USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60703.11 - 60703.17

"the empress' palace"

by captain Trulan
aka Turan Trelar

The destination of their journey grew larger and larger. The building they approached was really worth to be called a palace. Surrounded by a wall like a Terran medival fortress three towers grew majestically out of the pure rocks giving the visitors who are lucky enough to be allowed to climb them a view on Ivors capitol city down in the valley the word 'overwhelming' is pure understatement.

Trulan reached for the knocker, a large heavy D-ring with a even so large ball in the middle of the bow. He liftet the knocker and rudely jammed it to the thick wooden door. A single "whooom" sounded through the palace, several times reflected by the palace's thick walls and the rock beyond.

Several seconds went by without anything happening inside the palace.

Trulan turned towards Templar. "Who do they think I am? I'm not here to wait till sundown.". The Quentite's voice sounded annoyed. Turan was sure the guards inside - if there were any could understand him through the closed doors.

Again, Trulan reached for the knocker the moment when footsteps approached the door. A large bar was shifted aside and the giant doors right hand wing was opened. As ancient those thick wooden doors looked it swung open without making any noise. Starfleet flagship doors were indeed deafening in comparison.

A man in a red servant uniform glanced at the three visitors surrounded by two larger guards wearing black body armors. Trulan nevertheless over-towered the guards by at least one head.

"I'm Trulan, captain of the Backbroken's Reward." the tall Quentite introduced himself. "This is my partner Mr. Templar ... and Utopia my personal servant. We are here to meet empress Agatha."

"Which issue?" asked the servant. If the universal translator was working well the questions was asked in a rather rude tone.

Trulan's facial expression changed. With all of his facial muscles he tried to look annoyed. For a few moments he thought to adapt to the servant's rude tone and react accordingly. He decided to intimidate by just answering calm and friendly.

"We are here to found a profitable business relationship between the empress and the brotherhood of Novela."

Obviously, the servant didn't knew the Novela university of technology's student union nor did he want to be blamed for being the one who averted a bargain so he stepped aside and gave way for the three traders.


"In Need of Miracles"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Acting Chief Engineer

Michael McDowell, Civilian Engineering Specialist

*****Main Engineering*****

"Can you do it or does it need fingers? No offense."

Nara waited the second for the Universal Translator to work and Hwii's clicks and chirps came to her in a way she understood.

"A panel needs to be opened and some things rearranged. We wouldn't have this problem if..."

Nara cut him off, "I'm sure you can write a letter to Starfleet Command about that later. I'll send someone over there."

As Nara turned to grab a random Ensign, she saw Michael come toward her.

"I just received word that the Transporters are back online. They've begun bringing back the Away Team members." Michael spoke quickly, barely able to contain his anxiety. Being this close to eight Borg Cubes was nerve wracking, especially with the ship in the state it was in now. "The Borg,...they've started assimilating everyone down there..."

Nara looked him square in the eye. For a split second it felt as if she were looking at Conzalas when he told her some horrible news. But just as quickly she shot to action, "Give the transporters as much power as we can without compromising the shields or weapons." As she shouted the command, she got to work herself.

"Lieutenant..." Michael moved somewhat closer to Nara. "They already get as much power as can be spared. The rest is necessary to sustain Shields, the Structural Integrity Field, Impulse Engines, and Life Support. After that blow of the Barzan weapon I don't think we can push the Warp core more then we already do."

She just stood there a moment. She was quickly learning that in at least one way, he was so much like Conzalas--which comforted her. The voice of reason she lacked when she was trying so hard. She called out to cancel her previous order. She finally looked at him after a few moments, "We've hit our limit. Is that what you're saying?" Her eyes held a challenge. She always challenged reason.

"Well, in terms of power output, no. But since we shut down the plasma flow to the Starboard Nacelle, all power now used is channeled through only one Power Transfer Conduit. It can only have so much." Michael quickly tapped in a few commands on a nearby Console. "Right now it's operating at 140 per cent of nominal."

Nara checked a few readings as she asked, "Any way we can get at least another PTC up?"

"In theory, yes. But it's not practical right now. Creating and installing another PTC for channeling the raw power from the Warp Core would take far too much time to realize." Nothing was said for a few moments when Michael thought about another possible solution. "An option could be to temporarily draw power away from the Impulse engines when it is most needed."

Nara looked at him and felt the weight of the decision.

Minutes passed until Michael spoke again. He almost whispered as he didn't want anyone overhearing him. "It's your call, Naranda. You can do it. Lieutenant Eshe entrusted you with command of the Engineering Department. To me, that says enough."

"If we take power from the Impulse Engines, that leaves us vulnerable." She checked a few things and sighed as she nodded. "But I believe it's a reasonable risk."

Michael nodded. "Agreed. It's a risk, but one we can take. Someone could get to the Bridge and Team up with the Operations Officer on duty to make it work."

Nara gave a small smile at him, "Are you volunteering?"

"Eh...if that's what you want." Michael said, slightly surprised by her witty comment. "But I thought it would be a good idea if we go back and have another look at our problem with Warp Propulsion."

Nara nodded and called one of the higher ranks over to ask them to contact the bridge. She then looked at him strangely, "Didn't you say we couldn't go to warp anymore now the Starboard nacelle is busted?"

"Yes, I did say that. And I still think that we can't said repair the Starboard Nacelle on our own out here." McDowell took a deep breath and took a moment before he continued. "But you know as well as I do that the situation has changed radically since. There are eight Borg Cubes out there. We need to be able to get out of here...fast. Impulse engines won't do."

Nara nodded, "Let's do what we can. Let's do more than we can."

"Looks like we don't have much choice than to come up with something. Maybe Savant can help us out here? She's more intimate with all of the ships system, in a literal sense."

Nara nodded, unable to appreciate the entendre as she followed his sentiment, "Savant, if you can hear me, we need your miracles." One might have called it a prayer. In a way it was.


~Cutting Open the Universe~
The Return of Cutter Kara'nin

"Part I: Passing through the Gates"

"Sir?" the young pilot asked, gently shaking his passenger awake. "Sir? We're here. You should probably wake up."

The passenger stirred, and upon noticing this, the young pilot returned to his cockpit seat. The passenger blinked, watching the pilot move away through morning's haze. Then, like a cascade, his brain functions returned and he awoke fully. He reached up and gently rubbed his eyes, then peered out the shuttle window. "Where is it," he asked, seeing only a curtain of black, studded with distant stars.

"To your right," the pilot responded quickly without glancing, but then decided he should check where exactly his passenger was looking. Turning in his seat, and observing that the man was staring out the appropriate porthole, he added, "Its out that window."

"I don't see anything."

"It's a black hole, sir," the pilot said matter-of-factly.

"I know, but -- I don't know. I thought I would be able to see something," the passenger said.

"They don't call them black for nothing," the pilot replied, and his passenger frowned. It was clear from his tone that the young man meant it as a joke, but instead, it sounded condescending.

"Don't black holes usually have things falling into them? Stellar matter, space dust? I thought the release of gravitational energy threw off considerable light."

"I couldn't speak to that, sir," the pilot said. "I'm not a scientist, and this is the only black hole I've ever been around, so its normal to me. Although, if you let your night vision adjust and you look real hard, you can see this very faint purple glow around the 'hole."

The ''hole.' The passenger smiled at the nickname. Black holes were awesome, in the true sense of the word. Not in the way that tube socks were awesome, but truly awe inspiring - overwhelming, paralyzing, coma-inducing, fear and wonderment, awe. They were an exhibition of the incredibly destructive and unstoppable power of God, and this young man had referred to it as if it were no more uncommon than a refrigerator. He sat silently for a moment, looking out into space (still unable to see where exactly the black hole sat), and he prayed. A short prayer, acknowledging and respecting God's infinite omnipotence. When he had finished, he asked another question. "Where is the station?"

"Oh, we're not going there," the pilot said. "We're going to the relay station. There, you'll unload and take another shuttle down to the actual station."

"The relay station?"

"Yeah. The science station is so close to the 'hole's event horizon that you need a special shuttle to withstand the intense gravity. So, we're going to a small relay station. It's nothing much. It's mostly a floating shuttle bay and communications relay. There's usually only one person manning it at any given time. The engineers down on the science station take rotating shifts. There'll be at least two people there today, though: the current station manager and who ever will be taking you down to the main station."

"Not you?"

"No," the pilot said. "I'm not qualified to fly down there."

"Is it dangerous?"

"The trip? No. Those shuttles are fully automated, you could fly yourself. It's just in case something unexpected happens or something, you need special training for them. It also allows the scientists on the base to pick and choose who goes down there. Not everyone can join them down in their ivory tower, you know?"

The passenger thought it was odd his pilot always referred to the black hole as beneath them, to the extent that he even modified the common saying: down in a tower. "Have you ever been down there?"

"Nope. But, its not much, apparently. I'm pretty friendly with the guys that run the relay station. According to them, its your standard science station. I mean, I'm sure its a giant Toys'R'Us if you're a physicist or whatever, but its all computers and stuff. And the black hole is just as black down there as it is up here. There's just more of it."

"Would you go if you could?"

"Yeah, I guess," the pilot said. "I mean, I've been ferrying people and supplies to it for so long now, it would be nice to see where it all goes. Plus, the anti-grav generators they have down there have to be pretty impressive. But, I don't really care. I'd rather go to Risa, you know?"

The passenger did not really approve of Risa, but he agreed nonetheless. "Does it upset you that you're not allowed to go there?"

"Am I a part of your agenda, too, sir?" the pilot asked, looking back from the cockpit with a knowing grin.

"No. I was just asking."

"Nah, I don't mind. The engineers on the relay station? They all say that most of the scientists down there are jerks. Too smart for the rest of us, you know? Especially the guy that's second in command or something. He's the worst, supposedly."

"Dr. Kara'nin?" the passenger asked, recalling the name from his interview list.

"I don't know, I guess. Anyways, I'm sure they wouldn't like me and I wouldn't like them. So, no, I don't really care if I go down there or not. What about you, are you excited?"

"To go sit on the surface of a black hole? Not particularly," the passenger replied. Such things were too powerful, too dangerous to trifle with in his opinion. An exhibition of God's power, they most definitely were, but they were also portions of the universe no one could enter. God had given his creations an infinite universe to play with, like the garden he had given Adam and Eve. But, like the tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, what ever lay inside the event horizon of black holes was forbidden, for reasons only the Creator knew. They could not partake, or else they would surely die. And yet, these scientists were here, floating on that horizon. Staring at the tree with hunger and lust, pressured and encouraged by the serpent of science.

"Assignments suck sometimes, huh?" the pilot smiled, and his passenger grunted and flicked his eyebrows in agreement.

They rode in the shuttle for another few moments before the pilot got on the comm line to announce their arrival. "Styx, this is Michael Sharon on the Black Ferry. Request permission to land."

"Sure thing, Mike. Door's openin' now," came the reply.

The passenger leaned over so he could get a better angle of the view through the front window. Ahead of them was indeed a very small station. All it really was was a large dish, with a jagged, multi-pronged antenna stabbing through it like some gruesome spear - the communications relay. Beneath the bowl of the dish was a large box, that extended and grew into a few small tubes in the back, wrapping around the antenna like the arms of a child around the neck of its mother. The side of the box lifted as they approached, revealing a small landing pad inside.

"Welcome to the Styx," the pilot said, as he brought the shuttle in, setting it down with only a slight jostle. Through his side window, the passenger could see the door begin to shut behind them. He rose from his seat, but then Michael said, "Give it a minute to repressurize. They don't have force fields."

He sat back down, surprised. One of the Federations premiere astrophysics labs and they didn't have force fields? They must have had to trim the budget somehow, he reasoned.

After a few moments, the baydoor had closed and repressurized and the pilot, Michael, gave the okay to disembark. He and his passenger exited the shuttle as two other men entered the bay from a far airlock. One stood tall, towering over his partner, and appeared to be top heavy, as he seemed to be leaning back, like a palm tree overburdened with an abundance of coconut. He was blonde, and clean shaven and friendly looking. The other was also tall, but appeared short, since he had a significant hunch, and was fairly rotund. He was darker, both in hair color and overall complexion, and had a longish unkempt beard jutting from his frowning chin.

"There's one at the door, at the gate to damnation," the hunched man said, "Is it thief, thug or whore? There's one at the door, and there's room for one more, till the end of Creation."

"Oh, nevermind him," the blonde said, "He says that to all the visitors."

"That's...very welcoming," the passenger replied.

"I'm Bertrand Crow, and this cranky bloat is Corbin Ravene. You must be the psychiatrist they sent to make sure we ain't gone stir-crazy," the blonde said, holding out his hand.

"Yes, that's me. I'm Dr. Virgil Maro," he said, shaking Bertrand's hand.

"Pleasure to meet 'cha. So, Doc, I have these dreams," he said quickly, "I dream of unicorns and killing my father. And when I wake up, I think about suicide. That's normal, right? I mean, everyone has those dreams?"

Virgil's eyes grew wide, and he stuttered trying to speak, awkward and a little frightened. When he saw Virgil's reaction, Bertrand burst out laughing, and Michael Sharon started to join in as well, catching onto the joke. "I was just joshin' ya doctor. Pullin' your leg."

"Ah," Virgil smiled, "Well, humor is the sign of a healthy mind."

"Oh, don't tell him that," the hunched man, Corbin, grumbled, "Or he'll never stop with the stupid jokes."

"I know you must be tired from your trip, doctor, but I'm afraid we're needed back at the main station," Bertrand said, "I'll be taking you down to the 'hole, but Corbin, here, has relay duty for the next four days, so if you're going to psychoanalyze him or whatever you do, you're gonna have to do it now, while I help Mike, here, transfer the supplies. It'll take us a little less than an hour. I know Corbin, here, needs a lot of help, but will that be enough time?"

"Well, I suppose it will have to be," Virgil said, and Corbin grumbled again. He did not seem particularly thrilled at being analyzed.

"Okay then. I'll see you in an hour then, Doc," Bertrand smiled. "Good luck there, Corbin."

Bertrand and Michael walked away towards the shuttle that Virgil came here in to unload the supplies that were stored in the back cargo hold. Virgil looked down at the hunched Corbin, who gestured with his head that he should follow him. "This way, Dr. Maro," Corbin said, "Your dissection lab awaits."


"Lifeboat"

Lt. Ella Grey
Nyoko Yuuri (NPC, Oded)
Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce
Ens. Lela Beral

Also starring Mahshev Nayad, Barzan master of media

***

Barzan

Mahshev Nayad helped the Starfleet officers who came into the airlock adjust the breathing equipment and strap themselves to their seats. Some of them seemed thankful; the others suspicious. The first female to come in actually carried a sword when she came in. She was now following him, as though she was responsible to ensure that he won't double cross the other officers.

Mahshev Nayad of course let her examine his Orbital, and ensure that there was nothing bogus on board. She was still carrying a tricorder in her hand, but glanced less frequently at it. Good. He needed the passengers' gratefulness, and basic trust - or at least being at ease - was the first step down that road.

In the corner of his eye, he could see that the pilot was worried. She made a sign with her hand, signaling to him that they were getting close to the maximum weight limit. He didn't need the sign, though - the small shuttle was extremely crowded, and the stench of the aliens began to overcome the air recycling systems.

"All right. Take off."

As soon as he issued the order, one of the aliens put their paw on his shoulder. He swiveled sharply, to come face to face with the sword woman.

"Matte. Wait." Nyoko Yuuri pointed at her tricorder. "There's still someone out there. Please bring her on board."

***

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Ella pronounced the minute she set sight on the woman. "Seriously, I might just have to name any future children after you."

"Nyoko Grey? Kawaii!" Nyoko smiled broadly, her eye turning to twin happy crescents."

Ella smiled and then just as suddenly her smile fell flat. "I have a casualty to bring onboard. Ordellan didn't make it."

"Ordellan?" Nyoko wasn't familiar with the name.

"He's ... was another Vanguard," The pilot told her. "He was injured in the dogfight and crashlanding on Barzan didn't do him any favors."

"I'm sorry to hear. But--"

But a sentence such as 'It's better that way that being assimilated by the Borg' was simply something Nyoko couldn't bring out of her mouth.

Instead, she glared ominously at Mahshev Nayad. "You're a pilot, and an engineer." She said quietly. "Anything seems unusual to you here? I hope we didn't just get ourselves into an elaborate trap."

"Not that I'm aware of," Ella said. "Can we, uh, get out of here?"

As soon as he had stepped aboard the small shuttle, Miquelan had slumped into one of the empty chairs. The pain in his shoulder was increasing, and was spreading to the rest of his arm, which to this point had been thankfully numb. What was worse, his hand wouldn't stop bleeding, and the bandages were coming from his own uniform. Hopefully they would reach the Galaxy before he ran out of clothing.

When the Xenonian saw the Vangaurds come in, one okay, and the other...well, not, he began to understand better the nature of war. It was a lesson he had been preparing for since his days at the Xenonian Military Academy, but the experience of all this was far greater than the textbooks and holographic lessons. He couldn't even muster up the strength to say, "I'm sorry."

Ella eased herself carefully into a chair. Her body was starting to ache, perhaps a delayed reaction to the crash. Stress certainly. Guilt definitely. She couldn't look back to where they had placed Ordellan's body.

"Um, Lieutenant Grey." Nyoko pulled Ella's sleeve, "I think your wish is about to come true. The head Barzan guy wants us to strap ourselves for take off."

"That's good to hear," She replied.

* * * * *

"Blasphemy!"

The Orbital just finished negotiating the thick Barzan stratosphere when Mahshev Nayad's wife noticed Thing. It was shyly hovering over Nyoko's shoulder. A tiny pinkish tounge could be seen inside its widely open mouth. Nyoko thought that it was cute.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Nayad, I do not understand..."

"Don't go near it! You have quite a nerve, forcing it into a shuttle." Nayad's wife struggled with her belt, trying to release herself. "We must find a preacher and--"

"Vorili, silence!"

The female Barzan turned her head sharply toward her husband. Mahshev Nayad often regretted taking a religious wife. The religious ones were often the best for growing children and maintaining the house chores, though, so he overlooked the disadvantages.

Now, however, was not the time for zealous rage.

"Do you realize, Vorili, that thanks to this brave officer here, a member of THE species was saved? All those who remained on the planet died. Don't you--"

Vorili covered her face with her hands and began to sniff loudly. Nyoko had to assume that this was how Barzans cried or expressed sadness. "I'm sorry if I accidentally hurt your faith..."

"It's all right. The faith did not save us from assimilation." Nayad said bitterly. "So much for it now. But take good care of it; it's probably the last of his kind, as we don't dare to take them off-world."

Nayad returned to watch the flight panels, and Nyoko glanced at the Thing with newly acquired appreciation.

* * * * *

*"Barzan orbital 'Mifsa'a' to the USS Galaxy; We're carrying on board Starfleet officers, some of them injured. Please allow us to dock."*

A voice of young woman responded.

"Acknowledged. You may dock in shuttle bay 2. Do you need emergency transport to sickbay for the injured? Or medical team to the bay would be sufficient?"

"We have an injured officer on board. I don't know if emergency beam up is required." Mahshev Nayad turned around to look at Nyoko and Miquelan.

Miquelan, sensing that they were talking about him, didn't even open his eyes or turn his head. "Just get me to sicbay as soon as possible. I just need a little patching. Something in your atmosphere is preventing my blood from clotting as well, so maybe a medic in the bay would be nice."

"She's just letting us in?" Nyoko whispered with a scowl. "What if the ship is wired? It can just explode in the middle of the shuttle bay..."

A while later the OPS Officer talked again.

"OK, a medical team will be awaiting you in the bay."

Nyoko was quite surprised at how easy it went for Nayad. Perhaps, she speculated, M'Kantu instructed the operations crew to allow any refugees to board the Galaxy before it warps out of Barzan. It would fit the merciful Captain, she mused. It's the least they could do for the Barzan race, now all but extinct after THEY failed to rescue the drone in time.

The doors to shuttle bay two parted open, letting the last Barzan Orbital in.


"Hell's Medicine"

Lieutenant jg Robert Mathieson, MD
Grand Marshal Agatha Marcel
Doctor Laaru

Grand Marshal's Palace, Ivor Prime
==========================

"Th' seizure's connected to th'… neurogenerative disorder, Th' neurogenerative disorder's connected to th'… isolated hemiballismus, Th' hemiballismus' connected to th'… local neoplasm recurrence, Now 'ear th' word of th' Lord!"

Singing to himself, Robert Mathieson figured that as far as slavery went his wasn't so bad of a job - especially in that pushing the limits of what he could get away with hadn't merited any discipline. Truth be told, Kimberly Burton on the Galaxy was a far less tolerant overseer than his current lords and masters.

On his first day, he was shown the medical ward that was to be his new lot in life. It wasn't Galaxy's sickbay, but it wasn't some sand-louse infested triage site either. He sat down on a chair before a monitor and started to read the medical files, pathology reports, biochemical and neurological makeup of his Ivorian overlords, pausing only to drink water, eat, relieve himself, and sleep.

The Grand Marshal was very pleased with his work ethic, knowing the surgeon would be true to his profession. Her current physician however, one Doctor Laaru, was less than thrilled with the latest addition to his staff. The old human didn't seem to grasp the reality of his situation. Rather than act as a slave, Mathieson issued commands like he was the master. On the second day, after the Starfleet medical officer had read a day's worth of pathology and recent cases, his attitude towards Laaru had degenerated completely.

"Filthy Assistant! Where's that frikkin' paraneoplastic phenomenon case study?"

"Filthy Assistant! Bring me a neuromyotonia plate sample, an' some kind o' sandwich that doesn't taste like complete shyte!"

"Filthy Assistant! More water!"

"Filthy Assistant! 'Ave you got membranous glomerulonephritis? Move yer arse!"

Laaru had over fifteen years experience as a healer, and under no circumstances was he going to take this abuse from a slave. To her credit, the Grand Marshal nodded in agreement and sought to discipline the human.

That's when things got ugly.

When Agatha had imperially finished dressing the human down with cold words of reproach, the old man simply smiled and brought up the last dozen of Laaru's recent diagnoses. Mathieson proceeded to mercilessly and meticulously shred each end every one of the Ivorian doctor's results, pointing out some sloppy assumptions, erroneous observations, and incidents where the younger physician had simply got lucky despite practicing some poor medicine.

It wasn't all bad, the human concluded - Laaru had treated the hemorrhoids of one of the Grand Marshal' advisors competently enough. Perhaps it was Laaru's medical destiny to work exclusively with assholes.

Agatha Marcel was less than impressed with the tone of the human doctor's words, but recognized medical facts when she heard them. Icily, she pointed at Mathieson and patricianly stated a single word: "Doctor". The same thin finger was then pointed at Laaru: "Assistant". Thin lipped, she then glided gracefully from the medical ward and the assembled and stunned medical staff.

Mathieson rose, and broke the silence by cracking the knuckles of his fingers. "Right-o. Let's get t' business then. Filthy Assistant! Let's start be takin' a look at the… slaves I jus' arrived with an' make sure we're all healthy an' disease free - lookin' after yer investments like. An' fer Chrisssake shake a frikkin' leg, will yer? We've got work t'do, boy!"

A pale Doctor Laaru was uncertain if he should obey, resign, or vomit on the spot.


off: takes place after 'Lifeboat'

***

Your halo's slippin' down to choke you now ...

***

"The Noose/Seer" - Epilogue

Lt. Ella Grey J. Andrus Suder, apc

***

Library
USS Galaxy

He "heard" her before he actually heard the Library doors glide open.

Andy scanned for any lingering insomniacs and then went to greet her, locking the door after she entered and keying in the "we're closed" lock that Sam had set up for off hours. He hadn't played it yet but had been told that it was fairly insulting to the patrons.

He turned back to her and cocked his head slightly. Her emotions were alive and almost crackling in the air, her thoughts straining against whatever blocks she had once put into place. By comparison she looked small and still, a pale mourner and repentant sinner all wrapped into one.

The Betazoid smiled faintly. "It's okay, Ella. It's not the first time I've been used as a confessional booth."

Her blue eyes met his, probably the first time she had willingly looked into a Betazoid eyes in years, he figured. As usual, it took Andy a few minutes to fully adjust to a new mind - stray thoughts only really gave glimpses - and he frowned as her emotions washed over him.

"I've seen worse," He replied to her unsaid thought. In all honestly, Andrus couldn't really tell what he was seeing. Thoughts were flying by at warp speed; apparently Ella was trying to get through this at warp 10.

Andy gently held her face and wiped back the stray tears with his thumb. "Think slower, Ella."

The pilot took a deep breath and nodded.

He tilted his head slightly. Listened.

"But you didn't kill Ordellan," The Betazoid said. "That is the difference between you and a monster."

Her mental reply had him sighing. He decided that her Daro was right. There was nothing that he could say that would make her think that she wasn't damned.

"What happened to you on Copernicus, what you did ... I doubt you'll find many people who wouldn't understand why. What you thought about doing ... well that's where knowing the difference between right and wrong comes in. Thinking about how your life would be if someone was dead is not the same as killing them.

"But one day," Andy said slowly as he pulled his hands back. "You're going to pull the trigger without thinking. Just feeling. Just reacting. And most likely in front of a shitload of witnesses. And that will be the beginning of the end for you, Ella."

"I know," She whispered.

"They say that's half the battle," He commented lightly. "You should get some rest."

Ella nodded. "Okay."

Andy smiled. "You should come by tomorrow. I have some new books in."

She didn't smile but he sensed a flicker of amusement. "Thank you, Mr. Suder."

"Anytime, Ella."

He watched her leave knowing full well that after today she would try to avoid him like he had the plague. Andy didn't mind; it was better to be ignored by Ella Grey than be seen as a threat.

Curious, Andrus pushed the button for the door. Samantha Widdlestein's voice clearly told the patrons that the library was closed.

Hmmmm ....

He pushed it again.

"Well aren't we ambitious," Sam's voice snarked. "Maybe you should try sniffing daisies at the arboretum first before working up to books, you moron. Sign says closed. Oh wait, you probably don't know what an arboretum is anyway. We have a nice big book with pictures in it to explain it but, so sad for you, it's inside. And we're closed. I bet you can't even spell arboretum ..."


"Captured! Part 2"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: Detention Centre, somewhere on Barzan

James didn't have much of a lucid memory about being dragged through the halls to his potential jail cell. There were a lot of lights, amplified by his dilated pupils thanks in part to the drugs he was administered during his interrogation. There was a lot of noise, thrumming against his ear like tidal waves, amplified, distorted, nothing like reality. That too was the drugs. He could barely move, his sweat caking his forehead like a placenta. That too was the drugs.

The deep, knawing pit of fear in the bottom of his bowels thanks to meeting his cellmate?

It was all James.

There was fear and panic. His legs, when they did decide to obey him, kicked and thrashed blindly at the guards, whom took it with a gruff kind of patience one got when knowing they were in control. He screamed, coming out as muffled tremors of incoherency over the hood. The lights... they were so bright... how could he see them over the hood?

"In you go, tough guy." The guards patted him on the back, released his restraints, removed his cloth hood. and shoved James forward.

The shove sent the security chief sprawling on cold cement. Coughing and sputtering, he wanted to holler his indignance at the guards, and to the best of his limbs degenerated abilities he scrabbled to lunge at the door.

It closed, a forboding metallic clank of a deadbolt as the last remaining sliver of painful light was slid close on the peephole.

The drugs were, at that point, starting to wear off. James shook his groggy head, feeling it rattle and bounce. The effects of the drugs were starting to flush out of him, giving him a hung over sensation to add to his general discomforts and mental anguish. He still remembered the shame of having his borg fears dragged out in the open, the loonieness as he escaped into his own madness to make the interrogation that much harder for his enemy.

He had to chuckle. This had to be a first time when a listener didn't want to listen anymore.

It was just that thanks to James annoyance, he was sentenced to share a cell with the drone, and his fear rose up again like bile in his throat.

His fear was confirmed when he heard, in the black, the movement of artificial limbs, their detatched whirring an anathema of natural order. Then there was the tracker, a stab of bright red light, straight as a phaser beam, that swept across the room, beaded across James' forehead, and continued to track. The tromp of magnetic boots, heavy with the weight of duranium armour that was bonded to the molecular level to the drone's own skin, and the wan glow of the ocular implant, a bulging large piece that completely replaced the right eye with a device more sophisticated than the best Federation personal sensor devices.

It was emerging from the swampy darkness without passion, but lots of purpose.

Its purpose was him.

The drone would sweep over him, assess the target, and run it through with the collective. It would match him up as a human, male, in his thirties, and it would identify him as a Federation Special Forces officer by the cut of his Hazard Team suit, and read him as a commander by his pips. It would see him as a potential threat or a target of opportunity. Not one to be taken lightly or ignored.

Then it would be either assimilation or negotiation.

James never knew the Borg to ever negotiate.

He was weaponless. What was he supposed to do against a Borg drone? As a young ensign he was brazen enough to suggest to his senior staff during his second encounter to carry knives, since Borg didn't have much in the way of protection against hard ammo sidearms and blades against their biological components. Problem was he had no knife, no gun, nothing but his hands and feet for weapons. There was a chance he could pry at the creature's wires and cables. That did the trick when all else failed, but to go into hand to hand combat with a drone, one with myromyr cabling replacing key muscle ligaments for enhanced strength and a nanoinjector that could strike faster than a pulse and deliver assimilation nanites to the heart even faster, he knew he stood no chance.

The creature's neck muscles quivered and clicked, its eyepiece aimed at James. He felt his bowels clench, his head paralyze, his heart turn cold. It was the same fear he felt so many years ago, and it prevented him from acting.

The question still ran though his head, ~"What do I do?"~, and he took a kneeling step back from the drone, and it returned one forward, its servos like a hundred motors, its footsteps shaking mountains.

And slowly, his heart started to beat. Then faster, faster, a lot faster. His whole body tensed up, his fist and teeth clenched, coiled and ready to lunge.

~"My god... i'm scared."~ He resolved to reconcile, ~"I'm so damned scared of that damn thing and damned scared of fucking up again and doing nothing. I won't let it take me. I won't! It'll have to kill me, and i'll kill it first if I have to! Fuck the mission... it'll die if it moves on me. I'll kill it... i'll kill it... come on! Make a move! I dare you to fucking assimilate me! You won't get your way with me like last time! Not again! Never again! You're going to fucking die!"~

His voice came out, sticky from a dry tongue and raspy from a parched throat, "Don't come a fucking step closer. I'll kill you if I have to."

It made a dispassionate pass with the eyepiece, James' last bit of bravado drained as it looked witheringly at him. It emerged more out of the darkness, James didn't move, the drone making itself known to him out of the darkness.

The drone still held the female silouette of its former individual, but wrapped in a beetle black exoskeleton of duranium armour, polished and rough at the same time as tubules and cables ran up and down its system like snakes. Its grayed skin was slightly dessicated, its arteries and veins blackened with nanite infected blood until it ran a dark ichor. Flesh scabbed and scarred over implants, and its remaining eye was a molten silver gray, lifeless and dead. It made a mockery of her feminimity, her past life being once generous in beauty but now dead like everything else on her, a mottled ghoul of a cyborg.

Panting, James said, "Three of Five, I presume."

Disdainfully, the entire collective as interpreted through the single drone, said as a unified voice, "You presume correctly."

The mission. James had to think about the mission, Three of Five was the mission. It was something that distracted from his fear of the drone, keeping him focuses on the task at hand. In the prison cell, he wasn't meeting his nightmare, but his mission.

"So... you're my nightmare." Corgan swallowed, "Have they thrown me in here for you to assimilate me? I won't let you have me, you know."

It looked down on him. Not it, the entire collective. It was daunting to think she was a mouthpiece for an entire civilization that wanted him as one of their own, but so far it did not want to assimilate him. James could thank it for that miracle later.

"All will become one with the Borg." Three of Five responded, "But you... you were Cadet Second Class James Lionel Corgan, USS Thunderchild, during the second assimilation attempt on the United Federation of Planets, and you were Ensign James Lionel Corgan, Security officer of the USS Galaxy, responsible for the silencing of many voices in the Collective. You are now a Commander... this information will be updated with the Collective. As for your assimilation, this environment is less than ideal."

"Not to mention... I'm your rescue team." James said.

"Irrelevant." Three of Five spoke, "You are an individual, with other individuals. Your capture means your team of individuals have failed. The Collective will bring me back. The Collective will succeed where you flawed individuals have failed. Maybe then when we assimilate this planet for its transgressions against us will we consider your fate... as a messenger, or as one with the Borg."

"No you fucking don't, girl." James warned with a pointed finger, "Because I don't know about you, but I don't see any drones coming in here to rescue you. You are just one drone. The Borg have plenty. They wouldn't give a fuck about you if you were perfection incarnate!"

"Your assumption is flawed."

"So what if it is? Even your vaunted Collective can't predict the future. Who knows what will happen until then. Maybe our captors will see you as a liability and kill you. Maybe my people will come here to rescue me first. What then, bitch? What then? Want to risk it all on your Collective? You want me as a fucking drone? Do you want to take any chances?"

"The Collective will retrieve me."

James had to reveal his secret, "I can get you out right now. Still want to save me for assimilation later? Or do you want to hear what I can do for you?"

The drone paused, as if in serious thought, made more painful by the fact that it was James' life it was pondering to show mercy upon. "This unit will hear you out."

James breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't keep his eye off the drone. Years of fear was hard to let go, so too was distrust. "Good." He said, dropping to a whisper until he was barely audible, "They probably have guards, so I'll have to be quiet. Shouldn't be a problem for your Borg hearing, so listen well. I will get you out right now... with the rest of my Hazards in the area, and we'll just walk out of this facility and back to the Federation."

He added the dramatic effect of giving Three of Five a stupifying grin and a clownish chuckle. To his astonishment, the drone flinched, momentary and subtle with a step back and a look from her one good eye that was inquisitive, but it was there.

That look, to his realization, was exciting, liberating.

"The Collective's assessment of you has not changed since their second encounter with you." She said, "You are mentally troubled. We would offer you assimilation if your mental condition would not contaminate perfection."

~"Wait.... did she just... crack a joke? And did I just freak her out?"~ It was a thought that clicked on the proverbial lightbulb. Staring down the Borg, not with fear but with a sadistic glee and no fear whatsoever, bargaining with the Collective without caring about his well being, the armour the Borg forced him to put on years ago that protected him against the scars of the Dominion War, it was all for that moment, to stare down the collective and laugh.

Laugh he did, and he enjoyed it, feeling free.

"What is the purpose of your nonsensical humour?" Three of Five demanded.

James finished laughing, and said between fits of giggles, "All these years I thought you Borg were some all powerful force I couldn't stop or fight. Now I'm unarmed, and all you can do is stand there and look STUPID while I see that you people are scared of me, scared of US Federations! Hah! Staring you down did more than all the drones I killed, and you know it! No wonder we kick your asses every time you drop into the Sol System, because we Federations are stupid, optimistic and unwilling to let overwhelming evil like you people tell us otherwise, just like I told you now! So... are we going to deal, or not?"

"Chaotic...."

"I'm your only way out..."

"Foolish..."

"Come on, say it. Say we, The Collective, needs MY HELP!"

"You are one among many! You are weak!"

"And you need one little weak me to get out and you know it! Admit it, and we can go right now!"

"Very well!" Three of Five snapped as one voice, "We will comply. The Collective needs your individual efforts right now. What is it you want to do?"

"THERE!" James bellowed to Three of Five, slapping her armoured shoulderplate with his hand, "And with that... I set you free from this cell, and I don't care who the fuck hears me. Thank you dollface, you've been a real good sport, but i'm afraid i'm spoken for. So lets get on with our convenient little arrangement as I pull out a little bit of technological magic and whisk us away...."

He held onto the drone's shoulderplate, his hand wanting to recoil and stick itself into a plasma duct for a week of antimatter cleansing. It was a horrid thing, lacking warmth, and his loony routing was the only thing protecting him from screaming out. His hands probed for his communicator badge, but it was gone. The interrogators left him with his Hazard Suit, but were at least smart enough to remove the badge. He felt around at the chest, and pressed a thumb against a trigger. LED's lit up under the fabric, rotating as each additional one lit up in a circle.

"...and before you know it, we'll be back at Starfleet Central playing chess with Admiral Price before you know it. Do try to keep in contact with me, I don't even know if this will work properly since it is only designed for one, but the emergency transporter buffer in the fabric ought to bring the team back together. Hold on!"

Together, the drone and the security officer were awash in energy, their matter dissipated into frequencies.

His last sentient thoughts before they too were converted to energy was, "Thank god. It actually didn't kill me."

He didn't know whether it referred to the transporter, or the drone.

Like he cared. Today was a major coup.


"The F**king Great Escape"

A Hazard Team subplot in a bunch of parts.

The transporter beam swept the bodies of Corgan and Three of Five away, the cramped cell of the detention centre imposed with the scenery of a locker room. James body became more corporeal, his hand feeling the clammy tingle of Three of Five's arm as he held onto her to piggyback the Borg on his own transporter signal. When their bodies were rematerialized fully, he recoiled in abject horror from the drone.

He was in an alliance with his enemy trying an escape plan that was more than likely going to get him killed, but he was relieved to be out of his cell. He put more distance away from himself and the drone than he could in his former living space.

T'lan and Marsh materialized in the locker room to see Corgan and the drone together. Marsh's first reaction was to let go of T'lan and slink back to keep his distance, but T'lan in her cool Vulcan reserve just raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"It's ok." Corgan dismissed their caution, "She is with us for the time being."

Three of Five forcefully commanded her words, "Our objectives coincide. We must escape together."

"...and die you, frrarnth!" Another transporter sparkle shimmered and deposited an angry Angelienia in the room, still in the act of spitting at someone - which led to the unfortunate result of a trail of spittle dripping down James' uniform and a sudden change in expression on her face. "Oh no! Ummm... I didn't mean to... I mean I did, but not at you... Oh crap." Her face turned red.

Smoothly, James wiped the spittle off of his uniform. "You know, if you aimed a little to the left, you could have hit the drone." Corgan said, drolly.

Angelienia darted a glance at the drone standing next to the Commander. Did he mean that he'd rather she spat on the drone? Could she spit on something that scared her by its mere existence as much as the done did? She shuddered. No, no she couldn't. The obscene melding of metal and flesh was... wrong. Her mouth was dry; her hands shaking... it dawned on her suddenly that this must be something like what other people felt when they were around Victor. "I..." she started to respond, hoping that she wasn't really going to be asked to do that.

"Forget it." James seethed, "I was cooped with the drone for a few hours. We got her. Lets gift wrap her and bring her back home before I use her tin booty as a steel drum."

"An impossibility." Three of Four cut in, "You are no match for a Borg drone."

"Shut up or take the transwarp conduit to the planet F**koff." Corgan said, his point further illustrated with a flashed middle finger.

"Sir! You are being highly illogical! STOP!" T'lan broke off from Marsh. Her sudden singular word verbal assault was made ever more effective by the fact that she was not only loyal to the security chief, but an unemotional Vulcan, which lent whatever little that seeped through to be doubly effective.

It was a point that didn't escape James. He had reasons to fear the Borg. There was no way he would raise the ire of his best assistant.

"Sorry. I'm a little on edge." He sheepishly said.

"That's for sure." Marsh commented, "On edge enough to find a way out of here?"

What was there to know? James had just escaped, but left not much thought to his plan. He was eager to get out of a cell and pace himself a meter or five hundred away from his cellmate, the one Borg drone by the name of Three of Five. James, so intent on driving space between himself and his worse nightmare, didn't make a plan to get out of wherever they were.

"I'm curious as to that myself. Any ideas?"

Marsh groaned painfully. T'lan's extra-heroic vision of James as the grand leader, as created in her own imagination, was heard to be audibly shattering from a parsec away.

Exasperated, James explained, "What, you want me to escape with an elastic band and a paperclip? People... I know I made a f**king butchery of this op, but it doesn't mean I can instantly redeem myself with a master plan! We don't even know where... the f**k... we are!"

Three of Nine stepped in with a whir of servos. "I know our location. We are in spatial co-ordinates 259.852, the planet Barzan. We are in a detention centre off the coast of their central continent. It is an isolated location, and without breathing apparatus there is no escape. We must choose our plan wisely."

The drone's sudden analysis took Corgan off balance. "What? How... just how"!"

She answered matter-of-factly, "While you were using your primitive verbal communication, this unit had transwarp communications with The Collective. This unit is always in contact with The Collective, a single mind augmented by the greater whole. We are much more capable of formulating escape plans than three individual minds."

"Oh yeah, smart girl?" James snapped at the drone, a finger wagging an inch from her face. He was taking offense at the drone's arrogance, and he didn't care how silly it looked. It was a convenient excuse to vent and lord over some superiority. "You plan on taking on a whole detention centre on your own? One individual drone against an army, without the help of her collective's physical bodies there to suck up the disruptor fire? Don't be stupid, you need us. We need you. We work together, and we can all part ways for all I care. What will it be?"

The Collective had to give pause to think. "We will comply."

"Thank you!" James exhaled, "Now we're in an isolated location, the air is toxic, we're surrounded by hostiles and we need a way out. And from my guess by the way our pilot was cursing... you were being interrogated, right?"

That, at least, was something that Angelienia could talk about without her voice quavering. "Yes, sir; two men, both with brown hair, one of them about your size and one a little taller. They were reluctant to enter the cell with me at first and tried asking questions about our mission parameters, the rest of the team, and extraction methods through the barrier. When I suggested that the only extraction that they needed to worry about was each others... equipment... from their respective... posteriors... they became angry and deactivated the door-field. They were entering the room when you yanked me out." The obvious intent the men had entered with was unnecessary to discuss - they'd never get the chance to do those things to her now that she was out of that small cell.

"Ok, so that means we don't have much time, and they already know we're out and about. We need to get a message out so we can be freed, or at least the Galaxy knows our exact location once the locals do herd us back in, and if we can actually get out of this facility and hide, that would be a bonus that will make things harder for our captors. So we need a communications device. I also saw some El Aurians when they had their turn with me, so I know they have some EVA suits. Some suits to cope with the environment would be a plus. How do we go about getting them?"

"As a drone, this unit contains all apparatus for full environmental sustainment. We are superior. We do not need an EVA suit." Three of Four pointed out.

"Good for you, miss. Ideas for the rest of us imperfects?"

"Take it away from the people here?" Angelienia suggested, feeling foolish. She looked around. "This is an equipment storage area - why don't we see what's stored here? Considering how little we have, there ought to be something that we can use." She stepped over to one wall of lockers and opened the first door to start looking.

"Alright! Good!" James clapped his hands impishly, "Now, we need to get to the outside world. What does this place have for communications equipment?"

"We may be of assistance to that. Direct your attention to the nearby console and I will show you." Three of Five announced.

With purpose, she strode to the console. James signalled for T'lan and Marsh to gather EVA suits hanging in the lockers, and joined Angelienia and the drone at the console. He watched with sickening facination as her tubules ejected out of her forearm, snaking like metal laces. They coiled, then struck at the console, burning neat, smokeless holes through its protective platings.

Instantly, the screen flashed multiple readouts, at a speed James found hard to follow. The drone, showing no indication it was having trouble at the pace of information transfer, stopped the browsing at a layout of the building.

It did appear to be some sort of incarceration building, as it showed a neat arrangement of detainment centres clustered around a main monitoring complex. The map flashed from storey to storey, then rotated in a horizontal layout.

What James found most interesting was the facilities were well provided for, even though it was a prison of some sorts. The array dish, though of an older design, was mounted at the main central complex, on a rotating mount that was off centre, but aimed towards the stratosphere, and it was located to a very large computer room.

Secondly was the shuttlebay. It was rather large for a prison, though James had to admit to himself that he was no authority on the issue. Still, did one need a transportation hub the size of a starship for a prison of this size?

Then there was the main complex. Additions, so many additions in the past months, as highlighted in orange. The computer core was expanded, and so too was the command centre... by an additional three storeys.

"That's quite a dish." James whistled, "Even with their primitive technology, you think that will reach the Galaxy?"

Three of Five Answered, "I have assessed their technology. It is inferior... but suitable. There are some components that can be identified as Federation, but the rest is of local origin. It can contact your ship."

"Good... lets find out a way to get in there."

"We could try this," Angelienia offered, holding up a small device she'd found in a locker. "I think it's a maintenance pass to the doors. Looks like the ones that we use for secured areas on Galaxy, anyway. Maybe they haven't locked the maintenance crews out during a security alert?"

James whistled, "Beautiful. What else do we have?"

T'lan and Marsh returned with gear. It was their own gear, which James had to thank god up high for finally giving him a lucky break. He procured his phaser pistol, but left the sniper phaser with all but its scope. "Pack light. This stuff will only weigh us down. Three of Five... any life signs around here?"

"Inconclusive." She stated directly, "There are no bio sensors in this facility."

"Tricorder?"

T'lan activated hers, sweeping the area, "Inconclusive. Interference from the dish is ruining our reception."

"Great... primitive and powerful. Alright... keep your eyes open. Communicate only in sign language. That communications area will be well protected. Go in, call the ship, shoot the sh*t out of everything, and we'll be out in time for tea. Ready? BREAK!"

*****

Three of Five's processes were separate and unheard by the Federation rescue mission. She was in communications with the collective, and what was going on was strange.

=/\="Situational Assessment Complete."=/\= The Three of Five unit transmitted, via her transwarp communications node.

=/\="Assessment?"=/\= The collective voices of The Borg asked in haunting unison.

The single unit responded, =/\="Situation assessed as major threat to the Collective. The spacial anomaly known as the Barzan Wormhole is about to be collapsed on the assimilation fleet."=/\=

=/\="The threat must be nullified."=/\=

Three of Five responded, =/\="Action is being taken. I am using the Federation rescue team to access the Barzan weapon. The technology and facility will be assimilated in the communications centre. The fleet will arrive unhindered. Assimilation of the planet will continue."=/\=

=/\="Resistance is futile."=/\=

=/\="Resistance is futile. They will all be assimilated."=/\= Three of Five repeated, her mantra.


"Watch the World Die"

****

Minding not to keep themselves detected for long, Corgan elected that the group go with Angelienia's plan, and use the maintenance shafts to reach the main communications centre. Shuffling, thumping, griping their way through the narrow passageway, T'lan lead the way, for logical, tactical reasons of course. She was protective of James, and her short barreled phased polaron rifle was ideal for cramped positions. It kept James out of the general range of phaser fire while still giving him a forward command position.

It also had the benefit giving James a healthy view of T'lan's backside. Though James was already spoken for due to his darling Mika (a woman he loved more than his own life), he had to admit his purely lecherous male side appreciated T'lan's unintentional gesture of goodwill. T'lan had the flesh and curves Mika didn't, honed by years on the Starfleet Marine physical training regiment and blessed with the Vulcan genetic heritage best described as, 'It is illogical to be unattractive.'

He shook the dirty thoughts out of his head. He could admire T'lan's ass all he wanted on the ship.

But still, considering the alternatives...

Angelienia. Victor Krieghoff's girlfriend. A fairly attractive woman with hints of an obsessive streak. Sacred territory. Never look at your friend's woman. The dubiously moral James had to have some honorable rules to live by.

Marsh. He was getting progressively worse in James security department. Then he heard snippits of disagreements between himself and T'lan. Rumor had it the couple had something going on between them, and it had recently ended. The fact that Marsh was glaring daggers at James when he thought he wasn't looking probably indicated why. James didn't want to aggravate the Lieutenant.

Three of Five. She was in the rear. It wasn't far enough. If she wasn't the mission objective, she wouldn't have been functioning. So much for ideal situations.

T'lan halted the group, over a vented grille. Dead silent, James heard footsteps pass, and saw glimses of EVA suited guards with rifles pass by. The local Barzan constabulary was searching for the once captured Hazards, and James was not eager to make another appearance to them. When they passed by, the group resumed to the communications centre.

****

Angelienia held her breath as the security personnel passed below them, hoping that they couldn't hear outside their armor's helmets. And that they had no tricorders running to spot them. If either was true, then there was going to be a lot of screaming in the ducts very soon....

After the base personnel below had passed uneventfully, she let her breath out in a sigh and started moving again. This was... terrifying. They could be found at any instant. Surely the people that had built this place had put sensors in the ducts? They had to have - no one was that stupid, were they? They didn't even need real sensors, just a microphone or a seismic sensor would be enough - her heartbeats sounded like thunder strokes in the confined space; it was a wonder the walls didn't rattle with each one.

Up ahead of her, T'lan signaled again. Not the sign for 'stop and pray they're deaf as posts' again, but the 'I've found where we're going to have the next fight' one. Those weren't the hand signs' real names of course, but Angelienia thought that her version was more accurate.

The team slowly packed in beside and behind T'lan at the grate, everyone trying to not be in contact with the Borg, which left Angelienia partially pressed up against Commander Corgan in a way that would have been nice if she wasn't Victor's girl and he wasn't Mika's man. Peering over his shoulder, her breath in his ear, she looked into the communications center.

The comm centre was, for technology that was backwards by Federation standards, an elaborate latticework of cabling, monitor screens, and workstations tended too by a sparse crew of workers. Some of them were Barzan, two in their EVA suits armed with disruptor rifles, but the rest were easily identifiable as Federation species. A Bolian was at the main console, and there were Humans (or maybe El Aurians) working at a communications node.

****

James signaled for the team to disperse, pointing out in sign language the positions of the armed guards and working scientists. He motioned for Marsh to crawl next to him, pointed to himself to mimic, and brought out his phaser pistol, aiming the barrel at the armed guards through the grille. Marsh did the same to the second guard, while James signed for T'lan and Angie to move closer to the scientists.

He then signaled to Three of Five, "Do you understand?"

She signed back perfectly, "We have assimilated all of your languages. These crude hand gestures are inefficient, but I will comply."

Turning beet red, James did some creative sign language of his own with his middle finger. He signed, "The Bolian at the main terminal. Neutralize. DO NOT ASSIMILATE!"

"I will comply," she replied.

****

Angelienia looked down at the phaser in her hand to check the charge and setting. Victor would have known without looking, she realized, but that was the sort of thing that he always knew instinctively: Charges on a phaser. Range to a target. Number of weapons a Klingon was carrying. How to make her heart race with just a look.

She took a breath, steadying her nerves. She was going to be fine. He'd told her that before he left. All she had to do was keep concentrating on that and she'd be okay. The Commander and Marsh were taking the more dangerous guards - she and T'lan were taking the scientists... and how dangerous could they be?

It didn't take a genius to realize that she'd been assigned the less dangerous targets due to her lack of experience with combat of this sort - but she wasn't in the mood to feel slighted, only relieved. She was going to be fine, but that didn't mean that everyone else was, and she wanted to do everything she could to make certain that they all came home too.

Another breath. Another. And... go!

The grille fell with a clang that was lost in the explosion of activity that followed its fall. Angelienia let T'lan go first - the Vulcan was better at this after all - her legs bunching in preparation for a leap as soon as T'lan was clear. The Vulcan dropped lithely into the room, phaser firing at the farthest of the scientists and Angie was soaring through the air before she'd realized that she was jumping, her body turning awkwardly without warning and bringing a hiss from her just before she hit.

She barreled sideways into a knot of scientists and technicians without warning, their attention drawn to the men dropping from T'lan's blasts. The lot of them went down in a heap, Angelienia's hands, feet, knees, and elbows striking out like a whirlwind as she tried to fight her way free. Her world was a confusion of action for a second... and then she abruptly found herself standing up, panting from exertion, her phaser covering the pile of groaning scientists and T'lan looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Feline ancestry or no, there was really only one response to make, so Angelienia drew herself up, smiled, and made it: "I meant to do that."

T'lan acknowledged the feat with a nod, the highest praise a Vulcan could give. "Appearantly." She said, another testament to Vulcan understatement. Her polaron rifle was flicked back to safety in a nanosecond, her eyes switching from console to console, away from the main attention.

Angelienia had time to yell out as a scientist snapped up, a thread of fine wire between his fists, its loop a gleam as it tried to wrap around the Vulcan's neck.

Faster than either the scientist or the Hazard mate could react, T'lan raised up her rifle by a further inch, catching the thread before it could close around her vulnerable throat. Jerking the rifle with both arms, and snapping her head back, the scientist was introduced to a reverse headbutt to the nose. Not done with the scientist yet, she allowed him the priviledge of standing on both feet for awhile longer, grabbing the nape of his neck while she flexed her fingers for a nerve pinch. At the last second, she hesitated, and instead aimed him at one of the consoles. She quickly calculated what she needed, pointing a finger at an facial reader on one of the communications benches.

Her throw was not the least bit scientific. The scientist barreled into the panels, his face cracking against the reader. It beeped cheerily with a chipper, artificial 'access granted' announcement, as the scientist slid off the panel, leaving blood and teeth behind.

"I meant to do that as well." T'lan nodded to Angelienia.

******

"Resistance is futile."

One unit, one collective behind her, announced to the scared Bolian scientist as it strode over with the purpose of an entire race behind it. In front of the unstoppable drone, the scientist had enough time to raise his disruptor sidearm, level a perfect shot to the drone's eyepiece, and fire two bursts.

Both fizzled against her Borg shielding uselessly. They didn't even overload the capacitors. By that time, Three of Five closed the gap, closed its metal hand against the Bolian's throat, and used her superior strength to cast the scientist aside.

The scientist's body sailed across the room, landing ten meters away at the base of the vent Marsh and Corgan used as a concealed firing point.

"Jesus Christ..." Marsh swore.

"Tell me about it." James kicked open the vent and tumbled out, his phaser searching for more targets. He saw Angelienia and T'lan together among a pile of scientists, T'lan impassive yet impish, and Angelienia contented as if a cat that had caught a mouse. The girls didn't disappoint. Neither did the drone. The room was theirs.

To make sure nobody could come in, James signalled for T'lan and Marsh to hold the door. Both took positions to cover the exits, and James went to the console with the drone.

What he saw on the screen confused him. He saw the image of the Barzan Wormhole, both in realtime and in a 3-D spacial diagram, as well as a myriad of diagnostic and monitoring systems that were, for some reason, all patched together to the giant dish of theirs outside. All of it was read out in LCARS, Federation standard LCARS. The monitors outside showing the wormhole also showed the dish in real time, its markings showing clearly a Federation symbol.

Then it made sense. It wasn't primitive equipment trying to make up for lack of technolgy with size and power. This was top of the line, and from the look of it, the enemy's project actually needed.

"What the hell is this?" James muttered to himself, "What are they trying to do to that wormhole?"

Three of Five brusquely shoved her way to the console, her fingers tapping, summoning a load of data. It translated itself into a sensor detection grid that extended itself over the Barzan system and beyond, through the wormhole and out the other side through a sensor array beacon.

The dish wasn't just made as a communicator. It was just one of its functions, James could see. The other was waiting for something, something it detected right away.

Borg cubes from the Delta Quadrant. They were coming in their hundreds.

James felt for the planet, as much for himself, the coming apocalypse that was to come.

"Three of Five...." James said to her in a ragged whisper, "This is a weapon, isn't it?"

She answered, "This is a weapon, a subspace emitter designed to collapse the wormhole. It is timed and rigged to fire exactly when the Borg fleet enter the wormhole, collapsing it and destroying the fleet in the process. It must be stopped."

"But..." James stammered, "There's a fleet of Borg outside that wormhole!"

"Which is why we have to stop this weapon. Millions of The Collective will die."

James thought alarms were ringing. "Bullshit."

He aimed his phaser pistol at Three of Five's head, his resolve steely, his phaser set to kill with the flick of a thumb. He made sure it was programmed to remodulate its phaser frequency.

"Bullshit." He repeated himself, "Or so help me god I will kill you for nothing. The Borg are efficient. What is so efficient about sending hundreds of ships after one drone? That is not the Borg way. This is an assimilation fleet... isn't it?"

Three of Five didn't answer. Her silence infuriated the security chief.

"ANSWER ME!" Corgan demanded, "Is this an assimilation fleet?!?!"

Three of Five greeted his question with stony silence. She worked without flinching, the Collective wasn't afraid of an individual with a phaser pistol. It worked as if nothing mattered, the individual drone didn't matter, it could die, it could be replaced. It did not care.

It said matter of factly, "This planet will be assimilated." She matched Corgan eye to eye, The Collective against the individual.

James felt himself gripped by fear.

"You're just going to assimilate... an entire world... fuck the efforts we went into saving you? You used us..."

"Your efforts met our objectives. Now this is time where our objectives diverge. You can assist or resist, and resistance is futile."

"Well, you can forget that." He vowed, keeping his phaser on the drone's head. His hand went to the console. He navigated through it's OS, searching, "I'm going to fire it off prematurely. I won't allow your ships to assimilate a world if I cannot help it. Your precious drones won't die. We all win and lose. Take that as my only offer."

"No." Three of Five steadfastly stated.

"Then you, my dear hive mind, can kiss..." He punched in the command codes to fire the weapon, "...my..." His finger hovered over the button, his phaser poking the drone's skull as it was about to make a movement towards his hand. She stopped, James feeling relief wash over his fear.

The years of trauma were about to be vindicated. With the push of a button, he was going to avenge himself, save a world, and make an immortal of himself.

"...lily ass."

He pushed the button, and was greeted with an 'Access Denied' from the overly cheery computer.

"What the hell?" He looked at the console with astonishment. It didn't obey his commands, even when he did it again. The Borg Cubes entered the Barzan wormhole, and in the span of a moment, were out the other end.

He was witnessing the end of a world, as the Borg Cubes orbited the planet Barzan. He saw their green tractor beams grapple the planet, swat aside the primitive spacecrafts and stations in the sky, and saw as warning screens showing the maps of the planet light up with red indication warnings. The Borg has come, assimilation with it.

Three of Five didn't betray her emotions, but he knew somewhere the Collective was laughing at him.

"Computer, initiate level two infrastructure assimilation." Three of Five commanded.

Then, as if sprouting some demonic growth, the consoles came to life, morphed themselves rapidly, their systems being invaded from inside. The readouts changed in language, their consoles turning black and green instead of the LCARS red and amber. Tubules spat and sprung out of consoles, linking to others, and keeping the growth moving. It was enveloping the entire room, stretching outside the doors, and army of nanites working inside the machinery, even changing the metal and plastics of the walls into a maze of technological latticework.

Slowly, the entire building was being assimilated.

Elsewhere on the planet, the same scene was playing itself. With technology, with people. The Borg were assimilating the entire planet, with overwhelming odds so that success would be guarenteed.

As soon as the conspirators had their plan, Barzan was doomed to assimilation. The planet had no chance. It was gone, gone for good.

And James felt incredibly guilty about being so self absorbed about his own troubles with the Borg. What he narrowly escaped, something that should have been a blessing instead of a curse all those years, the Barzan population was experiencing. It was them that had to live the nightmare of having their individuality absorbed and overwhelmed by the whole. They were the ones that were unfortunate.

And if he didn't see Three of Five's treachery sooner, it could have been prevented, and for his punishment he was about to see a whole world die.

"My god... i'm an idiot." Corgan breathed, watching in awe as his world was slowly being assimilated by The Borg, "You accessed the computer after we beamed out. You had control of the whole damn thing all along..." He turned to the Hazard Team, "GET OUT! GET OUT NOW! MOVE MOVE MOVE!"

Three of Five turned to the security chief, and said, "We had control of the entire situation all along. Prepare to be assimilated."


~Cutting Open the Universe~
The Return of Cutter Kara'nin

"Part II: Best Laid Plans"

"Good morning, Cutter."

"Rudra," Cutter Kara'nin greeted curtly as he sat down in the office chair, his large wings folded up behind him, thier tips resting on the floor. He placed a PADD on the desk and slid it across.

"Is the time table finished?" Rudra asked, each word coming out slowly and with difficulty. He reached up to take the PADD with his right hand, his left lay motionless.

"Yes," Cutter replied, eyeing the man's troubles with some repulsion. "Shall I walk you through it?"

"Please," he said, skimming over the PADD as Cutter began to speak.

"Upon initiation of the experiment, the antigrav field emittors need to be energized. This will require approximately twenty eight-point-six billion kilowatt hours of energy, or two hundred eighty six kilograms of our helium-three. Activation, stabilization and normalization will require at least three minutes, at which point, the energy requirement will drop to two-point-five terawatts, using twenty five kilograms of helium-three per hour.

"Extension of the sensor arm past the event horizon will then begin. The arm will extend the three hundred twelve meters to the horizon in fifty eight seconds. However, due to the increasing time dilation, it will take seven minutes and forty five seconds, relative to us. As we progress later into the countdown, control information from us to the end of the arm will take longer and longer, and therefore, the time for reaction will decrease in case corrections need to be made. The station computer will be monitoring all functions, so this should not be a problem, but every subcomponent engineer will have to be at thier monitoring stations just in case."

"An intensive eight minutes," Rudra said.

"Yes," Cutter agreed, his nodding head causing a strand of blue-black hair to fall into his face. "We only have one shot at this. If there is a failure, it will undoubtedly be catastrophic and two years of research and planning and millions of dollars will be wasted."

"Lost into the black hole," Rudra smiled out of the left side of his mouth. The right side sagged like a water logged canopy.

Cutter harumphed, choosing not to consider the option of his personal project failing. "Just before the horizon has been pierced, the millicochrane conducting lines must be activated. This should only take one one hundredth of a second, but will require a massive surge of power, approximately sixty seven kilowatt hours, in that same time frame. This is at the limit of our fusion generators, but Gabriel assures me they can handle it. Then, once the arm crosses the horizon, we should immediately recieve sensor telemetry. We will make scientific history."

"You're being very generous," Rudra said. "It is unlike you."

Cutter squinted at the aged Indian man, his face stoic but for a subtle acknowledging smile at the edge of his lips. "You're right. I'll make scientific history. It is my project. I concieved it. I designed it. I've planned every detail, worked out every bug. When the papers are published, I will be first author. But, I'm willing to give you some of the credit."

Rudra snorted as he continued to eye the PADD.

"Why not?" Cutter asked, then leaned forward in his chair to emphasize his next point. "I do have great respect for you, Rudra. You are the only person I've ever met who is smarter than me. I have great appreciation for your thoughts and input, even if all your theories and ideas are completely wrong."

"Well, we'll see once we crack open the singularity, won't we?" he said, pushing his chair away from the desk. He reached over and grabbed a cane that leaned against the wall and then, with great effort, pushed himself up and out of the chair. He moved around the edge of the desk and started to walk out of the office, holding the cane in his right hand while his left hung like a stone to his side. His left leg plodded forward with a heavy limp.

"Where are you going?" Cutter asked. It made him exceedingly uncomfortable to watch Rudra move about.

"To greet our guest."

"The psychologist?"

"Yes," the Indian said, "He will be arriving shortly."

"How do you plan on explaining yourself," Cutter asked, still seated. He looked away from the man as he asked the question, pulling the PADD back across the desk and rereading it, despite having written it less than an hour ago.

"How do I plan on explaining myself?" Rudra echoed.

Cutter sighed, annoyed at the man's pretending to be ignorant of the current subject matter. "Yes. You've completely lost the use of your left arm. You've lost feeling in your left leg and the right side of your face. You can barely walk and you talk like you've had your teeth removed this morning. And you become easily disoriented, often forgetting the time and date. What will you say when our guest notices this?"

"I will say nothing because it is none of his business."

"Rudra, you had a stroke," Cutter said, turning in his chair. Rudra had just reached the office door. "Protocol dictates that you should have been removed from the project and taken to a hospital for medical treatment."

"Would you have left, Cutter?"

"No," he sighed, failing to see the point of the question. "Nor do I care that you have not. But, this man, this psychologist will."

"He has no power to do anything about it. All he can do is fly home and file a report. There will be a review committee and he will be interviewed. If he is taken seriously, accusations will be made and I will insist on a second opinion, as is my right. They will send another psychologist here. If he agrees with the first, he will fly home and file a report and then be interviewed. There will be a debate, then a vote, and then, perhaps, I will be recalled. Then, I will recieve a grace period, to wrap up my personal involvement and pass the baton. And by the time all that happens, I will either be dead or the project will be completed," Rudra explained. "I have no concerns about the matter. Besides, I have dealt with my share of psuedoscientists in my time, I can deal with this one."

"Fine," Cutter said, "But, if your health threatens the completion of my research, I will exile you myself."

Rudra grunted as he continued to limp forward, a sign indicating he was through with the conversation. After a few moments, Cutter rose from the chair and left the office.


"Anchors Away"

1st Lt. Steven Jonas Marine

Lt. (jg) Faylin McAlister

Unknown Federation Ship
-------------------------------------

The room was hushed as they stepped from it. The ship, still humming aimlessly along, was obvious to the happenings within it's core. It was content with the constant energy feed by the engineers that it housed.

Walking down the darkened corridors, Faylin appeared to know exactly where she was heading. Stopping short in front of a crew door, she turned towards Steven. "I have to attend a debriefing and general meeting....I'll stop by in a little while to see how you are fairing."

"Lt. McAlister....." A plump Lt. addressed her, practically halting her speach to Steven. As a result, a look of disdain was shot in his direction as she held her hand up to cease his interruption.

"I'm sorry, but the kidnapping was part of the plan.... Anyway, I'll talk to you later. Grab something to eat and get some sleep....we have a long way until we are home."

"Yes?" Faylin turned to the gentleman that now stood beside her.

"The meeting....."

"I am aware of the meeting Lt." McAlister stated with a gruff tone as she started to follow the man.

Steven pressed the button to the side of the door and it hissed open before him. Taking a cautious step within, he let the darkness that occupied the room wash over him. His mind was swirling with the events of the last couple of months. He was struggling to piece it all together. It didn't help that Fay had been very quiet about all that had gone on since he had found out that she was alive.

While he was over the moon that she was alive, the fact she had not yet tried to explain what had happened, or even her actions towards him, gave him cause to wonder what else she was holding back.

Letting the door close behind him, he stood in total darkness. For how long he just stood there, he did not know. It soothed his pain and anguish. After a time he called for the lights to turn on and looked about the quarters.

A small desk stood to one side, a LCARS terminal resting upon it, along with a couple of PADDS. A bed sat off to one side and a couple of chairs next to that. One door lead to another room and Steven assumed that this was the bathroom.

Turning towards the bed he sat down, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He sat, waiting for Faylin to return.

The hiss of the doors welcomed her as she stepped into the oblong room that housed a rectangular wooden table. Her eyes watched as he stood when she entered, more out of ritualistic response other than respect at this point in time.

"Lt. McAlister."

She advanced, gently placing her hand out in greeting. "Admiral Rice."

"Please, take a seat Faylin."

McAlister did as she was told, picking the seat to the right of him.

"First, I want to say thank you for your assistance with Rel. We were aware that he had plans to take over control of IS, however, the information you provided us made the sting possible. Ever think of working for intelligence?" He quipped.

A single eyebrow was popped upwards. "Uh......."

He waved her hesitation off and laughed. "How's Lt. Jonas taking all this? You two were married, were you not."

"Yes, we were. That's a technicality that will have to be worked out." She leaned slightly back in her seat. "As far as his emotional state, I am positive that he is a little shaken up to put it mildly......Sir."

Steven shivered as he stepped into the shower. The feeling of having sonic waves 'washing' away the dirt and grim one picks up on a normal day was not one he enjoyed. It wasn't the same as having water fall over one's body, soaking into the skin, refreshing you as you body was cleansed. Still, he stepped in and let the waves take the grit away.

Stepping from the bathroom, in naught but a towel, he looked about the room, hoping to find some spare clothes. All he had was what Faylin's father had left on him before tying him to that chair.

Spotting a couple of drawers below the bed he walked over and knelt down. Sliding one open, he found nothing but an old book. Dark brown and wrinkled, the writing on the cover was barely readable.

Picking it up carefully, he lifted it close to his eyes and read, "The Crystal ...ard" by some guy called Salvatore. Not sure how long Fay's meeting was going to last, he placed it upon the pillow. He might get a chance to read it later.

The second drawer revealed some clothing and he pulled out a shirt and pants. Slipping the clothing on, Steven felt a little weird. Not only were they someone else's clothes but the shirt was also a little to tight. There wasn't much he could do about that, so just went with it.

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

Her face grew pale as she leaned forward and looked at the Admiral with a look of disbelief. "I don't understand."

"We have not heard from the Galaxy, so until that time, you and Lt. Jonas will be escorted to the nearest space station where you will be reassigned." He stood from his chair and held his hand out. "Pleasure working with you Lt. We will be in touch concerning your next assignment. You're dismissed."

She stood, with the same look of confusion etched on her features. Nodding, she turned and left the room. As she walked down the corridor, she passed a port window and stopped, spending some time gazing out the window. "Saul......" Faylin muttered as she forced herself not to dwell on him. He was gone, another life taken by another hostile force. Upon arriving to Steven's quarters, she cleared her throat and readied herself for all his questions. "Steven? It's Fay...."

Steven heard Fay call out to him and noted the page he was at, before closing the book and placing it upon the bed. "Enter" he called out as he stood up.

"Hi," he said with a smile.

"Um, hey...." She stepped in timidly towards him then stopped, taking a seat on the couch. "So...I suppose you have some questions for me."

Steven stood looking at her, bemused at the way she had avoided him. "So, does this mean that we are just friends and not a couple anymore?" he asked. He wasn't sure if she would pick up that he had noticed how she had acted upon entering the room. "Or was your love for me and our marriage just one big sham?"

"Steven....I....I can't focus on us right now." She stated quietly. "My duties are increasing....and my strength has to be concentrated on that right now."

"Sounds like an excuse to me. Saving you from telling me that it was all a fraken joke. That you never loved me and it was all to get your father." Steven's voice rose a little as he swore.

She arched a single eyebrow, saying nothing as she walked over to the replicator and requested some aspirin and water.

"So what is it? Am I not good enough for you now? You seem to be close to Saul and that Raynor guy. They're both Intel. Is that it? I'm not intel?"

"Oh yeah...." She stated with a roll of her eyes as she swallowed the capsules. Taking a sip of water, she continued. "Look....we've been through a lot Steven. A lot to know that you are not going to ever know everything about me. You didn't know I was a chameloid until today, you also didn't know that I was Fay before today either. That in itself is a lot to comprehend in one day. I'm asking that we take a break for a while. It will give you time to digest who and what I am. And....it will give me time to wrap up the IS mess."

"You obviously don't understand... I love you. And I want you in my life. I know it is going to take time to come to terms with everything that has happened, but I want to do that with you at my side. But I guess that is too much to ask. It's not like I don't have a lot of work on, just like you. Nor the thousands of other people in the fleet in relationships, whom all somehow manage to find a way to have a balance between the work and the love of their lives. I guess I'm not important enough for you to try."

Steven sat down on the bed, resting his chin in his hands as his elbows dug holes in his knees. This wasn't how he expected things to go. And he didn't really know what to do.

Faylin sighed, and blinked slowly. "Steve, I'm going to go to my quarters. I'll likely see you tomorrow." She turned to leave, many thoughts bouncing around in her head.

She was almost at the door when he spoke again. In a quiet voice he asked, "Fay, are you scared that you might lose me to some IS assassin? Is that the reason you're pushing me away?"

"You are going to want someone to be faithful to you. I can't do that. My first love, is always going to be trying to right the wrongs I did in my life. There will be times, where I will just up and dissapear, or change into something, or have to do something that....I can't tell you. I'm not going to let you hang around obvious to what I'm doing. You need trust in a relationship...I can't offer you that Steven."

"If that's the way you feel, then so be it." he said. "Just know that no matter what happens in your life, no matter who you hook up with, you will always be alone, never finding true happiness, never having that anchor holding you to reality. You'll probably end up old, lying in some hospice wondering if but for a moment you made the worst mistake of your life to give up the one person that loved you more than life itself." Steven paused to gauge her reaction.

"I don't need an anchor." She stated with a sour tone to her voice.

"I guess that true love means nothing to someone who is as cold and heartless as you. It doesn't matter that I love you. It doesn't matter that you are all that I hold dear in my life. That I am willing to do anything for you. Am I not trustworthy enough for you to confide in? Or are you gonna run back to Saul keeping him in your confidence and I'll bet, your bed?"

She stood frozen, with her mouth drawn into a tight line. "Good night Steven." Faylin stated simply, wondering when relationships got so complicated. There were several men in her life, all offered her their own special confidence. Each had their own qualities that she felt drawn to. Sighing, she turned from him and forcefully walked out.

Steven watched her storm out, not knowing if she was ever going to talk to him again. And as he stood there, he wondered how he could have ever fallen for someone so mean, someone so manipulative. He sighed at the line of thought before returning to his book.


"The Sum of All Fears"

Lt. (jg) Faylin McAlister
JAG

Lt. (jg) Zev Raynor
Intelligence

---------------Intelligence Office-----------------

"Nice to see you in one piece." Faylin quietly spoke as she cradled her coffee in one hand, and a two padds in the other. "Do you need.....the blade back?"

"Nah... that's okay..." Raynor responded jokingly. "I've got enough of those hanging around. Keep it if you want, but you'll have to find your own chemicals for it after awhile. Also I'm told that people would prefer to see me in many pieces but you know... everyone wants to go the party but no one's willing to pick me up afterward so I tend avoid doing it."

"Depends on how big of chunks you are in. Cleaning up little scraps takes too long." She retorted with a wry grin. "So..." McAlister glanced around the office. "Whatcha up to?"

"Griping..." Raynor answered. "I mean I leave... and look at the mess... How many times do I have to tell them, don't let the office explode? It ranks right up there with don't get caught by the bad guys... so you think it would be easy for these people to pull off. But NOOOO... they have let the bloody ship get hit JUST RIGHT to leave a blackened piece of shit where my ass used to sit... but the turd isn't mine which is just wrong. I mean who takes a dump in my chair other than me?"

He was rambling... in one of his nonsensical rants... the intelligence personnel in the room resisted the urge to roll their eyes as they worked on picking up.

No words escaped her usually sharp mind. Opening her mouth once, a look of confusion crossed her face as she quickly clamped it shut. Faylin paused, then cleared her throat. "I suppose that you have every right to gripe then. I guess that they aren't as proficient as you are."

"Actually... the office has never been in better shape than it's ever been since I got here... I may or may not have something to do with that..." Raynor said subtly stroking his chin with a huge stupid grin. "Also I'm not really helping pick up and just being an evil overlord... probably isn't helping things... but holding this ridiculous sense of accomplishment in this particular stance... but I'm the boss... I have to be an inconsiderate ass every once and a while."

Her smile was lopsided, as she retorted. "Personally, you don't have to be boss to be an inconsiderate ass. Oh... I had a question for you..."

"Okay... shoot," Raynor said.

"Dinner... wanna go sometime?"

"Uh..." Raynor's mind was suddenly racing, when was the last time anyone asked him to dinner. And then he remembered it was never. Thus having absolutely no experience in actually responding to this question, he said "Sure..." with a look of total and utter shock on his face. These words were soon followed by "When did you have in mind?" He still had the same look of a deer lost in the head lights on his face, that was once believed to belong to Keanu Reeves alone.

The expression was one that she enjoyed....the element of shock always did make her content when she could pull it out of someone. "Well...." Fay glanced down at her chronometer then back up to his face, that was still somewhat frozen. She wondered if she should execute a polite little tap on his cheek to bring him around, but in the end, chose not to. "Tonight? Around 7? That is unless you have some jefferies tube to sneak around in or something along those lines."

"I'll be there..." he said almost mechanically still lost as a puppy.

Her expression softened somewhat. "I didn't say where yet. My quarters..." She paused, then spoke again in what was attempted to be a reassuring voice. "Zev relax... I don't bite...... hard."

"Okay..." Raynor stated blankly.

"You okay? You look a little paler than usual..."

"I'll be fine so long nothing else goes catastrophically wrong..." Raynor said. "You know, like the end of the galaxy as we know it or something..."

Pursing her lips for a moment with an arched eyebrow, she studied him for a moment then shrugged. "Okay.....see you at seven." Turning, she almost 'bounced' out of the Intell office as she left.

Once she was well out of ear shot. One thing ran through Raynor's mind... either he was going to fall in love tonight, or he would be assassinated. Either way, fear ran rampant through him like nothing he felt before.


"Savant: Goddess of Tech"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Acting Chief Engineer

*****Main Engineer, USS Galaxy*****

They seemed out of troubled waters, but the boat was still in serious need of patching up.

However, miracles did happen. Nara watched in thankful awe as output in the antimatter core was increasing. Any consoles that were dead black, now sparked to life. Nara ordered all panels to be replaced and started general housekeeping as tools were scattered by urgent workers running off.

There was still so much to do, and they badly needed a layover at DS9, but things looked better. Nara still wasn't satisfied, but the tension in her shoulders eased a little and her mind unbiddingly went to Saul and Saia. She pushed the thoughts away and went to work.

She heard a faint sound and before long more voices joined to create some sort of song. It wasn't one she recognized, but the younger ensigns all joined. She figured a newer song that came out. She didn't hush them. They could afford it.

"Time's gone for me to fly; Afterall that's why you cry. Life here isn't life at all; Come with me and maybe fall.

Fret the days I ever was. Dread the days I'll return. For these wild embers still burn.

Baby, don't you see the light? It's brighter with every fight. Go and be free forever; Don't you wish to see me never?

Fret the days I ever was. Dread the days I'll return. For these wild embers still burn. Yea, they still burn.

"Time's gone for me to fly; Afterall that's..."

As she heard the song seem to start over, she looked at a nearby ensign who was humming, but not singing, "How many times do you think they'll sing that?"

He looked at her and shrugged, "It was one of the songs they played at graduation. Likely a few graduations. You know those types of songs. People overplay it and then it's stuck in your head."

Nara smirked at his annoyance and patted his shoulder as she went to check some readings.

The song was rather depressing, but she smiled. They got out alive. She remembered something as she walked. "Thanks Savant. I owe you."


"Without a Home"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Intelligence Officer, currently unassigned

On the screen of his temporal quarters at DS5, the graceful holographic form of a news anchor flickered as the Bolian woman presented the Alpha quadrant with contemporary events. She was on mute, though, and even if she spoke in full volume the room's sole occupant wouldn't hear her. He was lying on the sofa, fingers interlaced beneath his head, gazing at the ceiling.

There was nothing to do. Nothing he COULD do.

An assignment will come soon, preceded by a chirp from the computer. An hour, a day, maybe several days - it will come eventually. BUPERS was one active hive of PADD-pushing bees, and surely they wouldn't allow an unassigned officer to remain unemployed for long.

Saul knew that he should do what he was best at - to meddle, pull some strings, survey his alternatives, call on some connections back on HQ, and get himself a glamorous job. Surely there were ships out there which were an intelligence officer's wet dream, carrying full complement of state of the art surveillance and espionage technology, and a large staff of intelligence operatives just waiting for a strong leadership figure to show them the way.

Yes, many of these posts were probably open after Section 31's attempted coup. And with his recent record, he would probably be able to get his hands on one without much effort. Only-

It's just that he wasn't in the mood.

He wasn't in the mood for anything.

Inside his mind, he knew that there were also things that needed to be worked out for his own agenda to proceed as planned, but there was no mood for that either. Nor did he feel like connecting to the interstellar trade networks and hunt for opportunities and investments to increase his ever-growing fortune.

"What's your problem?" He muttered.

He knew that he should do SOMETHING about his grief. Nara, Nara would probably go to a bar and drink. Many officers he knew would empty a couple of glasses. But it just wasn't him. He would feel rather stupid going to a bar and asking for a drink. Like a phony.

Others would be enraged. Trash the quarters completely. Go to the mess and hit some pompous superior in the face. Sure, he could shatter the room's console, or break the table, or something. What good would that do?

Or he could cry. He wanted to cry so much, but tears didn't come out. So, his eyes dry, he cried from within.

He exhaled the air deeply, until he could continue no longer, then covered his eyes to protect from the artificial illumination that became too strong all of the sudden.

Why did he take it so hard? It's not like he ever left some place behind so suddenly. The decision to leave the Utrecht Citizens' Guard fell within hours, and so did the decision to leave that shithole altogether. Never once in his entire odyssey from the rims of the UFP to the solar system did he once lie on his back like that and missed the people he left behind.

Perhaps it was because he had no influence? No. He had little influence on being taken off the Special Observation Program, and he didn't take it badly. He didn't have control on Fay-Fay abandoning him, but it didn't decrease him to this pathetic level either. He was sad to see her gone, true, even took a walk around San Francisco to clear his head. But then he came back, and life went on as usual.

"Elohim.", He said. This is probably how Faylin felt after she lost Olivia.

No, it was rubbish. They weren't his sons and daughters, the crewmembers of the Galaxy. They were professionals, which knew they were doing a risky job. His only relation to them was the fact that Saul's manipulations led BUPERS to post him on that particular ship, He could just as easily find himself on the Miranda, the Kislevtevet, or the Sovereign. So what if he served with them for a while now? He spent a year on Special Observation Craft 74, another at SFI HQ. He knew that if he'll ever hear that an acquaintance from these mission was dead, he wouldn't even honor it with a shrug.

Why should the Galaxy be different?

Perhaps it was a mistake to get so attached. In Saul's occupation (both public and private) it was a mistake. But did he really attach himself? So he slept with Nara and told her he loved her; So he ate dinners with Miramon, joked during counseling sessions with counselor Brian, had good laughs with Nyoko, bossed his department around, verbally fenced with Raynor and Faylin, or exchanged favors and pleasantries with Iniara.

These were just people. He saw many people in these lives, and the people he knew on the Galaxy really didn't have any unique traits to distinguish them from the other people. People were meaningless like dust. Even his mother.

The console beeped.

"Oh. Assignment." Saul told no one. Any other day, he would leap out of the sofa, curious about his new post and eager to do some research and find everything he could about the new step in his career. Right now, he didn't even bother to turn off the annoying beep.

He felt lost.

Truly lost.

Like he lost everything. Like his entrails suddenly were replaced by vacuum. Like everything was pointless now - his agenda, his career, his possessions, even the fate of the Federation. There was simply nothing worth doing right now, and he couldn't figure out why.

And the sad thing was, the helplessness wasn't even driving him crazy, or irritating him.

As time went by, his mind drifted to the Galaxy. He could see it, orbiting ch'Rihan from afar, majestic, silent. Just another Galaxy class, one of many. Another instance of the schematics a bunch of engineers from the ship yards came up with. A saucer and a couple of nacelles. Ships looked like that since J.Archer was CO of the Enterprise. Where's the creativity?

And it existed no longer. It's shattered hull probably orbited the dead planet of Barzan right now, and its crew joined many other lost Starfleet crews taken by the Borg.

Saul imagined the people he knew, walking in line into a Borg cube, their skin already pale and tarnished with cybernetic implants. There was Captain M'Kantu; His skin unnaturally pale. Following him was Iniara, her short cropped red hair now completely gone. And there was counselor Brian, that eternally concerned expression on his face now blank. And Eve. Eve looked just like she always did. Often he thought the girl hated the Borg so much only because she was almost a Borg herself. And Raynor, an awkwardly-placed cybernetic extention coming out of his groin. Bran, her cloths torn, half of her face hidden behind a metal mask not unlike that of ancient druids. The line went on and on.

Heck, they probably even caught that son of a bitch Suder.

Ah, it was so unfair. So immensely, majestically, grandly unfair. They didn't deserve it, and he didn't deserve it either. They were not supposed to die on him like that, all of them at once.

Saul's eyes seared tremendously as the console beeped again. It beeped for eternity before he reached out and tapped it. He didn't aim to any control in particular, yet he happened to press the 'play button'.

::"Incoming intelligence report.":: Said the computer. ::"Commonwealth classification. Source: Lieutenant Raynor, assistant chief of intelligence, USS Galaxy."::

"Old crap. Couldn't the relays worked slower?" Saul cursed under his breath. He didn't feel like hearing a ghost. He already decided that if there will be an official funeral to the victims of the USS Galaxy, he won't show his face. What's the point of depressing yourself even more?

Then, he realized that the computer stated the stardated when the intelligence batch was sent. It was today.

"Computer, repeat the sending stardate of the report."

The computer repeated. The stardate did not change. Saul bit his lower lip - that bitch Proctor was probably having a few laughs over his account now, that stupid, sadistic fool. Or perhaps it was Hasmonian, the chief of operations which Saul helped Lin to screw up.

"Humor me, computer. What is the status of the USS Galaxy NCC-70637. Cross with SFI database, authorization Bental-7-5-4-Psi."

He reckoned Proctor wasn't authorized to alter the central SFI database. It was time to end this stupid prank. He even knew how the computer will sound like when it'll say in its automated tone 'USS Galaxy NCC-70637 : lost in action."

::" USS Galaxy NCC-70637 : currently en route to Deep Space 5. ETA…"::

Saul blinked. An unfamiliar moist sensation filled his eyes.


"Sex and Celibacy"

Lt. (jg) Zev Raynor
Intelligence

Lt. (jg) Faylin McAlister
JAG

Location: Faylin's Personal Quarters
--------------------------------------

Faylin surveyed her quarters. The small circular table rested in the middle of the room, outfitted by a maroon silk table cloth, dishes with gold trim and two candles as a centerpiece. She set the illumination almost to full power, just so it made a point that the mood was supposed to be friendly, not romantic.

Taking the glass of wine, she swirled it absentmindedly until she heard the door chime. Instead of saying enter, she walked over to the door and smiled as it opened. "Hey...."

"Hi..." Raynor said with a calm expression on his face, which had regained control of. Mentally he was still expecting evil monkeys to come out of her closet and try to attack him with large pointy knives but that was only in his head.

"Would you like something to drink?" She gently placed the wine glass down on the table, and studied him.

"Please, what do you have?" Raynor asked smoothly. There were two primary fears that kind of ran through his head. One... the lesser of the two... she would kill him for knowing some of the truth about her. The second fear was that she would turn into a man and try anal on him. And even though came highly recommended by the gays in his head, he wasn't quite into that sort of thing.

"Anything. The replicator is handy for that sort of thing. I myself, am enjoying a nice white wine....." She smiled, then took a sip before nodding at his response. "I'll get it for you."

Walking over to the replicator, she patiently waited while the machine whirred to life. Handing him his request, she noticed that he appeared a little ill at ease. "My secret's out...so, you need not worry about keeping it to yourself."

"Damn... I had this entire speech about how good I am with secrets and such... being an intelligence officer and all... but skipping all that... why don't you tell me about yourself?" Raynor asked with a genuine interest. He knew very little about 'her' so it wouldn't hurt to ask.

As he expressed himself, a small smile grew across her mouth. She glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, before sitting down on the couch and tucking her right leg underneath her left one. "Ohhhh, that's quite a long story Zev. I was born on Pollux 8. I have not met my father, and remember little about my mother. She worked for the man that adopted me after she died and that's how I got involved in my 'extracurricular activities' so to speak. I didn't have the normal childhood for all purpose. Once I graduated Star Fleet, I practiced defense law for a while and ran across Saul. I had my daughter, came aboard the Galaxy, and my past caught up with me." She paused. "That's it in a nutshell. I'm now...back from the dead too. What about you?"

"I wasn't born in the Federation, I was found by a Federation ship drifting in an escape pod. Spent a year or so in an orphanage at StarBase 47, before gaining the recommendation of the Commanding Officer of the Starbase to go to the Academy. Graduated bottom of my year, by choice. I was pilot during the Dominion War. After the war spent a lot of time patrolling the Gamma Quadrant I was abducted, experimented on, made telepathic before returning to the fleet. Eventually went into Intelligence, took an extended leave of absence. After I came back... I was sent back to the Gamma Quadrant, before I got transfered here. I like to paint occasionally, tinker with things and I have few other hobbies in this and that. And I think that's me more or less..." Raynor said trying to think of anything more he could tell her. "Oh and I like to punch out death every once and a while and piss on his face... but you know I really don't get the opportunity too often so yea..."

Swallowing the wine that had got stuck in her throat, she attempted to calm the red that assaulted her cheek bones and the cough that was urging her to embarrass herself. "Well....personally, death is not that bad a guy....it's destruction that gets under my skin." She paused for a moment, wanting to gauze his reaction.

"Yea... she is a wild one destruction, annoying most of the time but good at other people's parties... mainly because she clears the room and you don't have to pick up after her." Raynor joked.

"Destruction is a 'he' dear.....and a rather clumsy one at that." She retorted and stood to face him. "Are you finally relaxing around me?"

"In some cultures... but anyways... secrets out... what you going to do now?" Raynor asked.

'Nice avoidance of the question.' Faylin thought. "There's nothing I can do Zev. I'll likely be asked to be the mascot at the JAG Christmas party, or be asked to training fodder for the Marine unit....nothing good will come of it, I'm sure. It's something that I have to accept....it's who I really am. Everything has been a farce, even my 'marriage'."

"Did you love him?" Raynor asked simply.

"Zev, I don't even know if I know what love is. Lust, I can nail. But love, where you give yourself to someone completely...I've never done that. There's always something that I keep hidden. How about you? Have you ever been in love?"

"Virgin," Raynor said with smile. However carrying the memories of the thousands of dead minds he knew what love was. "But I know what love feels like... you can never quite give a description justice when you finally find it, and it tends to be different each time."

She only caught a few words after the first one to form an initial thought in her head. "Well, I suppose I'll never know. To be honest, I thought I did once, but when I look back at that time with a clear mind, it was more of a fascination of the idea of love other than anything else." Faylin paused. "I don't mean to sound crass here, but did you say you were a virgin?"

"Yes" Raynor admitted openly.

"Impressive." Faylin opened her mouth yet again, then clamped it shut while a look of confusion crossed her face. This particular expression was becoming familiar the more she spoke to the man beside her. "How? More importantly, *why*?"

"How do you not have sex? Well you know it's not as hard as everybody thinks... you see you just have to make sure that your genitals don't make contact with another body. It really that simple. As for why... I have been in a few... genetic experiments, telepathy was the clear result, but I really just don't want to chance reproducing at the moment without having a clear understanding about what's changed in my genes."

Faylin turned to him, then asked in a quiet voice. "You have been kissed, right?"

He didn't know whether he should be offended or amused, but he laughed anyways. "A few times... why is that a problem?"

"Well no." McAlister laughed outright. "I personally....I don't know....there's just something animalistic about sex that makes me crave it. It feels wonderful, and it feels a need for much more that just procreation."

"I know... but that is the main biological point of it..." Raynor pointed out. "And that's something I guess I'm not ready for..."

"Main biological point aside Zev....I respect that your not ready for it...." She paused for a moment. "What happens when you get 'urges'? And I know you do...any man does."

"Masturbation... or you know just raging hard on... which doesn't go away for a long time... eh... no big deal..." Raynor responded, taking a sip of his drink.

Faylin chocked on her drink as it caught in her throat. Through reddened eyes, she chuckled. "I asked....I didn't expect such a blunt answer. I think I'm done with the sexual inquisition. Are you ready for dinner...or shall we continue to a different subject?"

"What are we having this evening?" Raynor asked casually.

"We are having Scallops in a tomato basil vinaigrette, spring greens with a maple shallot dressing, rolls, and raspberry cheesecake for dessert. I hope that sounds okay?" She stood yet again, offering him her hand.

Raynor looked at the hand... wasn't quite sure what she wanted... was it his hand... was it his glass... no he was done with that. What would that mean if he gave her his hand, where would that lead, was he ready for all the consequences of that. He stared at it for awhile... before saying "Sounds good... never tried it before but it sounds really good..."

"Zev...it's just my hand." She stated quietly. "Ok?"

"Well does it bite?" Raynor asked while poking it with his index finger.

"Last time I checked, no. It does slap when provoked....so watch it." She retorted.

Raynor withdrew his finger. "Alright... Alright... jeez... I'm sorry... I didn't hurt you did I?" Raynor laughed a little trying to lighten the mood.

"Your fingernail was kinda sharp...when was the last time you trimmed that thing anyway?" Smiling, she waved her hand to the table. "Take a seat..."

"Tomorrow..." Raynor said with absolute certainty, before sitting down. The food waste taunting him, but that was okay since he was about to devour it whole.


"To Hell and Back"

Lt. Bran London Furies
Lt. (jg) Faylin McAlister

Location: Fay's Office
-----------------------

The slight smirk grew across her usual features as Faylin sat behind her desk. The months of pretending that she was someone else was over, yet the danger was still present and it haunted her day and night. People were curious about her for a number of reasons, and she could say that she did not blame them at all.

Events of the past few days that were troubling, or supposed to be, actually forced a peace upon her that she welcomed. There were obstacles still ahead, but she could feel free to be who she was in some sense, even if that meant shocking some people.

Raynor had been one that had shocked her on their dinner gathering. She had found out with pleasure that he was more than just a joker. He was shadowed about his past, just as she was. It bonded them in a friendship way and it was nice. Glancing up from her desk, she shoved a lock of dark hair back behind her ears. "Come in." Faylin retorted as she heard the chime.

Branwen came in a slight smile on her face. "I wanted to welcome you back, ma'am." She said. "I never had a chance to thank you for standing by me during that whole rape thing."

"Well, that's okay. It's my job." McAlister stated with grace as her hand slowly powered off the padd that contained the divorce paperwork between her and Steven. If all went according to plan, he should be served sometime that afternoon. She hated sending her new assistant to do the job, but things needed to be done 'in protocol'. Maybe. "How are you doing now?"

"I'm fine. I dropped the charges after I talked to the Miranda officer." Branwen still felt a bit strange about it. "But how are you? You must have gone through hell and back, ma'am."

"Actually, I just stopped by for a visit." She retorted with a smile on her face. "Um...since I have you here, and I'm aware of your position concerning Steven, I need to make you aware of something."

Branwen was curious, of course she knew that Faylin meant everything to Steven.

"I'm filing for a divorce."

The Marine blinked. "Why, if I may ask? Why such a sudden move?"

"Bran....my past and present are mysterious. You know Steven as well as I do. He wants and deserves truth and honesty in a relationship. I can't offer him that now...or in reality, ever."

Branwen was silent for a little while. "Yes, I do know him pretty well. I also know how devastated he was when he thought you were dead. He loves you very much, why don't you trust him to deal with uncertainty?"

"Because of the 'nature' of what I do....did...erm....do." She lowered and shook her head back and forth then raised it. "He is the type that has to know a lot....and feels easily betrayed when I don't tell him all of what I do. I set it up so he was kidnapped...before we got back here. Did you know that? I used him."

"Did you tell him, and did you tell him why you did it? I am sure you had a good reason." Branwen watched her closely.

"Oh, the reason was excellent. However, I chose not to tell him why I did it. And no, he had no idea he was a pawn in mine and Starfleet's task force."

"So basically if you decide to divorce him now he has no idea why?"

"He'll know." Faylin reached over and tapped her padd. "It'll be in the paperwork that will be delivered this afternoon. Now, Bran...if you excuse me...I have to get back to work. I hear I have a new crew member coming on board."

"With respect, ma'am. You said you were coming to see me, I think this is something we should talk about, longer than two minutes. I think you owe it to yourself and Steven to talk about it and make sure this is what you really want."

Her one eyebrow shot up in defiance at the woman's comment. "It's nothing that we should talk about. I told you what was going to happen and I have the proof right here on this padd. I don't want to talk about it period. It is what I really want."

"And what about Steven?" Branwen asked very softly.

"What about Steven? He's a big boy, a Marine actually and very capable of taking care of himself."

"Are you sure? Did you see him when he thought you were dead?" Branwen countered.

"Honestly. No. I was too busy trying to keep my butt alive."

"he did not handle it well. As he is my patient I can not give you more details. But he is not such a tough marine as you say and I think you know it, ma'am. Please, talk to him first."

"We have talked about it." She retorted. "Now, if there is nothing more....."

Branwen knew she was being dismissed. "I would like to talk to you so more in my office in a few days." She said. "After you have had some time to think." This made her very sad.

"I don't think that's going to happen. I have counselors out the whazoo now thanks to all that's going on. So, if your curious, consult Terrik or Brian."

"Fair enough, I didn't know that. But if you want to talk as friends, or somebody who knows Steven, my door is open ma'am." Aching for her friend and fellow Marine.

"Good enough Bran." Faylin stated with a nod. Arching her back slightly, she blinked once permitting her natural yellowish eyes to shine through for a moment. "Sorry, had something in my eye."

The young marine swallowed, it was eerie to see. But it was not polite to ask, and she was not the woman's therapist. "I guess I will leave you to your work, ma'am."


"Beating Around the Bush"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell
Lt. (jg) Faylin McAlister

*****Ten Forward, USS Galaxy*****

Nara still picked at her food more than eat it. Trying to eat in Ten Forward didn't seem to help. Though she didn't have her PADDs with her, she couldn't help but allow herself the distraction of people watching.

Being back from the dead, so to speak, had an interesting effect on people. Looking for some humor in her day, Faylin took a time out from the grueling legal world to grab a quick cup of tea. Tossing her dark hair back over her shoulder, she meandered into ten forward, attempting not to notice the curious stares that she created now a days.

Sliding up to the bar, she offered none less than an award winning smile while ordering her tea. Complete with tea in hand, the woman found a secluded spot at a back table, and bent her head down focusing on the newest IS intelligence she was handed earlier in the day. With the head of the organization captured, she was able to concentrate on the major 'little' people.

Nara's eyes fell on someone familiar. She just watched the woman a moment. She finally stood and walked over, sitting without invitation.

"Hi there." McAlister stated without much emotion as she took a sip of her tea. "Anything new?" She suppressed a chuckle.

Nara stared at the woman suspiciously, "You tell me."

"Whatcha want to know dear?" Her big brown eyes danced mischievously, attempting at an innocent look which Fay did not pull off too well.

Nara shook her head, "The amount of things we have in common is growing."

"How so?" McAlister was eying Nara when an evil little thought entered her mind. Her eyes grew large for a moment, then she proceeded to shake her head and smile. Waving her hand in front of her face, she spoke. "It's nothing...so....how are we *so* connected?"

"I didn't say connected. Just what we have in common. Faking deaths and then the obvious one: Saul."

"What about him?" That little evil thought was growing by the second as she studied Nara under a challenging gaze.

Nara rolled her eyes. "In the way we know him. Seriously, it's not polite to be more specific than that. You're hardly too innocent to know what I'm insinuating."

"If your saying that we've both had sex with him....Yes, I am aware of that fact. I apologize if I'm coming off as 'crass'. I do not believe in beating around the 'bush'. Is there a point to this conversation....or is there a quiz I should be reviewing for?"

Nara shrugged, "Well, I suppose I have a professional question. With a personal edge. Do I need to bother trying to reinstate my case to you or do you plan another stint at death?" Regardless of their personal issues, Nara figured Faylin would do a good job at getting Marks punished. Nothing short of castration would satisfy Nara, but that was hardly within legal means.

"Actually, now in hindsight, I didn't need to fake my death in the first place. However, what Starfleet wants, Starfleet gets. Off the record here.....if you had anything at your disposal for revenge...what would you do?"

Nara looked at her. Was anything truly off the record? She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, "What would you do?"

"Anything....." And she left it at that. Standing, Faylin glanced down at Nara who was still sitting. "However, I charge steep fees Nara.....and this is one charge....that I doubt you would want to pay over."

Nara looked at her confused, "I thought you didn't believe in beating around the bush."

"Got me. Okay, here we go. Seeing that this is off the record, I could do what ever you want. You want justice, you got it. However, the price would be your relationship with Saul. He goes free..... " Turning, she went to leave but looked back. "You know where I'm at when you reach your decision Nara. Let me know within twenty four hours. My services and skills are in high demand." With that, Faylin winked and exited the lounge.

Nara sat there only a second before she nearly knocked the chair down getting up and at a fast pace caught up with Faylin, "Wait! I already made it! You misunderstand."

Turning around slowly, McAlister crossed her arms at her chest. "What is your decision Nara?"

"If I were to go outside the law on this, I'd do it myself. But I don't want to go outside the law." Nara couldn't help but smile. "But thank you for your offer."

"It's your prerogative honey....but just think of all the women that he has raped, and will rape in the future. How's that weighing on your mind? Justice, within the fleet, could take years.....there is a statute of limitations as well. However....there are other ways of getting to Saul.....believe me." She purred then leaned in closer.

Nara stared at her, "How dare you. Don't you think I've considered that? That's the only reason I'm doing anything at all! And if I did free Saul, how do you know he'd go to you? And it's not like I'm forcing him to be with me. He -is- free. And he chose me." Nara turned and walked toward the gym. She had figured she wouldn't bother trying to reinstate the case to Faylin. Now knowing that Faylin was pretty crooked.

McAlister said nothing as she watched Nara leave. An ever so slight curl to her lips occurred as her mind wrapped around the delicious satisfaction she achieved from getting Nara peeved off at her. She knew what provoked a sudden reaction out of Nara, and the JAG officer wasn't afraid to stir the pot a little. Her thoughts on Saul was her own, and would be kept that way for now.


"The Little Sucker"

Lt. (jg) Faylin McAlister
JAG

Lt.Cmdr. Vladimir Malgin
Chief Surgeon

Location: Galaxy Sick Bay
---------------------------

The small bump on the back of her left shoulder blade felt uncomfortable and it had been growing for the last week at an accelerated rate. Sighing, she knew that a call to the sick bay was in order. She really didn't want to, but it was unavoidable. Entering the bay in stride, she stopped short and glanced around for an available doctor. "Hello?"

It was quiet. Too quiet here. Even those few nurses, who were in sight were quiet. Hum of machinery was... Yes, too quiet. So this "hello?", said above, has really sounded like a thunder. Slight murmur waved in the air in response to this greeting. And... Quite loud, almost metallic sounding voice from behind, with few definite Russian notes, sliced the silence in half. "Lieutenant, what brought you to the sickbay? Any problems?"

"Hi Doc." Faylin stated as she hoped up on the biobed. I have a small bump on my back left shoulder that I need looked at...it's been growing for the past few days....and overall, I feel sluggish."

"Yeah, yeah. As always. When anybody finds a tiny bump, or pigment spot on the body, they are running here at warp 9.99..." remarked Doc as grumpily as he could, "Have you ever thought, that it might be not physical, but psychological? that you want to be ill, and body reacts. Huh?" Vladimir sighed. It was always the same. Day after day.

"Alright. Show this to me."

Sliding out of her uniform top, she revealed a white tank that she slipped off of her left shoulder. "There......"

Surgeon carefully looked around this tiny bump. In fact, it didn't look that tiny as of this moment. At least not tiny by medical scale. "Ow, come on! You say it is tiny?" doctor's voice has rapidly lost all traces of irritation or annoyance. He made few glances from other sides. Then he touched it. Surface was normal, like a normal skin, but there definitely was some kind of alien object inside, not natural. "I can only wonder what is it there," he commented, taking medical tricorder and making few gestures with it as if it was an old-fashioned magnifying glass, "Seems hard on touch. And looks really weird. Hmm... It doesn't seem to be just a round object of the sort. More like little tumor. Strange. Definitely strange shape. I'd say round with some tentacle-like appendages... Hell, what a crap have you brought on yourself?" Doc suddenly stopped, wide-eyed. "Hell, it's moving! Is it some kind of parasite or what?!"

"It's moving? Crap......get it out. Pinch it off at the base before you make the incision doc.....after that, your going to have to pull it with a lot of strength. Damn it....." Her face soured as she gaged the reaction of the doctor.

"Hell, first you should tell me what is it, since you know it! Perhaps we'd need to quarantine you after all! Quick. What is that?!"

"It's a parasite that has a half biological half robotic composition for lack of a better word. It's not contagious or anything like that....it's used for a slow, painful death. Its placed on the clothing of the victim, eats through the clothing and the three layers of skin.....just get it out...and I'll tell you about it in a minute." Her gaze fell onto the nurse. "Get a long vial with a cap on it, and make sure no one touches the tentacles....or your screwed."

"Nurse," quickly commanded Chief Surgeon, "Escort the patient to the Operating Theatre. Get the requiested vial, prepare instrumentary. I'll get there in a minute."

The nurse nodded and departed with Faylin by her side. "I hope this doesn't take long." She muttered. Reaching back, she felt the bump and grimmaced. He got her....days within dying a second time, she had to smile. He was quite resourceful.

The prep for surgery had gone smoothly, and before Fay realized it, she was on her stomach with her head faced to the right. "I want to see this sucker after you get him out......"

"First please try to live through this, okay?" Vladimir replied from the doorway, quickly stepping inside and to the patient. He clapped his hands. "Alright. Let's get going. Nurse, please apply local aesthetics. We both want to satisfy our dear patient, so she can see that, ahem, 'sucker'. And please, dear miss, please try not to comment my actions during surgery."

Having received a nod from the nurse few seconds later, he dropped a phrase in Russian (roughly translated as 'God bless us as we are going to be f**ked') and started doing, what he does the best in life (not grumping, by the way!..)

"Nice phrase there doc...and yes, I did study Russian at the academy." Faylin retorted with a chuckle.

"I said no comments, please! This is really distracting me!" noted Doc, making the first quick cuts. Then second deeper ones. Time passed by. Quick commands to nurse with almost metallic-sounding voice, distractions to tricorders, when necessary... Normal, albeit hurried, surgery.

"Alrighty, see it clearly now. Nurse, please take the jar in my nearest vicinity. I don't want to keep this biocrap in my hands for too long... Miss, please concentrate, as this might really hurt, despite our anesthetics..."

The end of the phrase was marked by a streak of pain, which blazed through the side of her body.

"Good god, that hurts...." Faylin whined. "I think I should have been knocked out for this....he's in there deep already."

"Hella tough one here! If this was fish, I'd ask somebody to use some dynamite to stun it!" Vladimir gave himself few seconds to take few breaths. And then he pulled again, with all force he could. Loud and hella unnatural 'Plop', scream from patient and exhale from surgeon filled the room. Having turned red from the effort, Vladimir motioned for nurse to open the jar, then threw the parasite inside. "Take him away, please. Lifetime sentence. No appeal. Just one last view to our patient..."

Glancing over at the jar after the parasite had been extracted Faylin just shook her head. "Okay doc, want the rest of the story?"

"It might really color up the rest of surgery, as we patch our cuts."

"Basically, what that little darling dose is burrow to a depth of an inch and a half. Then, it extracts six short tentacles from it's body. Each tentacle 'eats' it's way to a major organ in the body. Heart, lungs, liver, brain, pancreas, and large intestines. If, the tentacles get to that point....they punch a whole through the wall of that organ and feed off of it...and...the host dies within a matter of a few hours. He's quite a fascinating little bugger to have in your arsenal of snappy death weapons...." She paused. "You didn't hear that last part....it was the pain that made me say it." Faylin paused yet again, then offered the doctor a large, almost comical grin. "Can I go now?"

"No, you'd have to remain here at least for few hours for at least slight recuperation after I finish with you. I don't want you to pass out in the corridors. And that's a medical order, miss. And NO OBJECTIONS." About twenty more minutes passed in silence. After what, Vladimir stepped away from operating table.

"Okay...but...can I get something for the pain? Oh...and an antibiotic. The newer versions of those are known to inject a viral infection as well."

"Nurse shall take care of you and supply you with necessary medicines. If you'll need me, ask her to call me. As of this moment, we are done... Oh! And one more thing! Please, try not to get yourself into such a trouble again. I don't like to hurry in the surgery. That's first. And, think, what might have happened, if I wasn't here. That's second. Have a nice day, lady."

With such a tirade, Chief Surgeon quickly left to his office. Now even giving Faylin a chance to reply.

Arching a single eyebrow, she saw the nurse approach with a hypospray. As it injected, it took a few moments for the effects to come on. However, when they did, Faylin's eyes closed droopingly. "Oh...that's nice...."


"Busted Heart"

First Lieutenant Steven Jonas

**** Steven's Quarters ****

Steven took one last look around the quarters he had lived in for the past couple of months. Formerly the quarters of Faylin McAlister, and then their shared quarters for a short time, they had become his upon her 'death'.

And now they stood empty, devoid of his possession's. Lifeless and grey; the quarters looked as pathetic as he felt inside. Hurting and alone, Steven sighed and switched off the lights letting the room be covered in a blanket of darkness. How ironic, he thought, thinking of the darkness that now covered his heart.

As the door closed in front of him, Steven's thoughts drifted back to the day she had run out and jumped into his arms. Oh how he had been a fool to fall for it. Shaking his head at the thought, the Marine reached down and picked up the duffel bag containing the last of his things and began the trek to the Marine barracks.

She had wanted space, he understood that. And despite his objections, he had been willing to give her the space, after all, she had just stopped her father from doing god knows what to an evil organization, but to find out, even if it was by a rumor, just what she actually meant by 'needing space' had appalled him. Heck, they were still married as far as he was concerned. Obviously that didn't mean much to her though.

So, with that thought swirling around in his head, he had chosen to do the one thing he had been dreading since she had 'passed on': Clearing out her stuff. Her clothes, photos, even the painting that Aerv had given her... he had put them all into a box, and had placed it outside her quarters. Well he assumed they were her quarters, since she was Juliette.

He had even given back her mutt. Well sort of. He had sent it down to the small dog kennel in the bowels of the ship. She'd eventually find out her dog was there and go get it. And if she didn't, well, he didn't really care anymore.

The turbolift arrived and as the door opened, Steven caught sight of two crewmen suddenly go quiet as they spotted him. Shrugging, he entered and called out the deck he wanted. If people were gonna talk, then they were gonna talk. There wasn't much he could do about it.

Finally he reached the barracks. Steven was thankful that the Marines were all in having lessons. It allowed him to slip past the commons quietly without notice. He did spot Bran sitting there, but she was absorbed in some book or report and didn't look up, which he was grateful for. No doubt she'd try and talk him to death and at the moment he doubted he could handle that.

Dropping his duffel to the floor, he slipped onto his new bed and closed his eyes. "Music, sad" he called out to the computer as he lay there.

The music played it's sad melody, and Steven began to sob softly. He'd given everything for her and she'd tossed him aside like a sack of potatoes.

Time passed slowly as one some merged into another and he lay there feeling sorry for himself.

A knock at the door woke him from his sad pathetic demeanor.

"Hang on." he called out as he furiously wiped away the tears that streaked his face. He stood up and looked down at the bed, seeing where his tears had soaked the sheets. He threw his duffel bag onto the bed to cover it and called for the person to enter.

At least it isn't the bitch, he thought as the door opened and he saw Branwen standing there.


"Spotted Vendetta, epilouge - Debt of Blood"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief Of Intelligence

SOUNDTRACK: Still Loving You, The Scorpions

Christopher McCauley stood up as the force field containing him in the tiny cell dissolved.

He was held here at Deep Space 5 brig's most secure section for only a day after he was caught and the fellow who escorted him was killed. Between then and now, he went through a brief perliminary interrogation by the station's Bajoran security chief, and then a lot of remorse.

Bental's presence made him nervous, he knew, and as a result he did his first mistake in two years and contacted Bental's family members. There was enough information on the nets to suggest that the Bentals were powerful enough to pay his debts to the Orions, as well as arrange him a safe passage out. Once he became involved with that Doron person, the representative of the Bental known as 'The Fox', McCauley also realized that Bental's family didn't like strays. At that point, he felt a pang. If he wanted Bental dead or suffering, he would do it himself, but he didn't want to harm anyone and definitely not an fellow Starfleet officer. But after a few conversation with the fox's men it was obvious that there was no way back. It was either handing them Bental, or ending up badly.

Like in the cell of a Starfleet brig, for instance.

Well, McCauley told himself as he stood up. No way going back now, Chris ole' lad. Now you stand up to the military tribune, and meet them head to head like you didn't dare to do after Thomas tried to recruit you. There was no other alternative.

"Stand up. We are leaving."

It was an officer he never saw before, escorted by two guards. The officer was an elder female, which looked somewhat Mediterranean. He asked her who she was as she shackled his hands and feet - the shackles were similar to those he used to tie down Saul Bental - but she did not answer.

"I assume we're heading back to Earth for trial, then." McCauley stated.

"We're heading for trial." The woman replied. McCauley nodded, noticing her chain. A splendid cross was attached to it.

"I'm a catholic, you know. Been two years since..." His voice faded as he saw her lack of responsiveness. Alas. He didn't believe in god anyhow.

The small group paced through empty, dimly lit corridors in silence. For the first time in two years, McCauley just let the events carry him on. Truly, the path was laid in for him now. A voyage back to Earth, trial, and twenty to life in a penal colony. At least, he won't be on the run anymore. It was a sad way to end a career, but his career wasn't worth the bits of data it took on BUPERS' database anyway.

They eventually entered a small chamber, close to one of the shuttle bays. The room was painted white, and devoid of any furniture. There were only two identical doors. McCauley could not tell what the room's function was.

The elderly officer turned to face him. The guards left.

"Who were the men you wanted to deliver Lieutenant Bental too?" She asked.

"Employees of his family." McCauley replied without hesitating. At least it sounded good. "Saul Bental told me that if I give him evidence that I did not do the attrocity. he'll help me. I have the evidence in my quarters."

"You'll be taken to trial now." The woman said. Her hand hovered over his forehead for a second, and then she left the room and locked the door behind her.

McCauley waited, alone. Several minutes passed without change. He began to hum.

Then, without warning, the second door opened.

"...Time, it needs t-- oh shit."

A Trill was standing at the door. McCauley stared at his blank face as he entered the room. Then another went, an elderly Trill. And another. They surrounded him. They all looked ordinary - not goons, or even soldiers. Just people. Some old, some young, some male, some female.

"I did not pilot the Akula into your capital." McCauley said hurriedly. "Thomas wanted me to, so I took off in a life pod. I'm not a terrorist. I would never do such a thing. I have evidence in my quarters..."

The first fist connected with his abdomen, making him instinctively bend forward. A boot with a metallic frame crashed into his jaw, deallocating it. They gathered around him, hitting him, kicking him, even biting him. He heard someone screaming, someone who sounded awfully like him.

By the time they drew their blades, he was already huddled on the floor and blinded with searing pain. Yet, they did not slow down.

* * *

"Admiral." Lt.Commander Chen Len entered Proctor's ready room. It was his shift at the station's OPS center. "I just got note that one of the outgoing flight plans is going very close to the area intel established as 'No flight zone.'."

"One of ours?" Proctor asked in a bored, 'You interfered with my very important work over THIS?', tone.

"Yes. Transport shuttle Zinzana." Lin glanced at the PADD which displayed the flight plan. "It's the one carrying McCauley back to earth."

Proctor shrugged. "The pilot has all the needed threats assessment. Trust his judgment. The Admiralty back home wants the prisoner back as quickly as possible for obvious reasons. As the one who caught this criminal, I agree that he should be brought to justice as quickly as possible."

"Yes ma'am. Sorry to bother you ma'am."

"Dismissed."

Lin exited the room and went back to his station. As he sat down, he looked at the flight plan one more time.

Proctor's words echoed in his mind, and he noted something he missed before.

'Trust *his* judgment.'

She knew the gender of the pilot. With so many incoming and outgoing flights, it was obvious that the Admiral did not know each pilot's details by heart. Perhaps she said 'his' in a general way? Maybe.

Out of curiosity, Lin pressed on the pilot's name, and a few details appeared. The third data field made Lin shudder.

Proctor let an unjoined Trill deliver McCauley to Earth.


"Of Cyborgs and Men"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Lieutenant J.G. Eve
Intelligence Technical Officer

The world coalesced about her, Black turned to an amorphous blob of multifaceted color turned into an extremely sharp picture of the ceiling of Galaxy's Sickbay. She'd been here before, on this same bed, more than once. Disturbing, to say the least. To an observer, one would see Eve as she had been when first brought to Sickbay, albeit cleaned of all the blood and gore she had been found covered in. Nothing on her moved besides her chest, rising and falling with every breath, and her eyes, now open.

"Boker Tov."

Saul Bental bent over her, smiling. He came as soon as Burton told him that Eve might wake up.

"Who am I talking to?" He asked. Burton told him that they had no indication as for which of Eve's two personalities currently dominated. He figured he might as well just ask.

Her mind raced through the memory vault, surprised at first but only at first. Information was processed much more efficiently than any incarnation previously as she reviewed the events of the past several years. "It depends on what you want to call me," she said as she slowly sat up. Looking at her hands and legs she quirked an eyebrow. "Primitive yet effective and quite efficient. In answer to your question, I am both Valentina and Eve, conjoined and enmeshed to form a more complete whole than either could ever hope to be."

Saul bit his lower lip. It was obvious which of the two entities won, regardless of her statement.

"Welcome back, Eve." He sighed.

She slowly began removing the plating attached to her left arm. First came the segments around her fingers, then the plate on the back of the hand, a fine mesh along the palm, onward it went until there was a pile of duranium/triatnium pieces sitting on the biobed next to her. The arm was mechanical up to and including her shoulder, as reported in her bio and specifications. "The synthetic skin will regrow in only a few days time." Slowly she began to do the same for her right arm as well.

A nurse spotted the occurrence, and came rushing in with an alarming expression on his face. Saul signalled the NCO not to interfere, and the latter reluctantly turned around.

"You do know who Tarden Naz is." Saul said.

"Tarden Naz is the head of SFI technical operations, and the man who sponsored my entrance into SF Intelligence in the first place."

"I heard many confusing reports about what happened to you after the Borg cubes entered Barzan space. These reports will eventually reach Tarden, and when they do chances are he'll want to examine your... 'new features'... up close."

Eve sighed. "When he gets me in his office, or lab, or wherever, he'll find a completely different person from when he first met me sir." Her monotonous computerish vocalizations were gone. Though she definitely retained the majority of Eve's propensity for technical lingo, her voice was much warmer than before. "My chassis incorporates several devices and components that SFI could not identify the purpose of. Neither could the Science or Engineering Corps. Some of these have been reactivated following my initial proximity to the Borg."

"Please tell me everything that you know now and didn't know earlier. It's best that I know the whole truth."

"I know everything the Eve you knew does, as well as Valentina, past and recently present. I can also list for you the subsystems incorporated into me that have recently been activated and/or reinitialized as well as their basic purposes and functions." Soon the plates along Eve's legs had been added to the pile and she looked at her synthetic innards with curiosity. "Request permission to keep these, sir," she asked, indicating the pile of armor shells, for lack of better description.

"Permission granted. Do you intend to reuse them?"

"No," she replied. "However, there may come a time when they are necessary. having them on hand will be more feadable than having to replicate new ones."

Saul was getting a little frustrated. He never considered anything to be 'too big' for him, but Eve was pushing his limits.

"I don't think you understand how grave your situation is. The Borg practically declared war on us, and you are a golden oppertunity for R&D boys to try and counter the offensive that WILL eventually come. Also, with what's going in your head, I don't know how much I can trust you."

Saul trusted no one wholly, Eve included, but it was the best way to explain to her where she stands. "For all I can tell." He continued, "You may just transform tomorrow to something else and go around doing whatever you want. Just like you did when the Borg cubes arrived to the Barzan system. You're uncontrollable."

"Acording to system telemetry readings preserved since my initial augmentations centuries ago, the only reason that was possible was because of the programming and personality breakdown that occurred during the ch'Rihan operations. Key barriers had been broken, resulting in the possibility of my full activation should the Borg arrive. However, the Borg Killer program has been isolated." She looked off into space for a moment before her eyes refocused on him. "The Borg killer program, effectively an alternative personality, is inaccessible via normal or emergency situation subroutines. Only proximity to a drone or other source of the Collective's intercommunication's network will provide the keys to the lockouts on those subroutines. Teleportation systems are still assessable, though usage capacities are more severely limited than standard operational protocols dictate."

"So what you're saying is 'Keep me away from the Borg or I'll really get pissed."

"Of a sorts. Now that my programming and subsystems have fully settled and integrated, I have the option to revert when Borg are present."

"With regards to SF intelligence and duplicating the technology required to replicate the process used to create others like me, I am afraid that only the Borg have anywhere near the technological levels and expertise required. Some items may be duplicated and the detailed specifications for those are already in the Intelligence Database - my limbs and ocular implants, for example." She slid off of the biobed and stood, stretching as if having waken up from a good nap.

"That won't stop them from trying. Say the Galaxy would have gone back in time and crashed on British soil during World War 2. Don't you think the Britts would've tried to unlock its secrets?" Saul folded his arms. "You say you're now both Tina and Eve, but even Tina wouldn't be so naive. And being naive is one of the worst attributes an intelligence officer can have."

Eve smiled. "I merely state the facts that I know. I never said they wouldn't try."

"And when they do, I won't have enough influence to stop them. Not to mention that perhaps some of the reason the Borg decided to break the treaty was the fact that they encountered YOU. As far as they're concerned, you're a weapon that Starfleet deployed."

Eve pondered this for a moment. "This is a possibility. However, I did not engage the Borg until sometime after they had begun their absorption of the Barzan. In essence, they fired first. The fact remains that the Collective perceives events on a radically different scale than the remainder of the Galaxy, so such arguments are moot."

Perhaps her personality did include traces of Tina, Saul thought, if she had the huzpe to tell him that his arguments are moot.

"But on the other hand, their behavior was eccentric even for Borg. We'll let the top guys back at HQ break their heads on this abnormality. Anyway, give me the breakdown - what new systems did you discover?"

"Most of the systems reinitialized or reactivated were either redundant components or modular mounting points," Eve began. "In a fully activated state I can sustain 63% damage with negligible drops in overall performance. The modular points are empty: these would mount weapons, additional components, and anything that is capable of being linked into my cyboneural networks. There is a singular exception to the preceding statement. Given it's nature I decline to submit it in an unsecured environment."

"Oh?" Saul considered her declaration. "All right. Tell me what environment is secure enough, and we'll go there."

"Your office, sir. I am aware that any activity conducted within is available to the upper echelons of the department, but they will discover this information soon enough." She lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. "However, they are not my concern. I will resolve that situation when it occurs. My current concern is the welfare and morale of this crew, especially following this mission. Most people don't take to well to loosing, regardless of the circumstances and contributing factors."

"Losing?" Saul shook his head. "If you're alive, it means you won. Remember that."

He went outside, verifying with the doctors that Eve could be released. A medical officer came in, examined her, and reluctantly admitted that there was no reason to keep Eve in sickbay any longer, as long as she drops by once a day for a quickly check-up. Saul thanked the doctor, and he and his technical officer left sickbay.


(OOC: Hey all, thought I'd introduce a new character. Hope you like him. The Bio is on the way. Cheers, Stuart)

"A New Beginning"

Flight Officer John Davidson

**** Docking Bay USS Galaxy ****

John stepped down the small gangplank onto the deck of the mighty USS Galaxy warship for the first time. It wasn't the same as the Saratoga, but he wanted more; he wanted to be the best and thus he was now here aboard the Galaxy. John's eyes roamed the small bay with anticipation. It was going to be a grand adventure.

Lifting his duffel from the deck, he slung it over his shoulder and proceeded down the ramp. A ship of the size of the Galaxy waited for no man, and with that logic in mind, he walked over to the most official looking person on the deck.

"Flight Officer John Davidson reporting." he said with a smile.

The man, whom had been busy directing the unloading of various supplies grunted and thrust the hand containing his PADD towards a doorway. Nodding his thanks, yet weary of the lack of security during his arrival, he proceeded through the door and stepped into one of the many hallways that lined the decks of the huge vessel.

John thought it prudent to inquire about his new quarters, yet no one was around to greet him. Shrugging, he figured he'd just find his own way. He checked with the computer and began the trek to find his billet.

Twenty minutes and several wrong turns later, though he would never admit that to anyone, he found his quarters. On the Starboard side of the ship near the Hanger deck, as was expected. Punching in his details into the panel to authorize him, the door slid sideways into the bulkhead. The slight hiss it made as it did so sounded much the same as on the Saratoga.

"Lights, fifty percent" he called out as he entered. The darkness lifted and the spartan room came into view. There wasn't much to the room, but that was fine with JD. He was used to it. To those that he allowed within his domain, it was weird that he didn't have much stuff, but he always had just shrugged and told them it was how he liked it. Nothing to hold one down to a place, he used to say in explanation.

He stepped over the imaginary line that separated the hallway from his room and smiled with joy. It was going to be an interesting experience aboard the huge Galaxy class vessel. That was for sure.

Dropping the duffel to the ground, he sank into the nearby chair and closed his eyes. A soft smile played across his lips as he thought of his first time in a fighter, years before. It had been a magical time. He often wondered what happened to Stephanie, and had even tried to find her once with no success. And now as he sat upon one of the premier ships in the fleet, he thought again of the young pilot and the brief time they had shared together.

"Dammit."

The sound echoed throughout the room, reverberating back at him. Sighing, he rose from the chair and walked out of the room. He needed to report to the CAG and then, if he didn't require him on duty right away, he was going to find the bar.

Here he was, on a new ship; with a new squadron; a new beginning. So to speak.

Thinking of that statement for a moment, he repeated it in his mind.

A New Beginning!


"Eve's Magical Act"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Lieutenant J.G. Eve
Intelligence Technical Officer

As he and Eve strode toward the intelligence CIC, Saul silently contemplated the uncomfortable situation he found himself in as department head. His two best men, Raynor and Eve, were unstable. Raynor by choice, Eve not. Choice did not matter to the 'upper echelons', as Eve called them, and Saul was well aware that SFI may recall either one of the troublemakers at any time, leaving the department weakened.

And worse, taking away a friend. Or in Raynor's case, a thorn in the tuches. But at least it was a funny thorn, who could come up with great intelligence analysis when he wasn't running around making sarcastic jokes, pulling pranks, and generally acting like a six foot tall dick.

He entered CIC, nodding at the cadet who opened the doors, and headed to his office. There were stares, of course, as the members of the intelligence department knew more than they should have about Eve's whereabouts. Saul would be very disappointed if they didn't.

"Here we are." He told Eve as he closed his office's door. He then tapped on several panels, activating masking protocols.

The office didn't become totally impenetrable to all forms of eavesdropping, but it sure as hell gave a good try.

Once the security protocols were in place, Eve stepped up to her boss. "This will be .. uncomfortable," she told him as she grasped his upper arms. Only a scant handful of heartbeats later the two were on the opposite side of Saul's office, standing ontop of the desk.

"Hey! What...?"

Saul barely managed to remain on his feet. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings. As the dizziness began to weaken, he slowly came to understand what just happened. The little wheels of thought inside his mind began revolving at high speed.

"Where's the transporter?" He asked.

"My internal diagnostics and schematics list the device as a 'teleportal.' " She helped him down off of the desk, back to the safety of the solid floor. "It does not send matter/energy packets through a beam, but rather creates a portal to another location. As it does not require line of sight to operate, the teleportal has the capability of completely circumventing contemporary shields. However, certain limitations do exist. I can only carry one other humanoid, and there is a significant reset period. I won't be able to transport without impairment for at least another 3 to 4 hours. Dipping below that will drain not only my onboard reserves but my standard energy alotments as well. I would be weakened, and in some cases potentially incapacitated. This is what happened with the Borg. As the Galaxy moved off I jumped back, but after only 45 minutes. The sudden drain across the board left me unconscious upon completion of the jump. I do not have an estimate on range limitations - that information was not included in the operational parameters."

"Do you realize the possibilities this opens? This new method of... teleporting?"

Exciting images filled Saul's mind: Ships with displacement devices, asteroid drivers based on teleporting technology, a disruptor beam hitting only air where a Starfleet marine stood a moment ago. It was too good to be true.

In the hands of the right merchant, it could be the key to immense wealth.

"It's a good thing we went to a... secure environment. Let's keep this new ability between us for now, shall wel? I need some time to consider this new revelation."

"Indeed. However, as I mentioned previously, the level of technology and scientific knowhow required to even simply duplicate my components is far beyond anything the Federation and all other Alpha Quadrant powers currently possesses. Creating a new cyborg is closer, but the current technology path the Federation is pursuing is more in line with the Borg's achievements as opposed to that which created me."

"It sounds almost as if you take pride of your creators." Or rather, tormentors. But she was too blind to realize this, poor Valentina. "Eve, if you truly want to defeat the Borg, you'll help Starfleet research to reach breakthroughs using the technology embedded in you. But, as I said, it's out of my hands. Right now what *I* need is to know how my Technical officer is doing and whether I can trust her on the next round."

Eve pondered this for a few minutes before answering, choosing her words carefully. "When we next encounter the Collective, I will not lose myself, nor will I lose my bearing. As far as assisting Starfleet in crafting technological breakthroughs, I will do what I can. I don't even understand how all of my components work, or the mechanics behind them. The teleportal is one such example: there is nothing in the Alpha Quadrant that can be modified or jerry rigged to produce anything even remotely similar to the effect. I'm not opposed to trying, but I've seen how our scientists and bureaucrats operate. I don't want to die, but removing all of my upgrades would require that. I'm lucky that I got into Starfleet, that I'm not already in a lab somewhere, being poked, prodded, and scanned for all of the information they can glean out of me." She stopped here and closed her eyes, calming herself.

"With regards to the borg. I don't hate them the same way everyone onboard does, possibly because I'm only a technological evolutionary divergence away. I've never suffered the loss of friends to them, family and associates stripped of their individuality. A lot of what I feel towards the Borg is influenced by my combat programming. Frankly, I feel pity for the drones. But that never stops me from doing what needs to be done." She looked up onto Sauls eyes. "As for how I feel, would you prefer "operating at optimal efficiency? Because I'd rather say 'I feel fine.' "

"Glad you are." Saul smiled fondly, patting her shoulder. "If you're feeling fine then I am, too. Let's get to work then - we have tons of technological data from the Tactical cubes waiting for preliminary analysis. Also I want your opinion about enhancing our ship-board intelligence array to better suit the new Borg threat..."

* * *

Later that night, when everyone were gone except for the department's 'nightcrawlers', Saul locked his office and began to compose a message.

Its recipient was Doctor Burton, and a summarized copy was sent to none other than Captain M'Kantu.

"Doctor Burton,

I recently let Lieutenant Eve, previously hospitalized at sickbay, to return to full duty.

To my unprofessional eyes, she seems to be at top shape, and recuperated from the experience she went. She claims to feel fine as well.

However, it is the unique circumstances which led her to end up in sickbay that bother me. Frankly, I doubt there's anyone who can predict when will Eve turn into a dangerous killing machine again, not even her. Also, the new abilities she displayed during the crisis trouble me, and the thing that concerns me the most is the way it'll influence Eve herself.

This leads me to make two, very unusual requests.

First, I ask you to inform me if anyone requests or demands Eve's medical information. Even if these people appear to have the clearance to view Eve's files, please do not allow them access before talking to me.

Second, I ask you to come up with a way to halt Eve in a non-violent way if she ever goes berserk again.

I realize both requests are extremely unusual, but this is an unusual situation, and I think you're the best person to help me guard the welfare of my technical officer. I'm sure you understand why I want to take these precautions.

Bental out."


"Why in Xandar's Name?"

Starring:
Ensign Miquelan Dar'ce-Tactical Officer

Featuring:
Ensign Trevan Isar-Operations Officer, USS Miranda

The mission had gone bust, a fighter pilot had died, and the Borg had declared war on the Federation. Not bad for the two weeks the ensign had been on board.

It was a shame that he was on light duty for the next few days, because he really wanted to get some time in on the bridge. Delta shift was for newbies, and that he certainly was, but if he wasn't even allowed up there, how was he supposed to train? There was plenty of time for it, because they were on course back to DS5 to effect repairs.

The doctor had suggested he write a few letters back home or to friends from the Academy. That sounded like it might help the time pass, and so he began with a short letter to his mentor and friend from the starship Vigilant, Captain V'len. She had already sent him a letter, urging him to serve with distinction, and letting him know that her ship would be maintaining radio silence for several days while they were involved in some combat maneuvers near the Hydran border. His letter would probably be held until they checked back in with Starfleet.

His next letter was addressed to his sister Vemyn, who was in her last year of finishing school. She was engaged to Miquelan's longtime friend Zemax Rov'eth, and they would be married next spring. Miquelan hoped to have a nephew or niece soon after, and he said as much in his letter.

The next message he decided to direct personally. He had been wanting to talk to his cousin for quite some time, since he had found out about his leaving Xenon for the second time. He had been offered a position in the High Guard fleet, with authority and power. Why would he turn that down just to go back to be the low man in operations on some starship in the Federation?

It didn't make sense to him.

The call went through, and he found himself talking to a communications officer.

"I'm looking for Ensign Trevan Isar, please. If he's available."

"I'll patch you through."

Ensign Isar was in the Tactical CIC on the Starship Miranda, pausing for a cup of Tarkelean tea, when a noncom looked up from her console and said, "Sir, there's an incoming transmission for you. Would you like it down here?"

'With you,' he thought to the Redhead, 'I'd like it anywhere you'd give it.'

But what he said was, "Patch it through to the third communications console." He wanted a little privacy, since this was probably not from one of the teams playing border patrol on Gyndine.

When the screen came on and he saw who he was looking at, a large smile played across his face. It was his cousin, a bit younger than himself, but an ensign in a Starfleet uniform no less. They had grown up together on the rim colony of Trivon, their parents just a few towns from each other.

"Miq, how are things on the Galaxy. I heard you guys ran into a bit of trouble over at Barzan." That was the best way talk to the guy, straight up.

"Trevan, it's been ages. Yeah, the Borg assimilated the entire planet and then went back to the Delta quadrant. But they did leave us with a warning. We're not at peace any longer." Trevan noticed how the young man was wincing when he moved his arm.

"Tell me, Miq, when did you become such a good target? I could never seem to hit you with the paintballs back home. I notice you've hurt your arm or something."

The other Xenonian smiled, remembering the summer games, no doubt. "Ah, just a going away present by some angry Barzan militants. I wasn't paying attention, and I got nailed. First away mission, too. Shot in the shoulder and cut in the hand by God knows what. But, I survived, and so did the team I was with. Hopefully that is a harbinger for good things to come."

"So, why'd you call? I'm playing liaison to the Tactical department right now, coordinating resources to help them play border patrol here at Gyndine. I'm not real busy right now, but that's apt to change at any moment."

"Fair enough. I was wondering, why in the world would you turn down your father when he offers you a position as a Commander in the High Guard. You know you deserve it, and you would do such a great job."

Trevan slowly put his tea down, staring daggers at the com terminal.

Miquelan saw the look on his cousin's face, and knew that he had struck a nerve. He also knew that his cousin wasn't mad at him for asking, but that the reason for the refusal had somehow triggered an angry response.

"Cousin, do you remember all those nights we spent in the mountains in the Iberna Territories? Remember how we used to wonder when grandfather would give up the ridiculous title of Emperor, and hand complete power over to the President and the Senate? Well, he's trying to pass that power on to me. That's why I was offered a ship. They want me to be the Chief Xandar one day, and to rule in place of Grandfather. You know how much I despise the whole notion of Hereditary Rule. I know, the senate and the president share most of the power, but how many would flock to the Emperor if he asked them to? How many would incite civil war just to back the Chief Xandar again?"

Miquelan thought on this. He was right, there were many that held to the old ways, and would definitely back the Isar's on the throne if they called for it. And yes, it would cause civil war among the systems in the Republic. Starfleet might not even step in, it being an internal matter and all that. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, though the eldest Isar was difficult to predict. Most thought that he would have given up the ceremonial position as soon as his own father was dead and gone, but that hadn't happened.

He'd been dead twenty-seven years.

"I think I understand your position now. But, why don't you take the job anyway? Once you are the emperor, you would be able to shut the whole thing down completely. I'd give it my complete support."

"I've thought about that, but there has to be something else involved. Why else would great-grandfather and grandfather hold on to it for so long, and why would my father covet it so much? Their minds are too strong for even me to break through and see their real thoughts on the subject, but what if theirs a new plot against the Republic? Are they part of it, or are they trying to stave it off?

"Anyway, I'm glad you called, but I've got tons of requests for sensor allocation filing in right now. Sorry to have unloaded on you, but you know how our family is."

"Yes, I know. I hope you can make the right decision. Xandar will lead you, cousin. Follow Him, He knows the way."

As the communication ended, Miquelan decided that letters were far better than face to face communications, and began writing a letter to his mother.

~About Grandfather, why in Xandar's name.......?~