' I tear her arm off and beat her with it to shut her up.

Unfortunately it wont tear off....dangit.

She's busy punching me by this time......that really hurts....she's pretty strong for such a scrawny little thing.

Well heck.

Time to go apeshit all over her ass.

~~~~~~~~

He's truly insane. That and not the least bit phased that I'm not completly flesh and blood. Still he's strong as hell! My left forarm is bent out of alignment by 8 degrees from when he first tried to rip me a new one. Duranium and tritanium would have been like a twig, thankfully my bones aren't made of those.

He looks good flattened up against the windows. Looks like a bug we ran into, except he's on the inside of the window. Unfortunately I've really pissed in his breakfast.

He's fast. REALLY Fast. I've never encountered the like and he's hard to keep up with. I work as best I can to keep him from realizing it's just my arms and lower legs that aren't real, but it's only a matter of time.

A kick to his groin doesn't do anything. Must have castrated and neutered him, don't want him breeding do they?

A crash of breaking glass, screeching and bending metal sounds fill the air. I'm outside 10-Forward now. I didn't know those doors were that thick, nor that I'd survive being thrown through them. Pulling myself out of the body shaped dent in the wall, it's time I showed him what 'bitch slap' really means.

~~~~~~~~

The bitch slaps me........HARD.

Been awhile since I tasted my own blood.......salty.

Ouch. Hurts too.

Bitch.

After that its like a dance....two killers circling in a rythmic pattern of blow and counterblow moving to the beat of invisible music. Breaking bones punctuate the bassline and spatters of blood decorate the dancefloor like crimson crepe paper.

She's tough......but not invulnerable.

I've got a fistful of circuitry I tore from her left arm to prove that. She clutches the area where smoke and sparks cast strange shadows in the darkness.

Unfortunately I've got a hairline fracture of my right arm myself.......probably broke it punching her stupid steel clad ass. She's literally got buns of steel.

I giggle

I giggle some more.

Holy shit it hurts......time to throw her through the wall again.

~~~~~~~~

I'm good, but he's just a bit better. I'm fast, he's a little bit faster. It takes a while, but there's not much I can do. I've REALLY pissed him off. maybe it's because I'm actually keeping up with him. Maybe it's because I've actually hurt him. I can see where his body has bruised. His scalp is bleeding, so is mine. I broke his right arm, he didn't feel it, or doesn't care. He broke my ribs in retaliation, a singular strike to my sternum. cuts, gashes. Blood everywhere. Some mine, some his. I smell it, I smell him. The look in his eyes is so much different now.

Why is he smiling?

Warning runes are flashing in my vision. Not much time. Time for one thing. I've just enough strength and power.

Barely.

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

Marshal Bin Hux burst into 10-Forward, his black trenchcoat flaring and huge silver .88 Magnum revolver glinting in the half-light. "AT EASE SERGEANT!!" he bellowed attempting the tactic of falling back on Mann's military reflexes.

For his trouble he got a faceful of EVE who was tossed across the room like a ragdoll, slamming him back into the wall.

"Crap." he grated, resisting to urge to throw the hapless cyborg right back at his old nemesis.

Looking across the shattered remaisn of the bar Hux's eyes narrowed....the stealthy thin frame sof his oponent was neatly framed against the massive windows.

Grunting, he remembered the manner of his last capture of Mann. Drawing a bead with his firearm, the Marshal took careful aim.

"Going for a ride fuckhead....."

The .88 roared to life filling the air with clouds of acrid gunpowder and putting three Big-Gulp sized holes in the window behind Mann, shattering it completely.

~~~~~~~~~

"At EaseSergeant......"

The voice cuts through the haze of everyday thoughts and harkens back to a time I forgot.

Sergeant?

Me?

Did we ever take Hill 103.

Oh my poor head, it hurts so......

I toss robogirl at the newcomer.....the one who seems slightly familiar, and cradle my aching head.

If I just had time to think......

KA-BOOM!
KA-BOOM!
KA-BOOM!

The hail of cannonfire ends that attempt, striking thethe huge window behind me.

Uh-Oh.......this seems familiar.

~~~~~~~

EVE....

There is a mountain of muscle in my way. Three bursts of booming noise followed by the howling wind of decompression. Thank goodness for the hole in the 10-forward doors, there's more air to draw from. One bullet shattered the window directly behind the madman, the other two hit to each side. By pure luck the Marshal hit both emergency field emitters. I feel myself slide as the rushing wind pulls me across the deck, the emergency shutter closing far to slowly. Perhaps the guide rails were damaged.

The warning runes expire, my internal cybernetic damage controlls routing power through backups. My flesh is still hurting, though I've shut out the pain. I'm going to be hurting a lot more when I'm done with him. He may think he's got it made, and part of him is right - he won't have to worry about that hand cannon any more.

Out comes my grace. Sailing through the air, coliding with the loon and exiting through the broken viewport before the emergency shutter finally manages to close. We dance a macabre ballet of death as we wheel around eachother outside of the great starship, neither one of us letting up or letting go.

I've got reserves of energy I didn't know exist. Something else breaks, my right arm is bent with the elbow turning in quite the wrong direction. So I trash his right the rest of the way. His entire limb doesn't look right anymore. He doesn't seem to care. We're still on level field.

I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze. He doesn't look so good anymore. Murderous rage fills my sight. Something must have malfunctioned, he looks like a drone. An artificial eye looks at me with dispasionate inexpression as implants and circuts sprout along his body. I shriek, furry that the Collective managed to sneak in under my watchfull vigil.

Space is COLD. But this cold felt good. He struggles beneath me, surprise in his eyes - the collective is gone. I grin and lean forward, kissing his forhead before pushing off of him, back towards the ship. He careens off, flailing. Drones always do that. Space is cold.

This cold felt warm.

I let the heat embrace me, sinking into oblivion.

~~~~~~~~

Manslaughter.....

A thousand knives of razor ice are stabbing deep into my flesh, peeling it away in thin frozen blisters of pain!

My blood literally boils as my lungs chafe against themselves, tearing themselves to useless ribbons.

Ouch!

Im in space.

Again damnit.

This is how they caught me last time.

My fading mind wonders how I realize it........was I caught? Why was I running? Am I running now?

My body flails and rebounds off the cold duranium hull, twisting in pain.

My hand is digging deep in my pocket, its joints bursting in the vaccuum.

Whats in my pocket?

This is how they caught me last time.

My hand pulls out a juryrigged lump of electronics......a small red diode glowing happily in the darkness.....

This is how they caught me last time.

Holy crap....I remember.......I didnt want them doing this to me again. I look at the lump of electronics.........looks vaguely like a communicator device wired into an artificial voice box.

Oh yeah....I stole these for a reason......

Im dying.....

Im dying....

Im dying......

Of its own volition my hand activcates the device.......the voicebox electronically triggering the communicator that sends out a signal........out....across space and deep inside the starship just out of arms reach.

Of course they've done this to me before.......

How could I not make contingency plans.

Rewiring a transporter?

Easy as pie.

As my mind fades away I wonder if the blue tingle of light around me is for real, or merely the last death throes of a troubled man.

A troubled Mann?

I laugh, vomitting blood out onto the transporter pad. A troubled Manslaugher?

Broken bones......frozen skin.......bleeding lungs......

I drop the communicator and the voicebox onto the deck, dragging myself into a jeffries tube.........

Im dying........

Im dying.......

Im healing.........

Space .... So stupid .....

LT JG Eve
Cosmonaut without a Spacesuit.

--

Space. The Final Frontier.

Why don't we just say it - Space is so insanely huge that the humanoid mind is unable to fully cope with it's sheer endlessness. Words render distance down to a concept, everyone goes flitting around in vehicles designed not only to supersede the speed of light but to distract the mind from the inevitable fact that a Human is a microscopic point in the ultimate Vastness that is the Universe.

Eve was one such point. Floating just before the hull of the USS Galaxy and slowly drifting farther away. Her artificial eyes let her see when Mann disappeared in a shimmering of the transporters - that wasn't supposed to be possible, was it? The sensation of burning filled her lungs, and tendrils of fire crept along her skin. She didn't have extremities the same as normal humans - her eyes hands and feet being artificial - but there were other places, sensitive to their designed sensations. Tongue, nose. Her eardrums were synthetic; they wouldn't burst but the resulting pressure in her Eustachian canals was incredible. Other areas were similarly affected, areas of sensual stimulation. She would be quite sore regardless of how quickly she received medical attention.

Medical Attention.

Her thoughts had been addled by the depletion of oxygen. Her implants couldn't function on their own, couldn't make command decisions. So she thought of a place, one that was safe, or should be. An image of Saul Bental on his biobed came to mind, and a lurch of disorientation swam over her.

*Thud!*

Two sounds occurred within the Galaxy's sickbay. The first was the sudden displacement of air as a body appeared quite literally out of thin air. The second was the sound of said body hitting the biobed it had appeared 4 inches above.

Eve's space shattered voice saying, "Oh god that was so stupid," was the next thing anyone heard. As serious as it all was, there was a funny bit. She had materialized face down and backwards, her feet on the pillow and her face where her feet should have been.

Manslaughter: Freezerburn

USS GALAXY

Vaccuum exposure sucks.........

Vaccuum...

Sucks?

I laugh....spitting blood out of my freezer burned lungs, staining the jeffries tube decking with my lifes blood.

Blood.

Its been a part of my life for longer than I can remember.

Tarsian Blood

Blood of my Angosian war buddies.

My hands stained with blood of people I dont remember.

Thats what scares me the most.

I wake up covered in blood and I dont know where it came from.......

And now My own blood.

Damn sherriff blasted me into space again.

Vaccuum does a number on you.

Top layers of skin blacked and necrotic from flash-frostbite.

Lungs dried out chunks of razor ice.

Joints and bursa sacs exploded under the pressure of their own lubircating fluids.

Grinding bones.......

peeling skin......

Damn but Im a mess.

I laugh again.

Why do I do that so much?

Never got to finish my dance with the Android girl.

Poor thing.

Cute litte Robogirl like that could really put a spring in a mans step. Makes me feel young again.

Funny I dont remember getting old.

I dont remember much after Hill 103.

I try to stand......bone grating on bone, creaking under my own weight.

Hol-lee crap that hurts.

Im only half the Manslaughter I should be.

They're gonna be hunting me......

My eyes narrow, old war reflexes kicking in.......they're gonna be hunting me.

The enemy is gonna be hunting me, and I cant barely hold up my own weight.

I can bench 500lbs but I cant stand up.

Where have I heard this before....this seems familiar.

I look around........Im on a Galaxy class Federation Starship....circa 2360....Utopia Planatia design.

Well duh.........my old war buddy Roga Danar took one of these babys apart with his bare hands once upon a time.

He came back and told me and the gang exactly how he did it too.....

Lucky me.

A seminar in how to hotwire a Galaxy class Starship......and I'm a very good student.

I've already made preparations.......little exploding surprises hidden in key locations.....

Hello....Im in a jeffries tube.......wonder where the blood came from.

The access panel is open and im deep inside the circuitry in a manner of minutes.

I may not know my name from day to day, but damn if Im not a starship hotwiring genius......

I think I went to a seminar once upon a time........I forget.

A few twists of the knobs, and My little exploding surprises come to life.

wham
wham
wham

Little booms echo through the hull from all over the ship.

Bye bye key systems.

Im lighter already.

If I cant stand up.....If I weigh too much......

Then we'll just do away with the weight.

Artificial Gravity all over the ship is gone in a matter of seconds.......surprised crewmen floating off the decks.......dinner plates flying off the table, and little dogs and cats wearing surpised expressions on their faces.

I push myself off the ceiling and down the tube, flying like an airplane.........

I can bench 500lbs........I cant stand, but damn if I cant manuver like a sun of a gun in zero g.......

I smile again....skin cracking ......lets see if I cant find my little robogirl and go for a rematch.......

5387