"Bail"

1st. Lieutenant Jebidiah Baile
Platoon Commander

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

There was a certain... homelike feeling to the brig. Maybe it was because he had spent his fair number of hours slash days in them over the years.

Sometimes he had deserved it. Sometimes not.

This time?

It was complicated.

He would probably be fired this time. There were at least a handful of people who would jump at the chance to get back at him or his former CO, Colonel Smith.

The forcefield smelled of ozone and it was starting to annoy him somewhat. But the fact that he hadn't been able to control his anger when Fay had taunted him irritated him even more. He would have killed her right there and then if she hadn't been knocked out. He had warned her though. Step up to the plate.

Maybe it was the right time to leave Starfleet. Resign and take up Smith on his offer. He was getting tired of self righteous assholes taking things into their own hands.

That's the pot calling the kettle black.. he thought to himself. Rules were made to be broken. Not so funny when it happens to you, now is it? Same voice again. Jesus wept. His head was turning into board meeting for the truly fucked up.

The approaching visitor made the thoughts go away temporarily. Baile sensed his approach long before he appeared on the other side of the force field.

The marine opened his eyes, blinking a few times. Guess keeping the cell dark wasn't what the guards liked. As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the light he saw who the visitor was. It wasn't what he had expected. Bental something from Intel if he remembered correctly. The two of them were part of a team which infiltrated into Hydran space last year, in order to gather intelligence on a suspicious build up. Was he there to play the part of a saviour or judge? Did it matter?

Baile sniffed the air and felt the familiar stench of anger albeit kept under reigns. 'Maybe not so much saviour then..' he thought to himself.

It wasn't Saul's first visit to the brig that month. Unlike with Eve, he did not ask the guard to let him into the cell. He knew that Eve was in control back then, but the same couldn't be said for Baile. Saul could not forsee the marine's reaction, so he preferred to keep a barrier between them.

"Shalom, Baile."

He got to his feet and stood at ease. Somehow he got the feeling of mercury when he looked at the visitor. Nearly impossible to get a good grip on. "Sir."

The visitor obviously didn't expect to be 'sir'ed'.

"I understand that you are here because you nearly beat Faylin McAlister to death."

Silence. Not a guilty silence. Not an arrogant silence. Just silence. He continued to stand at ease. Saul wasn't the first to tell him he had beat her to death and he wasn't the last one to be met by the silence.

Saul looked disappointed. "I know Faylin. Half the men on this ship 'know' Faylin, but I know Faylin. She can get you irritated as hell if you let her. Why did you let her do it to the point where you beat the shit out of her?"

"How come you're the knight in shining armor?" he retorted. There was a hint of an amused smile in the corner of his mouth. His face didn't look all that comforting with a smile like that.

"That you will have to ask Branwen." Saul replied cryptically. "I can see why you're not too troubled. Twelve unclassified reprimands in eighteen years of service, two demotions - what's another vacation in the comfy brig? But..."

The intelligence chief waved his finger at Baile.

"But I suspect you've hit rock bottom this time, Baile; They already brought two manufacturing-line goons to take your command - not sure if you care about that - and your opponent isn't someone you can't take out with a sniper rifle but rather a VERY talented bitch. The goons won't back you up, and I don't think you can count on 'old co-workers' at this time."

Bental was right about one thing. Unless Smith decided it was very important Baile was available for duty then he would be sent to the slammer. He had given them the excuse to pull him out. But then what?

"I guess this is the point you tell me you can help me.." Baile replied, still standing at ease.

"That would be lying." Saul grinned, "And you know that. But have an offer that would possibly give you a better chance at staying out of penal colonies. Work for me."

Baile walked up to the forcefield. It was much like watching a wounded tiger walk up to the bars of its cage. "Work for you so that I might get stay out of the slammer.. hmm.. " His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Let's see.. I went to one of the worst colonies in existence without any support and here I am.. There's not a colony that can keep me locked up for more than a day.. that the goons know.. "

"Which means anyone who wants you out of the picture for good will simply use more extreme measures."

Baile touched the forcefield with the palm of his hands. It stung a more than a little but the pain was quickly pushed aside by his own body. "You best work on that offer a little more.."

The intelligence chief expected this kind of response - and even looked forward to it. While he bargained and negotiated on a daily basis, he rarely did it in his regular job. He resisted the whim to grin again as he resorted to one of his basic techniques - presenting the other side in the negotiation with the hard truth of their choices.

"The way I see it there are two alternatives. You could work for me and assist SFI during this war, or you could sit it through and hope the ship won't get blasted. Eventually, you'll have to answer for what you did, and it'll look better if you do the former. That's what helped you the last times, no? The fact that, despite all the ruckus you caused, you're still useful."

There was a smell in the air Baile felt but didn't know what it represented. Had he known then he might have identified it as satisfaction from Saul. Many months, even years, would pass before the marine would be able to differentiate scents properly. For now it was just there.

A pair of dark silver alien eyes looked at Saul. The light that fell into them seemed to just vanish without a trace. He hated light. It stabbed him. But light or no light. Saul was right. Time he had. Patience he had as well. That wasn't the problem. The problem was the war. He felt it calling him. Ordering him out into the frey. But why did Saul need his help?

Baile took his hands off the forcefield. "What about the monkeys in charge of the marines?"

Now they were talking business, Saul reckoned.

"I spent the morning scavenging through BUPERS records. From what I understand, you're on a complicated loan to the 'regular' marine corps from Special Operations. This means that at time of emergency - like now - you can be shifted to intelligence to perform reconnaissance work. Forkel and Shaw won't approve, but I suspect bureaucracy will have their hands tied."

The damage to the strained relation with the marines won't be easily amended, Saul thought, but he'll just work something out. If Forkel and Shaw really needed Baile, they would've tried to get him out of the brig themselves by now.

"The only thing that is required for this maneuver is your agreement, because otherwise there's no point.", He concluded.

The rush of blood to his head was deafening. The prospect of war made his body react physically. Far back in his head voices howled in unison. 'oh shut up' he growled back at them. He stood silent until the voices died out. "One condition.."

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"Aren't you the comedian, Rapunzel?" the marine retorted dryly. "I do the recons my way... I know how to do that better than anyone on this ship."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Saul agreed, "And my condition is this - you will not cause any harm to any member of Starfleet or the Federation unless they commit treason. If what happened with McAlister repeats itself, not even Q will be able to get you out of that one."

The marine turned around and walked back to the bunk and sat down. He leaned against the wall, letting Saul wait for his reply. "You get the rest of the gungho assholes, including some jackass from JAG, to leave me alone then yes.. I'll agree to that.. if not.. well.. then it's going to be mighty interesting, isn't it?"

"Excellent. The next time we'll see each other you'll be out of here. Welcome to the department."

Saul's smell was definitely one of satisfaction now.

"Preparations"

For'kel
Ella

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

USS Galaxy

So it had finally happened.

Colonel Arvelion was a veteran of just about every major Federation battle since the Dominion War had brought him over from his native Al'Klei'sh. He'd fought from the plains of Betazed to the sands of Vulcan, for the liberation of Romulus and the soul of Sol itself. He'd faced adversaries and challenges of just about every type that could be imagined, and fortunately for him had managed to somehow stand through all of it. The Cardassians, the Dominion, the Romulans, the Vulcans (evil ones, not the good ones so much), the Breen, the Borg, the Orion Syndicate, Section 31, and the Hydrans had all tried, and failed, to kill him, or even ultimately prevent him from completing the mission. There were a great many people he had to thank for living so long ... thoughts of Jaal and Arel who last he heard were far closer to the action than he was now ran through his head.

It wasn't easy, getting through the history he had. He'd wanted to give up a great many number of times. These weren't his people, these weren't his fights, and it wasn't his obligation. Now he had a family, a wife and son ... and certainly had done more than what was originally expected of him when he first boarded the Miranda as an exchange officer and junior engineer over a decade ago. There were dossiers on him, Prophets knew where, that if one took all together would probably make a halfway readable novel. He'd done his duty, and logic suggested that he should take what he'd created for himself, and leave now.

But like every other time, he didn't. Something 'called' him to this time, to this place, as it had to Romulus, or Vulcan, Earth, or Cardassia. Part of it was an intrinsic desire to change things for the better ... a characteristically genetic and social flaw that had gotten him into trouble more than once in his life. There was that indeterminable quality to the Federation and the ideals it represented that drew him in like a moth to a flame ... probably because idealistically they were very similar to those he'd been raised to believe in.

He'd always been taught that you can't always wait for the guardian angel, or the knight in shining armor to come to your rescue. Under very specific conditions, sometimes you needed to mount that white horse, suit up, and ride into battle yourself.

The other part was that although he came as a foreigner, Starfleet had been a welcoming environment, and aside from a side show on Earth so had the Federation. He'd met and married Berilyn, had a son, and been given numerous opportunities under their auspices. In the process he'd 'become' a member of the family (sometimes more literally than others), had earned his place in the broader society, and built for himself a life, a way of living, that was as much on the line now as it was for everyone else on this ship.

In the end, all things considered, there was a definite sense of "fait accompli." There was no place else he 'could' be at this time, at this moment.

Damn he needed to lay off that 'Pepsi'.

A movement to his right caught his eye and he half turned to see a woman at the bar wave her arm, possibly trying to flag down one of the waiters. When she failed to catch his attention, she blew her hair out of her face and then started moving her hands rapidly in agitation.

Fork took a bite of the baked ziti and chicken parmigiana entree he'd ordered as he watched. Was that some kind of sign language? When he saw that one particular sign, he knew it 'had' to be ... it was a favored gesture among Humans apparently.

Chuckling, he hazarded a guess as to what she was trying to do. "For future reference, this is how you get the attention of a waiter." And no, it wasn't to wear something low-cut and extremely revealing ... though that worked too. He picked up the spoon at her place setting and tapped the rim of her complimentary glass of water. Soon enough a smiling Bolian, big as he was, waddled his way over.

Ella managed a pleasant smile for the waiter and showed him her order on the computer PADD. She stuck her tongue out at him when he left however and then smiled at the man at the next table as a thank you.

The smile brought back memories of a woman he knew well before he joined the Exchange Officer program and wound up in Starfleet. Someone who, as brave as she was, also couldn't hear, and had to sign whenever her auditory aid began acting up. He struggled for a long time to pick up enough signs to make a go at communicating with her ... even Universal Sign Language was difficult to master. After a moment, he managed to sign 'something', though second guessing made him wonder if he was getting the message through, and caused enough doubt that he ended up signing again and speaking simultaneously in hopes that she read lips. "Am I getting this right?"

Ella smiled and made the decision to join him at his table. ~~Yes, you are,~~ she signed. ~~Where did you learn this?~~

~~Back home.~~ He signed, after a bit of a gap as he tried deciphering her fast, natural movements. "A friend." For'kel fell back into speaking, after all he didn't want to give the wrong impression and his vocabulary in sign was fairly limited. "Were you deaf from birth?"

She pointed to her ear and mouth and then shook her head. Not deaf.

That was peculiar ... and For'kel even had to make sure he'd translated the signing right by repeating it, before adding the question 'why?'

~~That's a long story~~ Ella admitted. She held up a finger and then typed quickly on her computer. *BUT THE CONDENSED VERSION IS THAT I CHOOSE NOT TO SPEAK*

Fork raised an eyebrow and repeated his sign. 'Why? Telepathic?'

She shook her head. *DIFFICULT. ONLY CHILD. TAKE YOUR PICK. THAT LOOKS TASTY. IS IT CHICKEN?*

He nodded, and snatching a fork from another place setting stabbed a piece of mozzarella laden chicken and offered it to her. "It's actually delicious, replicated or not."

Ella made an appreciative noise. ~~I'm Ella. Nice to meet you.~~

"The pleasure is mine." For'kel smiled, taking another bite of pasta.

*ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?* The pilot typed. She wasn't sure she was; she wasn't sure she'd believe him if he said yes.

That caught For'kel by surprise. It was an abnormally direct question, and poignant to an extreme given all that was unfolding around them. The ambiance of the lounge, it's calmness and tranquility, was a facade for the anxiety building under the surface of her crew. Everyone knew what was coming ... though it was anyone's guess how it would unfold. Normally, a superior officer would give a blanket statement on a positive note, not wanting to instill doubt in his or her subordinates. For'kel on the other hand always opted to believe that his people could handle the truth ... and even if she wasn't one of his she'd certainly been honest with him to this point. "If there was no way of preventing it outright, I wish we had more time to prepare. My unit's training regimen isn't even complete yet, and there are considerable issues of trust. But ..." another bite as he tried looking as calm and collected as possible. "You have to do your best with what you have at your disposal. The Marines will find a way to a apt to whatever challenges surface, as I'm sure the rest of the crew will."

Ella nodded and then gave a brilliant smile as her food arrived. They ate in silence for awhile before Ella started typing away on her computer PADD.

*YOU KNOW, ON PRINCIPLE I DISLIKE MARINES ... IT'S A LONG STORY INVOLVING A PINK BATH TOWEL ... BUT YOU'RE OKAY*

For'kel laughed, almost afraid to ask what a pink bath towel had to do with anything. It was a nice distraction from their impending mission. "For a fighter jockey you're not too bad either. My name is For'kel"

Ella shook his hand. *I'M NOT EXACTLY SCARED BUT I HATE ALL THIS WAITING. I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOREVER.*

"The calm before the storm, as they say." For'kel finished off what was left on his desk. "My advice to you is to enjoy it while you can."

~~Typical marine answer~~ Ella's hands retorted. She finished off the last of her meal and then pushed her plate away. Sure enough the waiter was there instantly to take her plate; it would have been nice if he could have had that kind of speed earlier. *WELL, IT'S TIME FOR ME TO GO MAKE MYSELF USEFUL, HAVE A GOOD DAY, FOR'KEL.*

For'kel laughed. "You too Ella."

"Stardate: 64909.13" File #1

Location: Unknown

Communication commences at 1802 hrs, text only:

Tag (Anonymous User): CITIZEN TRACER.

Tag (Tracer): SO YOU ARE BACK ARE YOU. IT'S BEEN A WHILE. I'D STARTED TO THINK YOU'D GIVEN UP THESE GAMES.

Tag (Anonymous User): I LIKE TO SEE A GAME THROUGH UNTIL THE END

Tag (Tracer): I SEE, AND I SUPPOSE THAT MY PARTICIPATION IS NOT SO VOLUNTARY?

<Pause>

Tag (Anonymous User): WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND OUT?

Tag (Tracer): DO YOU REALLY THINK I HAVE SPENT ONE MOMENT OF MY LIFE THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN SAYING TO ME?

Tag (Anonymous User): WHAT DID YOU FIND OUT CITIZEN TRACER?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): THERE ARE 1097 RECORDS LISTED CONCERNING THE 'SORIEN FAMILY'. DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO LOOK THROUGH THEM ALL?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS!

Tag (Anonymous User): YOU HAVE HAD 31 DAY'S 22 HOURS AND 51 MINUTES SINCE WE LAST SPOKE, THAT IS PLENTY OF TIME. YOU DISAPPOINT ME CITIZEN TRACER. YOUR REPUTATION IS EMBELLISHED I FEEL.

Tag (Tracer): FRANKLY I DO NOT CARE HOW YOU FEEL. EITHER PAY UP OR GET OFF THIS CHANEL!

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): WELL?

Tag (Anonymous User): YOUR ACCOUNT HAS BEEN CREDITED

Tag (Tracer): RIGHT, YOU DON'T MIND IF I JUST CHECK THAT OUT BEFORE WE CONTINUE DO YOU?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): CONGRATULATIONS MY MYSTERIOUS FRIEND, WE SEEM TO HAVE STARTED A WORKING RELATIONSHIP.

Tag (Anonymous User): TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW.

To Be Continued?
"Medic's Diary, Part II"

By

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Paramedic
Petty Officer 2nd Class

Field Hospital, Section Q, Lower Decks, DS5

It's a shame that people have to pull together during times like these. Certain Death. Impending Doom. Things getting worse a certainty. So far, Max has broken up two fights with the help of a few security people, lost another patient to infection, received and checked out a couple of more survivors, more engineering people. Otherwise, things were moving along as seamlessly as possible, no one pissing on anyone else's shoes. The staff working the medical side of things have been taking 2 hour breaks, utilizing the time to catch up on a power nap or two. To his own credit, Max hasn't slept a wink since the siege began. He decided to take a moment to record into his log once more.

Personal Log

Something just occurred to me: I haven't enjoyed any vices since this whole affair started. You know, cigarettes, booze, the like. I have completely forgotten about them, and it's probably for the better. I need to lose a couple of pounds, anyway. The round but solid bit has worn itself out. I'll have to remember to schedule some time with a trainer on the Galaxy when we get there. If we get there.

It's occurred to me as well that there is a distinct possibility that we may all die here, that Captain Jaxom may need to execute that auto-destruct sequence that he had planned as a last resort. One moment we're here, the next, poof! We're flotsam in the dead cold of space.

Let's talk about the situation here: Getting more and more grim as time passes. Patients that would have lived on and continued their productive or not so productive existences are dying on me. I'm treating people here with Medkits and scrounged supplies, we're nowhere near the Sickbay on this station. This is strict field medicine with bandages and tape. Well, maybe a tricorder and a few drugs as well. but that's it. No biobeds, no advanced imaging, no replicators to give us large stores of interventions, no surgeons. Well except for Ensign Pepper. He can technically perform surgery if needed, but we don't have the tools except for rudimentary amputations and foreign object removal. The dermal regenerator that we have is so basic I wouldn't use it on my dog, if I had one.

A dog. I haven't had a pet since Jr. High. I'd like to have a dog, maybe a black Labrador. I always liked the way they looked as puppies. So cute...............................

....................................

....................................

I mean manly. Yeah. They grow up to be a man's dog. Not like cats. Can't see how a man could own a cat. Yeah. That's right.

Max stopped and looked at Ensign Pepper. The Marine he, no they, were treating finally got her left leg amputated. At least she won't have to worry about infection. She'll live to see another day, but will she see another day to fight. She had no expression as she was under heavy improvised sedation and anesthesia. Max shook his head and continued his log.

The Marine's done for as far as her leg is concerned. Chuck did the amputation, which probably saved her life, but could very well kill her spirit. Only time will tell.

Ending the log, Max decided that his break was up and returned to the world of the sick and dying.

tbc...

"Stardate: 64909.13" File #2

Location: Unknown

Continuation of text, 18:09 hrs, text only:

Tag (Tracer): 3 YEARS AGO THE ROMULAN STAR EMPIRE RAVAGED THE AGRICULTURAL COLONY ON KHITOMER KILLING 4,000 KLINGONS. THE HOUSE OF SORIEN ARE LISTED AMONG THE DEAD?

<Pause>

Tag (Anonymous User): WHAT ELSE?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): SOLASTRIA (ARDANA) 64605.27. SAVAGE MURDER OF SORIEN FAMILY MEMBERS HAS LOCAL ARBITERS BAFFLED. FATHER, MOTHER AND SON BRUTALLY STABBED TO DEATH IN THEIR SLEEP. SOLE SURVIVOR NOT A SUSPECT, SAY LOCAL ARBITERS. LOCAL COMMUNITY WARNED?.

Tag (Tracer): NO?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): OKAY?

Tag (Tracer): SETLIK III MASSACRE? CREWMAN SORIEN, STEPHANIE, SERVING ON THE FEDERATION STARSHIP USS RUTLEDGE DIED IN COMBAT, ALONG WITH A BROTHER, SORIEN, MATTHEW, WHO WAS LIVING ON SETLIK III WHEN THE CARDASSIAN TROOPS ATTACKED. ONLY CHILDREN TO MARIA AND DAVID SORIEN. GRIEVING FAMILY DECLARE THAT ALL MURDEROUS CARDASSIANS MUST BE BROUGHT TO JUSTICE?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): TRAITOR T'LAK FROM THE HOUSE OF SORIEN BELIEVED TO HAVE FLED WITH THE ALBINO, BOTH WANTED FOR MURDER?

Tag (Tracer): 2340, NINE YEARS AGO, SORIEN FAMILY MURDERED IN EXECUTION STYLE IN THE KYLATIR MEADOWS ON BAJOR?

Tag (Tracer): STARDATE 64903.12 SPERETHIEL: LOCAL RESIDENTS IN QUIET COMMUNITY WERE SHOCKED BY NEWS YESTERDAY OF THE MURDER OF THE HEAD OF THE SORIEN FAMILY. LIUINE SORIEN WAS ALLEGED TO HAVE CONNECTIONS TO THE INFAMOUS ORION SYNDICATE. LIUINE SORIEN ALONG WITH TWO OF HIS SONS WERE APPARENTLY VAPORIZED BY A VARON T DISRUPTER IN THEIR FAMILY HOME. INVESTIGATIONS ARE CONTINUING?

Tag (Tracer): ANON?

Tag (Tracer): ARE YOU THERE?

Tag (Tracer): AM I CLOSE?

Tag (Anonymous User): YOU CALL YOURSELF A 'TRACER'. I AM BITTERLY DISAPPOINTED. IF YOU WISH YOUR EXPENSES TO BE PAID I EXPECT BETTER THAN THIS!

Tag (Tracer): YOU COULD AT LEAST GIVE ME A CLUE?

<Pause>

Tag (Tracer): ANON?

<Communication terminated by: ANONYMOUS USER>

<Redirecting to 'Tracer account 1'>

<Previous account balance: 15 BrGPL Credit>

<Withdrawals: 15 BrGPL>

<Account balance is: zero>

<Unable to comply, please restate question>

<Pause>

<Searching database for: Sorien>

<Working?>

<45678 records listed. Do you wish to view now or save files for later viewing?>

<Files saved>

<Multiple search established. Redirecting to; Federation/Klingon Empire/Romulan Star Empire/Cardassian Republic/Ferengie Alliance: Database search>

<Please enter access codes>

To Be Continued?

"Idle Thoughts"

Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin

***

Sharzhevashi zh'Rin gazed around the room without seeing. She was now amongst the other survivors of the attack. Hydrans, she now knew. She had followed Thyago down the Jeffries Tube, and only partway made the realization she was climbing above him in a dress.

Hydrans. She had only ever read about them while at the Academy, and paid them little mind. Of course, now she wished she had been more attentive. It was unlikely they would be rescued before it would make much difference, she told herself. The blind spot in the sensors she and Thyago had discovered would be useless. There was nothing they could do about it, and more than likely the fleet thought the station taken. She suspected Starfleet would attempt to destroy the station to keep the technology and secrets from falling into Hydran hands.

And here I sit, she thought, a pilot stuck inside a space station. At least, she had found a space with some relative warmth.

She did not wish to wallow in the thoughts that they would all perish here. Yet, this area had been turned into a field hospital, and with so many dead or dying around her, the thoughts of her own mortality were difficult to keep at bay. And so, her mind kept turning to those she very well may never see again. She could see her sister's face, so very much like her own. They had promised to spend the first shore leave they could arrange together. Risa, they had both decided. Having never been there, both were excited to see the famed pleasure planet.

And what of her bondmates? She had left them for Starfleet with promises to return for the shelthreth. Now, they would need to find another zhen. She wore her shapla in a locket, the symbol of her betrothal, and she fished it from where it hung between her breasts. The feel of the platinum metal against her fist closed around it gave her a little strength and filled her with some warmth of the memories.

With a click, the locket opened. Contained within, a lock of hair from each of the bondmates. A smile formed as she brushed her thumb over it. Whatever it took, she would make it out of this place. She could not leave so many beloved behind. She slid the locket back through the neck of her gown and looked around for someone who looked like they might be in charge.

And, of course, it always came back to the truth of the matter: she was just a flight control officer. Perhaps if they had a shuttle or a ship, she could be of use. But, she would only get people hurt if she tried to help where she had no skill or training.

B-R-R-R-R, a voice in her head asked. It was Thyago's voice. She wasn't a scientist or an engineer, but she had done some good as they discovered the changes to the station's sensors. A voice began to speak up to say "Toolittle, too late," but was quickly drowned out by "Dude, aren't your feet cold?"

As warm as the deckplate she had found was, she would do no good just sitting here. And so, she stood and brushed off her gown. It was still intriguing just how clean Federation ships and stations were, and the gown she wore was quite clean. Another reason to protect the place from the Hydrans. They were probably a rather messy species. While there was no scientific evidence to support the hypothesis, Shi secretly suspected that methane breathing aliens were prone towars slovenliness.

Stepping gracefully through the room, Sharzhevashi zh'Rin set off in search of some good she might be able to do for the cause, or at least to ensure that the Hydrans could not mar the squeaky clean Federation station.

"Medic's Diary, Part III"

By

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Paramedic
Petty Officer 2nd Class

Field Hospital, Section Q, Lower Decks, DS5

Max noticed that out of all of his patients who were either critical or needed immediate transfer to a more defined facility, three had actually made a full recovery from injuries sustained as a result of the attack. The rest were either dead or dying. He made yet again a mental note to petition Starfleet Medical to upgrade the emergency first responder/first aid kits placed on stations for situations like this.

He made his rounds, checking on the status of every single patient listed as urgent or worse. While he would have preferred to be out helping the others providing on the spot help for them if any were to be injured or worse, he knew and understood that this served the greater good. It reminded him too much of his time with Medics-Without-Borders, the volunteer effort that spanned both the Alpha and Beta quadrants by providing emergent field care to struggling worlds. For him, one important event was going to Cardassia in 2376 after the war was over. He was placed in just this type of situation: A field hospital triaging and occasionally making 'house calls'.

He had an old fashioned Terran canteen and enough sipping water for the next day if he stretched it. Atmospheric control was good enough that he wouldn't sweat out from heat, but he was still exerting himself. He took a sip and sat against the bulkhead furthest away from the masses. PADD in hand, he pondered what else he would like to share with whomever might have listened in.

Personal Log

The sick. The dying. It will never end, as it is the cycle of life. I can understand it intellectually and professionally. But emotionally, I cannot accept it. However, as a Medic, I keep in under my hat. I have to maintain that emotional detachment. I can emphasize, I can relate to an extent. But there cannot be any emotional outpouring.

On Cardassia Prime, I had the greatest difficulty in maintaining that professionalism. Especially with the children. What the Dominion did to that world and its people was reprehensible. Not even the Romulans or the Klingons at their worst would do such a thing. And now we have this Triad promising more of the same, if not worse. The T'Kith'Kin, the Breen, the Hydrans. Ruthless bastards, all of them. Combatants are one thing. But whole peoples, families? No thanks. That kind of scourge needs to be wiped off of the face of the galactic map.

I guess that makes me a 'Hawk' in terms of Federation politics. Yes, I firmly believe in the total and utter obliteration of our enemies. The enemies that would seek to wipe us off the face of the map every chance they got. Look at the Breen. They attack Earth, they join in this alliance with the Triad, attack Romulus, and now they're back again after getting their asses handed to them with an allied effort. The T'Kith'Kin. An insectoid species with motivations one could only imagine. The Hydrans. Well...just look at what they did to this station, to DS5. These bastards actually tried to vent the lower decks and wipe out the rest of the station that they didn't slaughter in the first few hours.

When you're in a knife fight to the death, you know your life hangs in the balance. One misstep can earn you a Colombian Necktie. So when you get the upper hand over this person that wants to end your life in earnest, do you say, 'Okay, I got ya. Now put the knife away and maybe I'll pay for the dry cleaning'? Fuck no! You finish the job. It's not a matter of being better than the other guy, it's ensuring your own survival, because there's nothing that says that you're safe after you turn your back. Might find that very knife you thought was put away firmly planted in your spine. That doesn't mean go looking for fights. No, it means once a rabid dog bites you, put it down and hard.

Max stopped, realizing that he had the PADD clenched in his hand. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. His eyes were closed, and he saw brief flashes of all the people of various races that he had encountered throughout the last several years. Most were friendly and thankful, but some...some were better off left to die.

He needed to busy himself, to take his mind off of the current predicament. There was a civilian who was complaining of a stomach ache from bad rations. Thank goodness for the usual, Max thought wryly.

tbc.......

"Testament of Retribution" - Part I

Qelereth'Meshketh Mr'en'sja - Fleetmaster of the 1st Hydran Echelon
Gral'Meshketh Kedr'ni'van - Shipmaster of the IHV Hammer of Progress
Qui'Meshketh Tar'ji'let - Tactical Aide to Gral Van

* * * * *

COMMAND LEVELS (HYDRAN-OCCUPIED)
DEEP SPACE 5

Gral Kedr'ni'van marched stiffly through Deep Space Five's promenade, attended by his ever-watchful Qui, Tar'ji'let. He had spent the previous night on the station, working late into the evening to solve problems that they were having with the occupation. When he had finally slept, it had been on a human bed; one ill-suited to the Hydran physiology. If it happened again tonight, he resolved, he would have a rest-couch sent over from the Hammer. For now, though, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

The Fleetmaster had called for his presence, so that they could discuss the details of the next step of the plan. Of the coming meeting, Kedr'ni'van had mixed feelings. On the one hand, the prosecution and justice of the decadent Starfleet Admiral was at hand; a prosecution that he would help conduct. He allowed himself a grim smile at the thought. Har'ja'fer - the Hydran scientist she had murdered - had been a valuable member of his crew. He could feel the younger Hydran looking down on him from the Halls of the Future, where all those who died in service to the Nerru went to continue their work. He could only hope that Har'ja'fer would not find his efforts wanting.

Then again, on the other hand, there was the Fleetmaster herself. Qelereth Mr'en'sja had proven an able enough commander, so far. Her battle plan had produced a victory, but it had mostly been built upon the work of now-disgraced Gral Nom'we'nor. He could not fault her actions, but the credit truly lay with the former master of the cloning project.

Mr'en'sja, for her part, remained an enigma. The rumors continued to fly among the crew, despite his efforts to quell them. Was she an agent of their odious allies, the T'Kith'Kin? Was she an Ulhazi fanatic? Was she a politician playing at being a fleetmaster? Or was she simply a dedicated but unrecognized soldier who had been in the right place at the right time, coming to be prominent and feared. Even her records in the fleet database were full of holes.

Kedr'ni'van hoped it was the latter; as was his case. And, as had been with Har'ja'fer, he hoped that she would not find his actions wanting - although for an entirely different reason. Thus far, the personnel that he had transferred over - a mixture of Hammer of Progress and Light of Vindication crew, had done their jobs admirably. However, they had still been unable to stamp out a persistent insurgency in the lower decks. Somehow, Starfleet personnel had escaped being spaced when Tar'ji'let had purged the atmosphere. Now, unable to understand the reality of their situation, they picked off patrols and damaged important equipment. His troops had done their best to weed them out, but had little to show for it. Thirteen Starfleeters had been captured and executed, unwilling to give up their comrades.

So, for now, the insurgency continued. But the plan, and its next phases, would continue on course. At this point only the destruction of the station could stop that.

"Shipmaster," his attendant, the faithful Tar'ji'let, caught his attention. He clicked his beak once, indicating that she should continue.

"Gi'Meshketh Hui'gan'ro has completed his report. Our inventory of the ships stored in the starship graveyard in Sector 14 has turned up interesting intelligence prospects," she stated, handing him a padd with the information on it. "I have downloaded it for your perusal."

"Thank you," Kedr'ni'van replied, glancing briefly at the padd. "If the personnel can be spared, the knowledge we gain could be invaluable. At least with the clone project suspended."

Tar'ji'let nodded, but did not reply. When its master had fallen from favor, his project had been suspended by the War Council. No new clones were able to be placed, depriving the front line of valuable intelligence. No doubt because the Ulhazi found them... disturbing.

They reached the doors to the station's control center a moment later. Standing by the door was the trill clone, Jarn Narebi. The clone had a smug grin on his face, which looked out of place to Kedr'ni'van. Non-Hydran appearance and expression were hard for him to read. This was a fact which bothered him, as it left him at something of a tactical disadvantage.

The Federation races were ones he would have to study. Their defeat would be much more challenging than his service against the Lyrans.

"The Fleetmaster is waiting, Shipmaster," Narebi said, keying open the door to the room. Since revealing himself during the assault, Jarn had been added to Mr'en'sja's staff as an adviser on the Federation.

"Very well. Let us attend to the matter at hand," Kedr'ni'van replied, stepping past the threshold and into the room. Tar'ji'let followed him, hanging respectfully back on his left side, head bowed to the seated Fleetmaster in supplication.

The dull mechanical *thunk* of the security doors reverberated throughout the room, slowly peeling back into their wall-pockets to reveal the Gral and his aide as they kneeled, bowed. Neither Kedr'ni'van nor the younger Tar'ji'let dared let an eyestalk wander in anticipation. Protocol dictated otherwise, even to Van's more cavalier views.

"Rise, Shipmaster Van," the Qelereth gravely spoke.

"Testament of Retribution" - Part II

Qelereth'Meshketh Mr'en'sja - Fleetmaster of the 1st Hydran Echelon
Gral'Meshketh Kedr'ni'van - Shipmaster of the IHV Hammer of Progress
Qui'Meshketh Tar'ji'let - Tactical Aide to Gral Van

* * * * *

COMMAND LEVELS (HYDRAN-OCCUPIED)
DEEP SPACE 5

Let could vaguely discern the Qelereth's form, cloaked in the royal vestments of her position as an Echelon Fleetmaster. The room itself was extinguished of light (it looked as some sort of hew-mon "meeting" room, with a large onyx and sandalwood table bisecting the chamber proper) - shadows and pools of ethereal starlight melting like dark quicksilver on the polished teakwood decking.

Tar'ji'let maintained her prostrated position, awkward and uncomfortable as it was. Only her Shipmaster had been offered the opportunity to face the Fleetmaster, and she dared not assume that went for her as well. Kedr'ni'van had confessed to her that Fleetmaster Mr'en'sja was a mysterious personage to him and his fellow commanders. To a relatively junior officer like her, Mr'en'sja could be the difference between a steadily climbing career (and eventually a ship and mates of her own) or a sudden, ignominious death or discharge.

Among the officers of the Hammer of Progress, many stories of their new Fleetmaster had spread. While similar in nature to those told among Kedr'ni'van and his peers, the ones she had heard often involved the deaths or embarrassment of officers who failed or displeased Mr'en'sja. Tar'ji'let, whose career was benefiting from the favor of Kedr'ni'van, desperately wanted to avoid joining the victims of *those* stories.

"Your adjutant will wait outside," Sja instructed dismissively.

Kedr'ni'van briefly turned to his young assistant and nodded. As she withdrew, he ventured a step forward.

The Fleetmaster turned from her portal vantage - half her body bathed in cool starlight, the other cloaked in blackness. Her eyestalks, long and slender and tight-set, swayed rhythmically, like skygrass caught in a gentle dance of wind. Her beak, hard-set and sharp, remained closed as she kept two eyes on the portal and swiveled one toward Van. What was she to make of this, this... Relic? Proud worshiper of the ancient Pantheon and a seemingly quixotic war hero? Truthfully, she preferred subordinates more like N'fth'nor, or J'oolak'k: the sycophant and the martyr. Even the vaunted prince, Thufi'nu'ak, was easier to distinguish than Van.

"Your report, Shipmaster?" A slight growl entered her tone.

"The report I bring you is both positive and negative. We have captured, questioned, and executed thirteen of the Starfleet insurgents, as per your instructions," Kedr'ni'van said, considering his words carefully. The life of a Hydran commander was fraught with danger. Knowing who had power at any given moment was a deadly-serious consideration. And Mr'en'sja, as commander of the 1st Sovereign Echelon, had power to spare. "Unfortunately, the information our interrogations uncovered has been less than helpful."

When she didn't respond, he quickly elaborated: "Search teams from the Progress and Vindication continue their work, but the going is slow," he explained, bowing to hand her a padd of information pertaining to the search. "On the other hand, we have downloaded their computer core and databases, with the help of the clone, Commander Narebi. I intend to dispatch a fast courier from the Progress to convey a copy to the intelligence center on Hydrax Prime.

"Our external defense readiness remains high, under the supervision of Shipmaster J'oolak'k," he stated, completing his report. "Her devotion to her duty is admirable."

"Admirable," she scoffed, her hands clutching at the Gral's padd with over-large, long tendrils. One eye steadily gazed at Kedr'ni'van while two others scanned the report. "Do you speak for Shipmaster J'oolak'k, Kedr'ni'van? Do you speak for an Ulhazii'm?" she queried him, driving the word into him like a hot poker. She knew his beliefs; his allegiances. Was he fully aware of those of his disillusioned - *admirable* - compatriot?

"I speak for a subordinate, Fleetmaster," Kedr'ni'van's beak clicked as he spoke in precise, clear tones; tones that had been drilled into him at the training grounds on Hydrax. "Ulhazii'm as Shipmaster J'oolak'k may be, I do not speak for her in matters of religion. Military matters, I do."

Her beak parted slightly, an approximation of a wry smile. It snapped shut not a milicycle later. He was unafraid; bold. Good. She did not need cowards in her Echelon. This one may just serve the Council's purposes, after all. Kedr'ni'van had shot her advance at his beliefs, without dirtying himself with useless capitulation and explanation.

Yes, he would do well. If he survived.

"You will dispatch your courier with my flag," she instructed, surprising him. Such an honor was rarely bestowed on a Shipmaster's lowly courier. It was an approval, however token.

"Thank you, Fleetmaster," Kedr'ni'van bowed low, demonstrating his appreciation of the honor. Perhaps she had found pleasure in something he had said. Perhaps she was merely as capricious as the rumors portrayed her. For now, Kedr'ni'van would take what was given. "If I may ask, how go the preparations for the trial?"

The Qelereth sighed visibly, letting her guard down ever so slightly at Van's disarming question. "Preparations are underway for the Filth's... *trial*." She turned fully toward Kedr'ni'van now, her beak clicking rapidly in agitated excitement. "I would slay her myself, Gral," she hissed, one hand reaching to the baldric under her cloak where she kept her prized vibroknife. "But the Queen has other plans," she confided, before realizing that perhaps she had said too much, already. Her hand dropped from the knife's sheath.

"What of N'fth'nor's Dreyu Elites? Are their warriors prepared for the next phase of operations?" she asked, quickly changing the subject while turning back to the star field.

"Our Queen's plan is cunning in it's perfection. Not only will the crimes of Admiral Proctor be punished, but we will also score a powerful victory in the war of public opinion," Kedr'ni'van said, stretching his beak wide in a grin. He was not as fervent a supporter of the Queen, but this move was a stroke of genius. "As for the Dreyu, I have yet to see them fight," he explained. "They and their commander will be given their chance soon."

"That they will, Gral Van. That they will," she muttered, pulling her dark command cloak tighter around her lithe torso. "You will give temporary command of the Hammer of Progress to your Battlemaster," she chattered succinctly, her voice carrying back into military mode. "You will take post with your adjutant and staff as commander of this installation for the duration of the trial.

"You will fly the ensign of our Sovereignty over the filth of these infidels," she growled, voice low and menacing. "And they shall truly know the our wrath; our testament of retribution against them."

She paused, lowered her eyestalks slightly, then looked back up. "Be aware, Gral Kedr'ni'van. The Queen has eyes here and there. You are being watched, as am I. There are those here who would have us follow blindness; follow old creeds. I trust you will maintain an awareness? That you will share anything learned?"

How to respond to something so brazen, Kedr'ni'van wondered for a moment. If he turned her in to the Queen's loyalists, it would be her word against his. He would perish. She might also fall in the investigation that would no doubt follow, but he would be dead, so it wouldn't matter. On the other hand, if he joined her and the Queen found out, they would both die.

Then, on the third hand, she could be baiting him. It was too much to consider. It would seem, he realized, that he was at a crossroads.

"I will of course be aware of anything that goes on within my command," he spoke carefully. "The three eyes of the Queen rarely leave us. And our actions reflect in them. I will pass on what I learn." It was more of a non-answer than he liked giving, but it was all he could, given the circumstances.

She nodded slowly, the starlit shadows plying across her compact face and curved beak. "Dismissed, Stationmaster," she ordered, accenting his new title before turning herself fully to the stars.

Without speaking, Kedr'ni'van stood and bowed formally, then withdrew from the room to collect Tar'ji'let. With his transfer, there would be much to do.

"Really Bad Eggs"

Jander Tholme, Master of the Duty Free

with the crew of the Duty Free
Zhenia sh'Thenassi, First Officer
Saeihr S'Caevra, Tactical/Medic
Julianne Bhune, Engineer
"Silent" Dol, Fighter Pilot

and...
Unknown Andorian Shen
Captain Brechyn Troyer of the Dilithium Princess

****

We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!

****
Master's Cabin, Independent Freighter Duty Free
Deep Space, Hydran/Federation Border Territory

Jander Tholme groggily flung the sheets back, forcing his body to acclimate to the cold air. Ever since they'd brought the Breen aboard, the ship had been a few degrees colder, as if the man had brought a piece of his frigid home with him. Tholme shuddered at the thought, grabbing a pair of pills from the edge of his desk and downing them without water. The Breen homeworld was definitely one place that he never wanted to go back to.

More likely, he decided as he staggered out of bed and into the sonic shower, Julianne had taken a liking to the newest member of their crew and decided to alter the environmental settings without asking him. Tholme didn't mind. The shock of the cold made it easier to get up in the morning. Especially when you were hung over. Which he was.

The shower continued to force him awake. He stayed in longer than he normally did, waiting as the No-A anti-alcohol pills slowly began to take effect. Although he felt like death warmed over, Tholme grinned as he felt the hangover subsiding. They had overdone the celebration the night before, boozing and singing until early in the morning. And poor Saeihr! It turned out that Saeihr S'Caevra, a small Rihanha woman, was more than a little bit of a lightweight.

Ah, new crew!

Finally ready to face the day, Tholme headed back over to his desk and began to pull on his cloths. Black trousers, tucked into black pilot's boots. Red military surplus t-shirt, emblazoned with the label 'Starfleet Pilot Corps'. Brown leather jacket, simple and functional. Gun-belt slung low across his hips, with the grip of the old Type II-A phaser pistol resting where his palm naturally fell at his side.

[Tholme,] the voice of Zhenia sh'Thenassi, his first officer, grabbed his attention.

Sliding the wristband mounted communicator over his left wrist, Tholme tapped it to reply. "Yeah, go ahead."

[We're about two minutes from Warp Point Sellman.]

"Any read on the long range?" he asked, pulling on his right boot.

[Some residual weapons fire, debris, no idea what type.]

Tholme grunted. That could complicate things. "Any sign of the target?" he asked, focusing in on the task at hand. One last chance to make a little extra before they made port.

[Not yet. Unless they were the source of the weapons fire and debris, they haven't arrived yet,] Zhenia reported. [The timetable Bax gave us doesn't have them here for another five minutes, though.]

"Good. Let's hope they aren't running early. I'm on my way up." Tholme tugged his left boot into place and stood, placing his phaser in its holster and checking to make sure his knives were where they needed to be.

[Lookin' forward to it,] she replied.

The wide grin reappeared on Tholme's face. "Bring us to full warp, Zhenia. We're going in hot."

****
Cockpit, Independent Freighter Duty Free
Warp Point Sellman, Gryphon Coalition Territory

Tholme arrived in the cramped cockpit of the J-Class freighter a little over a minute later, sliding into the pilot's seat next to sh'Thenassi. As he sat, the Andorian shen's hands came off the console, letting him know that she had transferred control to his seat. "Julianne, engage cloaking device."

The ship shuddered beneath them as the cloaking device began to draw power, folding space around them so that no ordinary sensor scan would detect their presence. Although he dared not show doubt in front of his crew, Tholme privately recited a spacer's oath that his ship would hold together. She was a good ship, and extremely fast, but she'd been modified so many times over the years that there were times when things simply didn't work.

[Cloaking device engaged and working within acceptable parameters,] Bhune's voice was transmitted up to the cockpit from her station at the back of the ship.

"Warp transition in 20 seconds," Zhenia reported.

"Silent, get the fighters ready for deployment," Tholme ordered. Although the Duty Free was fast and well armed, often they used a set of four "Uglies" in combat, Both Tholme and Zhenia had been fighter pilots during the Dominion War, and Julianne had grown up around a landspeeder race track. They knew virtually nothing about "Silent" Dol, but as he had attested when he first came onboard, he was a hot hand on the stick.

The fighters, patched together hybrids of Valkyrie and Rogue-Class Starfighters, let them perform some very different mission profiles than they usually would. Tholme wasn't sure if he'd need them today, but he always kept them running hot when they were expecting trouble, whether they were causing it or not.

The synthesized voice of the Breen crew-member replied [Already there. One and Two online and green. Three and Four powering up now.]

"Warp transition in five... four... three... two... one," Zhenia reported, and on the viewscreen the starfield resolved itself into tiny pinpricks all around them. Ahead, the navigational buoy that marked Warp Point Sellman hung in space, lights blinking on and off.

"Commander, I'm reading what looks like the remains of a high warp transport, about 20 kilos beyond the marker," Saeihr reported from the aft tactical station.

"Lifesigns?" Tholme asked, taking a look at the twisted and fragmented wreckage. The pieces of the ship that were still recognizable had obvious damage from weapons fire. "Looks like they got hit by a Hydran military unit. There's Hellbore scoring all over it."

"No... wait... Yes. There's a single escape pod another five kilos beyond the marker, on a trajectory that will eventually take it into Federation space. Slow atmosphere leak. One life sign, Andorian shen, very weak."

Tholme considered a moment. There wasn't a huge window of opportunity for them to hit their target. Being out of position would lower their chances of actually getting a payoff. But he couldn't just leave somebody stranded in space. That was a terrible way to die. He'd seen people do it.

"I'm going to regret this," Tholme predicted, even as he turned the ship to intercept the tumbling escape pod and brought the Duty Free up to full impulse. "Saeihr, open the doors and get the cargo tractor ready. We'll pick it up and deal with it when we're done here."

"Sir," she confirmed. Saeihr S'Caevra was the most formal of the crew, owing to her time in the highly regulated Rihannsu Galae.

The room was devoid of conversation for a little over a minute. The silence was drowned out by the sounds of the ship's mechanisms at work. Whirring, humming, thrumming. And then that silence was abruptly shattered by Zhenia swearing under her breath. "Frakkin'.... damn it!"

"Nia?" Tholme asked.

"It's Dilithium Princess, Jan," she hissed. "They're 10 minutes early."

Tholme bit back a curse, almost turning the ship around before he thought better of it. They were badly out of position. Even as fast as Duty Free was, they would have a hard time subduing the large cargo freighter before it could reach the safe range and transition to warp speed. He knew he could do it... but what would that mean for the person whose escape pod was leaking air?

"Saeihr, you recover the pod. Everyone else, let's get to the fighters," he said, and transferred control to Saeihr. It was the only solution he could stomach. They would be at a lot greater risk, as the Princess was supposed to mount several anti-fighter phaser cannons. But they would also be faster than the Duty Free itself, if only marginally. Hopefully he could have his proverbial cake, and still make it back to the Deep Space Five loaded down enough that he could eat it, too.

Before he followed Zhenia out of the cockpit, he looked back over his shoulder and locked eyes with Saeihr. The Rihanha woman, uncharacteristically, cracked a smile. "I'll try not to wreck your baby, Tholme."

Tholme laughed, more of a bark than a genuine laugh. "That wasn't it. Join up with us when you're done. We'll try to keep them occupied long enough for you to get back and knock them out. If this works out, I'll buy you two bottles of the good ale from Trayvor Province. And a pack of No-As."

Saeihr shook her head and rolled her eyes. She deadpanned, "Your fighter is waiting, Sir."

****
Cockpit, Freeborne One
Warp Point Sellman, Gryphon Coalition Territory

They were doing a lot better than they had any right to be. The arrival of the Dilithium Princess ahead of schedule, forcing them into a mad dash in two opposite directions, was not the only surprise. In addition to the anti-fighter turrets, the Gryphonite freighter was now mounting a pair of Hydran made Hellbore cannons and a flight of fighters.

Neither of these things were making Jander Tholme happy.

"Ah, frak it all!" Tholme spat, rolling his fighter into a tight loop to avoid incoming phaser fire from the Princess. The Gryphonite fighter unit had singled him out as the leader, probably by observing patterns in his flight's encoded burst communication. Although two of the four threat fighters had been left as expanding dust clouds behind them, the other two had a much higher skill level. These last two were now vectoring in on Tholme, forcing him onto the defensive.

Snap-rolling back to the right, Tholme dove out of the way of their fire again. He spared a quick glance to his instruments, checking the position of the Princess in relation to the warp point. They had about five minutes, unless the Princess had a competent navigator. If that was true, they could be gone in a few seconds - as long as they were okay with abandoning their fighters. The aging Hawk-Class tactical fighters weren't equipped with warp drives to escape on their own. The captain of the Princess had to weigh that fact against her desire to escape with her valuable cargo.

"Two, cut your speed and drop in on the one behind me. I'm going to give him a clear shot and he'll have to level out to take it," Tholme ordered, taking them through a steep turn. Two clicks on the comm signaled Julianne's acknowledgment. As they climbed through the turn, she slowly lost speed, trying to sneak in behind the Gryphonite fighter.

Tholme stopped the turn abruptly, then leveled out and pushed up his throttle to take him back toward the target freighter. The enemy fighter overshot the end of the turn, but saw what its pilot thought was a good shot. The ancient Hawk-Class angled in and fired pulse phasers, leaving sparks on Tholme's shields. He crossed his fingers, but the enemy fire stopped as quickly as it began, Julianne's fighter flashing past a brief fireball where the Gryphonite had been.

"Thank you, Two," Tholme grinned, rolling out to port to avoid more anti-fighter fire from the freighter. "How're we doing, Three?"

Zhenia sh'Thenassi, his wingman from their time in the Starfleet Pilot Corps, was leading the second wingpair of his impromptu unit. [Dol winged the other one. Threat fighter is hauling it back in to the base ship. Can take him out if you want.]

"No, leave it," Tholme said, relieved. The Dilithium Princess was a lot less likely to escape if they were trying to retrieve their crippled fighter. "Freeborne Flight, form up on me and arm micro-torpedoes. Time to claim our prize."

They dove in together, weaving around the incoming fire from the top mounted anti-fighter turret. Tholme directed their first run against that turret, overwhelming the shields with the a torpedo from each of his companions. He held his launch a split second, just long enough for the shields to go down under the pressure from the initial attack. Unhindered, the torpedo slipped through before the freighter's systems could redistribute power to cover the hole. The resulting explosion fragmented the anti-fighter turret, leaving a hole in Princess' defenses.

[Lead, this is Duty Free,] Saeihr reported. [We've recovered the escape pod and are on our way back. I've got the maintenance droids linking up with the pod to tie it into our enviro-systems.]

Tholme thumbed the talk button on his comm to send two short clicks, acknowledging Saeihr's report. Looping back around, he lead Freeborne Flight into a second attack run. "Second verse, same as the first, people. Two spreads, in order, sending you the targeting information now." A mess of clicks confirmed his orders, and green lights lit up on his panel as the other fighters accepted his targeting data.

The warp engines, big circular glows situated in the middle of the aft of the aging Motherload-Class Freighter, loomed large in the viewport of Tholme's fighter. When the numbers on his console reached zero, he clicked his mic once, then lined his targeting reticle up with the left-hand engine. He held it steady for a split second and squeezed the trigger. Shifting the reticle back over to the right, he repeated the process.

"How's it look, Two?" he asked Julianne. He could have looked at the data from the damage to the target himself, but it wouldn't have meant much to him. Julianne was a genius with data and technology. If it was broken, she could fix it. If it was fixed, she could break it.

[Left engine is completely toasted,] she replied, eyes absorbing and translating the information as it streamed across her screen. [Right isn't much better, but still functional. Not enough to get them out of here. Time for your speech, Lead.]

Tholme breathed a sigh of relief. The countdown he'd started on his fighter's computer was sitting at a little under a minute. If they'd delayed any longer, the Dilithium Princess would be safely away in warp and Tholme would have had to settle for coming in to Deep Space Five with an empty hold.

The ultimatum was the most important part of being... well, more or less, a pirate. You had to own it, Tholme had discovered. A weak ultimatum could lead to resistance from the target ship's crew, and that resulted in bloodshed that he wanted to avoid. "Dilithium Princess, this is Captain Jander Tholme of the Duty Free. I've asked you once. I'm not going to ask again. Stand down and prepare to be boarded, or I'll be forced to stand you down and board you."

There was a pregnant silence for almost a minute, during which the Duty Free arrived, backing up his message with firepower.

[Tholme, you're a two bit son of a bitch pirate. This is Captain Brechyn Troyer of the Troyer Mining Compact. I hope you've thought about who you're pissing off,] the woman in command of the dilithium freighter spat. [We're complying with your orders.]

As if on cue, the lights from the Dilithium Princess dimmed and the ship came to a halt.

Tholme grinned. Paydirt.

****
Cargo Hold, Independent Freighter Duty Free
Deep Space, Approaching Deep Space Five

There was a certain satisfaction in having a full hold. What was even more satisfying was knowing that he hadn't paid for any of the containers of dilithium that were now packing his hold. The money they would rake in would cover a lot of their operations for the next trip out to Hydran space.

Tholme had left the Dilithium Princess crippled but stable. They'd left enough of the other freighter's cargo for Captain Troyer to afford repairs and the necessary bribes to get her back onto the cargo circuit. Knowing the nature of Gryphonite freighter captains, Brechyn Troyer would likely report the rest of her cargo stolen, and sell it on the black market for more than she would have been paid to deliver it.

Which left them with one small problem to deal with before they arrived at Deep Space Five. The escape pod which now sat at the center of the cargo hold.

The escape pod looked like it had been dropped into the molten core of a habitable world and pulled back out again. One side of the spherical vessel was blackened, as if it hadn't been launched until the last possible second and was caught in the explosion of its base ship. Jagged scars were cut into the side from near misses by Hydran Hellbore cannons. None of them looked to Tholme like they had been fired directly at the pod, but rather were the result of being ejected into a firefight. To round things off, a large chunk of shrapnel had embedded itself in the side of the pod, and the computer had pinpointed this as the source of the leaking atmosphere.

"Wow... I could fix that... but wow," Julianne said breathily. She had never seen anything that badly damaged that was still more or less functional before.

Saeihr appeared beside him, causing him to jerk upright in surprise. Tholme hissed a sigh through his teeth, then turned to the Romulan woman and glared at her. "Are we ready?"

"Sorry, Tholme," she grinned. "My slicer program finally broke the code. Whoever programed it was pretty good."

Tholme nodded to Zhenia, and the Andorian shen accompanied Saeihr up to the charred door of the escape pod. The encoding on the door troubled Tholme. Standard programing on those pods was set up so that anyone could crack them open and provide medical attention. A coded pod was a sign that something was up. "Crack it open."

Saeihr picked up the PADD she'd attached to the external control panel by the door. She punched in a sequence that her slicer program had given her, and the door began to hiss and open.

Before Zhenia could step up into the pod, she was flat on her back. Another Andorian woman had flung herself out of the pod, slamming a palm into Zhenia's nose and doubling her over with a well placed kick to the gut. In all the fights Tholme and Zhenia had been in before, he'd never seen anyone so completely neutralize her.

The pod's occupant wobbled, then turned her attention to a startled Saeihr. The Andorian looked very much the worse for wear - blood caked half of her scalp, and her left arm looked badly burned. When she turned on Saeihr, it exposed her back to Tholme, and he noticed that the back of her spacer's vest was shredded by shrapnel. It was a wonder the woman was walking, much less fighting.

Screaming something unintelligible in Andorian, she launched herself at Saeihr. Unlike Zhenia, the former weapons master had the split second she needed for her training to take over, and she slipped out of the way, allowing the Andorian to slam into the side of her own escape pod. Saeihr stepped back and let the Andorian come to her.

Hand hovering over the quickdraw holster at his hip, Tholme watched the two women come to blows. Saeihr was a specialist in hand to hand combat, trained from a young age to fight duels for members of an important noble house on ch'Rihan. She had expressed to him, in one of the few moments when she opened up, that she chaffed at the amount of ship to ship fighting they did, and wanted more planetside work.

That training was evident in the way Saeihr dealt with the Andorian. The two were disturbingly evenly matched. The Amnmndorian tried to sweep Saeihr's legs, with a defiant grace that flew in the face of everything his eyes were telling him. Saeihr stepped out of the way, but it took some effort to duck the follow up blow.

Saeihr swore in her native language, caught off guard by the Andorian's unexpected skill. She swung high with one hand, then punched the Andorian in the kidney when she blocked, forcing her onto the defensive. Saeihr, a savage fighter, pressed the attack, catching one of the Andorian's hands and flinging her around.

Somehow the Andorian managed to stay on her feet, and again tried to trip Saeihr. The Rihannsu woman locked legs with her, and they both reset their stance several times, searching for leverage. Finally, Saeihr found an opening, delivering a kick to the Andorian's right knee that would have broken the leg had she not hopped backwards, out of range.

And that was all the prompting that Tholme needed. As much as Saeihr was probably enjoying herself, he need to have this ended before either of them was hurt. Purple blood was already spurting from between Zhenia's fingers where they clutched her nose.

Without a second thought, he shot her. Reacting purely on instinct, his right hand dropped to the holster and flashed back up, a near perfect quickdraw. The Andorian took the phaser blast in the torso, jerking once before she crumpled to the deck.

tbc...

"Stardate: 64909.13" File #3

Location: Unknown

<Welcome: Commander Jemima Trent/ra'wI D'gor Koloth/Senator N'alae Marek/Gul Lakar/Daimon Brok>

<Securing link>

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<Searching multiple database for obituaries detailing: Sorien>

<Refining search: sorting all files by cause of death, highlighting files where cause of death is listed as homicide/accidental/unsolved. Only showing files where a family unit, three or more, is involved>

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<Estimated time to collate files: 3 hours 56 minuets>

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<37 records listed. Do you want to view files or save for later viewing?>

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<Displaying file 1 of 37>

<FNS News Report Stardate 64605.27...>

Authorities in a quiet suburb of Solastria (Capital of Federation member world Ardana) encountered a scene straight out of a horror film early this morning. In the 2-story, 4-bedroom home at Alpha85 Ploin, three people were found dead -- Thomas A. Sorien, age 50, his wife Lisa, 47, and their teenage son Kevin, age 16, all stabbed to death. One person was apparently unharmed, the Sorien's 20-year-old daughter, Margaret.

Maggie Sorien told Arbiters that she had been asleep but awoke to strange noises elsewhere in the residence. Maggie went to see what was happening and found her deceased father and brother. Maggie told Arbiters that her mother was still barely alive at the time. Tom Sorien was on the bed in the parents' bedroom; Kevin Sorien was lying in the hallway. Lisa Sorien was sitting up, and she is reported to have "quietly" asked Maggie to call the ERU (Emergency Response Unit.)

Maggie's call came in at 2:24 a.m. local time, from a neighbor's home. Arbiters would not specify the kind of weapon that may have been used on the deceased. Arbiters also indicated that no weapon had been recovered. The residence was sealed pending further investigation. The community was warned: keep your doors locked, report suspicious activity.

<Update this link>

<Displaying updates>

A man, whose can-not be identified for legal reasons, has been arrested in connection with the murder of Thomas, Lisa and Kevin Sorien. Police Inspector Morrison informed the press today that 'investigations are going well' and that 'the evidence is compelling.' The man has been detained for approximately 7 hours at this time?

<Snip>

64701.15 - The murder of Thomas, Lisa and 16 year old Kevin Sorien has finally been sentenced. After a six month trial, which Maggie Sorien has described as 'Just as brutal as the murders themselves', Mahesh, a Selay, was convicted to life imprisonment?

<Snip>

<For more updates, click here>

To Be Continued?

Road of the Righteous, Prologue - "Never Alone"
August 2nd, 2384

Captain Francis Malcolm Therrien,
Commanding Officer, USS Relentless

Lieutenant Commander Evelyn Sievert,
Chief Tactical Officer, USS Relentless

with...
Councilor James Pennington, Federation Councilor from Earth

****
Male Command Officer Recovery Ward, 46th Floor, Starfleet Medical
August 2nd, 2384

Frank Therrien scowled and replaced the thin wire rims on his nose. No, that was still blurry. He held the PADD out as far as he could and squinted, which was a little bit better. It still wasn't good enough for him to read for any length of time. He tried moving it closer, and pushing the glasses up on his nose.

There, in focus, but still monumentally frustrating, he decided. Therrien removed the glasses, tossing them and the latest issue of Federation Tactician onto the nightstand. Forget the glasses, he told himself. He could have corrective surgery, and considering he was confined to his bed, this was probably the best time for it.

Heaving a disgusted sigh, he turned on FNN. Reading glasses. Another sign that his 56 years were finally catching up on him. The body was wearing out. The reflexes were getting slower. He just wasn't as fast as he used to be. If he'd been a little faster, maybe he could have joined the crew on Pacifica, soaking up ocean and sun instead of medication and FNN. But the problem with Breen stormtroopers, Therrien thought, is that they're always young, and you're always getting older.

[In other news, Councilor James Pennington visited Japan's Shingen University today to talk about the Federation's changing relationship with the Romulan Star Empire,] the announcer, a young Bolian woman, was saying as he focused on the news. [Pennington represents Earth and the Dependent Colonies on the Federation Council. Here's what he had to say.]

The image shifted to that of Councilor Pennington, and Frank found himself wishing the report had been in audio only. The Bolian girl was a lot easier on the eyes than that weasel Pennington, especially when he had the 'smug look'. Pennington, in Therrien's opinion, always looked smug whenever he was about to say something he thought was important or controversial. It was a wonder he had made it in politics with such a poor poker face.

"Please, Councilor. Grace us with your wisdom," he said dryly, to nobody in particular.

[It's important to remember that nobody elected Empress Kaidalin,] Pennington was saying, playing the democracy card. Self-determination was a very central idea in the Federation, so it was a strong condemnation that Pennington was dealing out to the Romulan leader. [Not only that, but she personally disbanded the only thing remotely resembling an elected body in the Romulan Empire. At gunpoint. There is no check to her authority.]

This was an old argument, but one made all the more potent by recent events. Pennington was a hard line Hawk, favoring increased militarization of Starfleet, expanding defense research, and political isolationism. His most recent proposal, a general re-armament and closing of the Federation/Romulan border was generating widespread public support, despite it's incendiary nature.

[The Federation has to assume that responsibility by re-establishing the Neutral Zone. Empress Kaidalin must be sent a clear message that the days of Romulan Imperial supremacy are over,] Pennington declared, raising his voice to inject a certain passion into his delivery. [It was a short sighted decision to demilitarize the border after Galvanis. The government in Ki Baratan is not stable. It's not going to be stable. And what we do not need, especially now, after Havras, is an unstable military powerhouse next door. If we are, in fact, facing war with the Breen, Hydran, and T'Kith'Kin, then we can ill afford to let our guard down with Romulus.]

And there was the flawed logic, Therrien concluded as the report switched back to the Bolian announcer. Pennington had a point, but the conclusion was based on a fallacy. The Councilor was assuming that because the government was unstable, it automatically became a threat. The potential is certainly there, he agreed. But Pennington's argument was based on the idea that a potential threat should be treated as a confirmed threat.

And that leap of logic was all it would take to turn the Rihannsu from allies to enemies. Therrien remembered the perfidy with which the Rihannsu viewed their relationship with the Federation, as demonstrated in the non-aggression pact they had almost signed with the Dominion in 2374. Pennington's reactionary contemporaries on ch'Rihan were already advocating just such a thing with the Triad powers.

Frank was about to flip the channel over to Illuminating the City of Lights when he noticed the remote was no longer next to his hand.

"For a woman who walks with a cane, you're becoming remarkably sneaky," he said, feigning irritation as turned to focus on his visitor. Lieutenant Commander Evie Sievert was his closest friend and confidant, the Beverly Crusher to his Jean-Luc Picard. In red Class A uniform and without her cane, Evie was perched on the counter next to his bed. She hopped down and walked stiffly over to embrace him. "Evie, it's good to see you."

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Frank Therrien," Evie pulled back to get a better look at him. Therrien was the same man who had firmly shaken her hand when she'd first stepped onto the USS Tiberius as a midshipman in 2375. The wrinkles, laugh lines and frown lines, were a little more pronounced. The light brown hair was beginning to grey, mostly at the temples and in the goatee he'd grown on Judaris.

And then there was the fact that he was bed ridden. She'd never seen Frank Therrien - always a source of strength in her sometimes fragile life - in such a state. Even with the knowledge that he would soon be back on his feet, it made her want to tear up.

Frank read the look in her eyes like an open book. "I'm not dead, Evie. Just a little worse for wear. What has you all dressed up?"

"First excuse I could find to leave Pacifica. There was a conference at the Starfleet War College," she explained. "Workshops and breakout sessions. Theory, simulators. The works. I felt very... overwhelmed. There are people who have been living and breathing tactics since they were 16 or 18. I just started. Your niece kicked my ass."

"Quinn?" he asked, curiosity piqued. Of his three nieces, Quinn was the one he was closest to. Caity had taken after her mother, the diplomat. Claire, Quinn's twin, had fallen in love with the outdoors, and then the SFMC. But Quinn had learned tactics and strategy, politics and civic duty, sitting at his knee as a child. "She's transferring, isn't she?"

Evie smiled and shook her head in mock exasperation at the sudden change of topic. His devotion to his niece was something she was used to. "Assistant Chief Tactical Officer on the USS Jeanne d'Arc. She's planning on visiting you before she ships next week."

"Good. It'll be nice to see her," he replied, then shifted back to the earlier line of thought. "I wouldn't worry too much about Quinn beating you. She does that to me sometimes, and I've been living and breathing starship tactics since my 18th birthday. Quinn is a very unorthodox thinker."

"Oh, you weren't there, Frank. It was bad," Evie blushed.

"So how was Pacifica?" he asked, changing the subject. While their commanding officer recuperated on Earth, the crew of the Relentless had been given some much needed shore leave.

Evie sighed and shrugged. "A little hollow for me," she admitted wistfully. "Ekaterina and I did some shopping, and she went clubbing, so I drove for her. But without you or Mark, it was all a little empty. So I came back here to see how you were doing."

"I'm sorry," Frank said, half-heartedly. Mark Sievert's death had ripped through a lot of people. In life, he had been a lot of things. Husband to Evie. Executive Officer to Frank. In death, he was simply gone, his ship consumed in the fiery conflagration of Starbase 01.

She shook her head, dismissing his apology. "I enjoyed myself. I'm just getting a little old to be one of the girls anymore."

"I'm old," Frank stated by way of comparison, unable to keep a straight face. His laughter filled the room. He ran his hands through his hair. "Seriously. Look at me. I'm going grey. You're not even close to this."

"Frank!" she feigned hurt feelings. "You know what I mean. Most people get their discharge after they finish their four year commitment. I majored in political science. I wasn't planning on staying, but the Dominion War, and you and Mark, changed that."

"I know," he said. It felt good to laugh, after weeks of being trapped at Starfleet Medical. "And we'll eventually be able to retire and do what we want with our lives. But for now we've a duty to perform. And as soon as I can get out of this bed on a regular basis, we'll do just that."

Evie nodded and smiled. As old as he professed to be, the man she knew always spoke like a man half his age, full of passion for the Federation and for what he saw as his duty to it. Too few people talked like that anymore. "What're the doctors saying?" she asked.

"Doctor Dresah told me I'd be able to start physical therapy in a few days," he replied. "According to him, the internal injuries have responded well to the surgery and my body has accepted the replacement liver. The breaks in my legs have been reconnected cleanly, but I've been off my feet for over a month, so the muscles are weak. And all that on top of the fact that I was malnourished when they brought me in. Overall, I'm a lucky man."

"I think this is time for me to ask the question I've been dying to ask ever since you got back. What happened on Judaris?"

Frank nodded. That question had been bound to come. "It's a very long story, Evie. I'll have to tell it in parts, or we'll be here until next week."

"Then start at the end. I want to know how you were hurt."

"I can do that," he replied, casting his mind back three months, to the last day of hiding in the ruins of Judaris. His last day with Ara. "After the Breen..." he faltered at the enormity of what had happened. Even for an experienced soldier, it was hard to think about. "After the asteroid bombardment of Judaris, we had to go underground to survive. Commander S'Trialu and I took Citizen-Chairman Kovta and fled down into the Undercity. We survived there, the three of us, for over four months, staying one step ahead of the Breen. But eventually, our luck ran out."

****
Location Unknown, Undercity, Judaris Prime
April 29th, 2384

"Run!"

Frank Therrien blinked in disbelief, thrusting his hand further toward the bulky Judari man who stood below him. But the People's Champion just shook his head, sadly, and turned away.

"Run, you fools. If you want any hope of getting off this forsaken world, run," Mardalim Kanaas said in a firm tone, picking up the Champion's Hammer from where he had left it. He didn't look back, eyes focused on the tunnel they had fled from. The sounds of battle were getting closer. What remained of his men, the former Judari Republican Guard, were fighting and dying so that they could escape. "Go tell your Federation and your Empire our story. Tell them to learn from our mistakes and to be ready when the Breen come. Run!"

And with that, the blocky Judari turned away from them for the last time. The Hammer slung from his shoulder, he armed himself with two phaser rifles at the last moment, just as the Breen burst through into the ruins of the basement of the Hall of Unity. Planting his feet in an unbreakable stance, Kanaas activated his personal shield and opened fire with both hands, vaporizing those Breen unfortunate enough to be leading the charge.

Frank didn't hesitate. Accepting a hand from Ara S'Trialu, he allowed the slim Rihanha to pull him to his feet. Placing a hand around her upper arm to steady her, he pulled her into a dead run, trying to catch up to their charge. Although still shell shocked, Ara kept up, probably acting on instincts drilled into her by the Rihannsu Imperial Galae.

Up ahead, Nadas Kovta, the ragged little man who had been the leader of the People's Republic until it's utter destruction in January, was trying to climb over a pile of rubble. Therrien's heart went out to the other man. Kovta had spent his entire life behind desks, living in the world of information, both before and during the People's Republic. If he had been physically capable at one point in his life, there was no trace of it now, as he tumbled back down the wall of uneven stone, landing at the base.

"Citizen-Chairman," Frank said, using the man's formal title to reassure him. "Allow us to help you." There was relief in the Judari leaders eyes as he followed Therrien up over the wall, followed by S'Trialu, who pushed from behind.

As they crested the top of the wall, the gunfire behind them suddenly stopped. Therrien looked back into the burned out basement where Mardalim Kanaas was making his final stand. The People's Champion was swinging the Champion's Hammer in a wide arc, batting aside multiple Breen with each stroke, crushing them upon the electric-charged head of the giant maul. Finally, a Breen soldier, obviously more experienced than his terrified comrades, stepped into Kanaas' reach and knocked the Hammer from his hands. Kanaas rewarded him with a punch that snapped the Breen's encounter suited head back at an angle that Therrien suspected meant death.

But the damage was done. Largely disarmed, the Champion was knocked onto his back by the sheer weight of the Breen charge pressing in. Several Breen stormtroopers fell to the ground beside him, bowled over by their comrades. Therrien grasped Ara's arm and helped her over the wall as well, unable to look away. From across the distance, he caught Kanaas' one good eye. The People's Champion grinned, green blood welling between his teeth. The Breen were beginning to pick themselves up, preparing to take him prisoner. It was a mistake, Frank realized, that they would not live to regret.

"FOR EVERYONE!" the People's Champion's dying cry filled the cramped tunnel, and the fiery explosion of the quantum detonators that Kanaas had rigged on himself and on support structures around the room washed away the Breen, the basement, and hurtled down the tunnel toward Therrien.

The big Irishman hurled himself off the wall, knocking Ara and Citizen-Chairman Kovta to the ground, the flame shooting out of the gap at the top of the wall, filling the space where their heads had been. Ara looked up at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused. The dried blood on the side of her head was not the only testimony to the blow she had taken earlier. He let his lips brush hers briefly before he rolled away and forced himself to his feet. His entire body hurt from falling onto the stone.

"What happened back there," Nadas Kovta asked a few minutes later, as they boarded the elevator at the basement of the Hall of Equality.

"Mardalim brought down the Hall of Unity to cover our retreat. With any luck, the Breen believe us dead," Frank explained, pointing out the great window in the side of the elevator. Breen landing craft were swarming around the smoking crater that had been the Hall of Unity, final resting place of Mardalim Kanaas.

Kovta wept openly for the rest of the ride to the top of the two thousand story building. "Kanaas was the best of our people," he sobbed through bony hands, shielding his eyes to the ruins of one of the three main government buildings. "He saved us, many times, when the Ambassadors tried to purge us. This world... This world did not deserve a man such as him to Champion it."

Therrien nodded, clasping the short Judari's shoulder. "Then you have to respect the sacrifice he made. You have to survive, and you have to keep hope alive for your people. His people."

Kovta lowered his hands and choked back his tears, nodding. He stood for the rest of the ride, eyes locked on the still burning ruins outside. Therrien left him to his solitude for a moment. They were almost to the top, and he wanted a moment with Ara before they got there.

"I'm fine," she said, before he could even look at her. Even in such an abysmal situation, he had to resist laughing. Ara was... amazing. Willful, independent, ambitious, defiant, passionate. She made him feel like a man half his age. Her eyes were more focused now. Hopefully that meant that her concussion had passed.

"I know," Frank replied, smiling weakly. They had been running for almost twenty-four hours straight, and he was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to pass out for the next twenty-four. "Any word from SubCommander t'Veihla?"

"No," she said, holding her hands out in a gesture of emptiness. "I lost the transmitter back in the Hall of Unity. I should have given it to you when I was hit. We'll just have to trust her to be where she said she would be."

Therrien nodded, but didn't say anything further. He wasn't sure how to broach the subject. It was embarrassing, like he was back in grade school - a lifetime ago. But it had to be him who broke the ice. She was too proud to love a man who couldn't face reality. "Where do you want to go with this?" he bluntly asked, standing a little closer to her and lowering his voice. There was no reason to have that conversation with Nadas Kovta. This was hardly the time for him to hear them talking about their personal lives instead of their survival.

Her response was immediate, and without hesitation. "I've come to be very attracted to you, Frank. I have no desire for that to come to an end. That said, we serve very different forces in this life. I would be executed as a traitor if what we did here was exposed."

"And I would be relegated to a command with no strategic value," he replied. Starfleet Intelligence would never allow a man who kept company with a 'Romulan' to maintain command of an active combat ship. "It would be a waste to both of our people. But I am very attached to you."

"I should hope so. We've been through a lot together." Ara's eyes, her best feature, bored into him. They were always evaluating, calculating. She narrowed them into tiny slits, sizing him up. "You're not going to like this, but it comes naturally to we Rihannsu. We are going to have an illicit affair. If we are ever discovered, it will destroy us. But it is going to be worth it."

"If that's what we have to do, then so be it," he agreed. She would challenge him, like nobody else he'd ever known. Ara made Alia Solaris look like a complete pushover, which was saying something. "I have some contacts inside the Empire. I'll use them to get in touch."

She grinned, her posture much less aggressive now. "I'm going to enjoy this. Finally, an equal. And one who isn't trying to discredit me and take my position." Being the youngest woman to take command of a warbird put certain limits on her personal life.

"I'm glad you trust me. I'd look terrible in green," Frank laughed, then grew more serious. They had almost reached the top. "Are you ready?"

"Always," Ara replied, removing her honor blade from its sheath. It was the only weapon she had left. Raising the guard to her lips in a formal salute, she pressed herself to one side of the elevator door. Therrien removed the holdout phaser from his boot. Somehow he'd gone four months living on the run without using it.

In silence, they waited.

The numbers slowly ticked up until they reached the roof. On the other side of the door, the Breen had set up an anti-aircraft battery, attended by a shuttlecraft and some troops, both of which could be dispatched in the case of something being downed by the AA gun.

Pressing against the door, he held Citizen-Chairman Kovta behind him, out of the way of incoming fire. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," Ara confirmed, then pressed the door release.

****
Male Command Officer Recovery Ward, 46th Floor, Starfleet Medical
August 2nd, 2384

"And that's all I remember," Frank explained, ending his story. He'd left out the details about his relationship with the Rihannsu commander. Even at Starfleet Medical, there was always somebody listening. If he did choose to disclose his secret to Evie, it would be after they were back on the Relentless. "We stormed the roof, but the shuttle was gone. It had left to investigate the explosion at the Hall of Unity."

Evie rolled her eyes. "Of course. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. It turns out there was a special forces officer assigned to the missile battery. While we were fighting the crew of the battery, he used a personal cloaking device to sneak around behind us," Frank said, gesturing with his hands to give her an idea of how the combat had played out. "According to Commander S'Trialu, I was crouched behind a barrier when the Breen threw a grenade in behind me. I didn't even have time to kick it away. The explosion threw me over the barrier, broke both my legs, and shrapnel lacerated my liver and collapsed one of my lungs."

"How did you survive the flight to the D'Cerevea?" Evie asked, shocked at what he had apparently survived.

"Luck. I didn't know it, but Chairman Kovta was a surgeon before he entered politics," he replied. He had not seen the Judari leader since. "He kept me stable until Ara captured the returning shuttle and took us up into orbit. It's possible that I owe him my life."

"What happened to him?"

"He's sought political asylum on Earth, and is due to address the Federation Council in the near future," Frank said. "I hope, for all of our sakes, that they choose to listen to him."

Evie nodded. "I do too."

tbc...

"The Kahs-wan" Part Three

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe Chief Engineer USS Galaxy
Lieutenant (Jg) Chandrakala Eshe Engineering Officer USS Galaxy

***Location; Cheleb-khor in the province of Shi'al, Vulcan***

*When I sleep I dream that I am her. I feel her senses, my senses, extend in search of that feeling; that feeling that flues me, her. My heart beats faster and faster as her prey comes into range, blood rages through my veins and my head fills with anticipation of euphoria. I relish in our kill. When I wake, cold and damp, I fear not of the dream, but of the reality that I am her and she is me.*

Her destination had been clear in her mind when she set out: take a trip down memory lane with Kala, visit the old haunts, their old house and school. But nothing was ever as simple as that.

She recalled a quote the captain had said recently, 'the best laid plans of mice and men'; it didn't seem to matter what you wanted to do or how well you planned it, the universe had its own twisted humor and you were essentially a pawn in its sadistic game.

That's how Dhanishta felt now, a tool to be used and abused by everything. Even the elements seemed to have her targeted. The wind picked up speed, tossing sand into her face. She could feel the grains pelting her skin, bouncing off her closed eyelids and taught lips. Logic might dictate that she stop and wait till the storm passed. But her feet plodded on, her body leaned into the wind and continued against the adversity as she always had. Never relenting, never giving up hope that one day, somehow, she would find what she was looking for.

The argument with Kala had been intense, brutal in a word. No blood was spilled mind, but it may as well have been, with the ach in her chest it felt as if it had. Part of her felt like a gaping wound, never able to heal fully, always ripped open by something. She felt relieved that she hadn't been on the ship when the Katras had infiltrated the minds of the crew, with everything else; that would have been the nail in the coffin.

Everywhere she looked someone was suffering with side affects of havening lived a life they were never meant to. Having witnessed a memory that was not yours to see was like a nose around your neck. It didn't mater to the rest of the world, your suffering was invisible to most, but Dhani saw it, she could feel it. Like the glow off a light strip it emanated and pulsed, penetrating her defense like an overloaded quantum torpedo.

Out here in the desert she had expected to escape that second hand pain. But it followed like a bad smell. Voices, memories, repressed emotion it all trailed behind her adding to her own misery. ~Why isn't everything simple?~ Dhani asked the voices inside her head.

~Why?~ she trailed off, what was the point in asking? Was there any point to any of it? Overwhelmed with everything Dhani let herself sink to the ground. The wind raged around her and continued its relentless assault. Tightening her cape she pulled her hood down more and re-wrapped the scarf around her mouth and nose. Rocking back and forth she sat out the storm, her mind plagued with the events of the day before?

*** Vulcana Regnar in the province of Raal, Vulcan. Day One***

The silence lasted all the way to their old family home. The metaphorical distance between them grew with each passing second. With a sullen expression Dhani looked up at their old abode. She had expected to feel something as she stood before the gate; a sense of home, belonging, regret for leaving, pleasure at returning. But there was nothing.

The building in front of her was just a building. It contained no warmth, no love just emptiness that sunk into the rest of the emptiness that currently rained within.

"We're here." Kala stated somberly, "Now what?"

"I'm not sure." Dhanishta replied truthfully.

"Do you suppose anyone lives here?" Kala asked.

Dhanishta just shrugged in reply.

Kala cast a disgruntled look of contempt towards her sister, but Nishta didn't appear to notice. Taking a breath Kala went to speak but stopped herself as she saw the look on Dhanishtas face. Placing her hand on Nishta's arm with a quizzical expression she watched her closely. Dhanishtas eyes seemed distant, fixed on something other than the house that stood before them. "What is it?" Kala enquired puzzled.

Dhanishta didn't reply, she just continued to gaze into the ether. Frowning deeply Kala squeezed Nishta's arm, an attempt to draw her out. "Nish?" she questioned gently. Feeling a rush of sadness from her sister she grasped at her chest, "Oh Nishta!" Kala exclaimed, "What did you expect to find?" she asked sincerely, compassion filling her voice.

"Home." Dhanishta replied without pause. Her eyebrows descended, her brow furrowing, her whole being emanating melancholy as she held back the sadness that rose within. She turned to Kala with a look of sadness that went so much deeper than the word alone could convey. "I expected to? all I wanted was to?" her voice trailed off into a ragged whisper.

"Oh Nishta!" Kala closed her eyes tightly against the pain she felt for her sibling. Reaching out she enveloped Dhanishta into a tight hug. She could feel her restraint through the embrace; hear her exaggerated breathing as she fought back the urge to cry. "Just let it out Nish." Kala cooed softly stroking her hair.

But Dhanishta didn't, she couldn't. The tears just weren't there this time. She frowned till her face hurt, pouted till her bottom lip extended so far that she thought it might touch the floor, but still there were no tears.

Pulling back from the embrace Kala looked deep into Dhanishtas eyes and gently combed her ruffled hair back into place. Cupping her cheek gently, her own face awash with emotion she closed her eyes again for a moment, blinking back the grief she felt. For such a long time Kala had felt bitter towards Dhanishta. Nish was her father's favorite child; she was the one that he openly cared for most out of the two of them. She was the one that was going to amount to something.

For such a long time she had tried to be as different as possible from her twin. She wanted to be an engineer, Dhani hadn't cared, she hadn't thought about what she wanted to be when she graduated, she just let time and study dictate, but Kala had *really* wanted to be an engineer, she had wanted it with all her heart and had struggled to get there, where as Nishta had sailed freely. And then her elder sister, by half an hour only, had beaten her to it. Dhanishta had ambitions, she signed up for the command courses where as Kala had just jumped on the nearest ship and gone. She had gone so far out of her way that she had served on the T'Kengra, away from her own people, away from everyone that she had studied with, as far away from the federation as she could get without actually leaving.

For the last few years these feelings had built within her. She tried to dismiss them tried to push them away, she loved Dhani greatly. But when the coma happened? Dhanishta didn't have the slightest clue what was going on in Kala's life, why should she? They were worlds apart. But Kala had come running. That day on Trill she lost her sister, her best friend and confidant and realized just how far apart she had made herself go. Standing outside talking to a medical attendant she confessed how she had really felt. ~I catch you time and time again but you still keep falling~ Kala cried inwardly, tears misted her eyes as she opened them and looked upon her sisters distant expression.

"What's going on Nishta? Please tell me." she shook Dhani's shoulders gently, "I am trying to keep my distance, trying not to pry but I can't. Not any more, Dhanishta this is killing me. Sitting here, waiting for you to?" she broke off tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dhanishta blinked. Her face pensive as her vision returned to focus on what was actually in front of her. "Waiting for me to what?" she asked slowly blinking against the sunlight.

Kala shook her head and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She hadn't cried in ? since she thought she had lost Nishta. "We used to be so close." Kala said in a small voice, "We used to tell each other everything. You were my best friend Nish." Her eyes lifted from the floor, slowly trailing up Dhanishtas slight frame to her chin, and then even slower over her face till they finally rested on a place just below her eyes. She couldn't look into her eyes right now. "Waiting for you to pop."

Dhanishta didn't move, her expression didn't change, she just continued to stare with that distant far off look.

"I have been angry with you for a long time." Kala said, only then looking into Dhanis eyes. She didn't want the pain she felt to be conveyed that way, but after saying that she had to look, it was the only way she could truly gauge Nishta's reaction, she had learnt so well how to hide everything else.

"Why?" Dhanishta whispered.

TBC?

"In the Still of the NIght"

Lt. JG Faylin McAlister
JAG

Location: Fay's Personal Quarters

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

Her crib sits empty, her sheets cold, her blanket has no little body to warm at night, and I weep. Her taken life makes me bitter, will, and restless. For I was to be her protector, the one given the Key of her safety. I, it is my fault.

No one knows on this hip, the torment I live through daily. I doubt no one cares. What they see, is a woman is is angry with them, who has no patience, who is vindictive towards all. Why? They ask.......Why is she so cold?

I have been given the greatest gift. My Olivia......I have had her ripped form my breast in violence and who do I blame? I blame myself. I blame the woman who was created to kill, who knew the power she contained, and used it for the betterment of evil. I blame me.

I hear my daughter's cries now in every being who's life I took, and that is my hell. As she hurt from the poison injected into her tiny arm, I see the Ambassador I poisoned as he slept. As her small body was crushed, I hear the snapping of my targets bones by my own hands.

My soul laments for my enemies. For they were victims much as my daughter. Victims of my personal war. Victims that lost. My daughter....lost. I am.....lost.

My mind is overwhelmed with thoughts of 'what if'. It screams out for a 'do over', a repeat, a life rewind. Yet, as I sit on the small wooden chair that I sat in for the afternoon tea parties on my day off, I question myself. Would I have made the same decisions and have been sitting in this exact spot in another time?

God can only answer that. As we face our enemies, I pray that I can find rest to some degree. I wish to end my private mourning for Olivia. Although her time with me is past, I know someday we will meet. I'll have a chance to ask her for forgiveness, and introduce to her the little brother who grows in me now.

"Computer....end recording........."

"The Kahs-wan" Part Four

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe Chief Engineer USS Galaxy
Lieutenant (Jg) Chandrakala Eshe Engineering Officer USS Galaxy

*** Vulcana Regnar in the province of Raal, Vulcan. Day One***

"I have been angry with you for a long time." Kala said, only then looking into Dhanis eyes. She didn't want the pain she felt to be conveyed that way, but after saying that she had to look, it was the only way she could truly gauge Nishta's reaction, she had learnt so well how to hide everything else.

"Why?" Dhanishta whispered.

"I watched you die Dhanishta." Kala said with a voice laden with guilt and regret. "And I have been watching you slip away further and further away each day and your not doing a damn thing to stop it." Her voice shook as did her body, holding back the anger and grief. "Dhanishta I love you, and it hurts for me to see you like this."

"Like what?" Dhani asked frowning.

"Lost." Kala replied gently.

Dhanishta nodded slowly, understanding creeping into her expression. She hadn't though of it that way, but she supposed it was quite apt.

"I gave up everything to be here with you." Kala continued, "I left the T'Kengra so I could? save you." she trailed off herself for a moment, realizing how much of a martyr she was making herself out to be. She didn't like sounding that way but it was how she felt. She could have been somebody on the T'Kengra, she could have made it to Assistant Chief by now really had that title rather than just doing the job without. Perhaps Starfleet would have promoted her, recognized all the hard work she had done since leaving, but in truth she felt forgotten. She had been with the Klingons for so long that she had forgotten how to act with Starfleet personal. Each day on the Galaxy was like a strange dream, a never ending dull, soul destroying, dream. She had never realized how much she missed the T'Kengra, she even missed the gagh.

"I never asked you to stay." Dhanishta shot back in defense. "You made that decision yourself. I never asked you to come with me."

"No?" Kala questioned eyebrows rising.

"No!" Dhanishta's voice pitched.

"I also suppose that you never asked me to save you. You never screamed out to any voice that could hear you when you were floating out in space? I suppose that me witnessing the fight you had with Suder was just some coincidental dream? I guess that the fact that I hurt when you hurt is just something that I'm making up?" she questioned slightly aggressively.

"I never asked for your help." Dhani replied shortly with a flash of anger in her dark green eyes.

"No you didn't. Not in so many words. That I give freely because you are my sister, you don't have to ask for my help, I am here for you."

"Well I don't need you." Dhani shouted back.

"Prove it!"

Dhani frowned, "What?" she questioned wondering how she could.

"Prove to me that you don't need my help, or anyone's help for that matter. Prove to me that you are not unstable, prove to me that you can control your temper, prove to me that you are the woman I remember, the one I grew up with, the one I shared everything with. Prove to me that you are not hiding anything." Kala demanded.

Dhani shook her head, "How the hell am I supposed to do that?" she shot back, "From what I've seen, you lot will believe whatever you want to believe. I saved this crew, I work hard, I do my job, nothing that has ever happed to me has affected my work and yet here you all claim that I need help!"

"Because you are lying!" Kala screamed.

"Prove that!" Dhanishta screamed back.

"Fine!" Kala yelled. The anger she felt completely blinded her, under normal circumstances she would have never told Dhanishta what she had done. She would have rather let things fester until Dhani told her, but in the heat of the argument she lost all sight of the betrayal she had committed, the repercussions that she would face seemed negligible right now?

"After you left to go on the race I?"

***Flash back***

***USS Galaxy, Deck 8, Crew Quarters***

(Set 11 hours after "Perhaps Three!" three hours prior to Romulan Weirdness!)

Kala poked her head out of the bedroom door and scanned the living space. The lights were at low illumination; however Michael could be in the rest room, asleep on the couch or even in her room, though technically it wasn't 'her' room. Tiptoeing out into the main compartment she stole a moment to check the time. She double took, "Crikey have I really slept for eleven hours?" shaking her head she continued across the room.

"Computer, locate Michael McDowell." She requested as she paused at the computer desk and sat down.

-^- "Michael McDowell is in Main Engineering." -^-

"Goodie!" Kala remarked as she turned on the computer and began her search. There was something seriously wrong with her sister. She had known this for some time now. Suder had called her several years ago worried and concerned about Nishta, and dutifully Kala had come running. But she had been wrapped up with her own problems at the time and in all honestly hadn't really paid much heed to Suder's concerns. In fact she spent most of that week fighting with him herself and sporadically chatting to Nish whilst getting inebriated.

Nishta was always different with Kala. They had a rapport with each other unlike how Nish interacted with everyone else. When they were alone together Dhanishta was almost like how she was now; she would smile, even laugh at times, get drunk and giggle like a school girl, they would talk endlessly especially if they hadn't seen each other in a while. When they worked together: they worked as one, anticipating what tool the other required, what system changes needed to be made in order to access another. They were synchronized in everything they did, complemented each other. But whenever Dhani was around anyone else she was cold, subdued and reserved.

Kala rolled her eyes as she recalled how many conversations she had to endure with Chang, Dhanishtas fianc?. He could never understand why Nishwas so much like a Vulcan with him. It didn't help when he saw how she acted with Kala. Four years he spent trying to get Dhanishta to react to him like she did to Kala. Only two of those four years did Kala have to console him and try to explain her sister's actions, over and over. Although looking back she had never really explained with any clarity why Dhanishta was like that, ~That was probably why he kept asking!~ Kala thought sourly.

In all honestly she didn't really know herself, she just accepted Nish as she was. Nishta was taught logic by a Vulcan Mindlord. She took his teaching to heart, leading her life by the values he set. It seemed simple back then, she never questioned it herself. Never even wondered why Dhanishta was sent to Sark, why she took on board everything that he taught her, yet she hadn't. Kala had seen Sark when she was a child; though she could barley remember doing so. Why did Nishta turn out like that but not her?

It was a question that many had asked before, one that Kala had never been able to answer and one that she never thought important. Maybe if she had bothered to listen to Suder then things would have turned out differently. For years she had blamed Starfleet and the incompetent people on this ship for Dhanishtas continuing lapse and dissolve of her emotional control. She blamed M'Kantu for Dhanishtas coma and subsequent 'death'. All they had to do was read Nishta's personality report from the counselors on Earth to know that something was wrong. No one as dedicated to Logic as Nish was, acted the way she had done since she came aboard. But then in hind sight someone had cared: Suder. He had called Dhanishtas closest family member and told her, even gone so far as to request her to come and see with her own eyes. And even then she hadn't listened, hadn't lifted a finger to help. Just blamed everyone else when things went wrong, ~If Suder couldn't get me to listen to reason, what chance did he have with anyone else?~ Kala shook her head and tried to ignore the guilt that gnawed away within her. So she had screwed up once? but she never made the same mistake twice.

"A-Ha!" Kala exclaimed smiling deviously, "Got ya!" her nose wrinkled as she curled her feet beneath her on the chair.

-^-"Access to personal log denied."-^- The computer chirped.

"Yeah, yeah?" Kala mumbled as she began to type in a decryption code, "?not for long!" Kala had vowed to herself that she would find out what was going on with Dhanishta. Nish wasn't well known for being one to share emotions; even now that she apparently felt them. So, there were other ways of finding out what was going on?

***End of flash back***

Dhanishta looked mortified, "What did you do Kala?" she asked in a low voice that wavered on dangerous.

TBC?

"The internet is for porn"

"Stardate: 54908.05"

Location: Unknown

Communication commences at 1800 hrs, text only:

Tag (Anonymous User): DID YOU FIND IT YET

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Tag (Streely): I KNOW OKAY....GIVE A BIT TO SEARCH AROUND...HANG TIGHT BIG FELLA

<Pause>

<search initiated>

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<10,000 hits would you like to refine your search?>

Tag (Anonymous User): I DONT NEED 10,000 IMAGES....WE'RE LOOKING FOR SPECIFIC STAR POWER CELEBRITY BOOBS HERE OKAY?

Tag (Streely): OKAY OKAY GIVE ME A MINUTE OKAY?

<search refined>

<uss galaxy naked crewmembers>

<15 hits under heading raynor shower cam.....download now?>

Tag (Anonymous User):NOT THE FRAZZING INTELIGENCE GUY.....NOT ANY OF THE GUYS YOU PERV

Tag (Streely): EXCUSE ME FOR YOU NOT BEING SPECIFIC.... THIS IS THE 24th CENTURY AND ALL

<refining search>

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<15,000 results>

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Tag (Anonymous User): OH PLEASE....WHO DOESNT ALREADY GOT HUNDREDS OF PICTURES OF THAT OLD VULCAN BAG?

Tag(Streely) SORRY SORRY....IT JUST KINDA DEFAULTS TO HER WHEN YOU TYPE IN GALAXY SEX

<refinng search>

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<refining search>

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<delete history>

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<delete temporary internet files>

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<Communication terminated by: ANONYMOUS USER>

<Anonymous User logged off>

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<streely logged off>

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<code accepted>

<user: MARSHAL HUX> logged on.

<search streely.history>

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<user marshal hux logged out>

End of transmission

"A Couple of Couples" Part One

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe Chief Engineer
Mr. Michael McDowell Civilian Engineering Specialist
1st Lieutenant Branwen London SFMC Furies Psychologist
Marine Captain Man'darr SFMC Third Platoon

(Set some time after/during our time at Vulcan - REALLY SORRY - totally forgot I hadn't sent them, until I went looking for them! My total bad!)

*** USS Galaxy Deck Eight Crew Quarters***

Dhanishta stood over her dining table regarding it with a critical eye. The plates were set, the cutlery polished and shining, the glasses were gleaming, serving spoons were laid out awaiting the bowls of delicious food that Michael was preparing, the place mats were symmetrical, everything was placed with equal distance... but still there was something missing.

Biting her nails in an attempt to stay calm Dhani began to regret inviting people over for dinner. She must have fluffed the cushions 20 times, adjusted the coffee table six times, asked Michael a dozen times if he thought the place looked okay. And that was just the living-room! She had cleaned the bathroom seven times, replaced the towels twice, straightened the bath mat ten times and emptied the trash eleven times. She had got changed eight times, re done her hair five times, polished her nails once - and then removed it hastily after chipping most of it on her teeth. ~Crikey this is worse than taking an exam~ Dhani griped still staring at the table wracking her brain... "Ah-hah!!" she exclaimed triumphantly as she realized what was lacking in her preparation. Disappearing into the bedroom she emerged a few minutes later and marched purposefully over to Michael.

"Candles or flowers?" she questioned him brandishing each item in turn, almost thrusting them up his nose in the process.

Michael took a step back, surprised as he was. He was practically eating the flowers and candles; they were that close to his mouth. He pushed both away and sighed. "Dhani, I'm trying to prepare something decent here. I don't think our friends would like to see petals in their food. You make a choice, okay? It can't be harder than calibrating the lateral sensor array."

Rolling her eyes, briefly thinking that the petals could indeed be eaten or displayed as an unusual attractive garnish she pushed the though aside, this being a far more important dilemma, "Come on!" she demanded, "Just pick one. Candles or flowers!?" she tried to stay calm but the pitch in her voice rose ever so slightly. She was nervous, extremely so. ~People, dinner, in my quarters... what was I thinking!?~ Dhani chided looking at Michael with pleading eyes. He had been pretty understanding so far but the decision over the centre piece could well be the make or break of their relationship today.

"Okay, okay!" Michael laid down the spoon he held in his hand. He turned away from the pots and pans and towards Dhani. "What's with you Nish? It's just a dinner with friends, not a banquet with the President of the Federation. Alright, just wait here. I know how we can solve this 'conundrum'."

Tapping her foot impatiently she watched him as he moved away and walked over to their bedroom. After some minutes of rummaging around his belongings Michael found what he was looking for. With a smile he returned to the living room showing an old coin. "Always knew this would come in handy sometime. Heads or tails?"

Raising a singular eyebrow in an extremely Vulcan manner Dhani just blinked, "Wha?"

*** 30 minutes later ***

I'm sure you will like her. Dhani can be a little flamboyant, but she is a good friend. And we went through a lot lately." She told her boyfriend. Branwen was excited as well, this was their first official appearance as a couple. And she was very proud to be showing him off.

"I am sure you are right." Man'darr spoke off-handedly, deciding to wear a loosely fitting white shirt and tan khakis. It was still slightly odd to be around so many people after spending months alone in the jungle. "You don't mind, do you? Meeting my friends??" She felt oddly nervous.

"No, of course not, Branwen. I would be honored to meet your new-found friends. Are you ready? We do not wish to keep them waiting."

"Of course." She knocked on the door waiting patiently until somebody opened.

*** Inside ***

"I'll get it." Michael said as he placed the last bowl of food on the table. He was glad that he and Dhani finally decided they would use the flowers as centre piece. Inwardly he thanked his father for giving him the old Dollar coin. He opened the door and looked right at Branwen. Behind her stood, what he assumed to be, her boyfriend. "Hello there. You two are right on time. Please, do come in."

"Nice to meet you again, sir." Branwen said. "This is my boyfriend, Captain Man'darr." She announced him proudly.

Michael looked up... and up, and his eyes grew big. Only now he saw the sheer size of Branwen's boyfriend. ~My goodness. He's Goliath.~ He forced himself to act as normally as he could after this discovery. He smiled when he offered his hand to the man. "Pleased to meet you Captain. I'm Michael McDowell."

Man'darr shook the man's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Appearing behind Michael, having just changed her hair style yet again and not surprisingly to the style that Michael had suggested several hours ago! She draped herself over him resting her chin on his shoulder, peering over with a big beaming smile at their guests, "Hi, hi," she greeted them both smiling profusely, "come in, come in." she said enthused ushering them inside.

They followed the other couple inside. So far things were going pretty well.

"Please have a seat." Dhani continued leading them over to the couch, "I'm Dhanishta." she introduced herself to Man'darr as the couple made their way to the long leather couches.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dhanishta. As Branwen has already introduced, I am Man'darr."

"The pleasure is mine." Dhani replied continuing to smile nervously. Indicating the bottle of chilled wine on the table she began to pour out the beverage and disperse it around the four of them. "So.." Dhani began wondering what to say and what not to say. She knew that Man'darr had been through an ordeal recently, though she knew nothing of the details, was it polite to enquire or was it best to ask nothing about it? "How are you?" she decided that question was a good opener, that and the wine. Handing him a glass she sat down and indicated that he should so the same.

Man'darr sat down on the couch, letting out a breath. "I am fine. The mission is classified, yet all you need to know is that many enemies...and friends died in the process," Man'darr stated simply, though inwardly, he somehow felt odd--he could not place it. He had been in combat before. He was Capellan--he has born for fighting and therefore would not show weakness to others. Man'darr downed the small amount of wine in the glass with one gulp and set the wine glass on the table as if he had just drank a sip of water.

Branwen noticed something in his body language but didn't say anything. She just gently rubbed his shoulders in support.

Slightly shocked at his capacity to put away the wine Dhani sipped hers slowly, recalling a time when she could have done just that. But not any more. Since the coma she hadn't been able to do a lot of things, and in part she greatly missed them. ~I must start going back to the gym~ she concluded, ~might just call up Mike and see if he's free.~

"So, on to a lighter topic," Dhani began moving away from doom and gloom as quickly as possible, "tell me, how did you two meet?" she asked curiously. While Bran had mentioned she had found a mate she hadn't really elaborated on him, mainly due to the fact that she thought he was dead and was trying to keep that stiff upper lip her species was noted for. That and the fact that they had all narrowly escaped being torched on New Rhea, in-between both, they had little time for socializing which was what the time away was supposed to be for! In fact they still didn't know who won that hand of poker. ~Humm re-match!~

"A Couple of Couples" Part Two

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe Chief Engineer
Mr. Michael McDowell Civilian Engineering Specialist
1st Lieutenant Branwen London SFMC Furies Psychologist
Marine Captain Man'darr SFMC Third Platoon

*** USS Galaxy Deck Eight Crew Quarters***

"So, on to a lighter topic," Dhani began moving away from doom and gloom as quickly as possible, "tell me, how did you two meet?" she asked curiously. While Bran had mentioned she had found a mate she hadn't really elaborated on him, mainly due to the fact that she thought he was dead and was trying to keep that stiff upper lip her species was noted for. That and the fact that they had all narrowly escaped being torched on New Rhea, in-between both they had little time for socializing which was what the time away was supposed to be for! In fact they still didn't know who won that hand of poker. ~Humm re-match!~

"We met during leave, just before the joint mission with Miranda. I think we liked each other instantly." She smiled at him.

"We met during the Battle of Romulus. I admired her dedication to duty and her bravery."

Dhanishta smiled at how quickly they both went to answer, ~cute!~ She paused to admire how much Branwen had changed of late. ~A Cappelen for a boyfriend, defiantly moving beyond xenophobia.~ she smiled. "I'm so glad to see you smiling again Branwen." she told her sincerely.

Looking over to Mikey she wondered how she would answer that same question if anyone ever asked. How they met was pretty standard, but how they realized they were meant to be together, that was a different story. And the circumstance of that first kiss, Dhani smiled again and blushed slightly, that would be a great story for the grandkids. ~Oh crikey,~ Dhani reeled back from her own thoughts, ~kids. Kids? That's the first time I have ever thought about.~ "Dinner!" she suddenly declared standing up.

Passing Mikey she gave him a shy smile and ran her hand down his arm affectionately, "Mikey has been slaving away over this replicator all day. I promised to finish that kitchenette in return for him cooking more often, lets see if all my hard work paid off shall we?" she cast Michael a cheeky grin she escorted their guests to the table.

She realized as they sat down to eat that this was the first time she was really acknowledging her couple-dome with Michael in front of others. At first she had wanted to keep their relationship concealed. She wasn't ashamed of Michael or anything, just worried. Worried that their feelings had come about from a traumatic situation, that she would drive him away with her past, worried that his affections for her were based on an idolized fictitious perception he had of her. But as the months had passed she found herself falling for him more and more each day. He pushed back when she bit, he held her when she was down and he took none of her crap. She smiled at him across the table, praying that they would never part. She could envision growing old with him, having a family with him, watching over their grand children. She stopped herself, silencing her mind. It was too soon for that, wasn't it? Shaking her head she turned back to Man'darr, "What made you join Starfleet?" she asked trying to generate some over dinner conversation.

Branwen was content to sit and listen. She was relaxing now, the meeting was going well, Dhani seemed to like Dar, the opinion of her friends was important to her. Although she couldn't imagine anybody not liking him.

"I joined because I wanted to bring honor back to my family... and I wanted to honor a lost love of mine. What about you?"

Dhanishta thought for a moment. She hadn't been asked that question in a long time. The last and only person on this ship to have ever asked it was Suder. She sneered at the memory. He had seemed unimpressed with her reasoning for joining Starfleet, however true and honest her reply had been, it was not enough to make her former CO happy, ~was anything?~ she questioned silently. Letting herself recall the time and place she made her life decision, she tried to remember the other reasons that she took into account, political, sociological, family.

"I was on Qono'S at the time," Dhani began slowly; "It was just after my seventeenth birthday. My father worked for Starfleet as a scientist, that's how we came to be on Qono'S in the first place." she added family background for his reference. "It was a choice between the Klingon Defense Force or Starfleet. Kala, my twin sister, really wanted to join the KDF, but it was illogical. We were not Klingons no matter how much we had been accepted by that point in time, in a way we were still just tolerated by most. There were no lack of sponsors mind, that's how we got into the SFWTA; School For Warriors Training Academy, but we were still outsiders and the majority of Qono'S are still xenophobic puritans, ya know, 'Qono'S for Klingons'. Anyway," Dhani continued with a wave of her hand, "it was about that time that the Civil war started. We were well protected from the fall out as we were living in the First City. But the political destabilization was felt by all. My parents began to talk about going back to Earth. With the experiences to date it was only logical to join Starfleet. I respected their ethics and agreed with their goals." Dhani shrugged. While her narrative of her reasons was more fleshed out than the answer she had given Suder four years previous, it lacked any passion.

"And are you happy here?" Branwen had not missed the lack of passion.

There was a slight delay before Dhani replied to that question. Her eyes glazed slightly as she stared across the table and into the bread basket, as if she would find the answer amongst the loaves. Smiling softly she turned to Branwen, "Of course." she finally replied. Raising her glass she proposed a toast. Anything to detract from how she really felt about being here, "To good food," she nodded towards Michael, "good wine and to great company." she smiled at their guests.

Branwen made a mental note to have another chat with her later, one more professional. She was worried suddenly about her friend. Now she smiled and raised her own glass. "I totally agree."

So far Michael had stayed a bit in the background, just listening to the ongoing conversation. Besides Dhani mentioning him having prepared their meal, he was not the one who they were talking about. He didn't mind that. He never had been one to place himself in the spotlight. But he couldn't ignore a toast. "And good friendship."

"Motion To War: Part 1"

SCPO. Renora Loret

Tactical Control Suite, USS Galaxy

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

Renora sat staring blankly at the screen.

War.

Such a small word, yet it was the one that summed up her life. From her birth in the Cardassian labour camps right the way through her career in Starfleet and up until her possession by the katra of the Vulcan assassin Vir'Dinia. Now she was poised on the brink of another conflict; a conflict with the Hydrans.

They Hydrans, another race that thought because they had mastered space travel that somehow gave them the right to begin an imperious sweep across the quadrant. She'd fought this before, when she'd faced the Borg, and she couldn't help feeling that the Hydrans were somehow worse. After all the Borg were, in the main, just drones. Following orders for some perceived purpose they advanced across space not questioning their methods or philosophies.

The Hydrans were different; they had chosen to follow this path, and this was a path that had led them to Deep Space Five and the heart of Federation territory.

They had hostages, she knew that. They were expecting new crew to join them after they had left Vulcan, among them the ships new strategic operations officer, commander Jaal Jaxom. She'd heard of him from the Miranda and any man who had served under Elaithin Jii, a hero to any Bajoran, was worthy of her respect.

She turned away from the blank screen and into the milling chaos that was the TCS. Reports and readouts flicked across screens and the buzz of voices as the crew moved drowned out the sound of the computers.

"Chief, we've got all systems checked and ready." A crewman who she had mentally named 'Checklist' said as he approached. She often did this, a fault of habit from her days a trainer on Wolf station. She often thought this man was have made a great career in operations, if he said it was ready then it had been checked, in triplicate and inspected personally. As it was she was glad to have him here. She made a mental note that if they made it through this she'd put him up for petty officer, it was the least she could do.

"Orders from the Bridge?" Renora enquired.

"Nothing more yet, Chief. What do you want to do?" He learned against the railing that ran around the central command unit of the suite.

Renora took a deep breath and zipped up her tunic. "Right." She stood up and strode into the middle of the room. "Computer, give me a three dimensional image of DS5."

A couple of electronic bleeps later and she was looking at near perfect rendition of the space station. She moved around the table, running her fingers along the edge as if she could feel the terrain that would become the battle ground.

"Overlay the stations-mass shadow." She turned to a couple of her fellow crewmen. "Let's see how close we can get." As she spoke a blue/black bubble encircled the station to denote the nearest to the station the ship could safely leave warp speed.

"Hmmm. Not great is it." She said aloud but only really for her benefit. "Computer, input, based on ship size, type and mission, the likely locations of any docked vessels we are aware of." More bleeps later and the image was beginning to take shape. Three civilian transports, one Ferengi freighter and two Starfleet vessels.

"Okay, we need to set up some provisional attack points. We are not here to win, we are here to have a look and cause them as many problems as possible before fading out and getting some back up."

"Without being followed?" One of the other petty officers asked.

"Definitely without being followed." Renora replied. She turned back to the display. "If we came in here we'd have the best shot at the station, based on likely ship and station defense positions."

"How can you be sure?" Another voice asked.

"Practice." She replied. "When you've seen as much combat as I have you can predict roughly the best way to defend something. Although we are guessing a little as we have no idea how many ships they have present or whether they have access to the Federation vessels, our opponents are cunning and this would be the best place to be ready for us.

"Unless they think that's what we're thinking and go elsewhere." Another voice in an increasingly growing crowd exclaimed.

"Don't start that." Warned Renora. "Otherwise we'll be here all day. Simple plans are always the best; the fewer moving parts the better."

"Okay so if we come in here we should have a good aim at these docked ships, provided they are there."

She looked up at the crowd of people who had stopped and were now watching her train of thought power through as many stations as it could.

"Okay, based on this data. Start making provisional guidance locks for photons and phasers." She raised her voice so the whole team could hear. "We are only going to get ONE shot at this, our window will not be more than a couple of minutes so were are going to need to hit the ground running as it were. Get this vector up the flight control boys and tell them to stay sharp."

The order was sent and she sat down into the chair next to the master tactical control. She watched the co-ordinates be computed and entered into the targeting computers, phasers and photons armed as much as possible ready for the attack. She felt a wave of calm wash over her as she sat there, a strange calm which came from knowing that you may not come out of the next fight but if you planned and prepared you could do nothing more than wait and see.

The computer spoke, like the captains in the trenches of the First World War preparing to give the order to 'go over the top'. [Red Alert. Exiting warp in ten seconds]

She stood up and held onto the rail to steady her hands so the rest of the crew would not see the adrenaline induced trembling. "Battle stations everyone...here they come..."

TBC?

"Play Me A Melody"

(Takes place during the period between 'Avalanche' and 'Motion To War')

Captain Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer
Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief of Intelligence

****

"I have a request, sir."

Saul Bental was awake for thirty seven hours straight. While usually the Intelligence chief would maintain his six hours night sleep with the same zealousness his girlfriend cared for Sakaria, there was simply no opportunity to get back to his quarters since yesterday. Reviewing fresh intel, holding department and team meetings, compiling and reading research reports... everything, to arrive prepared to the Captain's private intelligence briefing.

Adrenaline pushed the groggy sensation away. Just several more minutes, and then he could crash in his quarters.

"I have three requests, actually, and you'll like none of them, I'm afraid."

Considering the state of the Federation, politically, militarily, and, sadly, morally, at the moment as outlined by Bental's broad and detailed - where possible - briefing, Daren had to admit that he'd have been more surprised if his Intelligence Chief had offered him some good news. No one did that anymore; no one but June, anyway, and she wasn't here right now. He recoiled from the thought that she might not be *anywhere* right now, not any more, since she'd been aboard DS5 when it was taken by the Hydrans. The idea of a universe, of a life, without June in it was simply incomprehensible to him. It couldn't happen. In a moment of supreme hubris that he knew he'd pay for later, he allowed himself the thought that Allah wouldn't allow such a thing to happen.

Tiredly, he chastised himself for the thought, as he knew he would before he'd entertained it, drank the last of his now-cold coffee, and sighed, "You'd be amazed at what I've learned to tolerate over the years, Saul. What are they?"

"The first two requests... there are two officers which are currently imprisoned for committing crimes. Baile is on the Brig, and Eve is restricted to their quarters. I ask that both will be temporarily released and put on probation. Both of them are valuable assets which should be put to good use, and I believe that we can't afford to just lock these two away. I need an infiltration specialist, and I desperately need my Technical officer."

Baile. Eve. Bental had certainly been correct about Daren not liking the first two requests. Which, perversely, made Daren wonder if they were supposed to distract him from the third, and make it seem more reasonable in light of the first two. "Just to make sure we're clear here," he asked, "you are *not* asking that I make the charges against them go away, correct? You just want to make use of them for the duration of the war, or until JAG has enough free time on their hands to try their respective cases?"

"Yes sir." The charges against them might be seen in a different light if the two contribute well to the war effort, Saul knew. But that wasn't the question, and in Baile's case it wasn't even in Saul's best interest.

"Good, because if you'd wanted anything else, this conversation would have been over before it started." Daren considered his options, and called up a pair of regulations to make certain that he was on solid ground. It wouldn't have been possible during peacetime, but many of the normal rules didn't apply during a war. "I'm inclined to grant your request with regards to your Technical Officer, which you knew would be the case anyway. She suffered severe enough injuries at the hands of the Angosian, that I doubt anyone would be willing to press the issue of her disobeying orders too far. And you'd just deny giving them in the end if it would get her off, anyway."

"I also thoroughly explained to her the implications and consequences of her action, and she assured to me that she will do her best not to repeat what she did. Both of us know that she's volatile, but I believe she was honest."

"Very well, you can have your Technical Officer back on one condition: that you work with Sciences and find a way to turn her shielding and any internal offensive systems off in case something like this happens again. If not, then I'm going to be forced to rescind the 'Stun Only' order with regards to her, and that would be a waste. Understood?"

"Yes sir - already on it, sir."

Daren set his empty cup down. "Baile is a different story, which you also knew. So let's hear your carefully reasoned plan to contain him, since you'd never suggest this without one."

"While staying on the ship, Baile will be restricted to a given area. I ordered him to avoid any contact with Faylin McAlister, and explained to him in simple words what will happen if he does anything to any member of the Federation. We made a pact... one which I'm going to use extreme measures on my end to keep. I don't intend to have another Manslaughter on board this vessel." Saul knew that the description was vague, but he did not want to say specific things on the record, and hoped the Captain would respect that.

"His only missions will be field reconnaissance. The Commanders of the Marine battalion have 'colorfully' expressed that they don't want to be used as a mean to gather intelligence, so Baile is the only option I have. It's the best option, too. I believe that once we deploy him in the field, he will do what he was ordered to do, most professionally. He thrives on these missions, so I don't think he'll disappoint me."

"You realize that his reassignment, however temporary, will cause problems with segments of the crew, don't you? How do you plan to deal with that?"

"Isolate him from those segments. If anyone protests, I'll kindly remind them that this is war, and that Baile will still be held accountable for his deeds. He's aware of that fact as well."

That was hardly perfect, but it was, Daren supposed, close to as good as he was going to get. "Lieutenant McAllister has a great many... friends... does she not? How likely do you consider the possibility that they - or she - will decide to put their individual wills and skills towards revenge? No matter how helpful he might be to your department, I'm not going to have him become the focus of a covert program of assassination and revenge played out on my ship."

Saul shrugged, his encased left arm clinging against the seat. "That you will have to tell Lieutenant McAlister, sir."

"Fair enough." Daren considered the problem for just long enough that the silence grew uncomfortable, and then said, =/\= "Computer. End recording." =/\=

=/\= "Acknowledged." =/\=

"Keep still and don't move, Saul," Daren cautioned unnecessarily as he reached down into an open drawer on his desk and removed a top-of-the-line sensor block that Saul knew had never appeared on the ship's Intelligence inventory, activating it with a press of one thumb. "No games, now. Neither you nor Baile are stupid, that's a given. He, on the other hand, may well no longer be sane. Sane people can be counted on to do what's in their own best interest - or the interests of those whose well-being they rank above their own - in most situations. Baile... can't; if he could, this conversation wouldn't be happening. In this case, that represents a problem which ordinarily would involve a great deal of paperwork and a lengthy process of medical examinations and trial proceedings." Daren met Saul's eyes. "But these are not ordinary times; this is a war, and in a war my authority as captain is different than it is during peacetime. The rules are different, now. I have the authority to eliminate a great many bureaucratic niceties and simply make things happen. You can have Baile under the terms outlined, but..." his voice grew hard, "if, he violates the agreement or, in my judgment, becomes a danger to my crew, then I will exercise my wartime authority and ensure that the threat to my ship and my crew is eliminated. The value of the Galaxy and her crew to the Federation outweighs that of any member of the crew individually. I don't like making decisions like that, but I've done it before, and, if necessary, I'll do it again. Understood?"

"Yes sir. He's my responsibility now, and if he strays I'll handle him myself. But he won't - as long as Lieutenant McAlister keeps a reasonable distance."

"I suspect that your idea of reasonable and mine isn't going to be hers - but I'll speak to her," Daren nodded. "As for the other... just remember that one of the hallmarks of a good officer is knowing when to ask for help." He looked down at the sensor block and the timer running on the top of it, set the automatic disconnect timer, and placed it back in his drawer. =/\= "Computer. Please adjust my clock for me, June." =/\=

A Caribbean-accented female voice that Saul hadn't heard before, but that was definitely *not* the voice of the ship's computer, responded, "=/\= "Adjusting clock, Daren. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Recording begins now." =/\=

As the voice spoke, Daren shifted his hands back to their original position, waiting a few seconds after the last words to continue speaking. "All right then, Mr. Bental. It's unpleasant, but this is a war, and many unpleasant decisions have to be made. You can have Baile under the discussed conditions. But Allah help us if he slips his leash." He leaned back in his chair. "Now what's your third request?"

"The final request is not as difficult as letting Baile out." Saul allowed himself a smile, despite the Captain's stern attitude toward him. M'Kantu would just have to understand that a sour face and authoritative tone didn't work on a street punk from Utrecht. He offered the Captain a black PADD, marked 'confidential'.

"This is a proposed operation, codenamed 'Ancient Melody'. Basically, I want to send a team to re-activate an automated listening post on the border. Contact with all of those posts in the sector was severed following the fall of DS5, and if we could re-route it the intelligence it will provide will be priceless - especially if the Hydran fleet advances toward Federation space. The adjustments will have to be done manually, so the team needs to reach the location without being detected and perform the changes. It will require six men, a fighter and a shuttle."

Compared to the previous two, this request seemed perfectly reasonable, which meant that there was likely more to it than the initial explanation suggested. "The advantages are obvious; what about the risks?"

"Two small spaceships in a territory invaded by the army - interception is a considerable risk. We'll use all the technology in our disposal to maintain low-profile, but nothing we have is fully detection-proof. Hopefully in the chaos of invasion the team will be able to reach its target without being seen. At any rate, I'm going to order the team to disengage immediately if there's even the slightest risk of being detected."

Saul hesitated before addressing the second risk. "The system where the listening post is hidden is... unpopulated... but we don't know if that's still the case. The Triad could establish a front base in the system, or there may be other surprises. I just don't know. That's the kind of information the listening post could help us acquire."

The idea had merit enough to risk more than Saul was proposing to. "Do you already have personnel in mind for the mission?"

"From my end, Eve and Ensign Indarkshi as mission specialists. I'll need to ask Corgan, Darkstar and Quaaliu for volunteers. Lieutenant Krieghoff comes in mind - he'll keep them alive if the Hydrans do locate them while they're inside the listening post."

Daren nodded slowly. His own opinions of Lieutenant Krieghoff were mixed at best, but even factoring those opinions in, he couldn't say that the man - or whatever he was - wasn't someone he'd want looking out or him in a pinch. "I know you've already thought of this, but you're going to need to vet anyone else you send on the mission if you include Lieutenant Krieghoff. His file is very explicit regarding what happens to people - particularly Betazoids - that are forced into confined areas for even short durations with him."

"I'll keep it in mind. We have two vessels, so we may separate the Lieutenant from the more susceptible team members."

"All right then. The fighter shouldn't be a problem; they've been burning up the replicators since the incident in the hangar bay, so they ought to have a full compliment by now. As for the shuttle, given the number of people involved, you may do better with either a runabout or one of the scout ships. The increase in mass won't make that much difference insofar as detection goes, but it may make a difference to the personnel assigned."

"I'll keep that in mind sir." Saul nodded. "Under these conditions, is 'Ancient Melody' a go?"

Daren nodded, and allowed himself a tired smile as he replied, "Play me a melody, Saul. Make it a good one."

"Stardate: 64909.13" File #4

Location: Unknown

<Displaying file 2 of 37>

<Minos Korva News Network 63907.30>

Six bodies have been discovered in and near a rural home on the outlying world of Minos Korva - four of them in the basement wrapped in sheets and blankets. One body was found in the back yard according to neighbors, and the location of the sixth body has not been reported. Autopsies are proceeding. The homeowner, Jessie Sorien, 60, was reportedly off world visiting a business partner on the local moon and had called a friend and asked him to check on his family from whom he had not heard from in over a week. Local police were called around 3 p.m. local time and entered the home after signs of disturbance and struggle were noticed by Mr. Soriens' friend. Investigations are proceeding.

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<Minos Korva News Network 63908.10>

Local PDF and law enforcement began a massive manhunt for a suspect in the multiple murders of the Sorien family on Minos Korva yesterday. In a report to FNS the police chief reported they have 'promising leads' to the killer of six members of the Sorien family last week?

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<FNS News Report 63707.29...>

Shocking news: Dagan Sorien, his wife, Nathalie, and their two children Ilumina aged six and Dariel aged 10 were found dead in their family home today in the province of Hedeya, Betazed. Local authorities have withheld details on exactly where the family resided and the nature of this apparent homicide. An investigation has been launched and the Chief of National Security has advised the residents of Hedeya to stay calm and report anything suspicious saying, 'We have our top people working on this case, there is no cause for alarm.' According to our sources, 8 high level Senior PSI Inspectors have been drafted in to survey the bodies?

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<FNS News Report 63709.17>

It has been only two months since the Sorien family were found murdered, in what has been described as one of the fastest convictions to date, officials report that the murderer has today been sentenced to life imprisonment. Little details regarding this case have been released to the press. Speculation has been growing since the tragedy?

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<Penthara IV News Report 63201.31>

Police were called to a family home in the wealthy suburb of Loucianos today at 27.19 local time, they found the bodies of the two adult males, two adult females and two adolescents. They had been killed with 15 blasts fired from three different antique weapons in an apparently 'cold-blooded' manner.

The 16 year old, whose DNA was found on the murder weapons confessed to performing the killing, but tearfully confessed he had done so with a blaster at his head, a masked assailant forcing him to execute his family due to a 'disagreement' with the syndicate. His lawyers say evidence supports his story. The boy's father was a local businessman who had expressed a fear of being killed in the weeks before his death.

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<Displaying updates>

<Penthara IV News Report 63207.13>

Terran teenager on trial for multiple murder. A Human teenager has gone on trial on Penthara IV charged with murdering six people, including his father, stepmother and two siblings, amid allegations of Orion Syndicate involvement. A tribunal was convened on Penthara IV yesterday to hear the evidence against the youngest member of the noted Sorien family who has been charged with the cold blooded execution of his entire family?

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<FNS News Report 63707.29...>

Shocking news: Dagan Sorien, his wife, Nathalie, and their two children Ilumina aged six and Dariel aged 10 were found?

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To Be Continued?

"Death of the future."

Lt. JG. Faylin McAlister

It was a slight movement at first. A gentle contraction of a worn face that made the creases of frustration appear deeper around her eyes and lips. A little pang of pain, signaling something that was possibly wrong.

"Likely gas....." McAlister muttered to herself as her attention focused back to the padd in front of her. Clearing her throat, the woman ordered the back light on her padd to strengthen just as another pain hit her.

Her smooth face grew somewhat troubled as her right hand spread out over her stomach. Shaking her head back and forth, Faylin took an absent sip of her tea before wiggling down into her seat.

The time passed slowly...the information slowly burred as it entered her head, sticking itself in the non-needed drawer of the brain. Fay looked up, then down. Her index finger wigged against her belly button as her mind thought what her heart did not want to admit.

'The baby.....'

"It's fine." She spoke in a firm tone to no one. The conversation between her heart and her head intensified.

'No, you know it's not fine......the pain...."

"It's nothing." Fay stated. Her breathing increased as a sharper pain suddenly ripped through her midsection. "God...." Her head instinctively lowered as her knees attempted to raise to protect the growing child.

'I told you.....listen to me for once! I am your brain!!!!'

"Screw you!" She hissed as another pain hit.

'Get up...get up now and go to the bathroom....sit on the toilet.....you know what's coming next....you've been through it many times before.'

"No, not this time." McAlister spat. Picking up her padd and sighing, her head raised to it's normally upright skittish position on top of her shoulders. Her defiance was pure Fay.

'Look down....what do you feel?' The brain paused as it was ignored. 'Your a moron.....feel it yet? Do you feel the liquid? It's warm......'

"No....no it's not."

"Look down.....now."

Fay glanced down, her eyes narrowed at the sight. "Not again..." Grabbing the ivory cane that rested upright against the soft sofa, she grunted as she stood, then sucked in a breath as another pain hit.

'Hurry.......it won't be much longer now.' Her head spoke. 'Hurry girl....time is short....hurry...'

She shoved the voice to the back of her head, frustrated not sad that her dream was dying. "I thought it would take this time....to be a mom again."

'You are not meant to be a mother Faylin.....you know that.'

Fay slowly lowered herself, the cramps coming steadily. Alone, yet again...desperate to cry out her pain her heartache, however, she knew no one would hear her. What did it matter in the end? They would just look...........

'Push girl. End this now.'

"But....." Her voice small, childlike as her head flopped to the side. Her eyes opened slightly with the last pain as an inner snap was heard. The crispness separated what she wanted so much. Separated. Alone again. Alone with nothing.

"Empty." The woman turned child whispered as she felt the life leave.

'You are.'

"I'm hurting!!!" Faylin's heart screamed.

'I know.................'

"How would you like anger management, sir?"

Major Shaw
1st Lt Branwen London

"Major, got a moment?" Bran stuck her head round the door.

Pete looked up, "sure," he said as he waived her in. "What's up?"

She hesitated still not sure how to handle this superior. She found the colonel still much easier to talk to. "To be honest sir, this is kind of a professional call, from my side. I want to talk to you about Lt. Bental."

Pete almost visibly shuttered at the name, but she had come to him for a specific reason and he had to at least remain professional even if he wanted to shove the little creep out an airlock. "What about him?"

"Well ehm, I was hoping you could tell me. It's been brought to my attention that you had a little run in with him."

Ahh, so that was the game. She was a spy for the little prick. "We have professional difference... they just happen to be larger then Texas."

"You lost your temper." Bran looked at him a bit worried.

"Close the door... and anything said in this room better not get to him... cause I am not to sure how you found out."

"Major, I am a pyschologist." She closed the door. "This talk is confidential, client confidentiality. I am worried about you losing your temper like that."

"It wouldn't be the first time, though it would be the first time I lost it and didn't hit anyone. I say that is an improvement."

"How long have you had a temper problem, sir." Bran sat down opposite him. "Have you talked about it before?"

"You trying to turn this into a counseling session?"

She gave him a surprise to look that he was catching on so slow. "I said I was here professionally, sir."

"I just figured it was something about the marines."

"Nope, I am sorry, this is about you." She met the major's eyes squarely.

"In that case, you wont gain much. I don't talk to shrinks."

"You will have to, sir. It is part of the ungoing evaluations, and Major are not above the law." She was not in the least taken aback.

"No, but I can write it. Ask your questions."

"I think I already did sir." Bran reminded him. "How long have you had this temper problem?"

"For as long as I remember," Pete replied.

"And nobody told you before that you should do something about it?" Bran inquired.

"I'm a marine... it tends to serve its purpose." Pete paused. "And to tell the truth, I hate telling with shrinks more then I hate dealing with Hydrans."

"Even marines can go too far, you are in a leading position now."Bran said. "I would suggest we do talk about it."

"Keep talking, I am listening."

She smiled. "It is a start, sir. Okay, any idea were your temper problem comes from?"

"I was abused as a kid," he sarcastically said. "No, I don't know."

"Can you try and recall when the first time was?" Bran was unphased.

"Probably when I was a teenager."

"Okay, sir. Take a moment and think back on that when you are ready tell me some more about it." She leaned back in her chair.

"I really don't know. I don't tend to dwell on the past. And my service jacket already talks about the incidents since I joined the marines. So I am not getting at what this conversation is supposed to do. Help we relive my child hood?"

"The purpose is to try and help you get more insight in when you get angry and what triggers it. When you achieve that we can look at what we can do to keep it under control better." She told him.

"What triggers it? Idiots like Saul, my CO in Ranger training and my CO when I was working in the Counter Terrorism Unit."

"Do these idiots have something in common?" Bran said absolutely calm.

"The hold back cortical information, or they do something incredibly stupid that gets people killed. In both instance I lost people under my command due to bad information. And I will not let another idiot like Saul hold back critical information that will get members of my team killed!" Pete said as he started to shout. "And I will also not let that little wessal use my marines as foot soldiers in his personal little intelligence war with his fucking demons."

"Why are you shouting at me, sir?" Bran looked at him.

"Remembering idiots gets me mad, as you can tell."

"Yup it sure is clear and bad for your bloodpressure." She smiled. "But none of these people are the enemy, sir."

"True, but I have learned to deal with it... and Saul is my enemy, and so were those two former COs."

"No he is not, sir. He is working for the good of the federation as well sir. He is not your enemy. I have known him for a while now."

"Then Lieutenant I would say you are biased, and due to the biases I would say that your argument is null in void."

"How am I biased?" she asked amused. "We are talking about a man who chose another woman over me and you know I am loyal to the marines. Believe me I know he has his disagreeable sides, but he is not the enemy."

"You have a previous engagement with him, and just cause he went with the other girls doesn't mean you are over him."

"I have a boyfriend, sir. Believe me I am long over him." Bran said amused. "I just want to make the situation between you and him better. This is unworkable."

Pete scoffed a laugh. "I'll believe that when me shit turns purple and smells like rainbow sherbet," Pete retorted with a bad Scottish accent. "There is no way in hell you will ever be able to convince me that Saul and I are on the same side."

"So why don't we talk, the three of us? I can mediate between you."

"Oh no. I have to already deal with him enough, and no way in hell am I going to have a pow pow with him."

"That doesn't sound very professional to me. You will have to work together with him in the future." She observed.

"Lieutenant, you are not going to get me to sit in on a pow pow, heart to heart, kissy kissy fest with him. And that is it. Now if you please, I do have work to get done."

"So do I, sir, and I don't consider us done. But if you prefer, we could schedule a proper therapy meeting in my office."

"Lieutenant, thank you, but no. If I wanted to talk with a counselor I would have. I have a girlfriend that is a nice sounding board and she gets testy when I use someone else."

Branwen watched him for a long time. "I very rarely make people come into counseling. I can, you know. And I really think you need it. Think about it some more, discuss it with your girlfriend. I will not make you come to counseling this time, I will if I hear of one more incident were you lose your temper."

"Lieutenant, this is something you need to learn about me. When I have to deal with idiots outside a battle situation, I will lose my temper. In battle I take over. Everything I have ever done is for my men under my command and if someone ever, ever threatens their security there will be hell to pay. One person lost his commission and was dishonorably discharged for being an idiot. The other was due to him passing along bad information, though he was never formally charged." And I spent a bit int he jail for that, he thought to himself. "Saul has one goal, to make sure he and only he lives through this war, but I have a surprise for him. Me and my men will survive, and if I ever find out that he withheld information that could have saved lives, you will learn just how far I can loose my temper."

~bulshit~ She thought but decided not to aggravate him again. She would just keep an eye on the major.

"Now, that all that nonsense is over with, how is the marines health in general. It seems like RSIs are finally starting to drop."

"Physical health is not my principal field of expertise, but you are right. It is going down now that we are varying excersises more. That is paying off. And they are getting used to the colonel and you." She smiled.

Pete nodded. "I am sorry, but at this time I don't have much misison related. Reports are still coming in. I do know that your platoon will be on hot stand by, while the Colonel and..." Pete thought, "another one, sorry, can't remember which at the moment, will be ready to board DS5. Mine will be on roaming patrols. I will also be on the bridge with a fire team, just incase. Everyone on hot stand by will be in one of two staging areas and will be ready to repel boarders. Questions?"

She knew it was a dismissal. And she knew why her platoon was on standby, they did not have much confidence in her as a combat marine. Tough, she would show them otherwise. "No sir. I will do my duty." And keep an eye on you, she thought.

"Good. Go pass your orders along."

"Yes sir." She came to attention crisply and then headed for the door. This could have gone better, but it also could have gone a lot worse.

"Preparations..."

Captain Jaal Jaxom - former USS Carthage CO turned Senior Freedom Fighter
Lt. Thyago Carniero - Engineer Extraordinaire
Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin
Midshipman Aina Mason - Communcations Officer and Junior Freedom Fighter
June M'Kantu - Civilian person turned cyber-hacker

It had been four days since the distress signal was sent. Jaal knew it would take at least that long for anyone to receive it and possibly longer for a reply. Now it was just a waiting game. For the time being, the airlocks that led to space were either welded shut or had their hydraulics disconnected to prevent the Hydrans from sending the survivors into space.

Could the people left on the station wait out the Hydrans? Other questions wandered through the Trill's mind when he wasn't participating in raids and patrols. Why hadn't the Hydrans just transported troops to the lower decks? Why not just send troops down further? What was keeping them occupied on the upper decks? The actions just didn't seem to fit the Hydran profile Jaal had read after their attempted takeover of Romulus.

In the meantime, Jaal, Aina, and June harassed them through the station's computer network every chance they could. Some of the old pranks he pulled during his younger days proved pretty useful...

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

"Seriously? One hundred twenty eight batleths?" Thyago repeated, as one of the civilian survivors, who had been organized onto one of the scavenging teams, reported on the weapons that they had been able to gather. "But, there're only, like, a dozen Klingons on board. Can you explain to me the fad with the Klingon weapons? Everyone loves the Klingon weapons. Like, there's not a more popular form of wall decoration out there than a rack full of Klingon knives and swords and razor boomerangs and whatever the hell else they have."

"I don't know. They're cool?" the man suggested. "What do you have on your walls?"

"Pictures of me, my friends and my family."

"Oh," the man acknowledged. He was clearly less than impressed.

"Okay, so, just a bunch of batleths and spears? No, you know, phasers?"

The man shook his head. "All the armories were on the upper decks. Those were the Starfleet decks. Nothing down here but civilian quarters and waste recycling systems."

"All right, well, add it to the list, I guess," Thyago instructed. Behind the man, in the periphery of Thyago's vision, he saw the door to the cargo bay open and Jaal Jaxom, and his little team, walk inside.

"Oh! Gotta go. Ate logo," he said, leaving the man and running over to the door. "Oi, Pontos!" he waved to Jaal, then nodded to Aina and June, "Sparky, Stormy. Did you send out a distress signal?"

Jaal nodded. "It's only a matter of time now. I'm sure re-enforcements will arrive as soon as someone gets it. We still have work to do though. Any luck on finding food for those of us still here?"

"Yeah, we found some things."

Aina was looking over the number of boxes that had accumulated in the cargo area that Thyago had taken over. She was flicking open the flimsy lids of some containers and jabbing the open control on the more robust containers. She was on a hunt - to satisfy the growling in her stomach.

"Ah ah ah! Don't open that in here!" Thyago said.

Turning to the engineer, Aina asked, "Why not?"

"Mina, I just spent the last several hours organizing the set up of cots and bunk beds. You open that, and you can singlehandedly find another cargo bay and move everything here over there, entendeu?"

Aina looked at the container then back at Thyago.

He shrugged, "There's a label on the other side. Whatever it is, tresanda p'ra caralho, ai nao abra o!"

Aina's nose wrinkled in disgust as she read the label, she'd caught the smell of a Aquliian Fish Liver a few years ago - a dish sought after by Bolians, before it had been properly cooked. Never again... "Eeeeegh, why have we got that?"

Jaal wasn't crazy about consuming animal body parts that weren't, in his mind, 'traditional' meats. However, desperate times called for desperate measures, "Food is food. We don't have the luxury of picking and choosing at the moment. Besides, I hear they're quite nutritional for most humanoids. Just cook'em up and add LOTS of salt and pepper."

"So far the only thing that I have found that is remotely edible is some F.S.R.s, but they've been out of date for the last five years," Aina groaned as she held a large packet filled with more pouches. The First Strike Rations were the meals for Marines and other forces that needed to be on the move.

"F.S.R.s beat the snot outa those liver thingies 'even' if they're five years old," Jaal mentioned while inspecting another crate full of something... rather undentifiable. The label was in a language he didn't know.

Thyago grabbed one of the pouches from the box and examined it, then held it up to Aina. He pointed to the freshness label, a patch of ink that changed color based on exposure to light, temperature or time. "Says 'still suitable for consumption,'" he said.

Aina wrinkled her nose again as she looked at the package, but her stomach had made another offensive on the war on whether to eat it or not.

"After lunch... our next job is finding a way to communicate with the fleet when it arrives," Jaal mentioned, "We need to let them know where we're at so they don't accidentally blow us away."

Her stomach having won the food war, Aina had ripped open a packet and had started eating a pocket sandwich. With her mouth full of honey beef and mustard she responded, "I've been thinking about that..." She swallowed and continued, "We might be able to use the navigational short range sensor that is used to control the waldos on this level."

"The what ho?" Thyago asked.

Aina looked at Thyago, he certainly wasn't in the ranks of Geordi LaForge or Montgomery Scott - but he'd been assigned to the Miranda and at times Aina wondered if that hunk of a body was hiding a brain a little more capable than it appeared at times.

Jaal tried real, real hard not to roll his eyes and thought he managed.

"The guidance system for the tugs and other cargo loaders for the larger cargo. Especially with the big haulers with the shipping containers, getting those things off needs a tug. They are all controlled by the small port control. Because it is so close, it uses EM waves to get positional data. If we can get to the emitter, we might be able to modify it to boost the signal and transmit on EM. Hopefully, it will sneak past the Hydrans." Taking another bite from the sandwich and then sucking on a straw from the ERGO(tm) energy drink from the package, she continued, "But it relies on someone on the rescue ships realizing that the EM radiation that they will detect is useful and not random garbage..."

"Oh, just preface the signal with primes," Thyago suggested.

Jaal tilted his head in surprise. Thyago had a 'good' idea for a change. The surest way to show intelligence was to transmit prime numbers. Perhaps the Trill 'could' find some respect for the Brazilian. "Nice idea."

Aina almost choked on her drink, more from attempting to breath in while drinking to say, "Why didn't I think of that."

"Or," June offered, as she stepped up to the crate of FRSs and examined one, "we could use a laser. The navigational deflectors would register it, and flag it for attention if it was modulated correctly and lead off with prime numbers like Thyago suggested. That also has the advantage that the Hydrans won't be able to capture the transmission since it would literally be point-to-point."

"Both ideas are good," Jaal was trying to decide which would be better under the circumstances. Finally he figured, "Let's do both. We don't want to be missed after all."

From across the way, a young Andorian woman approached. She wore a pale gown that, while clean, still appeared she may have been crawling through Jeffries Tubes in it. "I apologize for intruding," she said. "Thyago, I noticed you here, and hoped to speak with you." She offered a smile to the other two present. "I am Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin. I was out of uniform when the Hydrans attacked, and had no chance to change."

Recovering from breathing in her drink, Aina gasped, "Hello - I'm Midshipman Mason." She gave a slight wave of the hand holding her drink.

"It is good to meet you," Shi said. She glanced toward Thyago. "I am pleased the temperature here is comfortable. I still feel as if I am half frozen."

"Oh, Azulinha, you reminded me. I almost forgot," Thyago said as Shi walked up to the group. "Azulinha and I went out on a little adventure while you three were out running around. We think we know how the Hydrans were able to surprise us."

"Oh?" Jaxom asked suddenly perking up. Perhaps Thyago had some hidden talent after all. "Well don't keep us in suspense man, tell us about it! Every little bit of information can help."

"Yes," the Andorian ensign said. "Sensor circuits had been rerouted in one quadrant, so all sensor data being fed to station sensors was false."

"That's it then," Jaal said almost dumbfounded, "That's how the Hydrans surprised everyone. We need to find out who was responsible for it and how it was done. All the Hydrans had to know was which quadrant to approach from." The Trill's brow knit in thought. "We need to pull the same trick and then transmit the data to our re-enforcements."

"Well, it was done by cutting the data feeds into the port side subprocessor, snikt, and then feeding in data from a little computer that was stored in the wall, and, pum, fake sensor data. Its still there, we didn't turn it off," Thyago explained.

"Probably a good idea," Jaal answered, "That might tip off the Hydrans to our whereabouts." The Trill rubbed his chin in thought while wishing he could shave. The growth on his face was starting to itch uncomfortably. "I think we should study that thing further, find out it's origins, and see if we can turn it off at an opportune time. Sort of like a surprise for the Hydrans."

"Make sure you dress warm," Shi said. "It's below freezing in there."

Swallowing her food, "That will make things easy, the Hydrans have already done the hard work for us," added Aina. "We just need a system to sync up bogus data to the Hydran's sots. Then when the good guys come in, we kick the other system off line and get ours to take over and we have a surprise for the Hydrans."

"Sots? What's a sot? Sparky, mina, we all speak Standard, here. You should too, ta ligado?" Thyago snapped.

"Slap on the Side," frowned Aina. "A computer add-on, that's stuck on the side of another information system - and me talk Standard - A maowria de nose nao falam o portuguees, compreendem?"

Even though she tried to quash the urge, Aina poked her tongue at Thyago. She'd been waiting a long time to use that memorized phrase, since Gyndine

Shi chewed her lip for a moment. "How difficult would it be to arrange for a second false sensor feed, rather than pushing the other one offline? I do not know how diligently the Hydrans are monitoring the sensors, but they may grow suspicious if the data suddenly changes." She smiled suddenly. "Would it be conceivable to alter the sensor outputs so Federation ships will be filtered from the data transmitted to the Hydrans?"

"Why do we need to do anything? The real data from the sensors doesn't feed into anything. It doesn't go anywhere. No one is looking at it, not us or the Hydrans," Thyago explained. "All you have to do is call Starfleet and tell them to come from the port dorsum side of the station. No one will know they're coming. Oh, well, ships would, I guess, 'cause, presumably, their sensors work, ne? But, the station won't know."

"That is what I said, we have a system to feed in what we want the Hydrans to see and when they check to status of theirs, it says everything is fine, so they'll believe everything that they see." Taking a slurp from her drink, "Too many people believe computers and it's not that hard to make them lie."

"Oh, I see," Thyago said, "You don't want them to see nothing. You want them to see something that isn't there?"

"Ah Hmmm," Aina agreed as she slurped the last of the liquid from the drink container.

With the last bite from the pocket sandwich, she continued, "And I don't think that the Hydrans will be stupid enough to have the port dorsal sensor suites telling them lies or having them turned off. If they have, they have to be getting sensor data from somewhere, one of the other ships, maybe. Still leaves a lot of uncertainty which could be resolved by covering the huge blind spot, by having the sensors on."

"First thing you do in a revolution, is to make sure your opponents can't do the same thing you just did. First thing to learn in hacking! If you can do it, make sure that someone else can't do it to you! Hmmmm," she said as she began to consider the situation, she opened up the bag of candies that had been in the rations and popped a few in her mouth as she began to think.

"Well, the way they did it, it's not something that's easily fixed. The optical fibers have to be fused together, but you have to figure out which has to be spliced with which. It would take a long time. They can't possibly have fixed it yet," Thyago explained.

"May be they are that silly enough. Like not sending down troops here," Aina shrugged as she looked around to dispose of the drink container.

"Did you manage to get a look outside?" June asked quietly, having finished wolfing down her ration. "Were any of the Hydran ships visible? We still don't know how many of them there are."

"Oh, yeah, that's why we went looking around in the first place," Thyago said, lightly slapping his forehead in acknowledgement of his daftness. Aina and Jaal both shot him a look of surprise, he was only acknowledging that now? "We could only look at the port side of the station. Well, the port ventrum, I guess, actually. There were two ships there, right, Azulinha?"

"At least, that is what the sensors claimed," Shi answered. "The actual number in the area with the false sensor data could be dramatically different."

"Yeah. Rough estimate, if they're equally distributed around the station, four or five."

Jaal blew some breath out of his pursed lips. There was lot to consider and not enough time to analyze all the solutins. "All right people, here's what I want us to do..."

TBC....

"Medic's Diary, Part IV-The Conclusion"

By

Benedict "Max" Maxwell
Petty Officer 2nd Class, Paramedic
Triage Officer/Coordinator Field Hospital, DS5 Resistance

Louie Vitale, Civilian (NPC)

Field Hospital/Intake Zone, Section Q, Lower Decks, DS5

Personal Log

Four days. Four long days and about a total of 4 hours sleep altogether. Another one bit the dust from lack of better drugs and equipment. It's one thing to patch 'em up, and send 'em on their way. It's another to help maintain a facility with numerous wounded without having the proper materials to provide the care they need. It's not that I can't handle it, but you can't make a cake without all the ingredients.

Well, so far, the staff is holding up well, I'm almost spent, and people are finally starting to eat rations appropriately. I don't think I have to worry about anyone starving for the next couple of days, but there is a limit to how much people can hold out.

Max would have added more to the log, but someone had walked into his field of vision. "Max!" proclaimed a Terran male, in his early 30's, slightly balding from the front of his scalp, wearing a surveyor's jumper. Max almost couldn't believe his eyes. This man went to high school with him and they had maintained a friendship until Max got married and moved out of New York.

"Louie Vitale," Max smiled as he got up and shook hands with him before the other drew him into a strong embrace. "What are you doing out here in these parts?"

"I work Quale Enterprises. I was on my way to some new colony or another to do some surveying before the shit hit the fan. What about you, man? Looking all spiffy in the Starfleet uniform, eh?"

"Yeah, I joined up about 6 years ago. It's a good gig, and I've learned a lot from my peers."

"I'll bet. At least you have job security doing this." Vitale drew his arms wide to encompass the large bay. "You think we'll get outta here? There's gotta be help comin', right?"

Max was quiet for a moment. He knew that for himself there was always a possibility of getting killed in the line of duty. But the civilians certainly didn't sign up for any of this.

"I'm counting on it. For all of our sakes, Louie," he finally replied.

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