~Down to the Bone, Part 1~

Midshipman Aina Mason - Communications Officer and Junior Freedom Fighter
Ensign Daesha (Daze) zh'Kairn - Vanguard Squadron Officer
Dr. June M'Kantu - ASDB Engineer
Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin - Flight Control Officer
Thyago Carneiro - Engineering Officer
Ella Grey, Vanguard pilot
Captain Jaal Jaxom- former CO, USS Carthage

***** Brown Sector, DS5 *****

The Galaxy coming in was a surprise!

Not only for the Hydrans, especially for the Hydrans that were on the ship that suddenly blossomed into a flower of flame as two torpedoes impacted on the lightly shielded ship, but the bright flare that shone through the window was the only signal for those trapped that the rescuers had returned.

Smaller blossoms started to appear as the torps released by the fighters on both sides started to fill space around the station. Lines of fusion beams started reaching out from the Hydrans ships to the Galaxy, whose own phasers were already impacting on ships. The Galaxy had the advantage; they knew they had to manually aim their ordnance.

The Hydrans' first couple of attempts had nothing happen as the system refused to fire on 'friendly ships.' It didn't take them long to override their own systems, but the Hydrans had lost the first round.

Jaal spun around calling out orders, "Walking wounded are to grab stretchers and beds, both living and dead. Make sure every person is here on this deck, now. Security, make a quick check for any stragglers, no-one - and I mean no-one, is going to be left behind."

Turning his attention to Aina, "Is that program set up?"

Aina nodded, "The big red button is set up to totally dump the core, and the field will collapse screwing any and all memory modules in the main computer rooms. Other systems will have reruns of PlayOrion," Aina couldn't help but smirk, "twenty three fifty to twenty three seventy, replicators will be pouring out plenty of pure CHON compound, and the gravity fields will be on random. You'll..."

"...not have much time, I know, dump processor core and with engineering on screw up - the main power core will follow, I know. I did captain a starship." Jaal turned to June. "I still don't like this plan."

June shook her head. "We've had this discussion - your job is here; we've got a thousand survivors and you're primary concern should be them getting to safety, not dealing with this problem. The ships out there are my responsibility."

Jaal did not look happy. "How are you getting to the boneyard?"

June gave a slight shrug, "We'll steal a ship. There are some..."

The familiar sound of a transporter got the group's attention as a squad of Marines appeared. They had a look of wary confidence, but smiled when they saw a number of fleeters and civs pointing phasers their way. An Andorian in battle gear moved forward, after waving a circle in the air with his finger.

His troops moved out, seeming oblivious to the weapons pointed their way. His strides led him to Jaal, "Lieutenant ch'Kanta, Captain..."

"Captain Jaxom."

"Captain Jaxom, We are here to make sure of the perimeter and to set up the pattern enhancers. Rest of the guys will be coming in the long way, clearing out a path, in case the enhancers won't do the trick."

"Cool," the Trill answered with a small smile appearing on his face.

Another marine who stood next to ch'Kanta held a finger on a comm button in her ear, "Louie - ninety seconds inbound."

"You've got five minutes, Captain to get all of your people up here. We'll be sealing this area off. No one comes in after that and every person will need confirmation of at least two other people that they say who they are."

June turned, "What?"

"My orders are to be paranoid, and that is what I am going to do, we heard about clone spies. Those who aren't confirmed will be under heavy escort, but everybody will be going back."

Jaal looked thoughtful, "Lieutenant, I'll be needing one of the shuttles."

"Sorry sir, every one of them is going to be needed," returned ch'Kanta slowly.

"We need one, so we can stop the Hydrans from grabbing the boneyard, if they get that, they'll have access to quite a bit of Federation technology," Jaal said.

"Sorry, sir. I understand. But I'm not going to give away a marine shuttle, not at a time like this."

June sighed quietly. She hadn't expected to be able to just borrow a Marine landing craft, but there wasn't enough time to try and explain the situation to the fifteen successive people in the chain of command they'd have to go through to do it properly. "Lieutenant," she said, interrupting the conversation, "my name is June M'Kantu, and if you'll patch me through to my husband on the Galaxy we can clear this up quickly."

Jaal's eyes widened a bit, "You his wife? Why didn't you say so?"

"It didn't seem relevant," June pointed out. "We'd have still been here and what had to be done would still have to be done. Knowing who I'm married to wouldn't have changed any of that, would it?"

The Trill shrugged, "Well, a little judicious name dropping now and then never hurt anything."

Ch'Kanta looked at her critically; the scuttlebutt was the CO's wife was on the station. If this was her, he'd be damned if he didn't let the conversation happen. If it wasn't, he'd be double damned if he did let it happen. "I hope you are who you say you are, ma'am. Lions, pass over the bud."

The other marine passed over the earbud to June. The bud was connected to a system embedded in the marine's armour. Heavily encrypted and burst subspace made it had to find and crack. June had to hold it in her ear unlike the marine, since it wasn't designed for her ear canal.

=/\="This is Dr. June M'Kantu. Patch me through to the Captain, please."=/\=

=/\="Excuse me? Repeat please. Who are you and why are you on this channel?"=/\=

=/\="This is Dr. June M'Kantu,"=/\= June sighed, trying to keep her voice level and calm, =/\="Patch me through to Captain M'Kantu please."=/\=

=/\="Ma'am, you're not authorized to be on this channel and..."=/\=

As a parent, June knew that there were times that raising your voice were necessary, and this seemed to be one of them. =/\="Oddly enough, I was aware of that young woman. I'm also aware that there's a war going on, that people are dying, and that you're following procedure -but if you don't patch me through to Daren right now, you may be remembered as the woman who lost the war and got billions killed because you didn't know when to think and not to recite procedures like a mindless mantra."=/\=

She paused, a bit embarrassed at the way her voice had steadily risen during the speech, and the way the others standing around her were staring. =/\="There are plenty of Marines standing right here to arrest me if it's necessary, so just patch me through and save everyone the embarrassment of listening to me yell at you, all right?"=/\= she finished.

After a few seconds of silence, the comm switched over - momentarily making June think the person on the other end had disconnected - and a familiar voice, one she'd know anywhere spoke into her ear. She closed her eyes, sighed, and started to explain the problem. Thirty seconds later, she handed the earbud to the Marine officer and said, "He'd like to speak to you." While the Marines spoke to Daren, June rubbed some suspicious moisture from her eyes and turned to Aina, "Get the others; we've got a couple of minutes."

***** Few minutes later *****

Aina arrived in the maintenance bay with June, the marine landing craft filling it still creaking from the change in temperature from the cold of space to the warmth in the station. As they arrived, the landing craft's rear doors dropped and marines poured out with practiced ease, heading into the depths of the station to support the evacuation.

Ella Grey had raised both eyebrows at her new orders, flicked a dubious 'ok' with her fingers, but was now in the process of quickly getting everything together for take-off.

Thyago Carneiro sidled up beside the two women, looking out over the energetic crowds in the bay. Everyone was running around, to and fro, like ants in a colony that had just been stomped on. "Um, so, what are we doing again? Why aren't we transporting over to the Galaxy?"

As Thyago was asking his question, Sharzhevashi zh'Rin approached. She had been informed that she was needed for a special project and directed after the eccentric engineer. They looked like a rag tag group to be sure.

Aina looked at Thyago and Shar, "We've got one last thing to do...," she started

"This isn't an attempt to retake the station," June explained as the last members of her hastily-assembled team arrived. "The Galaxy is here to rescue the survivors, that's all. We've done some things to sabotage the station's computer cores, and, if we're lucky, disable or destroy it - but there's a resource just as useful to the Hydrans and their allies that we haven't been able to reach." She pointed out the bay entrance. "The shipyards. There are almost three dozen Federation starships there, in various states of repair and refit, all of them with intact computer cores, up-to-date codes, and technology that we really don't want the enemy to retain for study... so we're going to go and deny it to them."

"I do not believe I understand," Shi said. "Is your intention to destroy them? Or are we to attempt to crew the ships ourselves?" Either way, the math was not on their side. They might be able to crew a single ship, but there were far too few to attempt crewing three dozen, and attempting to sabotage that many ships would take far too much time.

"Not to destroy them no," June shook her head. "Once we get close enough to penetrate the jamming going on out there," she explained, "I'm going to link the twenty-three ships currently undergoing hardware and software computer upgrades into a single network that should have the power to compute warp coordinates, link up with each other, and warp out as a unit. While I'm doing that, Aina here," she indicated the midshipman, "will use the remaining ship's command access codes to activate their emergency command holograms. Once activated, the holograms can power up the other emergency holographic officers and fight their ships to support Galaxy's withdrawal."

"And the rest of us?" Shi asked.

"That's where the rest of you come in," June replied. "I've identified a ship on the back side of the shipyards that was scheduled for the initial phase of decommissioning just before the Hydrans attacked: the USS Bonestell, an Oberth-Class ship. She's still got all her systems intact, her warp core and engines are still powered up, and she's been modified with enough automation that the group of us can fly her out of here. Once we get the other ships moving, we make a break for her, and then warp out of here."

Atop zh'Rin's head, her antennae flexed with anticipation. Perhaps they would make it out of this predicament yet.

"Why don't we take one of the newer ships?" Thyago asked.

"Three reasons," June offered. "One, because most of the newer ships are incompletely upgraded, and being on a ship that's lacking critical systems in the middle of a fight like this one is a bad thing. Two, because the ships that aren't being ordered to jump out as a unit are going to be going back into the fight under the command of their emergency command holograms, where, honestly, I expect that they'll be destroyed once the starbase crew figures out how to compensate for the trick with the IFF profiles that Galaxy is using. And three... well, the Bonestell is such a small, unimportant vessel that, given all the higher-value and more glorious targets in the area, there's a good chance we'll be ignored as we make a run for it."

"I just hope we don't get noticed," Aina grimaced at the thought of one of the Hydran Ships noticing them.

"That, June agreed, "would be the second best news I've heard all day." The best news, of course, had been hearing Daren refer to her as his wife again. Even though they weren't technically married at the moment, she never stopped getting a thrill out of those words.

***** On the Galaxy *****

"You are making a joke right - you want me on escort?" exclaimed the newest of the flight officers on the Galaxy. Daesha zh'Kairn or Daze to her flight group was not happy that she was just about to jump into her fighter, and now her orders were to rendezvous with a marine shuttle and escort to a 'dead zone.'

Returning the padd to the deck officer, she went through the checklist, got the thumbs up from the launch officer and the maglev catapult had her out of the Galaxy. As her heads up began analyzing the combat, the situational awareness icons appeared around her helmeted head, Daze flicked the comm switch, "Vanguard eight to M'Kantu shuttle. Am inbound will be ready to cover your launch in thirty five seconds, don't be late."

***** DS5 Marine shuttle *****

June looked back at the rest of the group, "Let's get going. I'm not expecting to have to deal with Hydrans or any of the traitors on the Bonestell, but make sure that you're all armed just in case." She turned to Ella. "Once the last of them are loaded, we're in your hands, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Ma'am," Ella said with a nod.

Thyago ducked into the shuttle and made a small noise of approval as he saw the pilot. She and June were too busy running through the preflight checklist to notice his ogling, so he took his time. Then, he chose the seat that offered the best view of her profile.

Shi zh'Rin entered the shuttle, feeling more out of place than ever. At least she was not the only one out of uniform, but even so she could not help feeling uncertain at what they were about to do. Then again, she could not think of any previous instance of such an important task being entrusted, even in part, to her care.

Being really unsure on who should go in first, also being the fact that everybody else was higher in rank than her, Aina was the last to board the shuttle - "Umm - that is everybody Doctor M'Kantu."

"That's everyone, Lieutenant," June called into the pilot's compartment. "Whenever you're ready." Turning back to the rag-tag team she added, "Everyone grab hold of something, this is going to be a bumpy ride until we get out of the combat zone!"

"Can anyone man the weapons?" Ella called back. "I'd rather have my hands free for flying." "I suppose that I can if there's no one better qualified," June offered, "but it's been long enough that I'd rather defer to someone with more recent training or experience." She looked around the group.

Aina shook her head, "No Ma'am, not small craft weaponry." She'd done basic training at the Academy for the hand-held phasers, and with the sneak'ems that she played she knew how to fire them. But right now she wasn't sure that she was sure she could use it in a real situation. Unlike Gyndine, the previous time she had held a phaser, there wasn't a team of marines behind her. She grabbed hold of the seat and hoped real hard that this wasn't going to be an omen on the whole mission.

Sharzhevashi's silence was the only answer she gave. She had been trained to fly the ships, and while she had been cross-trained on many bridge systems, this would be the first time (and potentially only time) she had ever entered a marine vehicle. She did not feel adequately skilled enough to operate the weapon's systems.

As all eyes turned to Thyago, awaiting his response, two things ran through his mind. The first was that he was the only guy in the shuttle. Not that that meant anything. After all, one was married, one was jail bait, and one was alien, leaving him with only one truly desirable option. Yet, the statistics alone seemed impressive enough that he would undoubtedly have to rub it in Cowboy's face later.

The second was that they seemed to want him to handle the weapons. This, he thought, was probably not the best idea. Shuttle weapons were quite different from hand-held phasers. However, he was so completely inept at using those (he had, after all, failed the basic marksmanship course at the academy twice in a row, almost shot Cowboy in the foot only a couple days ago, and in general, caused phasers to mysteriously explode whenever he held them long enough) that the lack-of-skill had to generalize to some degree to weapons of any kind. Also, he had never actually used weapons mounted onto a ship. He had flown many times, but those were cargo shuttles and rocket hoppers, and were unarmed. He had played many a fighter simulation video game, yet it was probably dangerous to assume they were anything like the real thing.

But, while one part of his mind contemplated these important matters, the other spontaneously commanded his mouth to say, "I'll do it." Then, he got up and took the seat immediately next to Ella, smiling as he sat.

Daze watched the shuttle exiting the small bay, taking up wing position, "M'Kantu shuttle this is Vanguard Eight - I've got you covered. Syncing sensor and flight plan."

"Let's pray it's a boring flight," Daze added as she watched the situational awareness icons in her cockpit and the scene of the fight around them. The Galaxy's saucer and battle section were taking the brunt of the Hydrans attack.

Daze kept an eye on the God's Eye analysis from the Galaxy as the two craft were sprinting to the boneyard. She didn't like how a Hydran fighter, not far from their position suddenly changed course, her HUD suddenly gave a quick flash and the icon suddenly indicated that it was on intercept course. "M'Kantu, this is Eight - got a bandit inbound."

"I see it," Ella replied.

As Daze was about to peel off, the icon flashed a couple of times, and the calm voice came over her comm - "Targets firing."

The fighter dumped ECM to fool the incoming fighter's targeting, and, as the three fusion beams barreled down on the two Federation craft, both craft made a split break from their formation. Two of the fighter's incoming fire impacted on the ECM drones and exploded, and the third missed cleanly, the crimson bolts spitting out in a lazy turn as the fighter turned to follow a target: the slower moving Marine Shuttle.

Pulling in a turn so tight that the inertia dampeners couldn't absorb and re-vector fast enough, leaving Daze feeling a crushing weight all over her body, she watched the fusion beams sliced closer and closer to the shuttle with each burst, but she couldn't get her weapons to target it fast enough and the Hydran pilot's aim was getting close...

Ella didn't have time to tell everyone to hold on and, honestly, if they weren't expecting to be tossed around then the sudden surprise served them right. For a second, everything was gone and she was back in her shuttle with Corran Rex, about to throw him a grin that would signal the start of a crazy flight pattern (that usually caused him heart attacks, or so he'd claimed) and then she was back in the fight and the landing craft was veering and twisting amongst the Hydran ships in a manner that would have made most Starfleet flight instructors blanch.

"Anytime someone would like to shoot the bastard is fine by me," Ella announced in her choppy voice.

Yeah, this was a bad idea, Thyago thought as he stared at the targeting screen. The electronic blip that indicated the Hydran fighter chasing them darted around on the screen so quickly it was beginning to make him queasy. And that meant the target scanners could not get a lock. But, it wasn't like he wasn't trying. He was firing any time the ship came close, but then, Ella would pull some crazy radical turn and the blast would fire off in a totally unexpected direction. His poor aim was partly her fault, he thought. If she would just fly straight for longer than 3 seconds, then maybe he could hit something.

"Seriously Carneiro, anytime you're ready," Ella said.

Completely unphased by the danger they were in, both because there weren't enemy soldiers in the shuttle firing at him, only alerts and lights on screens and through windows, and because the roller coaster-like shuttle ride was giving him an adrenaline high, Thyago sat back and thought, this is silly. Try as he might, he seemed completely unable to aim for and hit the enemy fighter. Every shot he took turned out to be one in a completely random direction. So, he was going to adapt to that. Forget aiming, he thought, he was simply going to fire randomly. It certainly wouldn't make him shoot any worse. So, he looked up, away from the targeting screen, and waited for a moment, humming, "Hmm Hm Hm," and then he fired. And, as expected, Ella jammed the throttle downwards and the shuttle sharply pitched up, sending the phaser blast into a second completely random direction, different from the first random direction Thyago had chosen. The orange beam lanced out in front of the Hydran fighter, directly in its path. It was too late to roll out of the way, so the beam struck its underside, slicing through its skin like a scalpel until it hit and pierced the heated hydrogen fuel tank.

As the fighter exploded, Thyago victoriously cried out, "Oh, score!"

"Eight to M'Kantu - nice shot," transmitted Daze. "Let's get to the boneyard as soon as possible - the rest of the bandits are busy, hopefully they won't want to play."

"Roger that," Ella transmitted back, and with a flare from the engines, the two craft raced to the boneyard and to the USS Bonestell.

"The Cavalry Arrives!" Part Two

Captain Jaal Jaxom
Colonel For'kel Arvelion
Commander Arel Smith
Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia
Lieutenant Ella Grey
1st Lieutenant Branwen London
Lieutenant Junior Grade Ophelia Zamora
2nd Lieutenant Savannah McAllister
Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
Petty Officer 3rd Class Victory
Cpl Dr. Cianan Tierney
Lieutenant Nathan Everett

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

(Picking Up From Where We Left Off)

It wasn't much of a fight to get to the area where the injured and civilians among the survivors were being kept. Jaal was as close to an expert tactician as you would find in Starfleet's exploration program, and as such he managed to do an amazing job at keeping his perimeter secure. An occasional Hydran scouting team, looking for a weak point to attack, happened across them and were quickly dealt with. The poor methane loving bastards never really stood a chance, but someone could just as easily call it poetic justice.

For'kel helped himself to the rifle that one of the Hydrans had been carrying. He learned on Romulus that one never knew when a backup weapon might be warranted, and despite the handicap of the weapon not being designed for use by humanoids, had become familiar enough with it's operating system to make use of it. A quick check for intelligence sakes revealed nothing. The Hydrans were smart opponents, sending their scouts out lightly, without any intelligence of significant value upon their persons. It would sure as hell help if they knew where the Hydran troops were, and which areas were more vulnerable. He did pluck a scanning device from one of the others, wondering if it would yield any data. He was a bit rusty when it came to de-programming alien data banks, and passed the device over to McAllister. She'd probably get through it faster than he could right now. "See if you can make sense of that, Lieutenant."

She looked up, the hint of a smirk on her mouth as she reached back with her free hand and itched the base of her neck. "If we can turn the armory into my lab..."

For'kel couldn't believe she was bringing this up here. "I told you before, we are not turning the 'armory' into a combat forensics lab."

"We need one...'I' need one!"

"We 'need' an armory."

"You're grumpy.... you need a hug." She pouted in jest as her attention turned to the device in front of her. Slightly tilting her head to the side, her dark pigtails swayed with the direction of her head making her look like a thinking Goth...instead of just a Goth.

Jaal cast an unbelieving glance in the Goth woman's direction wondering just how she managed to get into the Marines in the first place. Here they were, trying to escape a taken over space station and 'she' wanted to give out hugs.

"Uhm.. Fork?" He turned to Arvelion, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Jaal was ignored for now, but he knew he'd get Fork's attention soon.

They came up on the large bay being used as a makeshift field hospital. "Cianan, I want the wounded prioritized and taken to the hoppers immediately. Who's running this hospital?"

Cianan nodded and barely got in an, "Aye sir," before the Captain was already barking new orders. The Angosian echoed his commander and began pointing orders out. He found his crew worked well together, typical of a medical unit. Momentarily as he pointed he looked at his hand. It wasn't a golden hue but rather stained with blood. The crimson liquid left a sticky film, a film reminiscent of earlier battles. The sounds, smells and sights around him began to momentarily overwhelm his senses. Voices from the past replaced those around him in the present. Cianan closed his eyes momentarily took a breath and opened his eyes once again. The shadows from Angosia were replaced with the station. He didn't have time for a flashback.

"That would be me," replied a Medic. "Petty Officer Benedict Maxwell. Here's the rundown on my Criticals, Immediates, and Delayed/Walking wounded. I need the Criticals out of here yesterday, sir."

Fork took in the knowledge as quickly as he could before issuing orders. "Good to meet you Petty. Stabilize everyone you can for transport. Our hoppers can handle about a dozen litters; they're your best hope for anyone too critical for transport. Cianan, have your platoon start helping them with moving people. Anyone who's ambulatory we're going to need if we're taking this station back. Corporal, you're with the Petty Officer for now."

"Aye sir." Corporal Delar stepped forward, tucking a strand of her platinum hair behind her ear. Sasha shouldered her rifle, starting to slide her medical pack off her shoulders. "Where do you want to start, sir?"

"I've got everything from prolonged toxemia secondary to Rhabdomyolysis to organ failure, to ARDS type conditions. The rest are amputations, deep trauma, fractured limbs and ribs, malnutrition." As an afterthought he added, "You may want to start treating for hypernatremia as well in some cases."

"Hypernatraemia sounds like the least of our problems right now." She unzipped the bag, pulling out one of a number of hypos and loading vials. "Let's start with administering tri-oxy compound to the ARDS cases. I've got an emergency life support system in here, but we could probably use the station's stasis chambers if you have access to them?"

"The Tri-Ox is definitely a good start," agreed Max. "We ran out on day one. As for station stasis, that's a no go. This area isn't a real medical bay, just a place large enough to put everyone, injured and non injured. And hypernatremia IS an issue unless you're not concerned with cardiac arrhythmias? In either case, let's get my criticals out on the hopper. That'll leave about fifteen more that I'll risk transporter evac with."

She couldn't believe they were getting into medical arguments in the middle of an evacuation. "Other than give water, there's nothing we can do about their sodium levels until we get them back to the ship." The Bajoran woman slid a lock of hair from her face as she got to work, leaving a small stain of dried blood courtesy of one of their wounded patients. "Arrhythmia is a problem, but not an immediately fatal one if controlled. We need to keep them alive long enough to get them back to the Galaxy, and to a properly equipped& sickbay." She injected the try-oxy compound, immediately stabilizing the man's breathing. "How do you want us to do this?"

"Fine whatever," Max said as he huffed in exasperation. It's not easy fighting the clinician inside one's self, and Max was not immune. "Like I said, take the toxemia/rabdo cases out the quickest way possible, as they are my critical cases. Make sure you include the organ failures in that count. Next lowest priority, who are immediates, would be the amputations and other deep or major traumas. The rest are in the delayed category, including the hypernatremia and malnutrition cases." He paused, then added. "The walking wounded without proximal ortho injuries or exertion based deficits are released for the Colonel's force needs," Max advised.

"You got it."

As medics continued to treat the wounded around him Cianan assessed the ambulation of the injured. Many experienced severe injuries and were going into shock. Some were ambulatory, but most that could move around were helping the less fortunate. Cianan grabbed what he could and began to evacuate the wounded.

Finally getting the Stagnorian's attention, Jaal told him in a quiet tone. "I need to be the last one to leave. I have some things rigged to go off and I need to set them in motion right before I leave."

"We'll be the last ones to leave," Arel corrected, throwing both men a glare that dared them to argue with her.

Jaal refrained from rolling his eyes. Too many times he'd heard this from Arel but on the other hand there were precious few people the Trill trusted in situations like this. "All right," he answered, "You can go with me."

"Are these firecracker things or supernova things?" The Colonel smirked, knowing Jaal well enough to deduce that he was speaking of explosives and wanting to know more specifics.

"We've got the main computer core set to blow," the Trill explained. "That will render the station completely useless as I'm betting you didn't bring a force large enough to retake it."

Fork sighed. "If it comes down to it, we may well need to blow the station. I've set explosives myself near the starship refueling stations. Deep Space Five is becoming a powerful symbol however, and if possible I'd prefer to avoid giving the Hydrans any kind of victory on our watch, pyrrhic or otherwise." He pulled out a PADD from one of his pockets, an unmarked schematic of the station on it. "There's still no news I've heard about either Corvallis or Cardassia, which makes holding this station even more vital. The station's got a weakness though, its phaser banks are capable of drawing more power than the main power distribution network can handle." He pointed out the station's reactor core. "If we can take the core and the lower levels of the engineering section, we can overload the station's power network, which in turn will electrify every unshielded area of this station. The only areas that are shielded from such a burst are the engineering sections, operations, sickbay, the shuttle bays, and the starship docking pylons. If we draw enough of the Hydrans into unshielded areas, we might just have a fighting chance."

"There's been attacks on Cardassia and Corvallis too?" Jaal asked in disbelief. "I 'really' need to get back in the loop."

"Have there been any attacks on the Klingons?" Arel asked her brother. Korvin was with his grandfather and great grandfather so she wasn't too worried but still ...

For'kel shook his head. "Nothing that I've heard of, Arel." Giving a small smile he turned back to Jaal. "We need to disable the safety systems so they can't reroute excess power to the secondary and tertiary networks, and disable the station's circuit control systems... all of which we should be able to accomplish from the Engineering bay. Once the surge happens, every system on this station will be fried, including the transporter inhibitors keeping us from beaming in reinforcements, or beaming the Hydrans off. They'll have to either evacuate, or get captured. The only hitch is, the station itself will be defenseless as well, at least until emergency systems are brought online. I'd like to make use of the ships that are docked, and I figure what's left of your crew Captain Jaxom are more than itching to get back out there." For'kel winked.

"They are but we really don't have the time for all that do we?" Jaal asked sounding concerned. "We know there's at least four Hydran capital ships out there. How many did you bring with you?"

"The Galaxy and her fighter wing are out there. I brought 150 Marines and every volunteer starfleeter I could find... probably close to 250 total. We also brought extra weapons, so all the people you have here should be enough to retake the station. Once we get the station under our control, we can hopefully even up the fight for the Galaxy." And if they had to blow the station, For'kel was bent on crewing every ship docked the best they could and attacking the Hydran ships in concert with the Galaxy. They did however need to even the odds.

"June, Aina, and I rigged up something to take out the station. If you're really bent on saving it, I can make some modifications to the program to keep the structure but we 'have' to blow the computer core. I'm sure the Hydrans have gotten enough from it already."

Fork wasn't about to argue with Jaal. He trusted the guy too much. "Alright, blow the core."

"Once it's wiped out, there'll be no software left for any of the stations automated systems, you know? Like life support and the anti-matter containment in the power generation. Remember your questions about it being a firecracker or a supernova?" Jaal checked For'kel's expression to make sure his old friend really understood what was going to happen.

Of course he did.

"That's why it has to be the absolute last thing we do before leaving."

"My understanding is that the essential systems had independent automated backups." He might not have been an actual engineer for a couple of years, but he certainly tried to keep up in design techniques when he could. "The Miranda's did at least." A number of possibilities ran through the Stagnorian's head. They could always try to use the computer core of one of the docked ships to keep the systems running if need be, or access the secondary systems he knew had to be there, or... "What if we uploaded a virus into our own core? They 'are' uploading the station's database, right?"

Before Jaal could answer, a bedraggled Cowboy wandered over, trailed by a snaggletoothed man-creature. "Hot damn, it's good to see you, For'kel!" the pilot said with a wide grin, walking up and giving the Stagnorian a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"BAAAAAAAAN!" Mickey added.

"Yeah, we've been bored as hell waitin' fer y'all to show up and rescue us," Nathan agreed, running a hand through his tousled hair and smiling as Mickey stepped up to the Stagnorian and sniffed him experimentally.

"The hell?" This was definitely turning into the strangest rescue operation For'kel was ever a part of.

"Oh, that's just Mickey," Cowboy answered. "Thyago found him somewhere around here and he just started followin' him around. He had some mission to go on and dumped him off on me." He shrugged. "He's harmless, Ah think. He just lahks sniffin' things and sayin' that 'ban' thing over'n over..."

"BAAAAAAAAN!"

"Yeah, lahk that," Nathan said. He grinned at For'kel again. "So, where do y'all need me? Ah've been itchin' to fly somethin'."

McAlister perked up from her little corner as she heard the all too familiar twang of someone that she was relieved to see. Staying where she was, she shot him a little half smile before turning to catch Zamora come around the corner.

"Power pack? The thing died on me....." Ophelia offered, holding up her little bioscanner device.

"Over there....by that tall, handsome, accented man." Savvy winked, causing Ophelia to shutter a little.

"Ah, okay...thank you." Walking over to the designated position, she brushed Cowboy's shoulder before glancing up and apologizing. "I....I.....I'm sorry....."

"That's 'real' nice," Jaal commented on the pet. Turning back to For'kel, "Actually, June, Aina and I took care of all that already. Viruses will take care of the backups as they are activated after the core is dumped and the Hydrans will get to watch some 'choice' video on the monitors while it all happens as a distraction."

For'kel took a deep breath in along with that information. It went without saying that he 'strongly' disagreed with the seeming adoption of a 'scorched earth' policy that was being adopted here. With three dozen starships at dock, they could've used a few to totally destroy the four-ship Hydran battlegroup outside, and fortify this area. It didn't take much to steer one ship into another, and a ship's power core had always been more explosive than an entire armament's worth of weapons fire.

However it seemed that the decision had already been made to destroy the station. It was the wrong decision, giving the Hydrans yet another victory (on paper if no where else), and taking from Starfleet a potential staging point for a counter-strike... but the damndest thing of all was that nobody had bothered saying 'anything' about destroying the station until now. It was one hell of a detail to be left out when they told him of the mission.

"Damn it!" The Colonel muttered, kicking a bulkhead in frustration. To say he was upset about this 'miss-communication' as one might colorfully declare it, was an understatement. Marines had a reputation for aggression for a reason... they were 'supposed' to fight. In the buildup to battle one got 'wound up' for what would happen, a natural response which increased aggression and physical stamina in sentient species. It also had the potential of being one hell of a problem in instances like this, where one was 'teased' to such a state without being able to pull the metaphorical trigger. It was often compared to sexual frustration, but the cliche dualistic metaphor wasn't entirely accurate. It cut a 'lot' deeper. "Fine, let's get the hell out of here."

Awakening slowly, prequel 1

Ensign Mestith, Medical Officer (Specialist in Botanical Medicine)

Mestith stood on the bluff overlooking Tshahl Nesthiir, the City of Springs. It was the greenest place on the entire northwestern hemisphere and it rose at the junction of seven ancient springs which even today, on their ancient world, still brought life sustaining water to the surface where it could be easily reached.

Eons ago his people had become sentient and taken refuge here, hunting and gathering from the local sub-sentient flora. They had partaken of the water, grew strong and tall in the bright double-suns and developed culture.

And then spirituality.

It was said that certain lines could remember the first incidence of sentience, which in their genes rode the memory coded in the darkest deepest levels. Only the greatest of their Neraah, or Dreamers, could access those levels and remain alive.

Though most still died.

Mestith was still young yet, since he had emerged he had seen only seventy-three summers and this, the winter, was more pleasant than he could remember this incarnation. He glanced towards the suns. The blue one, Tserath, rode low and tiny against Meshahr, the large orange one. Above and below them the moons rode, barely visible in the lights of day, their huge disks were askew the track of the suns and would not eclipse this part of the world for another two and a third centuries. Both moons had been colonized in his last incarnation and their populations thrived in this incarnation.

He remembered the thrill of the experience, of riding one of the older grav-pods up through the atmosphere and into the myriad starsea. The shaking had been terrible since back then they hadn't learned how to modulate the grav-plane shifts and as they passed through the oblique lunar tide, the pod seemed as if it were to come apart. Lights had flashed, keening had shrieked across the passenger and control zones in warning and the artificial gravity had turned off for many moments.

And he had been elated!

The thrill of the experience, the change that had been wrought on his spirit had brought light into the dark depths of his existence, making him aware that such a thing existed. It had been transfiguring and he knew then, he and his progeny would always bear the imprint of the experience and be made better for it. They were enriched.

Returning to the world around him, he stepped back into his body and out of the Dream, back into the here and now. His bald head gleamed light green with spots of golden-rod, his skin painted with designs and trinkets hung from bands on his upper arms and his neck. Clad in paint and adornments only, he turned back to the city that stood below and before him.

He had traveled here on foot, disparaging faster travel since he needn't be here faster and the paths across the desert were old and well-traveled. His people had used them for eons, the hunting and regular traffic had kept it free of harmful creatures and of the small prey-beasts, and several varieties prowled the area and made a good meal. He had taken what moisture he needed as he traveled, mostly in the blood of his kills and the juices of the flora he had harvested for his few meals.

His pilgrimage was about self-discovery and demanded that he live as he saw fit, disciplined himself as he saw fit and quested for his own personal development as he saw fit. He was a Dreamer, a Waterseeker and perhaps would someday counsel others in wisdom. It was known that his line was old, his memories ancient and he could travel back in the Dreaming thousands of summers.

He was sought by Bearers far and wide to give their lines his memories, his experiences. His people were enriched and he, in turn, was enriched by them.

And now, he sought a Deeper Way.

A few, a very few, sought the Deeper Ways. These paths were not for the young, though some aspired and most died. Still older lines sought and most still died. Only the oldest lines, those with the greatest experiences and an old soul could weather the demands to the madness one had to embrace to become Deep in the Dream.

As he had been the last six years.

He had departed his Grove six summers before on a slow wandering path, moving as the Dream dictated, eating and drinking as he felt the need, somehow surviving against prey and predator. He remembered he had killed a Rhenth, a bull and in full display. It had been a fierce creature and it had come after him, though he had managed to avoid its territory somehow. Yet and still, he had managed to kill it, poisoning it in the ancient way and taking its blood to strengthen himself.

The meat he had left for its young, so they would strengthen the land with the remains of the carcass and their own droppings, rutting, mating and death. It had not been a conscious decision at all. He had been in the Dream and in the Dream, he had acted as guided by his soul, not his reason.

Nineteen days ago he had emerged from the Dream in a residence, lying against several handsome bodies, their markings and scents most-pleasing. All bore the marks of play-mating; claw marks, bites, the dusting of their Ouna. They all breathed, all seemed pleased and from their drowsy minds, they had not long been finished. One of the other three was a Bearer, swelling with the life inside and beginning to turn brown. Vague reddish whorls under the tan showed bright colors from the southern regions and showed that Mestith may have given seed to even more distant lines than ever before. He had felt pride and love for this Bearer and stroked the drowsing face with tender claw-tips until sleep had finally come and claimed them.

He had been adorned then but not painted, given bright things that accentuated his build and coloration. Water fell from a fountain nearby and cast a rainbow spray into the air, the dim sunlight still casting rainbows. Silently he rose and stepped into the spray, twitching and gasping as the cool waters ignited his skin and stung a few of the deeper marks. Slowly, he had spread his arms and bathed in both water and light, the dimming light of the day and the cool water that was life for their hot, dry world.

Two days later, having passed in and out of the Dream much, he had risen and realized the Bearer had departed. Dimly he remembered several more mating, well past what was likely required and the two having taken great joy in one another while they could. The other two had gathered the few personal possessions of their departed play-mate and Sang together in the setting sun, the three creating a new melody in honor of the new lives to come. He had taken the time to inscribe several poems to be left behind as gifts and then fed and given water, he was painted and he departed.

He wasn't sure where he was headed exactly, or why. He knew only that there was a place he needed to be, a thing he needed to be doing and that for the most part, this Circle had come round in full.

Oh he still Dreamed, though sporadically and only when he walked. He had traveled night and day, pausing to feed and drink, pausing to rest twice and only for the space of a few hours at most. It felt like he was in a hurry but then, he had no idea where to go or what he was to do.

Such seemed the way of it.

The waxy film that his people exuded when they were in the less humid regions that retained their moisture coated him in a transparent flexible barrier. Now, in this region, the film had begun to harden and crack as it reacted to the ambient moisture.

Below, in the crater that formed this entire region, lush greenery grew and bloomed in seemingly random chaos. Thin spirals and curves of bare earth and rock paths wound their way through the lush semi-forest, small wide stone bridges crossed over sluggish streams that radiated from the city into the lower growing plains.

Roughly in the center, on a low rise, a wide gleaming city rose shining and twinkling into the bright sky. Domes, minarets and open amphitheatre-like residential hives reared up shimmering with opalescent radiance, the color-shift slowly moving as if the city undulated in the breeze.

In fact, it did.

In his fifth-back incarnation he had worked on the construction of many of those buildings. Most of the surface materials were metallics or secretion-coated metallics from a variety of shell-producing invertebrates from their oceans. The spiraling stubby reddish-purple stadium was one of those projects he had participated on, knowing that the designs he had cut into the jadic fa?ade would still be there for his loving fingertips to brush once again.

Movement to one side caught his attention and he turned languidly, watching as a small party of Bearers trudged heavily out into the desert. They moved alone, each lost in the Delerium, each so involved in what was happening inside their bodies that instinct walked them to their ancestral groves. He knew what was soon to happen and he bowed and cupped the fertile sandy soil at his feet, taking a bit into his mouth and eating it to honor them. Gently he sent a prayer to them, a tiny piece of his vitality as strength to buoy them and carry them to their distant places to die.

There were no words, no chants, and no special gestures other than the eating of soil. It was from soil they came, to soil they returned. It was soil in which their seed took root and it was into the soil that sent their elements to enrich the earth again.

Still, he felt a breeze spring up and on its gentle arms came a song he could hear the harvesters moaning. It was the Bearer Song, ancient and evocative. Sad and yet strengthening as well.

I am a Tree
Bending
Bowing
I am a tree
Kiss the earth again

I am the Flame
Burning
Changing
I am the flame
Kiss the Sun again

I am the Wind
Blowing
Singing
I am the wind
Touch the sky again

I am the Rain
Falling
Flowing
I am the rain
Touch the sea again

To his people this song was a celebration and an ending, the deaths of a few so that many would be born. Such was the Path.

He gloried in the sun, raising his arms and joined in the song, his deep voice carrying into the wind he sang about. Between his toes he felt the earth, around him danced the wind, above him fires lit their sky and nourished them and close enough he could feel its coolness, water laughed with subdued joy as it propagated life.

In a moment of clarity he stood transfixed, realizing he was repeating an action he had taken several incarnations already. It was a commonality, a tied to all of his previous lives and a truism of his soul.

He laughed with effervescent delight.

Little did he know that in just seventeen more years, he would find himself on the brink of a cultural transfiguration as his people made first contact with something none had ever imagined could be real.

The United Federation of Planets.

OOC: Occurs after the 'Cavalry Arrives' series.

"What Doesn't Kill Me, Makes Me Stronger"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG
USS Galaxy

Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188th Furies Detachment

Location: DS5

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

The wall felt cool against her back despite how she was sweating in her body armor. The brown eyes cast downward at the device she held in her hand. It's multicolored sensor picked up a small figure, then two larger figures that were not as bright. Immediately, her heart dropped. Ophelia knew what it meant, and it caused her to be dreadful of what her mind told her awaited her in side the door she stood opposite of.

Raising her phaser rifle, Zamora steadied it with both hands as she stood to the side of the door. The swoosh gave her permission to enter, yet the site she first beheld made her breath draw inward with dramatic fashion.

His head wss lowered with red tresses gleaming in the illumination, resting on the chest of the woman Ophelia assumed was his mother. Her eyes scanned the quarters, feeling herself shiver at the temperature change. Death had been here and was still present. His little body faced away from her, curled up into a fetal position much like the time spent in his mother's womb safe from all harm.

Saying nothing, Ophelia side stepped and lowered her body to the man that was sprawled out in the front corner of the room. From the look of the scene, the man had spent his dying moment fighting with ferocity for the protection of his small, yet treasured family. Placing her gloved hand to his neck, she felt nothing. The position of his still eyes told her that he was gone.

Standing slowly, her eyes shifted as she heard something uncurl from it's position and stand. Through her helmet, she saw the little boy raise the phaser and aim it at her. His hands shaking, his vision scared from the fresh tears that ran down his face....he narrowed his eyes at her in an attempt to scare this new enemy off.

Not knowing that her communicator was still active, she spoke through her helmet at the child. "Hi...." The smirk on her face was hidden as she chastised herself.

He said nothing, sniffed and continued to hold the phaser at her. The strength that he had was fast draining from his experience. Swallowing, he still stayed silent with his weapon aimed at the intruder.

"I'm Ophelia...what's your name?" She spoke cautiously.

"Eragon." He responded.

"Eragon.....let's put the phaser down...okay sweetie."

"No. You....you might be one of them.....they...they shot my mum and dad."

"I know....I know what they did....and I'm here to help."

For'kel was never one for wearing the helmet. It's various sensing and imaging technologies were often finicky, and likewise fairly easy to defeat in a number of ways. Relying on technology too much was a weakness that was perfectly exploitable, a lesson learned in a number of ways today. Communications were always available through the time-tested and battle-proven combadge that was standard issue for all Starfleet personnel, and the Stagnorian simply didn't care for the added weight, and potential drawbacks. It seemed more of a risk than an asset to him.

What he 'did' believe in was getting head counts. Surprise surprise when Ophelia never checked in.

The teams had split up, some evacuating the survivors, while the others had been deployed in skermishing groups to keep the Hydrans off balanced, leave them unable to make a concerted effort to wipe out the Federation force until the withdrawal could be completed. Down one of the assault trails, For'kel had heard light conversation, the Marine carefully following the sound of Ophelia's voice before silently raising his rifle at the ready.

And there was a kid holding a phaser at one of his Marines.

Even For'kel wasn't naive enough to put himself above shooting a child. He'd done it before, back on Romulus, and if it came down to it, he would do so again. Although years of Starfleet training had urged caution with the use of force, his original training urged aggression in a situation like this. Move in quickly, neutralize the proximal threats, and move out. Hell, had this been a decade earlier, Fork probably would've just chucked a stun grenade into the room and hauled the boy's unconscious ass out afterwards, no questions asked...he was out of grenades at this point though, and even if he had one, there was no guarantee that it wouldn't cause permanent harm at this range.

He didn't breathe, not noticeably anyway. He came to a stop several paces from the boy, on Ophelia's side, wordlessly. The tension in the room was palpable, and as the boy watched in fear, For'kel stared back with subtle determination. He'd decided, well before he entered the room, that one way or another any threat would be resolved. There was definitely a time limit on his patience.

For'kel began dialing the stun setting on his rifle down slowly, an attempt to give the boy the fairest possibility of survival in a close range blast, while absolutely rendering him unconscious. His cool and collected exterior movements concealed well the turmoil deeper down. He had a son of his own, a wife of his own... and being in a situation like this 'definitely' put that fact forefront in the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to be distracted right now, as unnerving as all the parallels were. "Put the weapon down."

She raised her hand slightly before speaking. "Watch me carefully Eragon." Ophelia placed her weapon down, although she knew she would get reamed on several levels for her actions. Her hands cupped the helmet, removing it to reveal her face to the boy. Delicate features softened as she offered a smile to the boy and took two steps forward.

"See? I'm Starfleet....I'm on your side...."

He shook his head back and forth negativily. "No....."

Zamora shook her head up and down. "Yes.....See that large guy behind me?"

"Uh huh."

"He's Starfleet too honey....we are getting people from this area."

Eragon narrowed his eyes as he raised the rifle still shaking at Fork instead of Ophelia. "He's the bad guy..." The boy's eyes misted over before he sniffed again.

For'kel shook his head. The look of 'don't try it' burning a path across the room and towards the boy. He heard Ophelia speak, but only barely... content for the moment to let the woman try diplomacy, but all too fixed on the target to add much in himself. "If we were bad guys, we would have shot you already." For'kel pointed out, failing to realize logic rarely worked with children. "Put the phaser on the deck."

"Bad...." He whispered before steadying the phaser.

She said nothing, but turned towards Fork diving on top of him as the shot of the beam hit her forearm. Her slight scream sounded more like a plea for help as she landed with a thud on top of her leader.

"Don't shoot him...." Zamora pleaded. "Please." Wincing, she rolled off of him and turned to face the little one that shot her.

His face contorted as he dropped the weapon on the standard Starfleet carpet looking at her with a sudden fear of the unknown that was spiraling about him in chaos. As his eyes clouded over, he ran over to her jumping into her arms sobbing with all his emotion coming to the surface.

Wrapping her good arm around his shoulder, she pressed the side of her head against the top of his as he nuzzled into her neck. "It's okay......I gotcha now."

Everything had happened in a blur. If it had not been for the fact Zamora had practically tackled him, For'kel would have most certainly fired. As it was, he very nearly pulled the trigger anyway and could have taken his own leg off if he hadn't moved his finger off the trigger in time. He hit the ground, suppressing a grunt, and when he saw the streak of red flash towards Ophelia, he pulled his type II. Fortunately for everyone involved, the Stagnorian noticed in that split fraction of a second that he was unarmed... the discarded weapon laying near the bulkhead.

Priorities were priorities. He knew the child was okay, the weapon was userless at the moment and thus not a threat, so his first move was to check on Ophelia. Her chest was still rising and falling rhythmically and calmly, if faster... it was a simple way of telling after a mere perusal if a body was badly wounded or if the wound was more superficial. He pressed his palm to her cheek, and noticing no sweat or claminess, had figured she wasn't 'too' severely wounded. A lack of blood, and the fact she still had her color added to the overall general picture. Until he felt an involuntary wince, he'd wondered if she'd been hit at all.

"Where?" He whispered the question into her ear, not wanting to upset the obviously emotional boy any more than he already had, but needing to make sure his suspicions on Ophelia's health were sound.

"Arm...I'm fine...don't touch me." She forcefully whispered. "Right now. I have to get him somewhere safe."

"Remind me, we'll have to discuss civility in combat situations when we get back to the Galaxy." Now however wasn't the time to remind people of the niceties they were 'typically' supposed to show to superior officers. Once he was sure the kid wouldn't make a move back for the rifle, For'kel trotted over, and activating the safety slung it over his shoulder. "Get him back to the LZ. And see a doctor while you're back there."

"Yes sir..." Ophelia whispered before raising her right hand, cupping it on top of the sobbing boy's red head. Watching Fork depart from the room, her head turned and tilted down, encouraging the young innocent to nuzzle into her neck for protection. The two sat silently for a few moments in the brave new world they both now found themselves in. The world the boy knew of sat bleeding out around him, and the world that the officer had known faded into the darkness of the past as the distant sound of phaser fire erupted yet again.

"Love Is In The Air... Even This Air"

J'sa (npc, Eric)
Orion Freighter Captain
SS Newbs Pwn

Vam'Wa (npc, Cliff)
'Warrior Woman'
Former Chief Flight Controller, USS Carthage

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

==DS5, Some corridor somewhere==

Somehow, the pair had gotten separated from their main group...

The massive Orion 'gentleman of fortune' peered around the next corridor junction. It was a T-intersection, branching off to the left while the main hall continued on straight. Clear. Turning back around he looked to his sole companion, whom he'd taken to calling 'warrior woman,' the Klingon Vam'wa. "Want to go left or straight?"

Vam'wa cautiously approached the intersection. She sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the scents she detected. "We go left," she let out in a low grumble.

J'sa simply grinned and led the way. For such a large body weight he moved with an eerie silence, the whisper of his clothing the only sound he made. "So what's our count?" he asked. "36?" one of his cargo pockets contained a number of Hydran beaks, his 'trophy' for every kill he knew he'd made. He planned on collecting one for every member of his crew the methane suckers had slaughtered, and every Hydran he butchered after that was simply gravy. That and killing was one of his passions - it wasn't often he got to indulge with free reign, and this was something to be treasured. Taking to battle with someone like Vam'wa made the experience that much more sublime.

"Thirty-eight," Vam'wa corrected him.

"That's right, the command squad." One of the units they'd run into had been plussed up by another two individuals, but for the most part they encountered units of 6. When they came to the 4-way intersection 20 meters down he held up his hand. Even he could smell them now. He pointed to the left with one hand as he drew his claymore with the other. "Want to do anything special, or just charge on in?"

Vam'wa grinned evilly at the larger Orion she'd been going around with. "Charge in, of course." She readied her phaser rifle.

The green man grinned and nodded. "Oh, you might want this." He reached into his greatcoat and withdrew a sheathed dagger, the blade easily 8 inches long, and proffered it to her handle first. "Judging by the concentration of methane stench there's more than a single patrol, but I could only see the standard 6."

"Then the standard plan applies," she grinned again, "You take three and I'll take the other three." She took the knife and strapped it to her side.

"Then by all means." With that he stepped into the corridor junction and did what he normally wouldn't have - Jsa threw the claymore down the corridor, the heavy blade impaling two Hydran foot soldiers and embedding in the corridor wall behind them. He began advancing down the corridor, pistols emerging into his hands to lay down suppressive fire, booms echoing though the station with each shot. Sure enough 6 more Hydrans emerged to join their still living comrades. Still living, for now.

Vam'wa strode next to the Orion firing the phaser at key points in the Hydran armor to make the most of each shot. Nailing the weakest part, the joints, punctured holes that leaked out the methane the Hydrans needed to breath. Once that was done she fired at their heads.

Two more went down under the hail of lead no modern armor was made to withstand, and by this time both were in the midst of the remaining live ones, Grabbing the hilt of his claymore J'sa wrenched it from the wall, the impaled bodies falling limply to the deck. "Today's a good day to breath oxygen!" he cried as he laid on in.

Vam'wa dispatched two others, one with the dagger J'sa had given her and one with her own D'k'tag. "Take that scum! blmoHqu'!"

Moments later, the corridor was filled with methane laced air, the station scrubbers working to purity the atmosphere. 12 dead Hydrans lay around the couple, their bladed weapons dripping with purple ichor. J'sa looked over at Vam'wa, noting the splashes of Hydran fluids that had fallen across her. "Beautiful," he murmured to himself, ramming the point of the sword into the decking, relishing the wet *skutch* as it punched through the torso of a dead Hydran on it's way down. He didn't know whether to hit her or what.

Vam'wa raised her rifle and seemingly pointing it at J'sa, fired. The red-orange bolt went just over his shoulder and into the head of a Hydran that had risen behind the Orion.

"Guess we missed one," he said, noting it had no damage to it's suit save for her phaser blast which had opened it's helmet to toxic oxygen. He turned around and strode purposefully towards her, grabbing the jacket of her uniform and slamming her against the wall. "Tell me, Warrior Woman. Do you have a mate?"

"Not yet," Vam'wa cooed.

"What say we move to less exposed quarters," he proposed, inhaling deeply of her scent. "I'm not fond of getting shot up while having fun."

Vam'wa growled in a low threatening manner. "I would love to but we still have work to do."

"Mmmmmm, yes, I almost forgot." He let go of her uniform slowly, a twinkle still in his eyes. "I think it's time we took on something more of a challenge, a target worthy of our combat abilities."

"Our duty now is to protect those on the lower decks from the enemy getting to them. Those were Captain Jaxom's orders'

J'sa nodded. Sometimes Starfleet took all of the fun out of things. As he pulled his sword from the deck, a flurry of energy bolts surged down the corridor, sending him diving to the deck and yanking Vam'wa down with him. He pushed her to one side, sheltering her from oncoming fire behind a pair of Hydran bodies as he rose to his feet, rifle in his hand. A pair of ear-shattering retorts filled the air as 2 super sonic chunks of metal punched their way downrange. "Ambush!"

"Rotten targs!" Vam'wa responded by picking her rifle up from the floor and leveling it at the approaching Hydrans. She fired as well. Red-orange beams lanced out but missed their targets this time.

A blast struck J'sa's left bicep, the massive man roaring in pain, dropping the rifle. Instead of hiding and checking his wound as most lesser men would he simply grabbed the sword where he dropped it and charged in to the mass of Hydrans blorping down the corridor towards them. "LET JUDGEMENT FALL UPON THOSE DESERVED!" he screamed, wielding the sword single handed as he waded into them. He didn't care now, fully lost to the blood lust of battle, slaughter, and carnage.

Vam'wa held back picking off Hydrans one by one that got too close to J'sa. She recognized the blood lust he was feeling and was barely successful at holding her own back. The smell of methane escaping the encounter suits the enemy wore was getting thick. By her estimation, they'd have to either get to a clearer corridor or find themselves oxygen masks soon.

Blorp, bleep, glomp, squelch, squeal .... Hydrans made some of the most interesting sounds when you killed them, and not one of them was something J'sa's mind recognized as speech. Well, to the Hydrans it was, but these were honorless, backstabbing, vile beings with no right to the glorious deaths they were receiving today. With one hand he pulled on his respirator and continued to fight, the section of corridor he occupied being obscured by the methane pouring from the Hydran's encounter suits.

"THERE you are!"

Vam'wa spun in place to see her twin sister with a scolding look on her face. She didn't raise her weapon because she immediately recognized the voice. "Net'wa! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you! Jaxom has called everyone back! The evacuation has begun!" As the Carthage's former operations manager controller spoke she fired over her sister's shoulder at a Hydran that was trying to get up. The three-eyed monster slumped back to the deck with multiple holes leaking deadly oxygen into it's environmental suit. "We need to go, NOW!"

It was the last one to go down, the last to die. J'sa strode out of the billowing cloud of methane and other exotic gasses to see not one, but TWO Klingon women! He pulled off the respirator and stuffed it inside one of the pockets within his greatcoat. "Come to join the fun?" he asked playfully. "I regret to inform you we're all out of playmates for the rest of the day."

Net'wa was not impressed. She'd always been the more conservative of the twins. "A ship has arrived. We're being taken off the station. We don't have much time!"

"Finally!" He grinned, wrapping an arm around the sisters and more or less herding them back towards 'friendly' territory and completely ignoring the oozing wound on his left arm, which rightly smarted from methane exposure. He had no doubts some Starfleet doctor would be all over him and try to coop him up in their sickbay. "So Vam'wa, who's this dashing warrior come to our rescue?"

"My sister... my twin, Net'wa," Vam'wa explained proudly as they walked...

Dreaming in Starlight, Prequel 2

Ens Mestith
Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

Mestith stood on the decking of the control center of a Shehuryll ship, waiting as the others who served did as the soft sounds the controls and systems made audibly signaling their particular messages to those who knew what they meant. Small flat screens displayed information, shorthand code that all who performed these functions learned to read, to absorb a great deal of information from their ship's non-interfacile controls and displays.

In the aft compartment, submerged in a suspension pod, the command brain of the ship floated in a net of shimmering and pulsing fibers and conduits. Made of engineered plant material the core of the vessel communicated with those specifically trained to work with and through it, to run the functions and maintain the operations that the ship did not do for itself.

This vessel, called "Rhauth", was an older model and designed for speed rather than defense. It's power systems had been re-engineered so that the older energy storage matrixes this type of vessel used to enact warp power fields had been supplanted by a particle-decay core, providing slightly more power but at a steady rate and with a much better-controlled depletion management capability.

All in all though it was quite comfortable.

Lush flora covered the inside of the vessel, symbiotically cultured to work with the ship's systems to purify their atmosphere and to absorb airborne organic pollutants. The moss that covered the floor did much the same, though it was soft and comfortable to stand or lay upon.

The corridors were spacious and well-lit, providing life-sustaining radiance to all those who required it while fruit and flowers grew here and there, providing for those who would eat.

Unlike most other species they had encountered, the Shehuryll did not require privacy. Indeed, they found the whole idea secretly repellent. To be shut away from all things that could stimulate one's senses was prison. But they respected in others that need, which is why other species were hardly ever invited to travel on a Shehuryll vessel for any length of time.

For they had no privacy.

All rested in the same space and eating was done wherever and whenever one felt the desire or need. Except in those situations in which an environmental containment was required, the Shehuryll went about naked and adorned, in whatever way they felt suited them that day. Bathing and grooming were often group affairs that had one helping another apply paint or set an adornment that seemed particularly pleasing.

Mestith stood and waited, his mind feeling the thoughts of the ship the same way one hears a loud voice in another room. The sense of what is being said, what is happening can be discerned, if not the details.

Then, it happened.

The ship sensed the warp signature of the Federation vessel from Starfleet, a vessel they had all agreed would be the best to meet. The ship created its own warp field but remained stationary, waiting. They weren't completely sure the vessel would come but they had been told that the Starfleet was very curious. That unusual things and opportunities to meet new species and cultures was like a lure.

Mestith had been preparing for this for decades and had been practicing it on local species far longer. They did not have the language of the Federation but were fairly adept at contact resolutions. He was confident this would be fascinating and pleasurable.

The ship sensed the Federation ship change course and a few moments later drop out of warp some small distance away. It came in slowly, sensing beams playing over them and the surrounding space carefully, like a thennye emerging into the night and searching for predators.

The ship took the image and analyzed it, picking out the warp emitter arrays (strangely on the outside) and the swept-style of wing-like protrusions which they were suspended upon. It vaguely resembled and orith, a flier from their world known for gliding rather than flapping.

To this Federation ship Mestith knew they must be interested because the ship told them that they kept scanning over and over, seeming trying to find something. Many of their other contact species had done the same thing and it had been centuries before they found out why.

Nobody could tell if the ship had crew or if the ship was the alien contact itself.

Silently they all agreed that it was rude to exclude the Starfleet vessel from the knowledge and the ship opened a subspace micro-conduit, sending a radiowave pulsed in mathematical values. Similarly, the vessel's skin began to shift and change colors and patterns as its crew did when they communicated short-range. To the crew of the Surak, the huge floraform before them seemed to fluoresce as it shifted colors subtly. Patterns and splotches, spots and lines formed on its skin in what seemed to be something like a cross between a massive squid and an orchid opened a subspace channel.

It took a little time but the two intelligences of the vessels were able to find a method of communication before Mestith asked the ship to make visual contact.

Upon the screen of the Starship appeared eight variously colored, patterned and adorned naked humanoid males standing in the middle of what looked like a jungle clearing inside a well-lit cavern of some sort. The one closest to their point-of-view made a gesture with both of 'his' hands as if bringing something to his lips before speaking. He was green, mostly, with goldenrod spots over his scalp, the hollow of his throat and various symmetrical places on 'his' body.

He had no nipples or navel or recognizable genitals though there seemed to be a crease or seam that ran from groin to mid-abdomen. His skin also had a sheen to it, like a waxy coating, almost like the ring of a fruit or certain kinds of plants. Darker green and black spots seemed to form and fade on his body as he began to speak, his mouth forming sibilant whispering sounds that the computer managed to turn into Standard.

"Joyful meeting at our home-space Federation," he said gently, "we are Unity of Shehur. Expectation is fulfilled."

"Second movement in C Minor"

'Ancient Melody' Part 4

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik
Counselling Officer / Team Navigation Officer

Lieutenant Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu
CAG / Team Commander & Fighter Escort

Lieutenant JG Victor Krieghoff
Security Patrol / Mission Security

Lieutenant JG Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova
Intelligence Officer - Technical Operations / Mission Specialist

Ensign John C. Richardson
Ph.D. Diplomatic Officer / Mission Security

Ensign Lali Indrakshi (NPC - Oded)
Intelligence Officer / Mission Specialist

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

All in all, the trip through the minefield went remarkably well - nothing happened. The runabout and fighter had dropped from warp, rigged for stealth running, and quietly slipped through everything in their path to the cluster of rocks which contained the listening post. The briefing didn't do the view any justice. What had been displayed had been a paltry fraction of the collective mass, altogether more dangerous than any minefield could ever be due to sheer unpredictability. With a slow yet steady pace, this too was navigated, bringing both small craft into their predesignated positions.

Despite Victor's immutable aura, everyone was up front in the runabout at this time, Miramon and Victor pilot and co-pilot, Richardson and Indrakshi in the rear two stations with Valentina standing in the middle. The listening post was visible through the forward viewports, tumbling gently on all three axis. Every two minutes the exterior hatch came into view, protruding from the rock, and then slowly rotated away.

"Passive scans: is there any indication the Triad has been here?", demanded Velentina.

"No one's shot us down yet," Victor offered quietly. "That's usually a good sign of a lack of hostile presence." Behind him, someone gasped, and the security officer tilted his head slightly, like a predatory animal locating prey by swiveling an ear. "You disagree, Ensign?"

Ensign Indrakshi's nose almost touched the screens of her sensors station. She just activated the ultra-short range sensors, which did not increase the craft's reduced signature, and gave many more details than the longer-range passive sensors could provide. "Not good." She mumbled.

"What, specifically, is 'not good' at this time?" Victor inquired as he rechecked the runabout's weapons console. Considering how the Universe and its Creator felt about him, the possibilities ranged from 'I spilled my tea' to 'It's the Borg. Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die!'

"USR Sensors picked up two life forms within the station." Lali replied hastily. "Concentration of particles on the hatch also suggests that it was opened and closed recently. Very recently."

"Any specifics as to what type of life forms?" Victor asked. He doubted that they'd get much more than that, but there was always room for hope.

"No sir," She responded. The post was designed to deflect sensors, so she could not offer any more information.

"All right," he replied as he stood up. "No help for it then. Unless someone has a better idea, or a defensible objection, then I'll go and suit up and see who our uninvited guests are." Although he would have laughed at the idea a year ago, Victor was regretting not being able to bring his Hazard Team-issue combat suit with him. The suit's shields would have made the dangerous task of first-in door entry more survivable at the very least.

"I'm going with you," Valentina said. "Several of my features include EM resistances. Should we encounter decidedly hostile intentions I won't die immediately." She was wearing little more than a flat black skinsuit, perfect for everyday sneaking around and a comfortable addition when wearing an environmental suit.

"On one condition, Lieutenant," Victor met her eyes. "If there's a fight, then you leave it to me... and you leave period. Your job is not to get into fights, step in front of phaser bolts, or suffer injuries - that's my job. Agreed?"

Valentina nodded. She wouldn't argue the point because there was no winning. Sometimes, with the way some people treated her, she felt like she was a little girl again, being told what she could or could not do.

"Then give me five minutes to suit up and we'll go see who our uninvited visitors are." He started for the back of the runabout, paused and turned around to face the group. "While I'm at it," he said quietly, meeting each of the other's eyes in turn, "no one has permission to die. Do you all understand that?"

Val nodded, and then cracked a grin. "You don't have permission to die either," she said, and that was that. She then headed for one of the storage lockers in the starboard pod, and her own unique assortment of gadgets.

Miramon watched the conversation dispassionately, having brought the runabout to a complete stop, permitting everyone else to get ready for the station-based aspect of this particular targ chase. His job was to stay here and be prepared to get the craft out of danger if any Triad ships showed up, although he considered that rather unlikely. Sure, the Triad likely knew that pilots could possibly outmaneuver their minefield, but could they do so twice? Sufficed to say, he wasn't holding out any optimistic thoughts at this point. Being around Saul Bental had taught him to approach life with a somewhat cynical viewpoint. And if they were going to start having a bad day, it wouldn't happen until the worst possible time.

"Just remember that we're on borrowed time here, people. The sooner you get back, the sooner we can leave, and the better we'll all feel. Don't take any risks, though," he noted calmly. Cynical though he could be, he didn't want to have to include any deaths or serious injuries in his debriefing report.

"We're all living on borrowed time, sir," Victor pointed out as he re-emerged from the back of the runabout. "We take the loan out the moment that we're born, and pay interest on it every day until the principal balance comes due. And when that happens, well?" he shrugged, "then it happens. But it isn't happening to anyone * here* today ? I already told you that none of you have permission to die. Your creditors will just have to take it up with me if they don't like it."

"Let's slide the runabout to the parking lot or we'll be OUT of borrowed time." Lali murmured.

The runabout and the fighter sled gracefully onto the broad gap in one of the asteroids neighbouring to the station. The wide grotto faced the station constantly, obscuring the vessels inside from unwanted external attention.

Inside the runabout, Vic and Val stood on the transporter pad. With a nod from the security officer, the controls were manipulated, sending the pair across the void of space to reappear in the direct center of the compartment labeled "The Barracks," oriented back to back. The space was empty save for the folded out bunks across the wall in front of Valentina, upon which lay a pair of humanoid figures, both apparently asleep.

The cyborg didn't need her tricorder, or her eyes, to know that the male was wounded. "Krieghoff!" She called, kneeling next to the wounded man, using her eyes to scan his internals. "Bring Richardson and Indrakshi over, have them bring the advanced aid kit from the runabout. You and Richardson can deal with these two while Indrakshi and I get to work."

Krieghoff nodded and activated his comm. =/\= "Krieghoff to ship. Two prisoners requiring treatment." He eyed the two for a moment. "One male, one female. No apparent damage to site. Request a medical kit be sent over with Richardson and Indrakshi." He paused, and then added, "If one of you has advanced medical certification, you might want to come too ? I've got basic certification, but my skills lie more in causing injuries than repairing them."

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

Alone in his starfighter, Jarajen Quaaliu kept an eye on the away team while monitoring the small ship's long range sensors - both inspired immense frustration for the Nassari noble. Kyznetsova and her group were aboard the listening post, and judging from the common channel's chatter had encountered yet another eddy in the mission's 'smooth sailing'. The fighter's scanners weren't designed for scanning structures, and so he was not surprised that he could see nothing other than the faint signs of the away team. He was powerless to assist them, so Quaaliu maintained his silence.

The quiet gave him time to reflect on what his Vanguards will be doing when the Galaxy strikes the Hydran occupied DS5. The Nassari in him chaffed at not being able to be involved in the attack, but there was enough Starfleet in him now to recognize the 'big picture' when he was exposed to it. The change unsettled him, and he knew that no other of his race would feel the same given the same circumstances.

Long minutes of idleness has spawned many dozens of others when five faint green signals appeared on the extreme range of the fighters scanners. The targets were proceeding at a leisurely warp two bearing only slightly towards the listening post. The Nassar's dark eyes watched the movement, constant and unchanging for ten minutes, then cursed when the group 'zigged' in a course heading almost directly for their location. A hand flicked open a comm channel to Eve as three others manned the fighter's maneuvering jets to pilot the craft behind the array.

[Lieutenant.]

"What have you got Sir?" Val didn't pause in her work with Lali in the Core. They knew time was limited in quantity.

[This one has identified unknown targets heading the general area of our location], Jarajen said quietly and with calm. [It is unlikely they have discerned our craft at this range, and judging by their course and heading they have been here before - they do not seem directly interested in the array. At this range, this one cannot determine their nature other than they are not Starfleet... but given the proximity of the minefield a good guess can be made of their origin, yes?]

"Consensus would agree with you," Val returned after a short pause, conferring with Victor and the others. "We're going to need another hour to complete the reconfiguring, and that's being generous."

"Recommendations, Lieutenant?" Miramon chimed in over the comm, feeling somewhat like an idiot to be stuck sat in the pilot's seat of a runabout that wasn't going anywhere just yet. "I'd appreciate it if you guys hurried up. I don't want to be caught napping here when we those ships arrive. We've still got to get around the other side of that asteroid field."

The heavy doors to the core section hissed, swallowing Miramon's last words. Lali bolted through them, wild eyed, leaping in the station's low gravity field.

"We can't leave right now."

Valentina frowned. "What is it?"

Lali turned her head toward Valentina. "You have to listen to this transmission. We can't wait until it gets to the rear intelligence post and someone hears it. You just have to!"

"An All-Too-Brief Reunion"

Lieutenant Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Second Lieutenant Savannah McAlister

===

Nathan looked around as Marines, medics, and damn near everyone else that was capable of doing so hustled about, trying to get the wounded aboard the Marine hoppers for transport back to the Galaxy. He'd volunteered to fly one of the hoppers back, figuring the Marine that would have been piloting it would be of more use here on Deep Space Five. Besides, he hadn't flown anything in weeks, and he was pretty sure he was starting to suffer from withdrawal.

The hopper he would be flying was almost ready to go; most of the wounded it was going to transport were loaded, as well as all the non-combatants it could carry, including Thyago's friend Mickey. There were still a few patients who needed extra care before they were ready to board, which gave Nathan a couple of minutes before he had to leave.

He made his way through the crowd, being careful not to run into anyone, and wandered over to a Marine who stood hunched over a Hydran scanning device. She looked cuter than she probably should have in this situation, with her hair in pigtails and the tip of her tongue sticking out while she concentrated on the device.

"Nice to see they're keepin' you busy," Nathan joked as he walked up to her, greeting her with a smile.

Savvy smiled before looking up, a slight blush came to her face as she slowly lifted her head tilting it to the side. "They know I get into trouble if I'm not occupied sweetie....." Leaning over, she gently kissed his cheek in greeting before rubbing out the smudge of dark pink lipstick that stained his cheek. "How ya holding up?" Her dark eyes met his as she sucked on the straw that led to her large container of caffeine.

"Ah could be worse," Nathan replied quietly as he glanced at some of the injured people. He turned to face Savannah again, his smile returning. "It's good to see you, darlin'. Ah didn't know you were on the Galaxy now. And a Marine, too, at that," he added, glancing down at her combat uniform. His smile quickly morphed into a lopsided grin. "Y'know, Ah've always had a thing fer Marine girls."

Her eyes grew wide for a moment with playfulness before she spoke. "Now honey......you have a thing for anything that resembles a female...."

"Well, not just *anythin',*" Nathan retorted. "Ah do have standards, believe it or not."

"When are you going to settle?" McAlister laughed heartedly.

His grin returned, and he answered her with a wink. "Soon as Ah find a woman crazy enough to take me, Ah s'pose," he said. The pilot's smile vanished and he looked around once more, suddenly remembering where they were. He was extremely happy to see Savannah again, but this wasn't the time or place for their usual flirtations.

"Anyway, Ah had a spare moment and Ah thought Ah'd say hi," he added, giving Savannah a soft smile. He reached towards her and placed his hand on her arm. "And Ah wanted to thank you fer showin' up here and savin' mah ass."

"All in a day's work babe....besides.....I'll think of something for you to do to repay me....count on it." She winked before lifting her head to the call of her name.

"McAlister......that diagnostic is ready...."

Offering Nathan a sweet soft smile, she pointed towards her equipment. "I....gotta go..."

Cowboy nodded and looked back at his hopper. The medics were loading the last patient up the ramp; once they were strapped in, they'd be ready to take off. "Yeah, me too," he replied as he turned to face Savannah again. He stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her.

"You take care of yerself, y'hear me?" he told her.

She exhaled before nuzzling into his neck and inhaling his roughened scent. "You do the same...." McAlister whispered. "Please be careful."

"Hey, it's me," Cowboy joked.

He let go of Savannah and gave her one last smile. "Ah'll see you back on the Galaxy," he said before turning and hurrying back to the hopper.

Crossing her arms across her chest, her face gently grew saddened. The woman silently wished he would be indeed alright.

"Getting Them The F Outta Here!!"

By

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

He couldn't believe that he was arguing about his patients with another Medic. But that's how it goes, he reasoned later. It never fails: even in the face calamity, clinicians will always take the time to piss on each others shoes.

But now, with that taken care of, and most of the wounded who could be moved placed on the hoppers, Max opted to stay with those that couldn't be moved and were awaiting a trip via transporter. He asked for an extra phaser rifle in case of any...problems, and got one from a Marine only too happy to help. Max had lost Victory in the shuffle, but hoped that she would be on one of the flights out and back to the Galaxy.

He spied Fox a moment ago, and the two exchanged glances with enough venom to kill an elephant however words were not exchanged. For his own part, Fox was actually helping with the wounded, but Max noted that they were all civilians, none Starfleet. All the same...

"I'm sorry about earlier," Max offered when he approached the man. The civilian still sported bruises from when Max gave him his brand of love taps a la psychotic break. Max was only doing this to be the bigger man and admit that as far as he was concerned, things had gotten out of control back then.

Fox looked at Max with a vile look, finished his task of ensuring the litter with the civilian with burns all over was properly secured, then wordlessly picked up the litter and headed for the designated hopper.

*Well that was nice,* Max snorted mentally, and turned away...just in time to spy a large rodent heading towards him. He froze, not knowing what to do, and he couldn't identify the species this gigantic subway rat was.

The rat reached his position, stared at him, sniffed him, then cried out, "BAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!" Max almost laughed but kept his composure...barely. Finally, the Subway Rat moved on. As for Max, he checked the settings on his newly acquired phaser rifle, palmed the handle of his phaser rifle, then headed to the group of injured that were awaiting the trip via transporter. And he waited...

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