"Encounter With An Old Friend"

Cmdr Brian Elessidil
Cmdr Jaal Jaxom

Jaal had just ducked into a turbo lift to take him down to his newly assigned cabin. It looked like he'd be aboard the Galaxy for awhile so he decided he may as well settle in.

On the way down the lift stopped and a familiar face stepped aboard.

The corners of Jaal's mouth stretched upwards into a small smile, "Brian! How long have you been aboard?"

When Jaal first came aboard the Miranda, in 2378, Brian was a pilot and helm officer. They'd spent many a duty shift side by side at the front of the Pathfinder class' bridge.

It wasn't typical for the Galaxy's counselor to be so absorbed in his own thoughts not to notice the people around him, but today was one of those rare occasions. The events of the past several weeks still weighed heavily on his mind, as they did for most everyone else aboard as well. The sound of a friendly voice he hadn't heard in longer than he could immediately recall was an unexpected but welcome interruption.

"Jaal!" he said, genuinely pleased at the recognition. "I, uh...a few years now I guess," he quickly stammered, as his mind still absorbed the surprise of seeing the other man's face. "Jaal! The question is how long have *you* been aboard? Last I heard you were still on the Miranda. Oh, uh, deck fourteen," he hastily added, realizing he was holding up the lift.

"Not exactly," Jaal replied smiling at his old crewmate. "I 'was' on the Miranda until about four weeks ago. I was transferred to DS5 to take command of the Carthage... well, that didn't last long thanks to the Hydrans. Most of my crew and I were rescued thanks to Captain M'Kantu." The Trill shook his head at the events that brought him to the Galaxy. "I tell ya, it's good to see another familiar face."

"You own command," Brian noted. "You have been busy. Uh, listen, it's good to see you too and it sounds like we have a lot to catch up on. Do you have some time? I just need to drop off this padd at my office and then I'm done for the day. Interested in getting something to eat?"

"Right now, I've got all the time in the world," Jaal answered, "I don't even have an assignment yet." He chuckled lightly. Somehow he didn't think he'd be getting another ship of his own anytime soon. At the moment, he was just glad to still be alive.

"Walk with me," the counselor said, gesturing with his head as the lift came to a stop on deck 14. They continued down the corridor a few paces as Brian thought. "A captain without a home, eh? You must be pretty eager to see that situation change. Did they give you any indication of what's next? It'd be a pretty serious waste of talent just to stick you on a ship with nothing to do."

"Oh, I'm sure you can imagine how I'm feeling right now," Jaal quipped knowing full well Brian was Betazoid. "I've got no indication of what's next," the Trill lamented, "I don't know if I'll get another ship, if I'll stay here... I doubt I'll get sent back to Miranda."

"Well they can't leave you in limbo for too long, I would think. We all know they need capable people out there. But what do *you* want, Jaal?" Elessidil asked, glancing to his friend. "Now that you've had that time in the command chair, is it something you don't see yourself feeling fulfilled without?"

Jaal stopped walking a moment. He tilted his head in thought looking at Brian like he's just revealed the meaning of life, the universe and everything. "Ya know... I never thought of it that way before. 'Could' I be fulfilled without being in command of my own ship?"

"That's the essential question, isn't it?"

"I've never stopped to ask myself that," Jaal answered, "Ever since Jii made me his first officer I thought commanding a starship of my own was what I was 'supposed' to do... ya know?"

"It's easy to get stuck in a one-track mindset in this world, Jaal, especially in the command track. You have the ability and success to open up a lot of options. The trick is deciding what you want. There's nothing to force you to move in a direction you don't necessarily want or need to go in."

"Brian," Jaal said suddenly, "What do 'you' think of Captain M'Kantu? Don't compare him to anyone else, just tell me what you think."

"Why do you ask?" Brian asked, regarding Jaal with a curious look.

"He offered me Strategic Operations," Jaal answered, "I'm seriously considering it."

"He's a very competent man. Strong but silent type, seems to prefer a more traditional style of command and it suits him well. I think it's served the ship well while he's been in command."

"He stays away from the crew then," Jaal guessed, "He's the aloof type. He won't come down and play poker with the senior staff once a week?"

"Not yet, anyway," Brian half-joked as they continued walking. "But yeah, that's pretty much

his style. Keeps a professional distance. A little more refined, a little more cerebral maybe than Captain Elaithin. Strategic Ops? I didn't know that was an area you were interested in, Jaal."

Jaal half smiled. "I was sent to the training back in the day. It was meant to be punishment for some of my pranks when I was at Utopia Planetia. Apparently I took to it better than anyone thought."

"Amazing the things we can do when the situation requires it," Brian smirked, thinking of his own brief stint as captain of a starship. "So it sounds like you have a real choice to make: wait for a command of your own or take the position here. Guess it all comes down to which chair you want to be sitting in at this point in your career."

Jaal continued walking with his hands folded neatly behind his back. "I suppose... if you think about it, I 'am' on the young side to be a captain. That's not an excuse, there are plenty that are my age or younger... or, and you know, it's hard to admit this, it could be a maturity thing. I spoke with M'Kantu earlier... I don't believe he meant to but he made me feel like a kid again. He's so, soo..."

"Mature?"

"Exactly," Jaal snapped his fingers and pointed at Brian, "That's it." He refolded his hands and looked straight ahead again, "I'm the last person I ever thought would call me immature. Ya know?"

"I wouldn't say you're immature, Jaal. But the captain is the living definition of 'seasoned'. He pretty much makes any of us look immature by comparison," he said with a chuckle.

Arriving at the counseling department, they entered and continued into Brian's office. "It's not immature to be thinking about where you want to be in life, you know," he said, setting the padd he'd been carrying on his desk. "If anything, I think it's a particular sign of wisdom given the very serious and deliberate thought to doing something as significant as accepting a command position. You owe that to yourself and to anyone who might be under your command."

Jaal thought on that statement for a few moments. He eventually nodded very slowly, "Yeah... you're right."

Brian smiled. "Ready to eat?"

Jaal nodded again, this time much more vigorously. "Let's go."

"The Shepherd"

Thorin Malik

Gamma Vered II
New B'Hala colony

By the time Malik left his house and the care of his loving (though more than a bit sarcastic) wife, the sun had climbed noticeably higher in the sky. Had he been any one of his workers, the Bajoran would have no doubt been chewed out by the foreman. But, since he *was* the foreman, he figured he didn't really have to worry. Besides, the project was far enough along, and his men sufficiently competent, that Malik wasn't too concerned that the whole thing would fall to bits if he wasn't there to hold their hands every moment of the day.

So, confident that he would be more than fashionably late, he instead decided to take his time and do something that he rarely had the opportunity to do nowadays. Instead of heading straight to work, he was deliberately going to take the long way. He was going to take his time walking through the streets, enjoying the twisting roads and back alleys, admiring the construction of the mostly stone buildings-- stone he had laid with his own two hands.

They'd been here for over twenty standard years now, or well over thirty if one took into account the dramatically shorter years on this planet, and Malik had been here for almost all of them. As a freighter captain and smuggler back in the so-called Good Old Days, he'd been the one lucky (or perhaps unlucky) enough to find this world and by default had become the one responsible for bringing the colony's first settlers to it.

They'd told him it was too far away, that moving refugees such a long distance from their home planet would cause them to lose touch with their families. They would be forgotten forever in this out-of-the-way corner of Federation space that nobody, not even the Federation, really cared about. But Malik and his crew had soldiered on, slowly smuggling anyone they could off their embattled homeworld, taking them on as crew if they could, relocating them to the colony if they couldn't.

And then, when the Occupation had ended and Malik finally realized he no longer needed to play the part of shepherd, he'd returned to the colony, more or less triumphant, landed his modest little ship in a field just outside the colony's boundaries, and hadn't left since. He'd found a wife, started a family, and like everyone else in the colony he'd returned to the d'jarra of his ancestors.

Soon after, the colonists had voted to make him the third of their three Councilors. He hadn't wanted the position, but seeing the looks on their faces, seeing how the colonists viewed him as their savior, he'd had no choice but to accept the honor. So he'd become one of the three leaders of the colony, although that wasn't quite the right way to put it. They were more like caretakers, he and his fellow Councilors; they'd become the shepherds of a handful of homeless Bajoran refugees turned proud colonists. They had no real power but were still respected as advisors, mediators, mentors...and it seemed that was all the colony needed to flourish. And flourish it had, going from a population of a few dozen to a few hundred in a matter of years.

Malik paused for a moment, stopping to run his hand over the smooth rust-colored stone of one of the colony's oldest buildings, a two-story affair that contained three...no, four small residential apartments. It had been the town hall, back when it had first been built and they'd only needed space for about sixty people to meet. But the colony had grown in leaps and bounds since then as families of Bajorans had moved here en masse, most wanting to escape the terrible memories of their home planet, wanting to start over, to return to the simpler ways of times long past.

So along with his tiny army of builders and architects, carpenters and stonemasons, Malik had built a second, larger forum. It could easily hold a thousand or more, far more than the colony would need for years to come. But he was always planning for the future, always planning for the day when the colony's population would hit one thousand, always planning for that day.

That, he knew, would be the day he would leave.

He'd been here for twenty-five...no, twenty-six years on this planet. Thorin Malik, the jokester who'd spent his entire youth dreaming of escaping Bajor, who'd spent a good portion of his adult life careening through space in a ship held together with tape and prayer more than actual engineering skill, had spent nearly a third of his life on a planet. Happy. Content.

But now it was time to leave.

Making his way down the street they called North Branch into the Central Square of the New B'Hala colony, Malik stopped to admire the towering Bantaca spire at the center of the circular plaza. Eight brick roads led away from this plaza, roads that led simultaneously away, and back towards, the central spoke of the colony. Because of this layout, most of the colonists who found themselves traveling very far outside their homes would eventually pass through this area on the way to their destinations.

The white obelisk had been the first real thing built in the colony, even before the first permanent dwellings. He hadn't been there to see it built, but he knew exactly whose hands had cut those intricately arranged rocks, whose blood had been spilled to shape them, to carve on the spire's face the twelve ancient symbols that marked the colony's place in the cosmos. Before, they'd been soldiers, spies, assassins, freedom fighters... But along with everyone else who came here they'd left that behind and returned to the path of their ancestors, even if it had meant long days and nights of frustration and pain as they'd each learned their new trades.

Solis, Tora, Zayrin, Kalem, Oram. He would never forget those names. Friends all, and he would soon be leaving them.

Soon, very soon now. Well, it would still be a few years down the road...the colony was growing, but not that quickly. He wondered if he should tell Anton. The old man would want to know well in advance, that way he could make plans, and contingency plans, and contingency plans for the contingency plans. Perhaps, yes, Malik thought, placing a hand on the warm stone of the spire. It too was as smooth as the stones of the old town hall, almost slick, years of rain and wind having polished the four faces to a shine that practically glowed in the late morning sunlight.

Malik sighed softly and looked skyward, squinting into the sunlight. Why was that so important all of a sudden? Wind and water beat down rock, it was all part--

"Councilor Thorin!"

Startled from his reverie, Malik reacted just in time to catch a figure emerging from one of the buildings up North Branch. Spencer, he realized after a moment, the mostly Terran doctor who had settled here after the war with the Dominion. A fine doctor he was, though a bit excitable at times...

"Doctor, what is it?" Malik replied as he moved away from the spire. Spencer was frowning...maybe? Or was that just the sun casting exaggerated shadows on his prominent forehead?

"Councilor Thorin, you need to see this," the doctor responded, placing a hand lightly on Malik's shoulder, beckoning back towards his office with the other. "It's...not good."

"Alright..." Malik replied hesitantly, a million possible scenarios already running through his head. And as he let himself be led back towards the physician's office, Malik couldn't help but frown. What could have possibly happened now?

~Culture Report~

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To: Captain Daren M'Kantu
From: Lt. Anthony Roe Polougee
Subject: Colonies and Peoples of the G., E. & L. Vered Trinary System
Date: ----

This report covers the various cultures of the Gamma, Epsilon and Lambda Vered stellar systems, the current destination for the USS Galaxy, NCC 70637. For easy access and assimilation of information, the colonies are listed first by star and then by planet. For each planet, a list of colonies is given and brief summary of their history, government and culture is provided.

Please reference Science Department's official set of reports for more information about the following stars and stellar systems, including orbital distance, atmospheric composition, axial tilt, sidereal period and number of satellites.

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GAMMA VERED System
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GAMMA VERED I
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[Please click for more information]

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GAMMA VERED II
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The planet's surface is approximately 50% water, 42% land, and 8% water ice.

[Please click for more general information about Gamma Vered II and a list of colonies.]

NEW B'HALA -- New B'Hala is a colony of approximately 500 people situated on the planet's largest continent. Four hundred fifty four of the colonists are full-blooded Bajorans, many of whom fled Bajor during the Cardassian Occupation of their homeworld.

The New B'Hala colony welcomes visitors and trades regularly with other colonies on Gamma Vered II and in the Vered Cluster. However, very few non-Bajorans have chosen to become permanent residents of the colony. Of the approximately 45 colonists who are not fully Bajoran, thirteen are Bajoran/Cardassian hybrids, and the remaining colonists are a mixture of Humans, Trills, and a few others.

History)

The colony was officially established in 2363 with the arrival of the first colonists, a group of three families who became the de facto leaders of the colony once other settlers began to arrive. They named the colony New B'Hala, closely modeling the colony's layout and governmental system after that of the original city of B'Hala on Bajor.

Government)

Government is a fairly simple affair in New B'Hala, with the colony being overseen by a trio of Councillors, one from each of the colony's three founding families. The position of Councillor is a largely ceremonial one, similar to elders in many other civilizations; the Councillors preside over official ceremonies (weddings, funerals, etc.), oversee meetings of the colony's populace, and often give informal advice when asked. They have the power to settle minor disputes and make time-sensitive decisions which would take too long to put to a vote, but they do not have the power to add or remove laws from the record. Laws are passed and major disputes are settled by a pure democratic process. At the age of fifteen each colonist automatically becomes eligible to vote, and can vote on any matter put to a vote.

Religion and Culture)

Hard work, dedication to the society, and religious worship are the norm. The colony closely follows the d'jarra caste system, although some alterations have been made over the years due to the underrepresentation of some traditional castes within the colony's demographics. Technology is present in the colony but is far from pervasive. The general feeling among the colonists is that technology should be a convenience, not a crutch. Technology is not shunned, but colonists who become overly reliant on it are often viewed in a negative light. Many daily activities are conducted without the assistance of any technology; however, computers are used to keep colony records and communicate with the other colonies in the system, and the medical facilities are comparable to the average facilities on any other Federation colony.

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GAMMA VERED III
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[Please click for more information]

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GAMMA VERED IV
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Gamma Vered IV is a gas giant. It is surrounded by four large moons.

[Please click for more information]

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GAMMA VERED IVc
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Gamma Vered IVc is the largest moon in orbit around Gamma Vered IV. It has a marginal environment, and is home to at least one colony, named Brass Monkey.

BRASS MONKEY -- This colony was originally settled with financial assistance and partnership with the De Beers group. The principle export from this asteroid is latinum.

[Please click for more information]

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GAMMA VERED V
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GAMMA VERED ASTEROID BELT
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EPSILON VERED System
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EPSILON VERED I
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[Please click for more information]

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EPSILON VERED II
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Approximately 82% of the surface of this planet is covered with water, 16% with land and 2% with ice, centered on the planets poles. The land mass is organized into thirteen small continents and the planet is home to four main colonies: Lee Bay, Paliba'alulu, Kulbaland, and Gorod Tonnelya.

LEE BAY -- Lee Bay is a colony established on the largest island of Peleic Archipelago, located near the middle of the planet's largest ocean. The winds in this part of the ocean blow from the east, so the colony is set up along the western side of the island's volcano to shelter it from the average 30 mph winds. The island is crescent shaped on the leeward side, forming a small bay, hence the name of the colony.

Because the depth of the water in the bay is so shallow, a considerable portion of the colony has extended out into the water. Many buildings sit on foundations that rest on the sea bed, but extend up, well above the water's surface, and are connected to each other through a number of bridges and floating walkways, creating a sort of modern Venice.

[Please click for more information]

PALIBA'ALULU -- Paliba'alulu is a colony set up in a gorge in the plains of the northern hemisphere's fourth largest continent. The plains run up the center of the continent, between the mountains of the west coast and the hills on the south east coast. Their geography creates a type of continent-wide wind tunnel, and during the day, the winds blow at an average speed of 60-70 mph, with gusts well over a hundred mph.

The Paliba'alulu gorge ('Shielded Cliffs Gorge') runs perpendicular to direction of wind flow, and thus provides adequate shelter for the colony. However, rather than set at the bottom of the canyon, the colony is set up along the walls of the canyon. Its citizens live in large bamboo structures attached to the cliff rock, which lead into caves that have been dug out.

The citizens of Paliba'alulu embrace a rather simple culture, which shares many commonalities with ancient peoples of Terran Polynesia. They are religious, polytheistic, and celebrate many ceremonial customs. They do not forbid advanced technology, but avoid its frequent use in daily life, and practice a subsistence lifestyle.

Geography)

As mentioned above, the colony is set up in a sheltering gorge that cuts through very windy plains. The winds are quite strong, with average speeds of 60-70 mph. As a result, it is difficult for much to grow in this region. The main vegetation that grows on the plains is a very strong, but very flexible grass, similar to bamboo, which can grow to considerable heights, given the strong winds. The colonists use this grass for building materials.

Several other smaller species of grass grow in the region and produce seed pods filled with cotton-like fiber. When mature, the pods burst and the seeds are carried off by the wind by the cottony parachutes.

A number of root vegetables can also grow in this environment. The colonists cultivate and grow a number of plants that are similar to the earth plants like carrots, taro, yams, onions and ginger. They also cultivate a nut which grows underground, like peanuts.

The canyon walls are composed of a sedimentary rock. It was carved over time by a river, which runs along the bottom of the canyon. Where the colony is located, the canyon is approximately 40 meters wide. At this point, the river covers the entire canyon floor. Downstream, the canyon widens, and there is a considerable length of silt covered land running between the cliff walls and the river bank. Because this region is sheltered by the wind, a few, more traditional plants grow here. The colonists have cultivated a number of berry producing shrubs here.

The river is fairly slow moving, and is filled with fresh water fish, small crustaceans and shellfish. The most common type of shellfish, a creature which resembles a Terran oyster, clings to the cliff walls and feeds off passing plankton. Like oysters, if an irritant enters into the soft tissue of the oyster, it will form a pearl.

The plains are populated with small mammal-like animals and moderately sized birds. The mammals either burrow beneath the ground, feeding on the grass roots, or are structured very low to the ground, like mice, to resist the wind. The birds often shelter themselves among the grasses during the day and night and come out to feed when the wind shifts.

Colony Layout)

The colony of Paliba'alulu is set up along the walls of the sheltered gorge. A number of small caves and cavities have been dug into the cliff walls, but these do not provide the majority of the livable space. Most the colony is composed of structures built from the bamboo like grass that grows on the plains.

Most structures are constructed by taking the longest stalks and binding them together at one end. The other ends are spread and held apart, forming a clam shaped structure which is anchored to the cliff walls. This structure is often covered with canvas. A floor is constructed and anchored between the cliff wall and the clam shell.

Colonists move between structures and to the top of the cliff by ladders and rope bridges. At the bottom of the cliff, the colonists anchor canoes and rafts, which they use to travel and ferry materials up and down the river. Objects and materials are moved up from the river and into the colonies using pulleys.

Government)

Paliba'alulu is run by a chief, who is selected by a council of elders, which serve as advisors. The council of elders consist of some of the oldest members of the colony. Their position on the council is supported by the general population. If a council member is seen as unfit, a majority of the colonists can revoke his position.

The chief makes executive decisions regarding the colony and its citizens. If he makes a decision that does not meet the approval of the council of elders, they may overturn it. The council and the chief also serve as arbiters of disputes, when appealed to by the colonists.

Economy)

The colonists thrive on a subsistence culture and trade very little with other colonies. Most of their food and materials are grown and harvested near the colony. Colonists live off a diet of root vegetables, fish and seafood and meat from small birds and mammals. They mill the taro and yam into flour used for baking.

Materials for clothing and construction are harvested from the sturdy grasses that grow on the plains above. The bamboo-like grass is used for wood and lumber. Most of the structures in the colony are built from this material, as are rafts used on the river. The fibrous seed material from the smaller grasses is harvested and woven into cloth and rope. Rope is also made from the softer core of the smaller grasses.

Metals and other materials are not mined or smithed in any serious quantity. Small quantities can easily be found in the mountains some miles away upstream. This material is mainly used for construction and decorative purposes.

Little is exported from the colony. Occasionally, surplus foodstuffs are exported, but when trade is required, pearls taken from the river shellfish and bamboo is sold in exchange for imported goods. The colony has a store of technology which was brought with them when the colony was founded. New parts and power supplies for the technologies that are still used make up the majority of imports.

Trade with other colonies is accomplished with the use of the one shuttlecraft the colony possesses.

Religion and Culture)

The colonists of Paliba'alulu practice a polytheistic religion. The gods they worship remain quite separate from one another, but do govern partially overlapping domains. Therefore, appeals are made to single specific gods, depending on the situation at hand. Each god is surrounded with slightly different rituals and symbolism. Some gods and their associated customs follow:

Kane: The sky god and god of the wind. Kane is portrayed as indecisive and quick tempered. He can bring chaos and destruction with really powerful winds when he is upset. When he is placated, the winds blow at their traditional speeds, which are still quite strong. Kane is tied to two goddesses, who are his lovers. Twice a day, the winds change direction, towards and away from the ocean on the south side of the continent. Mythologically, this is a result of Kane's indecision as to which lover he should ultimately stay with. Kane is portrayed as half man, half bird, with a wild, feathered headdress and feathers on his arms. Artistically, he is represented by many straight horizontal lines. His symbols are smoke, the sail and the feather.

Hau: A wind goddess, one of the lovers of Kane. Hau is more closely associated with birds and kites, but, for obvious reasons, is intrinsically tied to the wind. She is also associated with the night sky and stars. She also has some association with pleasure and/or fertility. Hau is portrayed as humanoid, with a birds head, feathers on her arms, like Kane, and a tail. Artistically, she is represented by an 'm' shaped curve. Her symbols are the feather, the kite, quartz and the cotton seed, as well as anything that sparkles.

Hina: The rain goddess, one of the lovers of Kane. Hina is associated with clouds and rain and storms. She is portrayed as human with an arc headdress. Artistically, she is represented by many vertical lines. Her symbols are tears, water, the cotton tuft and mud.

Maui: The trickster god. Maui is both a hero and a villain. His heroic acts, acts that are favorable to mankind, are typically selfish acts with beneficial consequences, but occasionally, are selfless in origin. However, he also is the cause behind mishap and bad luck. He is represented as a human, tall and lean, with feathered arm bands and decorative jewelry, including a bone necklace. Artistically, he is represented by the swirl and by the cross. His symbols are sandstone, fire, black feathers, ink and pearls.

Loko: The agriculture god, and brother of Hina. He is associated with growth and plant life, and holds dominion over agriculture. He is portrayed as human with a ferret's head and a mouse's tail. Artistically, he is represented by a 'v' shaped curve or by many curved lines. His symbols are the bamboo stalk, the berry, the nut, dry soil, ferret claws, grain and the jar.

There are a number of other gods and heroes, as well. Individual gods are celebrated on a fairly regular basis, usually with a feast or dance, accompanied by traditional retelling of their associated stories. There are also a number of traditions, both grand and small, that involve special prayers and manipulation of one or more of the god's associated symbols.

For example, as the winds die down and shift direction near sunrise and sunset, colonists will often blow on a feather as a sign of encouragement for Kane's current (and impermanent) decision in his love life. When it rains, if it is a welcome rain, colonists will ritually paint themselves with mud in worship of Hina. Four times a year, a colony-wide feast is held in honor of Loko. Or, if they experience bad luck, colonists will rub a black feather across a bit of sandstone to ward away Maui.

A majority of rituals involve painting oneself or someone else in a particular way. Expressive body painting is viewed as a form of silent prayer. For example, when a young man takes an interest in a woman, he paints himself with white paint, typically with symbols associated with the romance and fertility gods and legends. He then attempts to surreptitiously mark the woman of interest with a white line on the back of her neck. The manipulation of special symbols almost form a whole separate language.

Sports and Leisure)

Colonists practice many forms of leisure. Many of the traditional religiously grounded ceremonies often serve as entertainment and strengthen the community. These include feasts and dances and ritual story telling.

There are many sports and games that involve the heavy winds of the planet. Kite and kite flying are quite popular. Children often entertain themselves by making small planes and tossing them into the wind. The colonists also make a type of wheeled craft that they use on the plains that is propelled by the wind using sails. These are used both for transport and for sport. Colonists will often race each other using these vehicles.

KULBALAND -- This colony is situated in a mountain valley on the largest continent in the southern hemisphere.

[Please click for more information]

GOROD TONNELYA -- This colony is located in the northern pole of Epsilon Vered II. Originally founded by Russians, this colony is located almost entirely beneath the northern ice cap. Locating the colony beneath the ice offers significant insulation and shelter from the cold, dry arctic winds. Large domes have been burrowed out beneath the ice and are held up with support beams, and the colonists have constructed buildings inside.

Power for the colony is obtained through wind and cryo-geothermal power and food is grown in large hydroponic farms.

[Please click for more information]

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EPSILON VERED III
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EPSILON VERED IV
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EPSILON VERED ASTEROID BELT
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Several of these asteroids host mining colonies.

[Please click for more information]

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LAMBDA VERED System
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[Please click for more information on the planets and colonies in this system.]

Lt. Anthony Roe Polougee
Cultural Anthropologist

"Klingons Don't Use Furniture"

Arel Smith
Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main

The knife point rested comfortably under the jaw of the young ensign, not enough pressure to puncture his skin but just enough to remind her that Arel Smith wasn't inclined to have any sense of humor.

"I didn't say ... that is I didn't mean to insinuate ..." the ensign babbled as Arel considered her next action. She'd probably get in trouble for this anyway; maybe she should throw in an elbow strike to his nose just to drive the point home.

"Where is he?" Arel asked instead, pulling back the knife.

"Ar ... armory," he replied. "He's... checking in in-inventory from his last... last mission."

Arel flipped the knife and tapped him on the cheek with its handle. "Thanks, Sparky."

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 38
Armory

Returning equipment, especially ordinance, in an undamaged - much less an unused - condition was something of a novelty to Victor. He tended to regard Starfleet-issue weapons (as opposed to the ones his family had made for centuries) as mere tools, and regarded them in the same light that he did hammers and magnetic spanners; you used them until they broke, and then got a new one. Ordinarily, any weapon or weapons system that he checked out for a mission was going to come back battered, with all power expended, bloodstained, damaged in some form not envisioned by the weapon's designers, or simply inoperable due to a combination of one or more of those factors.

Considering the expression on the face of the Armorer's Mate who was looking at the shoulder-fired missile launcher and the half-dozen missiles - all with safety seals still intact - returning something undamaged and unused wasn't just a novelty for him either.

"It's... unused," the rating said slowly, torn between staring at the weapons system and staring at Victor. "Was it... defective?"

"No," Victor shrugged. "I just didn't need it."

"You... didn't need it?"

Whatever the rating was expecting Victor to say, Victor assumed that it was something reputation enhancing. Seeing no point in dashing the man's hopes, he obliged with, "I killed them with something else, instead."

The Armorer's Mate seemed torn, but finally broke down and asked. "Them? Something else?"

"The squadron of Hydran fighters I needed it for," Victor clarified. "A rock worked just as well this time." Which wasn't really a total fabrication; the fragments of shattered asteroids certainly were 'rocks' and they had scythed through the Hydran fighters like knives as the minefield exploded around them. And he hadn't told the man that *he* had thrown the rock or rocks after all.

"You... killed a squadron of Hydran fighters... with a rock?"

"Well," Victor said agreeably, "that certainly sounded like what I said."

The rating nodded, gulped, snatched the launcher and missiles up on the grav-pallet Victor had set them on, and fled back into the depths of the armory with weapons and new rumor in hand.

"Busy?"

"Not especially, Commander," Victor replied as he initialed the paperwork to pass control of the weapons system over to the Armorer and dropped the padd on the counter. He hadn't spoken to Commander Smith since the aftermath of the Battle of Romulus, but her voice was still clear in his memory. Women didn't give him their children every day after all. Turning, he continued, "Just turning some gear back in. Is there something I can help you with?" He hoped this wasn't a visit to let him know he had to surrender his office to the Commander; outranked or not, he liked his office.

"I want to spar," Arel replied. "Your holodeck's database is crap and no one in the gym is challenging enough."

Good, not the office then. "Seeing as you're new aboard this hasn't come up with you before, Commander," he began, as he started towards her and the door, "but I don't spar with members of the crew as a general rule. It's counterproductive, since the people I'd be sparring with are either the ones I'm hopefully depending on to back me up, or the ones I'm supposed to be protecting. I have enough trouble getting my teammates to back me up just being myself, so I see no reason to make that worse by knocking them around. It's also hard to get anyone to sit still and let me protect them when they're regarding me as the enemy to start with, and doing so after I've slammed them around in a training session seems to me to be an even more difficult proposition."

"You could throw me through a bulkhead and I'd still expect you to do your job, Krieghoff," Arel said dryly. She saw that he was about to reply and shook her head. "Think about it this way then, spar with me now or I'm going to start breaking your teammates in. And trust me when I say I have no problems slamming people around."

Victor paused as the Armory doors slid closed behind them and looked at her. "Just so we're all on the same padd here," he began carefully, "am I correct in understanding that you are so desperate for a fight right now that you are threatening to start injuring my fellow security officers in order to force me into agreeing to fight you?"

He moved aside for a pair of crewmen moving some unidentifiable piece of machinery on a grav-pallet, and started towards the turbolift, knowing that the Commander would follow in the hopes of getting the answer that she wanted. "I ask not to create a problem, or cast aspersions on your character, you understand," he explained as they walked, "but because you think and react more like a Klingon than a human from what I've observed, and I want to make certain I'm understanding you correctly."

"I'm not desperate," she said crabbily. "But if I'm forced to play with your officers, then yeah, they're going to get hurt."

"I don't suppose you'd consider something a bit less potentially harmful would you? I understand that Operations is starting up an interdepartmental volleyball league...?"

"If I wanted to smack a ball around, I could play that stupid golf game," Arel snapped. "What do you want me to swear a bloodoath or something? *If* you manage to get a few hits in, I *promise* to back you up."

"You," Victor said as he tapped the call signal for the turbolift, "don't strike me as the golf type. Golf balls don't provide any feedback; they just lie there. Something competitive, with physical contact would be a better choice for you. Lacrosse or rugby would be better choices, I think. Particularly rugby; I knew a guy back during the last war that said the best description of the mindset needed for rugby was that 'Rugby players eat their dead.'"

"Really?" Arel said with interest. "I've never heard about this game. How do you ... stop trying to change the subject! Will you fight me or not?"

"Fight you?" Victor asked as the turbolift arrived and the doors opened. "If the alternative is you beating up on the rest of the department, then I don't really seem to have much choice, do I? Which, of course, was why you made the threat to begin with, wasn't it?" He stepped into the car and glanced back at her. "Coming, Commander?"

****

USS Galaxy
Holosuite Three

"Rules?" Arel asked as soon as they cleared the arch way.

"Ordinarily, I'd say 'none,'" Victor commented as he produced an isolinear chip and slotted it into the holosuite controls. "But this is a war, and we don't know what we'll be doing day-to-day, so I'm going to have to insist on neither of us incapacitating the other for duty purposes." He keyed in some commands, and then addressed the computer, =/\="Run Program Krieghoff Delta Sierra Niner Seven Three"=/\=

=^= Voiceprint Match Confirmed. Running Program. =^=

The holosuite vanished, instantly replaced with a building that appeared to be any number of rough dives on any number of Rim Worlds. Tables and chairs filled the sandy floor, and a long bar ran down one side, a wide array of rough-looking patrons lining it. The tables around them were filled with more rough-looking customers, a few waitresses moving around the room. In one corner, a rickety-looking dabo table was in operation, a bored looking human woman dealing out the cards to a pair of Klingons and the equally bored looking women hanging on their arms.

The building shook for a moment as the rumble of a set of painfully mistuned engine coils passed overhead, some dust sifting down as the ship passed by. No one paid any attention to it.

"This is a recreation of Slarnth's Rest," Victor said, frowning for an instant as he suffered an odd moment of deja vu; the last time he'd given the explanation was to Grey. "A dive on the edge of Cardassian space before the War. It was a Maquis hangout, a smuggler's stopover, and the only law enforcement comes out of the emitter of Slarnth's disruptor." Victor nodded towards a corner where a very large and heavily scarred Nausicaan sat with a disruptor rifle across his lap. "That would be Slarnth there." The sound of erratic distant disruptor fire in the street outside filtered in the door. "'No manufactured weapons' is the only rule here - improvised weapons are fine. Outside of that, anything goes."

"I can live with that," she replied and then attacked.

Since he'd been expecting that - and would have done the same thing himself - Victor was ready. He kicked a chair into her path, wasn't surprised when she somersaulted over it neatly to drop an axe kick down at his shoulder with a guttural cry, and side-stepped to move out from under her incoming blow. The Commander hit the ground with a grunt, spun on one hand and a foot to kick him in the ankle, sending him back a few steps to keep from falling down, and then kipped up to her feet lithely.

"Predictable," Victor observed as he circled to the left and holographic patrons started to scatter. "The ankle kick wasn't bad, though. A little light, but you aren't a big person, after all."

"Thank you," Arel said, shoving a patron out of her way before moving forward again.

Victor slapped aside a pair of punches, blocked a kick with a convenient patron - who dropped like a stone, clutching his - and threw a pair of blows in return, nodding as Arel stopped them both. "That's one of the Klingon styles, isn't it?" he asked, as he kicked her in the left calf and made her frown. "I can never keep all of those straight; too many names with glottal stops and words like 'rending' or 'blood' in them." He sidestepped a thrust kick and swung a blow into her side as she started to recover.

"If I wanted an audio commentary, I would have programmed the computer," Arel said, blocking his blow. She stepped back suddenly and appraised him. "You don't have to be afraid of hurting me, Krieghoff."

"I'm, not," he replied mildly. "Behind you, on the left."

Arel turned and kicked it in the balls. At least she thought she did; sometimes it was hard to tell with aliens.

As she turned back, Victor casually picked up a stool and crashed it down on her head and shoulders, shattering it. "You're not taking advantage of the surroundings," he pointed out as he tossed the remains of the stool into her face and hammered a powerful left into her ribs as she reached up to swat it aside. "Must be a Klingon thing, all the ones I've fought have failed to do it too. Do they simply stop seeing furniture once a fight starts?"

"It's considered a weakness to rely on it," Arel huffed before returning an equally powerful blow to his face. She stepped back and forced herself to breathe normally, looking for a weakness in her opponent. She absently wiped the blood from her nose.

"That's probably why they keep losing, then," Victor noted as he feinted left and then right with a hand - and then kicked Arel in the ankle. As she hit the floor, he flipped a table over onto her and then jumped on top of it, smashing the plastiwood into her brutally with the full force of his weight.

Arel made a noise - a strange mixture of pain, the words 'dirty fighter' and 'fucking pthak' which came out sounding like 'ahfuc' - and then shoved at him with all her might. He moved, though she wasn't entirely sure if it wasn't just toying with her, and she ignored both pain and the twinge in her shoulder that said it was ready to pop and moved with him. Her hand picked up the first thing in sight - a chair - and she would have found the situation laughable (stalking someone with furniture) if she weren't so pissed.

"*Now* it looks like you're getting in the spirit of things," Victor suggested, as he sidestepped a thrust and shoved a holographic patron towards Arel. "And aren't you glad we're not fighting in the bathroom?"

"Yes." She batted the patron away and threw the chair at Victor. The slight sidestep he took was enough time for her to attack with a few punches, which were easily deflected and a nice kick to the groin, which was not.

With a grunt, Victor staggered back three steps, tipped a chair over, and grimaced. "Not... bad," he conceded with a strained voice. He caught her first three follow-up punches on his arm and shoulder, took the fourth to the side of the jaw, and finally got her arm hooked with his and threw her over a table and into a group of alien prostitutes squabbling over a drunken Lurian's wallet.

Arel hurled the Lurian's empty mug at Krieghoff's head and used the time he took ducking to pop her shoulder, mostly, back into place. A wave of nausea hit her and then it was time to roll out of the way as Krieghoff launched a Cardassian at her. She rolled, landed on her feet, and then pounced, slamming her shoulder into his abdomen as she tackled him to the floor. Her shoulder popped back into place with a nasty clicking sound.

"Bad shoulder?" Victor asked as he grabbed it in a vice-like grip and wrenched, pulling her aside just enough to make her blow only skim along a cheek and allowing him the room to punch her low in the abdomen twice.

She gasped but returned the favor.

Victor grunted, smiled, and lurched to his feet, maintaining his hold on Arel's shoulder, fingers digging into it like a vise. He acknowledged the two more blows she got in with another grunt and a frown, grabbed her leg by the ankle as she swung it up to kick him, released his grip on her shoulder and then spun her twice like an athlete winding up for a hammer throw. As she delivered a particularly choice comment about his mother - or what he assumed was his mother given his limited understanding of Klingon - he released her.

Arel flew a good three meters before crashing into a wall head-and-shoulder first with enough force to make her vision fade to black for a moment. The wind got knocked out of her by the impact, but she was able at least to give a solid elbow strike to Victor's nose as he moved in and grabbed her by the front of the tunic before - with a deadly glare - holding up her hand to stop the fight. She clenched her fist as she waited for her lungs to fill up with air.

"Are you injured, Commander?" Victor asked, without releasing her.

"We're approaching the part where this becomes a fight to the death," Arel said finally. "Wouldn't want to break the rules."

"Certainly not," Victor agreed, releasing her and taking a pair of steps backwards and out of range in case her accession was a feint. "As I've said in the past, I have no particular desire to kill you."

Arel grunted, pushed some debris out of the way, and then eased back against the wall. "Thank you for the fight."

Victor nodded once, looked at her for a moment, and then called out, =/\="Computer, end program."=/\=

=/\= Ending program. =/\=

Slarnth's Rest vanished, returning the room to the checkerboard pattern walls, floor, and ceiling of the holosuite.

"Did you," Victor asked, "work through what you needed to?"

She considered and then decided she was too tired to think about it, which was a good thing. "Yes."

"Just so you'll know, Commander," Victor said quietly after he'd retrieved the isolinear chip from the control console, "and so you won't think it was deliberate insult or anything I feel I ought to explain why I wasn't taking this fight seriously - or didn't appear to be. The first reason's simple; it makes people mad when you insult them in fights, and I've found that the madder I can make people during a fight, the less attention they pay *to* the fight, and, consequently, the easier it is to win against them. If it makes a difference, you did better just about anyone outside of a Vulcan in not responding and staying focused."

"I hate fighting Vulcans," Arel agreed.

"The second reason is a bit deeper." Victor took a breath and let it out, feeling the play of the muscles along his ribs and decided that they weren't broken again. "You saw me on Romulus, so I think you'll understand. That's who I am, what I am, inside, Commander. I think that's why I do what I do to the people around me, why they react to me the way that they do - because on some level they can sense it. I have to treat moments like this casually because of it. If I treat it like a game, if I make light of it, then it isn't a real fight... and the threat of my mask cracking away and releasing my inner self is... lessened. Taking that chance regularly by sparring with someone is foolish. Sooner or later the mask you see now will slip, I'll blink, and someone will be dead; someone that I didn't want to be. That's the other, unspoken reason why I don't spar with people." He looked at her for a moment. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," She replied. "I have no illusions to what you are, Krieghoff."

"And that is?" He knew, but it was always interesting to see if someone else saw the same thing that he did when he looked in a mirror.

"A killer," Arel said simply. "But then again, so am I." She followed him out to the hall and towards the turbolift. "And it really pisses me off that in a fight to the death, you'd probably win."

"Why?" he asked. "Were you planning on having one?"

"Not really. But they're not a lot of people who could."

"Rejoice in that," Victor suggested. "Don't let it make you angry that someone can. There's always someone better, always someone bigger or stronger or faster or more skilled. That's just the way things are."

"Sure," she said as they reached the turbolift and it opened. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"For the Colonists" Part One

Featuring colonists from the Vered Cluster: Leilani & Talis Ren

***Location: EPSILON VERED II, Paliba'alulu, on the 'Shielded Cliffs'***

There was no way that one could make it to the top of the cliff face, not without being dragged off by Hau or Kane, caught in the lovers eternal conflict which would only leave you battered and bruised beneath the rubble, skewered by the jagged rocks, as is the truth with all romances. But when faced with forced homelessness, it was surprising what one could achieve.

Already she had begun her ritual; her preparations had been her first step. Climbing the mountain was the ordeal, the challenge she had to endure before she was allowed an audience with the Divine. Humiliation was served, with her tattered hair, her wind ravaged clothes and modesty revealed as she clung to the rocks. Fear was placed in her heart in a way that it had never been before, nor could with word and folk song alone.

They were strong, yet she was stronger: determination set.

Already she had escaped death ten times over during her struggle to reach the top, so as she crowned she rejoiced for all but a second as Hau whipped her once more, reminding the child that she should mind her tongue; Kane may have let her come this far, but that by no means was to be interpreted as if he wished to spare her life, for his tune would change; that alone was inevitable.

Timidly, still clinging to the rocks and meticulously checking and rechecking her climbing gear, (as much respect as she had for her gods she was a sensible child, to put her life totally in their hands would be a foolish thing to do!) she made her assent over the ridge of the cliff and sighed with relief when she noticed a large rock atop that would A) take her weight and hold her fast, and B) give her enough shelter to unpack her offerings and make her request.

Carefully she prepared her ritual space, removed the headdress and several other decorative items from her bag and adorned herself. Time was not important, she had all day and night and then some, the cold chill that Hau carried with her was the only thing that made her hasten.

With the feathered headdress held fast with clips and pins, cemented to her hair with mud for added security, nut beaded feathered armbands wrapped around her upper arms, a bone necklace clinking softly around her neck she poured water from her offering flask onto the dry, wind eroded earth and began to draw symbols in the mud.

Horizontal lines for Kane, vertical lines for Hina, an 'm' shaped curve for Hau, three curved lines stretched over a 'V' for Loko and finally cross atop a swirl for Maui. Standing back from her canvas she looked up towards the sky and with a clear voice called out to those she had indicated on the ground.

"Kane, Hina, Hau, Loko, Maui, I call upon thee."

"Hear my plea!" she demanded firmly, unshaken by the sudden moan as the wind thundered past the rock she was sheltering behind.

For a moment she felt foolish, standing alone on the cliff. No one knew where she was, or what she was doing. Most would condemn her for it: that was if the elements didn't first! Edging forward she tried to view the valley below, no one had ever ventured up this far, not that she knew of at any rate, the winds were great and most had enough sense to stay put in the shelter of the gorge, she wondered momentarily from which side of her family she picked up this kamikaze trait.

The view was astounding, and in her humble opinion, (not that she was famous for being particularly humble mind!) well worth the risk, ~if only I had thought to bring a holo cam~ she chided herself absently. Viewing the world from up here was enough to make you mentally high. It was most likely the fact that the air was thinner at this altitude, however never having climbed so much as a hill she was none the wiser and decided that the heady feeling was a sign that 'they' were listening. Casting her eyes from the lay of the land and once more to the curve of the horizon she prayed silently that they would be receptive.

Properly dressed, mind set, declaration made: it was time for Leilani to make her request?

***Location GAMMA VERED II; New B'Hala, Central Shrine***

The candle light flickered as those within its illumination breathed softly. Their exhales were calm and measured, almost in unison as they worshiped. The air was accented with the heady aroma of incense which filled every nostril and soothed every tattered nerve. Talis Ren observed, with one open eye, how the faces of his neighbors appeared at ease. He envied the tranquility they all exhibited, for within him raged a torrent of guilt, resentment and regret.

He felt shameful to be feeling such things at a time when he should be giving thanks to all that he had. His shoulders drooped and his out stretched open hands came to rest on his knees as he slouched, melancholy weighing upon his shoulders. For twenty one years, give or take, he had resided here. He had escaped the suffering that befell his people, escaped the conflict and the struggle, found sanctuary here in the haven of New B'Hala. But what exactly had he escaped from? And what to?

He had left behind his home, his birth place, his wife? the mother of his child, his only child, cast aside in his eagerness to find a safer place. But was that the real reason? Was it purely his lust to find an environment free of danger in which to raise his child, or was it cowardliness that fed the routes of his desire?

What stung the most, poured salt into the open wound, was the liberation of his Homeworld, just six year later. All his life had been filled with death, pain, loss, grief, resentment and anger. Those things ate away at a person's soul like a cancerous growth. He lost so much; his childhood, his adolescence, youth, parents, faith, first love and more, so much more that to list it would be to sacrifice oneself in the name of sorrow. But his tale was not unique; he was not the only one that grieved for a lost lifetime. Every child of Bajor suffered that fate, there was no escaping the hand that dealt? yet somehow he had. Somehow in the midst of all that turmoil he had escaped that world, that destiny. He had provided a safe environment for his daughter. A safe 'home from home' for his family and the generations to come. But yet again his dream was to be dashed.

The anger swelled in his chest, his shoulders tightening, the muscles pushing away the melancholy for his actions so may years past; the regret and shame for not knowing what justified his reasons to leave his daughter motherless, his fear for returning to his real home, fear of being labeled a cowered, fear at the lashing he would receive for not joining his brothers and sisters in liberating his home and shame for carving out a new one as if Bajor itself was not good enough for him.

The guilt lifted and was replaced with a new fire to feed the growth that would inevitably consume from within. Anger.

It was just as demanding as its predecessor. It caused the bearer to negate looking within for answers, but to look outside and blame ones problems on the nearest scapegoat, consequences be dammed.

For when held in the tendrils of anger, one forgets that oneself is primarily responsible for ones actions and that everything that happens, happens for a reason...

TBC?

"The Weight"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commanding Officer
(Written by Oded)

Commander Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

As Counselor Elessidil stood just inside the doorway to the captain's ready room, he realized that it had been awhile since the two men had spoken. Everything that had transpired in the past several weeks had kept everyone more than busy, certainly no one more so than the Galaxy's hard-working captain. Despite the pressure M'Kantu was undoubtedly under, Brian knew him well enough to be reasonably certain that his request to see the ship's chief counselor wasn't for personal reasons.

"Brian, come in please." Captain M'Kantu said, with a hint of warmth despite his stern expression.

"You have heard the news, I assume." He proceeded as his chief counselor moved forward. "Before we begin, I would like to know - what is your opinion on the Vered situation?"

The counselor's look turned serious. He took a seat. "My opinion is that it's a no-win situation, Captain. The Federation leaves the colonists there and we risk a war; we evacuate the colonists and we're removing people from their homes and making it look like we're handing the Dreshayans and the Hydrans a victory. Despite whatever preparations, discussion and planning Starfleet may be undertaking, we're not going in there as goodwill ambassadors and no one is going to see us that way."

"Ah, that is the most important line."

The Captain observed Brian, knowing that he next words - and whether or not he convinced Commander Elessidil in the truth within them - may determine the outcome of the operation.

"A war with the Dreshayans is not my greatest concern. Neither is Starfleet being portrayed as weak. Both may have some effect on us, but will be determined not here but on Earth and Dreshaya. The outcome of confronting the colonists, on the other hand, is completely in our hands. Put yourself in their place - what would you do?"

"I don't believe each and every colonist will react in the same way, Sir. Some will understand; some may even *want* to leave, given the circumstances. But I think the vast majority aren't going to be happy with this at all and won't have any problem saying so. That's understandable. But there will undoubtedly be some, maybe even many, who will choose violent resistance."

"I agree. Moreover, I expect that many colony leaders will attempt more sophisticated methods to resist than brute force against those who come to evacuate them. They know that they can't drive away a large force so they'll resort to two options - appealing to the public opinion to convice the council to halt the evacuation, or reducing our people's willingness to cooperate with the commands."

Captain M'Kantu had his doubts about Megarex's ability to successfully direct the evacuation, but the Bolian got one thing right - it required a lot of sensitivity and decisiveness.

"Psychology will play a role here, and we need everyone to be prepared. Even the youngest crewman recruit may find themselves in complex situations, and even those of us with years of experience may have doubts that will prevent them from working effectively. If we want to do this right, we need to prepare the crew as much as we can before we reach the cluster."

Elessidil nodded. Yet while he understood what the captain was saying, he had his misgivings. "I agree with you Sir, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you that that's asking a lot. There are people whose careers are built around dealing with politically and diplomatically charged situations, whose experience and skill sets are carefully honed over years of doing this kind of work. We have some talented people in the counseling department here but no one has specific expertise for this type of situation, and that's not even mentioning the rest of the crew."

"I agree." Captain M'Kantu nodded. "This operation requires months of preparation, and months of deliberations on the very necessity. We don't have these months. There will be a team of experts on the USS Nightview, and the best assistant Starfleet can offer available via subspace, but in the end the men in the field are our own."

"If this is the hand Starfleet has dealt us, then we'll do our best to make sure the crew is as prepared as possible." Brian paused for a moment to try to get his mind around the daunting work ahead. "How were you planning to proceed with this, Sir? Which departments or crew members do you want to dispatch to this task?"

"All of them. Even if the entire crew goes planetside, we will still not have enough manpower. I asked each department head to compile a list. The ship will operate on skeleton crew during the operation, with occasional rotations."

Compiling the lists was more complex than how Captain M'Kantu presented it. Starfleet officers weren't mentally fragile (though the crew had its, how should one put it, exceptions) but the situation was going to be difficult and each department head will surely try to spare his or her men as much as possible from what could be a trauma for life.

Daren insisted that even officers who found it difficult will take part of the teams. The doubtful, he intended to tell the department heads, were suited for the mission because they would not disregard the honest distress of the colonists. And an officer was supposed to be able to overcome hardships and put doubts and even emotions aside when approaching this task; Starfleet Academy filtered those who didn't.

"I'm going to speak with the department heads and see to it that the final lists will be on your desk today. Your department, of course, is no exception - I expect they will be the busiest ones, as both the colonists and the officers will require their support."

"Understood, Captain. I'll make sure we're ready." Inwardly, Brian wasn't looking forward to this, though he doubted anyone was. His first priority was going to making sure the rest of the counseling department was prepared. He also hoped Karyn might be able to lend some help as well.

"Good. And have everyone start working on officer preparation sessions and on contingency plans for the possible scenarios. It takes priority over the regular counselling sessions for now, except for special cases and anyone with concerns regarding the mission."

"Also understood. I think everyone's going to be pretty busy for awhile anyway."

"Probably so, probably so. Any more questions?"

"No, Sir," Brian answered as he rose from his seat. "I'll look for the final personnel lists from you. In the meantime, I'll get the counseling staff briefed and ready. I'll keep you apprised."

"The Good Earth"

Zeke Crawford, Farmer

Day Station Plantation, Tropical Zone, New B'Hala Colony, Gamma Vered II

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

"Still tastes like fermented bat's piss to me."

Zeke Crawford's words drew a burst of laughter from his crew, and they continued to beam when he grimmaced and took his second sip. He hated the taste of raktajino, but it seemed that the higher powers in the universe has bestored an uncanny ability to grow it upon him. As the earthy, bittier liquid flowed over his tongue he had to admit that it was the best season yet - some crazy offworlder was bound to be willing to spend an arm and a leg for the entire crop. Gamma Vered II's growing season was a brutally short one, but something in the soil - some isotope, or element, or guano from the local birds - gave the beans a flavor the caffiene junkies of two quadrants just couldn't get enough of.

Finishing the second sip, he couldn't stomach a third and Zeke flung the rest of the cup onto the thick grass as his farmhands laughed again. "Alright - it'll do. Keep roastin' those beans for another three hours then load the last batch into the hopper... then we'll call it a night, boys. Good work!" The workers, Bajorans all, smiled and went to their labors.

~Crazy offworlder... now where th' hell did that come from?~ The thought forced a grin onto human's unshaven face. Seven years ago, mention of a 'crazy offworlder' usually meant Zeke Crawford, until Day Rahl offered him a billet on her struggling plantation. Widow Day was a single parent with two small brats and a mountain of debt when Crawford signed on, and the only words she usually reserved for the 'crazy offworlder' was 'aren't you supposed to be working' and 'don't look at me like that'. In the first solar year, Zeke didn't utter a single word to anyone - he let his backbone do the talking for him. Nobody worked harder... or smarter, and after a year he was the lead charge hand. Finally, when Day asked for his opinion, he gave it to her.

New methods of chemigation, fertigation and pest control.

New ideas on irrigation and watering.

Better hardware for weather prediction and monitoring evapotranspiration rates.

Observations on how that nice violet dress brings out your eyes.

Comments like the first three brought increased yield and better profitability. The last, cold stares and silence.

At first...

Ezekiel Johnathan Crawford was, if nothing else, persistant. A year became two and the dress, once worn only on special occasions, had become a more common garment. The cold stares and silence had changed to a beet-red blush, and a different kind of silence. And as the pretty Bajoran widow went in for the evening - an evening where the two of them spoke of a hunded and one topics other than farming raktajino - Zeke managed something he didn't think he was capable of again...

He smiled.

The third year brought its share of challenges: a flood, accompanied by a fungal blight that had the local botanist stumped for weeks, but the plantation pulled through better than most. Zeke was allowed to manage most of the work by then, and new drainage dykes and reservoirs on the landscape ensured that future damage would be minimal at best. Surveys of the plantation's perimeter now required company and sometimes, when the mood struck her, a soft had was placed in his calloused one during the walk. 'Zeke the offworlder' became 'Uncle Zeke' to the children, and just 'Crawford' to Day Rahl.

On the fifth year, Day Station Plantation went into the black for the first time thanks to a unique form of crop rotation. The castings of the bean pods made an ideal fertilizer for kava vines, which Zeke began growing on the slopes of the southern hills in terrain too sloped for the raktajino. Gamma Vered II's summer was too short for a proper harvest, and when the frost hit frozen kava fruit hung from withered plants like small marbles. Undaunted, Crawford and the farm-hands harvested during a bitterly cold midight and crushed the rock-hard fruit into fermentation vats that morning. A marriage of Bajoran fruit with Terran vinter traditions took place, and Gamma Vered II Ice-Springwine was born. The first harvest was difestible, but the second confirmed the worth of the investment and Crawford's agricultural genius.

Now, Zeke Crawford's walks along the plantation's frontier were a little slower, and the evenings a little longer. The doctors said that long walks were beneficial for both child and mother, and Zeke figured that Rahl's pregnancy-induced sneezing was better done outdoors as long as the weather permitted. The couple became the subject of local gossip - the scandalous cohabitation of a respectable Bajoran widow and a landless human Offworlder - but the tongue-wagging was tinged with a hint of jealosy as neither Zeke or Rahl had ever smiled so much.

~'Ain't bad at all~, Zeke mused as he squinted into the pale setting sun. Rows and rows of lush, emerald green bushes stood like legionaries in formation in the rich, brick red soil. The plants were fading with the dying season, and within days the valley would be carpeted with the deep snows that had already capped the peakes. Zeke Crawford walked slowly between the rows of raktajino bushes making his way to the farmhose where one daughter awaited botany homework, the other a story about hobbits, wizards, dwarves and dragons, and a wife who wanted to speak of everything under the sun except raktajino.

"Captain's Blessings"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Branwen London
Captain Man'darr Maivia

****

USS Galaxy Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

They were waiting outside of the office for the captain to call them in. Branwen was nervously holding Dar's hand. "I really hope he will have time to do this. You don't think he will refuse, do you?" She asked a little scared.

"Why would he refuse?" Man'darr replied and noticed Branwen's nervousness. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."

"Because he is an extremely busy man," she said. "Sometimes I wished I was more like you. Nothing is a problem to you, is it?" Branwen grinned.

"I expect," the Captain's voice spoke up warmly through the doorway that had opened as Branwen spoke, "that out of the many things that Captain Maivia might wish for, you being more like him is most likely *not* one of them, Lieutenant."

A grin formed at the corner of Man'darr's mouth. "Yes, sir."

Branwen just blushed. "Captain, we were wondering if we could have a moment of your time. It's something personal... but important," she added quickly and blushed some more.

"By all means," Daren motioned the pair in and waved them to chairs. "I think you'll make an excellent reason to stop filling out paperwork for a while. Now, what is it that you need, hmmm?" Branwen looked at her boyfriend and tried not to fall in her usual trap of being tongue tied and extremely awkward in the presence of senior naval officers. She really hoped that Dar would take over from her now, before she would say or do something stupid. She was extremely glad she managed to sit down without tripping over herself or the chair.

Man'darr spoke up, sensing that Branwen was growing nervous from her body language and facial expression. He never understood why people became nervous in front of other of higher rank. They were like them, only difference was the rank. "Thank you for seeing us, Captain. Lieutenant London and I have decided to get engaged and we were hoping that you could perform the ceremony as you are the ship's captain."

"That would be the marriage ceremony, not the engagement ceremony, I know that some people hold an engagement ceremony, but as we are in a hurry because my religion does not allow me to have sex before marr...." Suddenly she clamped her hand in front of her mouth. Oh my God, oh my God, I was not just explaining that to the captain was I? Branwen thought frantically, before getting very red again. "Anyways, we want to get married as soon as possible, and we would be honored if you would lead the ceremony," she finished in a whisper.

Man'darr rolled his eyes at Branwen's comment and barely managed to suppress a grin.

"I'd be delighted," Daren agreed. "As long as both of your respective religious beliefs will accept me as a proper authority in that regard? I'm empowered to make civil marriages, but I can claim no religious standing in any faith that would allow me to do so."

Man'darr nodded. "There is nothing against this in Capellan Culture, captain, as you are my commanding officer."

Branwen gasped again, in all the commotion she had completely forgotten about the religious ceremony. Of course there would have to be to ceremonies because she had to be married in the eyes of God as well. "Thank you for reminding me, sir. I will set up a second ceremony straight away. It's not a problem to have two." It was of course a silly custom to have two ceremonies, but it could not be helped. "Thank you for doing this, sir." And she was very happy he had made no comments about her silly slipups. She had no idea why navy senior officers made her so nervous. Branwen had no problem at all dealing with civilian dignitaries or marine high-ranking officers.

Man'darr's head snapped in the direction of Branwen. "Two ceremonies?" Man'darr sighed. "What would the purpose of the second ceremony serve?"

Branwen gave him a look. "Religious. You know I am very religious, and I have to be married in the eyes of God as well. Don't worry, honey, it will not take long, I promise. It will all be over in one day." She patted his arm.

"Why? Will your God be blind to the first ceremony?" Man'darr asked, confused.

"Well yes, God sees everything. But like the captain pointed out he is not a priest, and the union between a man and woman in my faith has to be witnessed by a priest as well. If we only marry in front of the captain I still can't... you know what."

"Does a priest have to perform the ceremony, or just witness it?" Daren asked, recognizing the signs of impending overload and hoping to prevent a 'Maivian Meltdown.' "If he merely has to witness the ceremony, then he could be included in the one that I perform."

"I guess if he would be allowed to say a few words to consecrate the marriage, I guess that should be all right." It sounded like a good compromise to her. She was almost not able to ask favors of the captain, but she tried anyway, sweating and blushing. "Would you.... Probably not.... But I'd just thought I would ask.... You know in the small event that you would be willing to and would be able to, and comfortable with.... You know.... Could you may be hold your ceremony in the chapel?" Branwen asked the captain proud it had come out so well.

"I don't see why not," Daren agreed. "Will it be a small ceremony?"

"I will have to talk to my priest about it." She said musing. Branwen was still there in body, but in her head she was going over all the possibilities. "Thank you sir, for being so flexible."

Seeing that Branwen had somehow gone off into La-La Land, Man'darr answered the captain's question. "Yes sir. It will be a rather small ceremony with Branwen's friends invited. Others who wish to attend are invited as well."

"Then I don't see any problems," Daren nodded. "The chapel will accommodate a small wedding party without difficulty. Have you two set a date yet?"

"Ehm no." She said. "As soon as possible really."

"Then how about tomorrow, if that is alright with you, Captain?" Man'darr suggested. Hopefully they would have enough time for Branwen to invite those she wanted at the wedding.

"Tomorrow!" The pitch of her voice would have shattered crystal if there had been any in the room. "How am I supposed to get organized for tomorrow? I need a dress, bridesmaid's dresses, a cake, a seating schedule, write speeches." The young marine looked close to hyperventilating.

"Alright, calm down. When would be good for you?" he asked Branwen. Capellan mating ceremonies were so much more simpler.

She remained silent for a while obviously thinking. "How about three or four days? I think I can manage it if I forego sleeping." She smiled at him.

"Why don't you ask a few friends to help you?" Daren suggested. It wouldn't do, he thought to himself, to mention that June had planned out their wedding three years in advance of the day he'd proposed to the degree that the only things left to do were put dates on the invitations and schedule time in the chapel. "I'm sure that they'd be glad to help... and that might prevent you from falling asleep during the ceremony."

"I can ask them, sir." She said her mind still on other things. Then she blushed again. "And of course my work will not suffer; I absolutely promise that, you don't have to be afraid."

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Daren assured her. “But, in my experience, weddings are as much a group social activity for the bride and groom’s friends and family as they are a special moment for the ones being married. Since neither of you have family aboard of which I am aware, you might want to make certain that all of the individuals that you want involved with the ceremony will be able to participate. Having someone help you will make that much easier.”

"I will try and see if there are people who have the time to help me." Branwen promised reluctantly. She was afraid it would cost more time trying to find people to help then doing the actual work herself.

"You will have the time," Man'darr stated confidently.

“I expect that you’ll find them eager to help,” Daren agreed. “And things will go faster with extra hands working on them.”

"Thank you for the suggestion sir. I will do my best," she promised. Daren smiled. “I have no doubt.” He looked at the two. “Is there anything else?”

"No sir." Branwen said. "Thank you very much for your time."

Upon being dismissed, Branwen and Man'darr exited the captain's ready room. Man'darr was glad that part was over and that Branwen didn't make a complete fool of herself in front of the captain.

"Evaluation"

1st Lieutenant Branwen London
Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia

Branwen was not nervous in her office very often. But now that she was doing officer reviews she was. Her next visitor was Captain Maivia and he could come in any moment now. Of course she was not going to do the review herself, that would be unethical, but as she had stated to the Colonel earlier she thought it was imperative that he did speak to somebody. Knowing Dar he was not going to be very happy about that. So somehow she wished she could skip the next half hour.

Man'darr entered the office. "What did you want to see me for?" he asked with a grin. She smiled back and then turned more serious. "I guess this is a professional talk, Captain." She gestured to the chairs. "I am evaluating the senior officers this month. And of course you are also on the list. Now don't worry, I cannot do it myself. But I do want to have a little chat about counselling."

Man'darr sighed. "I am not a senior officer. I do not attend the Department meetings with the ship's captain. I told you before that I do not need counseling," he replied sternly. She cleared her throat. “You are the marine first officer, sir. And I beg to differ with you about the need for counseling.’ She however did not look at him.

"And what makes you think that?"

“I have observed your behavior over the last couple of weeks, sir. You are having difficulty making contact with most people. You are from a very different culture then most of it and I think you would benefit from some help. It would benefit your career, now the naval shrinks are all very professional and kind people.”

"Just because I do not 'hang out' with those I work with or other memebers of this crew does not mean that I need counseling. And from what I am observing, there is nothing wrong with my career, especially after being promoted to XO of the Marine Detachment aboard this ship. I care little for the counseling profession as I place them with the Medical Department, especially Naval Counselors."

“I am sorry that we only have one marine counselor. Look I have to stay neutral here. It is my professional opinion that you would benefit from a few sessions. Maybe only to change your mind about the profession.” She tried to smile. “This is not a personal decision, sir.”

"I doubt that," Man'darr said flatly, with his arms crossed.

"Excuse me, sir?" She looked at him trying for a neutral expression. "What do you base that on?"

"I base it on from that time when we were in my quarters and you wanted me to go and see a counselor, all because I'm not fond of the Navy."

“Did I mention that fact? No, I kept it out of the equation completely because you told me in confidence.” She told him. Although of course Bran hoped it would come up in therapy.

"Very well," he said gruffly. She blinked. “That means you will do it?”

"Only because I have to. If I leave, you'll complain to the XO or CO and then I'll be ordered to go to counseling." Branwen took a deep breath but she was a lousy liar and she hated fooling her boyfriend. “For your info, sir, the colonel would probably back you. Like most marines he is not fond of shrinks. This is totally based on my observations and on what I think is best. But at this time I cannot force you, I can only strongly suggest.”

"As I said. If I leave, you will only run to the captain or XO of the ship and complain to them about me not attending counseling sessions and then I will be ordered to attend. I know how you counselors work. If you don't get your ways, you go and cry about it to the nearest superior officer."

She narrowed her eyes. “You have a pretty high opinion of me, captain. For your information, I do not divulge information that was told to me in confidence. I would not go to the captain over the colonel’s head. Only if you or any other patient was a danger to the crew or himself. And you are not. I am just giving my professional opinion. But you know what, why don’t you just stew in it.” She growled tired of putdowns about her profession and herself.

Man'darr stepped over to her. "You know what my opinion of you is. I believe you are a good warrior and Marine. Why are you acting so stubborn about this?"

“I am also a good THERAPIST.” She stressed. “And I am not. I even told you that the colonel will back you if you refuse to go. I won’t go over his head so there is not a thing I can do if you refuse.”

"You are a Marine. That means you are a fighter first and a therapist or counselor second." Man'darr sighed. He did not like arguing with Branwen as he loved her very much and cared for her feelings.. "Very well...only because YOU asked me I will attend, but I will attend only ONE session. Thats it."

She smiled at him, it was a start. “Thank you.” She said softly. “I do appreciate it, sweetheart.”

Man'darr let out a heavy sigh. He was busy making sure the men were ready to remove the colonists. "How are the plans for the wedding ceremony coming along?"

“Getting there.” She grinned. Bran was working every minute of the day at the moment to get everything finished. “Don’t you worry about a thing, it is going to be beautiful.”

"The only part I care about is the evening following the ceremony," Man'darr joked with a grin.

“Oh? You mean the party or after the party?” She asked coyly.

"After," he said with a wink.

“I thought so.’ She was exited and scared. “Dar…. Will it hurt a lot?” Man'darr looked at Branwen for a moment. Why would she think it would hurt? "No, it won't hurt. Why do you think that?"

“That is what I read in the book. That it could hurt the first time. I am going to the doctor for a check up tomorrow morning, I want everything to be perfect for you, you have waited so long." She told him.

Man'darr held Branwen's hand. "I care about you and I know everything will be fine."

"Thank you, I know you will." She kissed him again. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"The Kahs-wan" Part Seven of Seven!

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

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

"I_hated_coming_back." Dhanishta stated again her eyes locking on to Kala's with a steely resolve.

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

No, there was no good or easy way to tell someone you loved that you preferred to be dead. It wasn't the done thing she supposed. Kala's revulsion and anger turned to a morbid curiosity, eventually, after some posturing, pacing, kicking stones and several indignant glares. Throughout, all Dhanishta could do was wait, wait for the questions, the endless questions, and then the forced acceptance of her answers, the sympathy and false utterance of understanding. Dhanishta couldn't be mad, for how could Kala know? There was no way she could fully understand, no way that Dhani could show her, there were no words that could accurately explain with any level of satisfaction what it was like to cross over.

The impasse was reached and it was then Dhanishta realized there could be no more, no more understanding or acceptance could spill forth from her sibling. Already her twins mind was full, full of unanswerable questions and uncertainties, to tell her now that in addition to preferring death to this existence she believed that she was possessed by a psychotic entity or parasite would really be overload. So she just sat, sat on the sand, just as she was now, pulling at the weeds until the storms, internal and external, passed.

But they never truly passed. The clouds did not move on the breeze, they simply hung overhead, never faltering in their determination to cast shadows upon the ground or to place obstacles in her path.

Crouched as she was, rocking gently back and forth, unaware if the motion was caused by the wind or a subconscious desire to try and comfort herself, she sighed deeply and slowly stood up.

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

The silence was too much, for it contained only noise and Dhanishta couldn't stand it any longer. She had come here for a reason, and that reason was behind her. Standing slowly she turned from her sister and the turmoil that deafened her inner ears and cast her eyes upon the house. Already resigned to the fact that she was not about to be pulled by invisible strings of unity, or have that sense of belonging she longed for fulfilled, she let her eyes drift over the building as she pushed open the white wooden gate and approached the front door.

It was an alien house, in an alien environment. Obvious to every eye that it was out of place on Vulcan soil. No Vulcan architect would have designed such a place. It was contemporary, two stories high, built out of modern material rather than ancient stone like many of the other residents around. Its white picket fence was reminiscent of Federation architecture and the veranda with its broken swing proved furthermore of its unpopularity with the locals.

If she hadn't been able to tell from the pealing flakes of paint off the front gate, or the cobwebs in the windows, the un-kept front garden that looked more like a rockery than the lush green vegetation she remembered, or the unlocked front door and the floor boards that creaked as she stepped over the threshold and into the hallway, the smell that hit her as she entered was a sure sign that this house had been abandoned for many a year.

Behind her Kala entered, following in her sisters footsteps as she felt she had been doing all her life. The coolness of the darkened hallway was refreshing after being out in the afternoon sun. It was strange though, how eerie the place felt, cold and unwelcoming. Compared to the glorious day outside, walking into this house felt like crossing into another dimension.

Dhanishta stared straight ahead, through the open door that led into the kitchen and beyond; through the window that lined the back wall and out into the garden. That too was as barren as the front rockery. Nothing grew out there, perhaps it never had.

Shuffling past her sister, Kala poked her head into the room that had once been her fathers study, right off the hallway. There were marks on the walls where his shelves had once been, housing his entire library of books. 'There is something mysterious about books,' she heard his voice echoing inside her mind, 'they are tangible, real and precious. They contain more character than any book you can read on a PADD. You must treasure them Kala, they are not to be played with or drawn in!' He was scolding her, she realized as her minds eye filled the room with the furniture and belongings it had once contained, recreating the scenery from the sensory perceptions of a three year old child.

The memory was of so long ago, yet still she felt the sting of her father's words, the belittling she had felt and the twinge of anger and bitter resentment of having been told off. It was strange how back then the scolding lasted only minutes, seconds even, before the bad feelings were forgotten and play time resumed with boundless love and affection, yet years later that twinge of anger and resentment remained. Kala frowned and cast her eyes to the floor, letting the scene fade and regress back to the dim recess of her minds filing cabinets.

Simultaneously the girls turned to the left, to the doorway that led into what had once been their living room, the door itself hung haphazardly in the frame, the top hinge having eroded and come away from the wood. Immediately to the right was a flight of stairs running parallel to the wall, the landing above overlooked the living room, the rails and banister both suffered from time and neglect.

Cautiously Dhanishta stepped into the room and like a pirate's parrot Kala hung off her shoulder. Dust coated everything, the walls, the floor, the surfaces; already it stained their clothes, laced their hair and clung to their fine nostril hair. The air felt damp, it added to the unclean feeling that had started to creep up on Kala. She tried to dismiss it along with that unsettled feeling that caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Stepping away from her sibling she began to explore the room.

It was empty for the most part. A tattered curtain hung in one of the boarded up window frames, its faded color and floral pattern a dead give away to the era in which it was originally hung. A white porcelain vase stood alone in one of the alcoves embedded into the wall, behind it was a mirror, in much need of dusting! A turquoise oblong, now threadbare, rug lined the floor, an old oak coffee table centered on its symmetrical pattern, barley visible now that the weave had faded.

~Is 'that' our old couch?~ was the question that immediately entered Kala's mind as her eyes locked on to the offending object that occupied the same wall as the bedroom-stairs. It too was covered with dust and riddled with holes, the colour disguised by the layer that sat atop its cracked surface, ~ I hope it's not real?~ her mind paused in its questioning of the validity of genuine leather as she noticed a shadow pass over head. Her eyes turned from the dirty, disused couch and upwards, towards the landing.

Dhanishta too was staring in that direction; her eyes fixed and dilated on the far left door which was ajar, a glimmer of light spilling forth from the gap. Kala didn't know if Nishta had noted the shadow move along the landing, and before the question formulated completely in her mind, Nishta was already making her ascent.

At first her steps were slow, measured and calculated as she distributed her weight evenly across the aging steps, craning her neck upwards, eyes fixed on that open door, caution dictating her pace. And then in a heart beat she was galloping up them, two at a time, using the banister for leverage as she bolted to her destination.

Behind, Kala followed, only a quarter of the way up the stairs herself as Dhanishta suddenly thundered up them. It was then she noted its fragility as the railings wavered dangerously with Dhanishtas heavy footfalls and questioned their flawed judgment of entering an abandoned house that could have well been condemned.

Already Nishta had pushed the door open, standing in the entrance her eyes roamed the room. Her features expressed an emotion Kala could not quite put into words. As her eyes too began to review the room, noting yet again the dust as it swirled in the air caught in a beam of light, she frowned pensively, trying to remember something, anything about the bedroom that entranced her sister.

Dhanishta stood, almost mesmerized. Her heart pounded in her chest, she could feel it against her rib cage and in the pit of her belly, pulsating, throbbing. Her eyes misted slightly as she caught sight of the cot on the right. The crimson carpet was filthy but she didn't notice that. For a moment everything was as it had been; the cot on the right, the small child's bed on the left, the white wooden toy box under the window that her father had hand painted, the mobile hanging from the ceiling its gems twinkling in the sun light, the sloping ceiling to the left that he always banged his head on as he stood up after kissing her goodnight, and there on the floor; Mr. Twinkey.

Ever so slowly Dhanishta crouched down ad picked him up, cradling the brown fluffy teddy bear in her arms as if it were a delicate new born baby, unaware that it was as filthy as the carpet and covered in cobwebs and dead spiders.

Shuffling forward she rested her knees against the edge of the bed for balance, Mr. Twinkey pinned firmly under her left arm, close to her chest. Behind her Kala made her own judgment about the room, condemning the smell, the dust that made her sneeze and the rather dull d?cor, but Dhanishta didn't hear any of that, didn't even register the sneeze.

A white sheet still covered the mattress, the cushions, pillows and blankets long since removed, yet as Dhanishta stared on, through the dust filled haze she saw them; white sheets, blue pillows, a purple duvet and a pink fluffy blanket, the same that she had been wrapped in the day she was born, in the bottom right hand corner someone had lovingly embroidered a 'D' for Dhanishta. She remembered that blanket, she had loved that blanket, it was supposed to protect her? her head tilted to the right, a pensive frown crossing her face.

~~***~~

"There ya go little one," Tansons voice cooed softly as he tried to help his first born into bed. He adored the way she refused his help, batting his hands away as she climbed into the bed all by herself. It would have been so much easier and quicker if she just let him lift her up and sit her on the bed. But Dhanishta was a stubborn tike and flatly refused the aid; instead she reached up on tip toes, grabbed the sheets, swung one leg over the crest of the bed and then hauled herself onto it. And even then the maneuver was not complete as she scrambled on to all fours, flattened the sheet from where she had wrinkled it climbing in (that in itself took ten minutes as every time she moved she created yet another crease that 'had' to be smoothed out!) and then, slightly exhausted, the little girl would sit down and turn to her father with a serious expression that was far beyond her years.

This was the same routine they had been performing every night, like a ritual, since her new bed had arrived three months ago. At least there was some routine in his life, Tanson thought ruefully as he ran a hand through his silvering hair. Smiling gently he tickled her chin and ruffled her dark ringlets. "Right then, are you ready Captain Eshe, its time to buckle up." he told her, as he did every night. "You must always remember to show?" "Best practice." The little girl chimed in with a wide toothy grin.

"Yup that's right, if you don't buckle up when traveling in your space rocket no one else will, and that would be bad, especially if you crash. You'd fall out of your chair!" he said dramatizing the story by sliding to the floor rather abruptly.

"Ouch!" Dhanishta exclaimed for him, peering at him over the edge of the bed with a quizzical expression.

"So Captain Eshe, where are you going tonight?" Tanson asked his daughter as he straightened himself up, tightened her harness and pulled the duvet up to her chin before ritually tucking the edges under the mattress.

"We are going to?" there was a pause as the three year old looked out of the sky light, staring hard at the stars beyond the plate glass. "That one there." she said after a moments pause.

Tanson looked up at the window. Strapped in as she was, Nishta was unable to reach out and identify the exact star she was planning to visit that night, so he took his index finger and placed it on the window, "That one?" he asked.

"No." Nishta replied, "not that one, been there. The other one."

"This one?" Tanson asked shifting his finger to the right, stifling a yawn as he did so.

"Noooo!" Dhanishta replied playfully.

"Which one then?" Tanson asked in a mock defeatist tone.

"The brightest one, silly!" she put him in his place, as she did every night.

"And why that one?" he asked softly staring at her with a silent wonderment.

"Cause it's the bestest." Dhanishta replied, a smile lighting up her small face.

He stroked her cheek lovingly and stared at her for a moment, lost in her dark innocent eyes. Wearily he reclaimed her teddy bear from the floor and pealed back a corner of the duvet to place it in bed with her. "Now," he began, "we can't forget your co pilot, you'd be lost without a navigator wouldn't you?" he questioned as he tucked the duvet around the little bear.

"Mr. Twinkey!" Dhanishta exclaimed brightly snuggling up to him.

"And of course your blankie!" he added as a belated after thought. Picking up the pink blanket he tucked it round her, of course the blanket was far too small to cover her now, but it was a token, something the psychologist had suggested 'surround her with things she feels comfortable and safe with'. Yet again he had to reaffirm that lie, "This is a magical blankie," he told her, his tone inflicting his indifference, "while this blanket surrounds you?"

"Nothing can hurt me?" the three year old finished with a stifled yawn of her own.

"That's right pumpkin." Tanson replied, "Nothing at all?" he trailed off as her little eyes began to close and wondered if he would be permitted an hour or so himself before her screaming began?.

~~***~~

"That was your bed," Dhanishta said hoarsely indicating the cot behind her, her tone was hushed, suffocated by the lump in her throat, "and this one?" a tear rolled down her cheek as she reached out and cupped the wrist restraint with her hand, "?and this one was mine?"

Kala was kneeling next to her staring at the shackle, questioning it with a look of confusion. Why would her sisters' bed, a bed that was for a child, have leg and arm restraints? Her eyes turned to Dhanishta face, exploring it, probing it silently as she realized that this was something Dhanishta 'did' recall. Swallowing the lump that arose in her throat she said nothing. What could she say? Slowly she placed her hand on Dhanishta shoulder, yet again there were more questions to be asked, and for the first time she understood Dhanishta reluctance to answer them, or to even ask them herself.

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

Pulling up her hood Dhanishta braved the storm. Tears lined her cheeks once more, sand sticking to the transparent trails. Leaning into the wind as she had done before she tried to forget the memory of her child hood that had ripped through her with a ferocious intent to destroy any equilibrium she might find here. Once more it reaffirmed the fact that nothing in her life was normal, or had been. The journey she had undertaken to find some harmony was destroyed, replaced with a gaping hole of unanswered questions, and no one to turn to, no one to ask, no way to find the truth.

With every step she took she tried to further the distance between herself and her past. Her pace quickened, her tired legs buckling slightly as she tried to run. Run from it all. For there was no where she could hide, not on the ship, not here in the sand dunes of her beloved Vulcan, nor in her mind. For as much as she longed to escape she couldn't do that to her family again, nor to herself. There had to be another way, but where was she to find it?

She tried to recall the little girl that first undertook this journey into the wilderness. Tried to draw some strength from the child that braved the elements alone. She had felt strong back then. Felt in control. She knew her destination, knew the reasons for the journey and understood why it was important in her development. She was to take the journey alone, with only her own skills of survival and her own instincts to rely upon. It was a ritual of independence. If you worried and fretted you could lose your sense of direction. Not just literally but metaphorically and spiritually too.

So what had changed between then and now? The Kahs-wan was not about time, it was about inner strength. The minds victory over the body. What most people didn't understand was that Vulcan's were emotional people. They were not born with a resistance to it. They had to work for that. Over and over, every day of their existence they strived to push themselves further away from confusion of the chemical impulses that ran rampant through their bodies just like every other species. It was a constant battle of will.

Was this what happened when will lost?

Had she not only lost her way but her will power to fight?

Dhanishta closed her eyes and let her feet carry her. There was no longer a destination in mind. Escape, escape was the only thing in mind now. Escape from then, escape from now, and keep running until you fall.

But she was already falling. And there was nothing and no one that could stop it.

"The Old Fashioned Way" Part One

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

* * * * *Main Sickbay * * * * *

"Well, today is going to be a barrel of laughs!" Kimberly muttered to herself as she looked over her schedule. With all that was going on, and with everything else she had to deal with she had put off talking to Dhani for a while now. Probably not the best of ideas she admitted to herself, but there had been other things to deal with, not the least being a war kicking off that had otherwise occupied her at odd moments.

Seeing Dhani's name on the top of her list for today she sighed and realized that avoiding the Chief Engineer was not only childish, but something she had done several times before, Russo, London to name a couple of examples. Hoping a problem would vanish of its own accord was not the way to deal with something. Biting her lip she wandered over to the side ward that she had equipped for this eventuality and looked over the outdated equipment within, with Dhanis predilection for trashing all the high tech gear she habitually used to perform a routine exam, this had been her compromise.

No bio bed, no tricorders, most of the equipment had been replicated from the historical archives of the twenty first and twenty second centuries. Low tech gear with no scanning capability that should piss her off, or at least none that would (hopefully) set her mind on an electronic demolition derby.

Running through her checklist for the room as she waited she placed some of the implements in a unit designed to warm them prior to use, and others in a sterilizer, shaking her head all the time at the absurdity of the necessity of all this. Hopefully Brian would be able to get Dhanis mind back to more modern times and allow her to use a tricorder at least without trashing it.

She had her own thoughts based on conversations with her friend as to why she might not be comfortable around medics or hospital equipment, but right now, Dhani wasn't exactly predisposed to listen to her.

Dhanishta entered sick bay - not pleased in the slightest to be here. She arrived on time, unlike usual. She also came prepared to sit through a full physical. It was going to be tough, she couldn't remember much of what Burton accused her of doing every time she came here, but she remember enough to know that something had. Determined to see this through as much for herself as well as to get everyone off her back, it was beginning to get irritating that same old threat. One that she believed none of them would carry out; the ship needed its chief engineer, especially at a time of war. But if doing this would prove to Kimberly that there was nothing medically wrong with her and get her to sod off for 12 months, it was worth while.

"Lieutenant Eshe, reporting for a full physical." She told the nurse flatly.

"This way Lieutenant," indicating that Eshe should follow her, Arrietty led her across the ward to a side room, "Doctor Burton should be with you shortly."

Following the nurse into the side room Dhanishta looked around and frowned. "Erm..." she turned round, catching the nurse before she disappeared out the door, "what is all this?" she asked somewhat confused.

"An examination room that should hopefully be intact once we're done." Kimberly informed her as she stepped out from behind a screen that split the room. "Considering your reaction to the electronics outside this was the only option I could come up with at the time." Patting the bed that sat against one wall she nodded to Arrietty, "Thanks, I'll call if we need you," she said to her nurse. Indicating the room she looked to Dhanishta as the door closed, "Do you have a problem with any of this?" she asked.

Dhanishta turned round taking in everything, "No... I suppose not." she replied distantly. She really hadn't expected this. She felt touched. "Where do you want me?" she asked looking back at Kimberly.

"If you'd like to change please," she asked as she tossed an examination gown onto the bed, "then hop up here," patting the bed as she spoke, "we'll begin. Since we have to avoid electronic scans of any kind, we'll be reverting to a few low tech examinations. As we proceed I'll explain each one and if you have any questions I'll do my best to answer them. Sound okay?"

"Is that really necessary?" Dhanishta asked pointing at the gown, "I'd feel more comfortable in my own clothes." She stepped cautiously towards the bed still a little unsure.

"Unfortunately yes. Under normal circumstances I'd be able to scan through your clothes, but as that's not an option we have to do this the old fashioned way, physical examination. The literal hands on approach so to speak." Trying not to let any amusement, no matter how slight show, both at the hesitant attitude from Dhani or the archaic equipment she had been learning how to use, Kimberly waved an arm around the room, "all this is from before scanning technology. As time goes on I'll try different pieces of equipment and we'll see just what triggers a reaction from you, but it's going to be trial and error I'm afraid. I realize it all looks a little old fashioned, but it's all perfectly safe, and despite rumours to the contrary I do know what I'm doing," she tried to assure Dhani in a friendly and cheerful tone, "I just want to help, and to make you feel a little more at ease. Something out there," indicating the main ward beyond the door, "makes you uncomfortable, and triggers an unconscious reaction. What it is I'd like to help you figure out, but until then, here we are."

Dhanishta nodded dubiously, "And what part of all this archaic medicine requires me to be naked?"

Raising an eyebrow Kimberly wondered just where to start on that one. Normal medical procedures and tests could be carried out quite easily and non-invasively. However, at the level of medical technology she was now forced to use there was a distinct lack of internal imaging she could do without getting invasive. Certain tests and procedures would require some sampling or probing not typically carried out in this day and age. "Well," she started slowly, "not entirely naked, you get a nice hospital gown that does up at the back," she countered, "otherwise there are a few tests that are going to require some, prodding and probing" she said as delicately as she could, "we'd not normally need to do. Trust me, it'll be fine." Deciding to explain things one procedure and test at a time she figured starting with the simple stuff would let her get used to things in here, explaining things like tissue biopsies, stethoscopes, electrodes that actually required skin contact to monitor heart rhythm and cervical sampling would only make her wonder just what was next.

~ Let's hope none of the test results warrant a colonoscopy! ~ she thought with a shudder. Somehow she figured that the mere thought of that one would go down as well as the suggestion of dancing naked at the Hydran Queens birthday party!

Dhanishta eyed her suspiciously, "Let's just start with the tests that don't require me to remove more than my duty jacket, shall we." She informed rather than questioned. Sitting on the side of the bed she unzipped her jacket and placed it over her knees. "What's first then?"

"Witness For The Bride"

Lt. Branwen 'Kit' London
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

"Victor, are you home?" Bran almost bounced off the door when it didn't open instantly upon her approach, but after a few seconds of blinking lights from what she recognized as a security lock on the door's call-panel and buzzer, it appeared to recognize her and slid aside, allowing her to barge in despite not having heard a reply to her question. "I have the most wonderful news to tell you, and something to ask...."

The lights were on, illuminating the myriad of plants spread around the room, the pictures on the walls, the pile of gear just inside the door where Victor had apparently dropped it... and the couple standing in the middle of the room, kissing as if there was no one and nothing else in the world but the other person in their arms.

"Ehm..." Branwen blushed. "I guess I can come back later." She started to turn around. Although she had never seen Victor as scary or evil, this was a bit much. He was getting very cuddly all of a sudden.

There was a pause, and then Angelienia snickered, drew back, and started to laugh. "You see?" she chided Victor. "That's why I asked if you locked the door."

Victor shrugged. "Who knew someone would just walk in? It isn't like I get a lot of visitors besides you, you know." He turned and nodded to Branwen. "No running, Kit. No one's mad at you. What's wrong?"

"I am so sorry." She apologized again. "But nothing is wrong, in fact I wanted you to know that Dar and I are getting married. And I wanted to ask if you would do me and the honour of being one of my witnesses." Now Branwen smiled again.

Victor tilted his head to the side and studied her for a moment. "A witness? I wasn't aware that weddings were considered a crime, Kit. At least, not in any culture that I expect you'd belong to."

"Eh?" Branwen was watching him rather cross-eyed. Victor did not make jokes, and she was beginning to worry that she would have to explain the whole concept of marriage and witnesses to him.

"Oh stop it, Victor," Angelienia said lightly, poking him in the side as she grinned. "He's just teasing you, you know," she explained to Bran with a grin. "He's been practicing, but he's still not very good at it yet - and he'd be glad to stand for you. Congratulations!"

"Joking?" She shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm still not sure which Victor I prefer." A little later Branwen was back to teasing herself. "Thank you, Angie. Of course you are invited to the party and the ceremony as well. We are going to hold it as soon as possible. And I am so excited." A grin spread over her face again.

"I can tell," Victor observed. "And just so I'm clear on this, what - exactly - are the duties of a witness in this ceremony? The last time I did anything like this was when I gave a friend of the family a divorce and his brothers-in-law had to try and kill me."

Branwen giggled. "Nothing like that, you just stand beside me during the civil and the church ceremonies. And if you like you could also walk me in, standing in for my father." She smiled at him. "After the ceremony due just sign the register as witness. It's not going to be difficult, but it will mean a great deal for me to have you there in that capacity."

"As long as there's no shooting, no ritual combat with your husband-to-be or anyone else, and I don't have to act like your biological father in any fashion whatsoever, then I'd be glad to," he nodded. "And with the condition that there isn't anyone else in the wedding party that will be unable to perform their duties because I'm present. If that's the case, then I'll attend, but watch from the sidelines - I don't have any desire to ruin your wedding."

"No, no and no. And Victor, if anybody has a problem with you, they can stay away." Branwen meant it. "You are important to me, you will be giving me away, and be my witness. Man'darr and Dhani are not frightened of you as far as I know, and I doubt the captain is. Bad is all that matters." She put her arms around him. "Thank you."

Victor looked uncomfortable for a second, and then relaxed. "You really ought to be careful about doing that," he suggested with a nod. "In some cultures, that hug would have meant that your husband-to-be would have to kill me to prove his worth to you. Are you sure that Capellan society doesn't have that custom?" At Branwen's wide-eyed, panicked look he added, "Teasing."

Branwen grinned back. "You know, you have to do start giving me warnings when you are going to tease me, it is so unlike you. To be honest Dar is a little bit on the jealous side, but he knows that you and I are just friends, so you should be okay." Her eyes twinkled.

"That's nice to know," Victor nodded solemnly. "It would cast the whole wedding in a shadow if I had to kill your husband before he even made it to the wedding night."

She sniggered. "And what makes you so sure you would win, Victor? My fianc?e comes from a warrior culture, don't underestimate him. A duel between the two of you could be very interesting."

For an instant, Victor considered telling her the truth, that given any choice at all he'd never 'duel' anyone as dangerous as her fianc?e; he'd shoot him in the back from a thousand meters or more, or phaser him in the shower, or something equally expedient and less life-threatening instead. Ultimately, he decided that statements like that were the sort of things the old Victor would have said; the one that hadn't lived Chulak's life. "Perhaps," he agreed instead, smiling, "but that would still cast a bit of a pall on the wedding either way don't you think? Better to have good memories and living loved ones and friends on a day like this one."

"Definitely!" Branwen was still in a good mood. "How about I come by again in a few days to show you the plans for the wedding? I am going to be so busy until then."

"That would be..." Victor looked to Angelienia for confirmation, "...very nice," he continued after her approving nod. "Although I'm not sure if I'm really qualified to critique your - or anyone's - wedding plans. Angelienia might be though - especially the dress. She's an excellent seamstress, you know; makes clothes for the two of us by hand," he added proudly.

"Would you?" Branwen asked Angie. "Would you help with my dress and being my wedding planner?" She looked pretty eager, it was a daunting task to face alone, and she had promised the captain that she would seek help.

"I..." the Ktarian stammered. "Yes, I'd be glad to. It may take a few days for the dress depending on what you want, though. Will that be okay?" She looked hopeful that Branwen wouldn't say that she needed the dress in the morning.

"Of course," Branwen said. "Don't worry, we have four days." She smiled again. "As I am a virgin, I would like something white. A bit old-fashioned." She had dreamt about the wedding dress for years.

Angelienia blinked, started to speak, stopped, and finally nodded. "White," she repeated. "Old-fashioned. Got it." She gave Victor a look and smiled. "Why don't we plan to look at some patterns tonight and see what looks good to you. Victor and I had some holosuite time reserved, but he won't mind our hijacking it for this."

Victor, seeing no way around it, nodded. "Go ahead."

"You are both angels." Branwen smiled brightly. "Thank you, I will be back to night."

"I don't know about the 'angel' part," Victor demurred. "I imagine that you could find a lot of people who'd disagree with you there - but you're welcome. Angelienia ere - that's a part of her name for a reason."

"Why don't we meet in my quarters?" Angelienia said, her cheeks coloring a bit at Victor's compliment. "I have all my sewing gear there anyway."

"Sure, wonderful," Bran grinned from ear to ear. "What time would be good for you? Are you coming as well, Victor?"

"Any time after 1800 is good for me," Angelienia replied, and turned to look at Victor. "Is that okay?"

After a century as Chulak and approximately a third that time as himself, Victor had accumulated enough wisdom to know that men were not supposed to be involved in some things. "I think I'll wait to see the finished product," he answered. "This dress isn't for me, it's for Captain Maivia, and my input would just muddy that water. Besides that, I've got a mountain of paperwork to do about the mission I'm just back from to get done - and if I do it tonight, then it won't get in the way of spending time with people," he looked at Angelienia, "later on."

"All right, all right, it is a convincing argument. So you get let out, this time." Bran looked at her chrono. "I should get going. See you at 1800, Angie. I am already looking forward to it." She breezed back to the door.

"The Old Fashioned Way" Part Two

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

* * * * *Main Sickbay * * * * *

Dhanishta eyed her suspiciously, "Lets just start with the tests that don't require me to remove more than my duty jacket, shall we." She informed rather than questioned. Sitting on the side of the bed she unzipped her jacket and placed it over her knees. "What's first then?"

"Well first we start with the basics I guess, blood pressure, resting heart rate, O2 saturation, and a few others," picking up an arm band she rolled up Dhani's sleeve and wrapped the techno cuff around her upper arm. Letting the monitor hiss and puff on its own she left it to gather its data and picked up a syringe, glad this was one area where she didn't have to resort to twenty second century technology. "Standard blood test, then we check your vision and reactions okay so far?"

Dhanishta nodded.

Drawing 40cc's of blood she set the sample in a lab tray and slid it into storage for later, once done she picked up a PADD and handed it to Dhanishta.

"What's this?" Dhani inquired taking the padd from Burton with a curious and yet still somewhat suspicious expression.

"That, is an age associated cognitive memory test. It's designed specifically for you to test for things like decline in memory, complex decision-making and speed of information processing." Pulling a trolley over Kimberly began rummaging through it as she spoke. "Memory and cognitive function disorders can have severe effects on decision making as well as cause problems that may lead to social interaction issues. It's also designed to test for reasoning and executive function processing such as organization, mental flexibility, numerical skills and quantitative reasoning." Pulling out a clear tube that held something blue and gloopy she started shaking it, "Basically, since I can't scan your brain to a, check it's there, and b, to check its functioning and health, this is a replacement. Enjoy. It should take you about thirty minutes, so while you work I'll get out the ultrasound."

"Ultrasound?" Dhani practically exclaimed with absurdity, "What in the name of Kahless is that?" she demanded abruptly sitting ramrod straight. This medical was getting more bizarre by the second. She penetrated the doctor with an icy stare, it was evident that Kimberly was enjoying this far too much. All the talk about how difficult Dhanishta made her job, with her aversion to techno gadgets, she was purposely trying to make her feel guilty. Reminding her over and over of how she had gone out of her way to accommodate the strange engineer.

"Ultrasound, so I can check your bone density for any fracture or signs of osteoporosis or osteonecrosis." Still shaking the blue gloop she slid what looked like a footbath from under the bed, "We'll start with your feet, you shouldn't feel a thing." ~ I hope! ~ she added silently, 'cause if she did, it would mean another call to Ops!

Dhanishta took a deep breath, an attempt to calm herself. Grinding her teeth she tried the grin and bare it approach. Putting the padd on the bed she hoisted her foot on to her knee, removed her shoe and sock, similarly the other, before placing both feet into the odd device. "Damn that's cold!" she shivered. After another breath she reclaimed the padd from the surface of the bed and began to read. She hadn't expected any of this and the situation made her cranky. Shrugging it off as best she could she picked up the stylus and began the ridiculous test.

Unable to miss the look that Dhanishta had fired her way Kimberly winced slightly, she was trying to be accommodating and open, but that didn't seem to be helping much. "Look, I know all of this is non-standard, and I'm sorry." She started as she let the footbath ultrasound machine check her feet and ankles, "but I don't know what else to do okay. The only other option was to report your physical incomplete and report it and the reason why, and neither of us wants that, okay." ~ Aww the hell with it! ~ she thought suddenly, "Though I guess the fact you're probably still pissed at me doesn't really help matters either?" she asked suddenly.

The padd instantly drooped in Dhanishtas grasp, bouncing off the tip of her fingers as she deliberated how best to respond. Her features turned sullen, repressed anger bubbled. Storming out of here was going to be slightly difficult with her feet covered in gel, she regarded them - probably why Kimberly had put her in there first. The doctor could make a good tactician some day she thought scathingly.

After a few seconds pause Dhanishta raised her head and frowned, "At what point did you consult me about all this?" she asked gesturing towards the room with her free hand, "At what point in time did you even bother to ask me about how I felt about your trial and error experiments?" Something caught in her mind as she asked that, a feeling, a memory, she shook the unknown thought from her mind - pushed back the sudden feeling of anxiety that overcame her and focused on the Doctor. "You didn't. Not once. You could have called me in for a chat to discuss your ideas, made a proposal. But you purposely went out of your way to make this all about you. What a martyr," she exclaimed loudly, "Look at you, how compassionate you are, how dedicated you are to the wellbeing of your patients." she mocked insidiously.

"All of this, everything you have done is to purposely undermine me, to highlight how abnormal you think I am, to demonstrate how you strive in the face of adversity; 'a difficult patient'." her eyes narrowed, "Don't you think I have had that enough throughout my life? Don't you think for one moment I haven't been ridiculed, laughed at, jeered at enough for one life time?" her pitch rose as she spoke, along with the ferocity of the accusation and the repressed emotion behind it.

"You _ don't _ *think* _ Kimberly," Dhani emphasized slamming her palm down on the bed, "you get a bit of meat between your teeth and you run head first, no heart, no head. No forward judgment about the consequences of your actions." Her eyes locked on to Kimberly's, punctuating her statement.

Her head cocked to one side in a quizzical manner, "You didn't think this through, just like you didn't think the potential hazards through when we left for the race, and just like you didn't _ think _ through _ your _ actions _ afterwards!" she hammered her point home, raised eyebrows the cherry on top of the icing.

Silent for several moments after Dhanishtas outburst Kimberly thought through what she had said, and the kicker of it was, she couldn't disagree with some of what she said. Though she couldn't agree with the 'no heart' comment, if anything her flaw lay in the other direction, perhaps too much heart.

Sighing eventually she nodded, "It's who I am," she admitted, "I see something wrong and I try to fix it. I didn't want to file an incomplete physical, so I tried to work around your dislike of all that outside, and yes, you're totally right I should have discussed all this with you," waving a hand lazily around to indicate the room, "and I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make this about me, I'm not trying to be a 'martyr', I just wanted to help." She added in a softer tone.

"And as for the race, it was supposed to be a damn vacation, I've travelled enough to know it's not a safe universe, but dammit how was anyone supposed to know they'd try to burn me at the stake!" Getting a little irate now at the memory of the narrow minded views of some of the New Rheans Kimberly tried to control her tone and temper as she spoke, "and for the love of the Goddess don't start again about the lack of frelling weapons on my ship or my personal views. I've had that from you, two former XO's and the Master Chief now, I get it!"

Dhanishta shook her head, "No you don't," she responded, "Cause if you did, I wouldn't be here telling you it yet again." Dhani finished solemnly.

"For an organization that's supposed to be open-minded of the views and beliefs of others I'm really not feeling the understanding and tolerance!" Kimberly bit out acerbically.

"Oh give it up pleeeease!" Dhanishta drawled, "this has absolutely nothing to do with your religious beliefs *at all* and we both know that. Stop trying to play the hard done by victim cause it really doesn't suite someone of your intelligence!" Dhani snapped back.

Flushing, Kimberly snapped out a reply without even thinking about it, after their last chat she had wondered just what Dhani knew. "And just what 'would' you know about it?" she asked caustically.

Dhanishta just gave her a hard stare. "It's pretty obvious Kimmie." Dhani retorted, "Firstly, I already told you; it's text book, and secondly, I'm half Betazoid, I can tell..."

"Will you 'Stop!' calling me Kimmie!" Kimberly snapped, interrupting Dhanishta suddenly, "and yes, I know you're a telepath, the evidence has had to be removed from my back remember!" Her face visibly flushed red now she tried to control the growing anger inside, "and from our chat in Brians' office I'm pretty sure you can tell me all about what's going on in my head, how else would you know!"

Dhanishta flashed a terse smile at Kimberly, "As I was saying 'Kimmie'," she added defiantly eyes narrowing to slits on the woman; "I can tell when you're lying! And for the record telekinetics and telepathy have nothing to do with each other, thank-you-very-much!" she retorted indigently. "And like I told you its text book!" she added taking her feet out of the device and roughly wiping the goo off with a nearby towel.

"Maybe it is text book," Kimberly snapped, "but that doesn't give you the right to pry, or to root around my private life, or my mind! Yes I killed someone in cold blood, and no, I'm not proud of it! And yes it does keep me up some nights okay! Look a little deeper though, if you're gonna pry go the whole distance... My beliefs 'DO' have something to do with my views... That backbirth smeghead just made me realize how pointless killing someone really is. It get's you nowhere, except in a deeper hole." She ended, her voice trailing off as she turned away from Dhanishta.

"The Old Fashioned Way" Part Three

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

* * * * *Main Sickbay * * * * *

"Maybe it is text book," Kimberly snapped, "but that doesn't give you the right to pry, or to root around my private life, or my mind! Yes I killed someone in cold blood, and no, I'm not proud of it! And yes it does keep me up some nights okay! Look a little deeper though, if you're gonna pry go the whole distance... My beliefs 'DO' have something to do with my views... That backbirth smeghead just made me realize how pointless killing someone really is. It get's you nowhere, except in a deeper hole." She ended, her voice trailing off as she turned away from Dhanishta.

~Killed in cold blood?!!!~ Dhanishta frowned, startled by Kimberly's outburst, ~Root around your mind?~ she questioned silently. The realization of the accusation hit her like a starship in full warp, hastily she reclaimed her footwear from the bed and yanked them on, shaking her head throughout. Her features grew stern as her mind focused on just what her 'friend' thought of her. She bit her lower lip, that term could never be associated with Kimberly any more she decided as she stood up.

"You took a swing at me some time back when I repeated something I'd been called, it hurt," she reminded Dhanishta. "I looked it up a while back. That insult still doesn't make sense entirely, but I get the gist of it. That Klingon was making a statement, about me, what he thought about me, and what I'd been doing. Ya know, he was right. He was there though, you weren't, so you don't get to make that judgment about me or what I did... Clear."

"Fine!" Dhanishta stated flatly pushing the wave of pain aside, she could focus on that later, or preferably not at all. She regarded the woman before her for a moment, totally confused by what she had said. ~Pry inside her mind?~ Dhani shook her head. There were many things she had done in her life that she wasn't proud of, in fact the worse thing she had ever done was to the woman before her, but to pry in her mind, to intentionally seek out private thoughts? She shook her head again, that was something she would never do, and had never done. She took a step back from Kimberly repulsed with the fact that she could think so low of her.

The fact remained that Dhanishta still had no idea what she was talking about. A thought came to her, devious in nature, but a lot less unethical than what Kimberly had accused her of. "So tell me then," Dhanishta started, "just how did it all go down?" she asked staring at her with narrow eyes of contempt.

"Down into a deep dark hole," Kimberly replied in a small voice, "and one it took me a long time to crawl out of... I was only eighteen, what the hell else was I supposed to do? The bastard made sure I had no other choice really, and I trusted him, he was an officer after all. You're supposed to trust a senior officer aren't you?"

"Yeah..." Dhanishta let out slowly, unsure of where this was going. Her eyes narrowed on her one time friend, uncertainty plaguing her thoughts, "Go on." she requested, curiosity getting the better of her anger and slighted ego, she perched on the side of the bed, her head tilted in an engaged manner.

Putting her elbows on a nearby cabinet Kimberly leant wearily on it and rubbed her face with her hands, no longer looking at Dhanishta her mind was instead focused elsewhere. "All I wanted was to graduate and explore, but the Klingons and the Dominion had other ideas. War. It seems it's all anyone wants to do is fight! I was happy at the Academy, then the Breen attacked and I was beamed away. Three months I spent in some icy hellhole POW camp, and to this day I still don't know the name of the planet, or even where it was."

Turning her head slightly she looked at Dhanishta, her face unreadable, her emotions though, telling a different story as a mixture of fear, self loathing and anxiety flashed through her mind in the emotional equivalent of a raging torrent. "I know anything I've been through cannot compare with dying, repeatedly, but some things stick with you."

Dhanishtas brow furrowed as she nodded slowly, only half listening to what Kimberly just said. The Breen attack on Earth was something that she remembered clearer than any other moment in her life. What happened that day was worse than death, worse than the experience of coming back, living or anything else associated with existence.

In some respects she died that day for the first time. Lost her drive and enthusiasm for Starfleet, its goals and its ethics, from learning one unfortunate truth, just months after graduating; everything she had worked for was tarnished. She looked up at Kimberly, though her eyes only made it to her torso. She hadn't even graduated when she had been captured, just a cadet, unsure and loose willed. Kimberly wouldn't agree with her statement if she had ever died, or come close to it. For Dhanishta death had been such a relief, such a comfort, more pleasurable than anything in life. Yet that was something she was not about to divulge to the counsellor that hid behind the medics uniform.

"You remember that Klingon phrase you hit me for using, the 'T'okhe Str'aave?'" Flinching slightly as if expecting a repeat occurrence of what happened last time she had said that she hurried on, "'Willing Slave', one of the nastiest things you can say to a Klingon, implying they have no honour, no respect, and no house. Implying they do whatever is said to them without question or free will. Well he was right, I did do what I was told to do. I didn't like it, but I trusted an officer. And I was wrong!"

"Kimberly..." Dhani said and then stopped. She shook her bangs from her face and looked into Kimberly's eyes. "I don't know what to say." she replied honestly.

Shrugging Kimberly returned her gaze to the wall before her, for years she had kept silent about the worst of what had happened on the ice world, talking only about the conditions, the work. Never what had transpired in the darkness or in the quiet cold rooms of the mine. "You don't have to say anything," she suggested finally, "there's not much to say, just listen, please." She asked, not really caring now. If Dhani knew as she suspected, then there was little point really in keeping it all in now. So she might as well say something, explain perhaps.

Dhanishta nodded solemnly, settling herself on the bed in a relaxed posture. The air in the room had changed, reflecting both their stances and positions, and even their mindsets. No longer was Kimberly hell bent on probing and prodding her, or trying to find out what secrets Dhani protected. For once it appeared the boot was on the other foot. And without having to retort to tactics and games Dhanishta was about to find out just what Kimberly held on to, for once it was Dhanishtas turn to listen.

"The Old Fashioned Way" Part Four

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe - Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

* * * * *Main Sickbay * * * * *

Dhanishta nodded solemnly, settling herself on the bed in a relaxed posture. The air in the room had changed, reflecting both their stances and positions, and even their mindsets. No longer was Kimberly hell bent on probing and prodding her, or trying to find out what secrets Dhani protected. For once it appeared the boot was on the other foot. And without having to retort to tactics and games Dhanishta was about to find out just what Kimberly held on to, for once it was Dhanishtas turn to listen.

"There were a few Starfleet personnel there, mostly Cardassian dissidents and a few others, it looked to be a dumping ground for anyone the Dominion wanted out of the way. The camp has a prisoner overseer, a human, but not Starfleet. We all figured him for a captured smuggler. You know the old saying, power corrupts? Well, he had a little power and it corrupted. He used his position to keep himself comfortable and made sure we all worked our collective assess off to keep him warm. Can't blame him really, anyone there would have killed for the same opportunity."

Dhanishta nodded slowly, listening without interrupting. She frowned briefly, thinking about how many evenings they had spent together talking about times past; and how many times Dhani chided herself for giving too much away under the influence of alcohol. She had always been wary of sharing with Kimberly, fearful that one day she would use it against her; and then she had! It hurt that Kimberly had lied, had been unable to separate between friendship and duty. Yet what stung the most was that she too had been hiding something, yet it wasn't the secret that upset Dhanishta - it was the pretence that Kimberly put on that she was fine, that she had nothing to hide, and the fact that she sort to expose Dhanishta, all the while hiding her own sordid past.

"That's where I came in." Kimberly admitted after a moments silence. "Most of the prisoners were sick and tired, literally, and wanted him out of the way figuring anyone else would be better suited to do his job. So, the Lieutenant came up with a plan as soon as I arrived. He figured the overseer wouldn't suspect me, being new, being young. He guessed that I could get close, so he grabbed me the day I arrived and gave me an order."

Looking sick now, even though Dhani couldn't see her face, the wash of emotion flowed off her like a tidal wave in the small room. "We argued, briefly. The Lieutenant basically said at the end I could agree, or he'd make my life a living hell until I did, and he wasn't kidding either." Silent for a moment she idly fiddled with some of the equipment on the cabinet top, sliding tools around with a low scraping noise. "So I did it. I got to know him for a few weeks, slept with him, then one night after he'd relaxed I slit his throat." She said calmly, her voice flat and emotionless.

Dhanishtas eyebrows shot up at that. Her breath caught in her throat and her lips parted. Her widened eyes stared at the back of Kimberly head, yet she felt paralyzed to do anything, even to say anything. Her eyes finally descended to the floor, searching for a spec of dust to focus on. She let out a short sharp snort, a half ridiculous laugh that was contained inside her mind rather than vocalized. Of all the things... and... Dhanis thoughts were halted; she found it all so surreal. She felt such guilt at killing, when she had confessed to Terik what she had witnessed, what she believed that she had done and was fully capable of doing - she had done it with a heavy heart, unable to deal with the guilt, the pain the anguish. Knowing that she was fully capable of murdering another had pained her no end. The nightmares kept her awake, and the uncertainty over whether it was her own actions she saw or another's plagued her. Yes, Dhani knew she was capable of killing, torturing and hurting, she knew it because she had done it recently on the Hammer, but she knew it wasn't her, not fully, she hadn't been in control... or maybe that was an excuse not to deal and get on with life. But right before her was the tower of virtue and purity, the martyr that could do no wrong, the peaceful pacifist - and she spoke of her deeds as if she were reading a list of diagnostic equipment, no compassion, no remorse, no feeling. Had she totally disconnected with her past?

"That wasn't the worst though." Kimberly added after a moment, "As soon as the old overseer was dead, the Lieutenant butchered everyone who'd worked for the old boss, then put himself in charge. And turned out to be a bigger bastard than the guy who was still a cooling corpse." Turning now to face Dhani she tried to hide the quivering in her voice, and the look of horror in her eyes. "Everything I did, and it just made things worse, and to top it all off, his thanks, was to dump me in the deepest mine shaft he could find and make sure I was well away from him. I spent weeks without seeing the suns. So you wonder why I don't see violence as a solution, why I think it achieves nothing. Because my experience shows me it doesn't!"

Dhanishta felt chilled. Some medical exam! They don't prepare you for this at Starfleet academy! She regarded Kimberly critically, her eyes roaming over her body, noting how she strained to keep her posture and head held high. Softly Dhanishta snorted; no, Kimberly did not think herself to be high and mighty, she felt that remorse and guilt, just like everybody else, perhaps more so. Her experience had indeed pushed her to her limit, caused her to follow the line of a pacifist since with a steely resolve. Her guilt made her a target and her grief made her willing to sacrifice herself on the altar of pacifism - for that would be her release, retribution and absolution.

What did she expect from Dhanishta? Judgment? Forgiveness? Understanding? Dhanishta closed her eyes, her head dropped slightly. Wasn't it just the other day that she requested that same peace of mind from Baile for torturing a captive? She hadn't told Baile that she had murdered him afterwards, nor how the sound of snapping bone had sent delicious tingles down her spine. She would be a hypocrite too if she were to condemn her 'friend'.

Opening her eyes she looked upon Kimberly with a softness she knew from the reaction Kimberly wasn't expecting. "You were a cadet, in training." Dhanishta said gently, "You followed orders just like you had been taught at the Academy. Maybe you should have questioned them. Maybe you should have said no and done your best to withstand what punishment he sought to give you. But in the end the courts would agree, that you were a mere cadet following orders, without the strength of character to defy." she told her without accusation.

Sighing softly, regretfully, her shoulders slumped. She could cry for Kimberly, for the innocence she lost that day. For the haunting memories that she must suffer with. It was strange then, that at that moment she made a silent pledge to enact her own form of retribution for the unjust hardening of her friends soul, while at the same time she thumbed through a data padd, requesting data from the tenth paragraph of Doctor Malone's introduction to psychology. Dropping the padd on the bed she turned from Kimberly. She felt her chest swell slightly as she made a move to leave. Debating within if this really was the way things had to be. But it was. For how could she trust a woman who thought she would invade her mind? And what sort of friendship would there be?

The bottom line was that there wasn't one, perhaps there never was. And it was certain that there wouldn't be one any time soon. Dhanishta blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes, held back the urge to sniff as she walked to the door. "I think the examination is over Doctor." she said quietly pausing in the doorway without turning round.

Blinking at the suddenness of the statement Kimberly found herself unable to speak for a moment. After all that she had said, all Dhanishta could say was that? Confused she looked at Dhani as she walked to the door, not knowing what to say. Looking at the PADD left on the bed she looked between it and Dhanishtas back and then picked up the PADD and scanned the paragraph that had been highlighted.

For a moment she read the notes on post traumatic shock, suppressed memories and reactions to traumatic events. Then her mouth opened in a silent exclamation as the realization hit her. Dhanishta had never known, never pried. Feeling sick at the accusations she had made she looked to Dhani again as she finally realised that she'd just put two and two together and thought it through.

~ Oh what a damn fool I am! ~ she thought.

Hearing the silent exclamation, Dhanishta nodded, knowing that there was no turning back now, no matter how much she wanted to, there was nothing behind her but a huge mess of distrust, hurt pride and bruised egos. A regretful sigh accompanied the sound of the door closing behind her as she left. Swallowing hard Dhanishta steadied herself on the nearest wall before zipping her jacket up and walking out of Sickbay with as much composure as she could muster.

"The Corporate Interests"

Introducing:

Adiana Grantham, Executive Administrator
Shin Takashi, Vice Executive Administrator
Jean-Claude Morvant, Security Administrator
Myra Tapping, Finance Administrator
Lauren Corbo, Hollingston Corporate Representative

Underground Transit, Near Tierney Station, Zanthus City (Main Continent), Lambda Vered I

Jean-Claude never liked using the transporters, never liked living with the Corporate big shots, and never, EVER liked being called in at some ungodly hour of the morning. Granted, the Main Office was on the Bright Side, but all the same...

*##Now entering, Tierney Station. Exit for: Hollingston Corporate Main Offices, Access to...##*

Jean-Claude filtered the rest out. He pulled the large overcoat tighter and exited the rail car. His breath came out in light puffs as the moisture condensed in the cold subterranean air. There weren't many people out at this hour, and it suited him just fine. He didn't like crowds much, which is why when he was at work he stayed in his office all the time.

A glance at his chronometer told him that he was still early, something he took absolute pride in. He felt that a lot can be said about someone who was always on time, or even better early. He passed the desk officer who simply nodded his way. Every single Security Agent under his employ knew exactly who he was, and never asked him for ID. Everyone knew what happened to the one guy who did.......

The lift ride up was always the hardest part. Any errant thought, strand of raw emotion was quickly banished. He was all business now, focused on the issue at hand. He allowed himself a glance out of the lift's two side transparent panels wich revealed a light snow for this morning, which was a change from the past two days. All Dark Side operations were halted from the latest freeze-in, which stranded several hundred miners and refinery personnel. The impending crisis did not make matters any better.

At last, the lift arrived at it's destination. It's lone passenger, one Jean-Claude Morvant, Security Administrator for the Hollingston Colony on Lambda Vered I exited onto the floor where an important meeting is to take place. The corridor was a mixture of smooth stainless steel walls bordered about halfway up with solid redwood panels. There were a few doors, but only one interested him. This door had the standard retinal scan, hand print match, voice match security defense system.

"Jean-Claude Morvant," he started in a heavy Francophone accent. "Stage five access, code phrase is 'All for some'." The scanners for the eyes and hands came alive and Jean-Claude leaned up so that his eyes could be scanned. At 5'2", most people underestimated him. Those same people regretted it later.

"Verification Complete. Welcome, Security Administrator Morvant." Jean-Claude would have to remember to change that voice output. The clipped British accent always grated on him. A heavy door opened, and he was greeted with the sight of the Administrative Council. At the head of the meeting table was Adiana Grantham, the Executive Administrator.

"Welcome," Grantham smiled. Then the smile disappeared. "You might want to sit for this one. It's not very good."

"Dershayans?" he asked. "We can handle them."

"No, not the Dershayans," chimed in a new voice. Jean-Claude turned to notice for the first time a stern woman in her mid-twenties.

"And you are?" he asked.

"That's Lauren Corbo," spoke up Myra Tapping, the Finance Administrator for the colony. "She's the new representative from Hollingston. She's basically here to represent Corporate's position."

"Position on what? What the fuck's going on here, people?"

The one person who rarely said anything was the next to speak, and would change the way any of them lived from that point forward.

Shin Takashi, Vice Executive Administrator, leaned forward. "The Federation wants to remove us from here. And we are not leaving."

OOC: Takes place at the end of "Queen's Gambit"

"Impending Changes"

Reading through a myriad of messages that had piled up for a few months can take the day's energy right out of someone. As it was, Max was about halfway through when two items of interest got his attention:

#1 - Connor:

*Hello, Max.* ** *I've been thinking about when you came to see Connor the last time you came to Earth. And I remember when you used to smile like that, as if nothing could ever go wrong in the universe with your son by your side. I was always happy when you smiled like that. It's occurred to me that you have been miserable long enough. I want Connor to know who his father is, and how much he loves him. * ** *When you get this message, please contact me.* ** *Darla*

Feeling a little numb, Max leaned back in the semi private alcove and let out a shaky sigh. He's waited years for this moment. And now, he'll have to wait even longer. He couldn't drop everything just because she was being nice all of a sudden. He typed a quick response, and sent it to her. Then he moved on to the next item.

#2 - Licensure

To: Maxwell, Benedict, PO2, Paramedic, USS Galaxy From: Medical Division, Starfleet RE: Paramedic Practitioner Licensure

This notice is to inform you that you have completed the required continuing education through the Distance Education & Training Program, and have satisfied the requirements for Licensure. As of the date of this notice, you are now recognized as a Paramedic Practitioner, operating under the licensure of the CMO of your assigned ship. Thank you for your participation in this program, and good luck in your future endeavors.

Max had been waiting for this for quite some time, and now didn't know what to say. Again, he felt numb and took even longer reading the official notice again. Finally, he forwarded the information to the Galaxy's CMO, Kimberly Burton. Speaking of which, he was going to need to meet up with her fairly soon for his in-service briefing. He had already been debriefed ad nauseum by Security, the 'Spooks' and one of the doctors on board. He figured he'd probably have to go talk to one of the shrinks eventually as part of his in-processing.

He glanced at the chronometer, figured it was a good time to get a decent meal in. "No more Spam," he muttered, and then giggled. That stuff was getting better and better every time he ate it, but ugh! the way it ran through him...best not to think about it. Max logged out of the public CommTerminal and headed out towards the Enlisted Mess. He smiled as he thought to himself, *Maybe Victory might be available to talk...*

Defective Life

Starring.....(wait for it)...Allsion Jimsdottir

USS Galaxy (Armory)

"It's unused....." the blond haired girl remarked as she studied the tiny safety seals on the shoulder mounted missle launcher. "Was it defective?"

"Thats what I asked him.....he said he just didnt need it."

"Didnt need it?"

"Yeah...." her partner, a brown haired Armorer's Mate shrugged, "...said something about throwing rocks at starfighters or something instead."

Allison Jimsdottir.....voted Galaxy's cutest crewmember three years running flipped the huge weapon over in her dainty little hands.

Sharp glitter-speckled fake aluminum nails traced the electronic contact points looking for some obvious sign of malfuction or defect.

"Rocks?"

"Yeah. What a weirdo huh?"

"Hmmmmmm." Alli peered down the open barrel....yup....missle battery still in place.....

"Did you get him to sign a T-44?"

"A wha.....a return slip?"

"A returned unused slip." The girl from Iceland corrected. "We're trying to keep track of unncessary weapon requisitions. If this guy went through all the hassle of checking out a Tycho-1000 Boom-Master and then didnt even bother to kill anything with it....."

Alli shrugged. "I'm sure you see the inefficiency here huh?"

The Armorer's mate shrugged again and blushed.

Honestly the gentleman had been freaking scary-looking for him to think of asking him to do anything.

"Well.....see.....this other chick came in looking for him.....I think they were going on a date or something....."

Alli rolled her mascara covered eyes. "Whatever dude. Like Mr. scary-britches couldnt wait five minutes to fill out some paperwork.....honestly I dont think you're taking this stuff seriously."

That hurt. "Well what about you Miss Know-it-all. I dnt see you getting much done when you're getting all google-eyed over Commander Corgan."

Alli merely glared at the little insect. "Like as-if."

She studied the missle launcher and savored an imaginary fantasy of using it to blow off the head of that little blue-skinned hussy James was dating.

"Whatever...." she muttered and shelved the unit. "Lets get back to inventory."

~Cousin of Hau~

------------------ Paliba'alulu ------------------

Koluhala. Servant of Manu. Cousin of Hau.

She sat still. Silent. Huddled to the ground beneath a tough tuft of 'Ohe. Waiting for Kane to change his mind. Waiting for her master to call.

She thought she was safe. She did not know she was being spied upon.

'Eleu also sat still. Silent. Huddled to the ground beneath a tough tuft of 'Ohe. But, he was not waiting on Kane or Manu like she was. He was praying. To Pana. Counting the beats of his heart and counting the notches in his bow. One and a half score beats for every notch. One notch for every mouth he would feed. The counting was a plea. A plea to Pana. A plea for a straight and accurate shot.

And he also prayed to Manu. For forgiveness. Caressing the feathers of the fletching against his cheek, he promised a favor in return. The secret that Koluhala would reveal as she left Ao would be countered with a falsehood. Hekili would not know what to believe.

Then he waited, still silent, still still. Waiting like Koluhala was waiting. She for Kane, and for Manu, he for Milu. He waited for Milu to give the sign that he was ready, that he was ready to carry her away from this place.

And when the bone he wore tied around his neck, waving in Kane's wind, waving with every subtle move 'Eleu made, when that bone touched his chest, he knew Milu had given his signal, and 'Eleu let his arrow fly.

Koluhala flashed her black eyes at him, warned by the movement of his bow, but warned too late. His arrow struck her through her neck, slashing through her flesh. Her body jerked and spasmed as she tried to fight Milu away, as she tried to resist his cold and rotting hands. But, only Maui had ever bested Milu. Koluhala stood no chance.

Eventually, she collapsed to the ground, and her red blood spilled out upon the dirt, and all of the secrets she kept for Manu spilled out with it.

'Eleu stood and braced himself against Kane's wind and shielded his eyes from the dust. He walked towards the dead pheasant and lifted her body, letting the blood drain out of her neck for a moment before he slipped her into his bag. She would feed nearly ten of his kin tonight, and there was time to find one more before Kane turned his attentions to Hau. But first, he had to fulfill his promise to Manu.

He looked down at the small pool of crimson. The Koluhala sat on secrets like they were eggs, secrets that Hekili would give anything to know. Occasionally, he learned of one that would fill him with rage, and he would march to war, beating his drums so loud, they would shake the sky. Occasionally, they would shake the bones of Ao himself. It was too late to prevent Hekili from learning this pheasant's secret, spilled out on the sand as it was. But, it was not too late to incite confusion, to make Hekili doubt what was true.

'Eleu stared and considered what an appropriate lie would be. "My people and I will leave this land within the month," he said, letting the words coat his mouth. Then, he spit into the blood and mixed it with his finger, so the lie would lie with the truth.

Lastly, he wanted to thank Pana for his guidance. So, 'Eleu took his reddened finger and with it, drew an arrow on the underside of his left forearm.

Then, he left to continue his hunt.

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

"'Eleu," Kanunu called out to his friend, "What did Pana allow you to take on this hunt?"

'Eleu smiled wide as he approached, obviously pleased. "Two Kooluhala. And you?"

"Two?!" Kanunu exclaimed, jealous. He looked down at his own satchel as it hung across his bare torso. It was not empty, but it was not full either. It lay nearly flat against his side while 'Eleu's bulged with large mounds of two fat hens. "I could not win his favor today. I missed all my shots and I lost an arrowhead."

'Eleu grimaced. "Maui has cursed you. Did you try tickling a stone?"

"Yes, but it did not help. I was able to beat three 'Iole, though, so I've not come back empty handed," he answered. He patted his satchel as he referenced the rats he had killed.

"Yeah, I see the marks on your head," 'Eleu nodded, staring at the three muddy finger prints on Kananu's forehead. Each one marked a blow from Pele's hammer. 'Eleu stepped over to his longboard and dropped his bag, tying it to the mast of the sail. Kananu took the opportunity to do the same with his. The winds had calmed for the day and would soon shift direction, whenever Kane's eyes inevitably found Hau. When they did, he and 'Eleu would sail back to the village on their wheeled longboards, carried across the plains and grass by the wind.

"We should sail by the picking fields and see if the girls need any help. Nani said the many of the Kalo were almost ripe," 'Eleu suggested.

Kananu laughed and sat on his board. "You just want to see if Nani wants any help. You wish to carry her basket and flex your muscles."

"I don't!"

"You do," Kananu laughed again. "You should paint yourself for Laukapalili and try to mark her neck. I don't think it would be hard."

'Eleu smiled humbly, and drew an open-top square in the dirt with his toe, hoping what his friend suggested was true. "You think?"

"Yes! You can't see for Hina's clouds, but the way Nani giggles at your stupid jokes? Believe me, 'Eleu, I have known you for all of my seventeen years, and you are not funny. So, if she laughs, she must like you," Kananu encouraged. "And, little Meli hates you. So, if nothing else, that must mean her sister is in love with you."

"Well," 'Eleu said, "Maybe I will try to mark her, then."

"Good, then maybe she'll lay with you and then we can stop sailing by the picking fields every day pretending to be helpful," Kananu said, standing. He felt the wind pick up a bit and twirl his hair, which meant it was time for them to leave. "Come on, Kane has changed his mind again. You may have had Pana's favor for the hunt, but I bet I can win Kane's and beat you to the fields."

"All right, let's see who's quickest," 'Eleu said, stepping on his board.

Kananu reached down and grabbed the large red feather that hung around his neck, and brought it up to his lips. He blew softly onto its barbs, then traced three horizontal lines on his chest with it before letting it fall back.

"Go!" 'Eleu shouted suddenly, pushing off the dirt with his leg and sending his board rolling ahead. Kananu kicked off as well, and pulled his sail into the wind, and the two young hunters were off.

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

Pilialoha set her basket down and stretched her tired back. It was aching terribly from being bent over picking vegetables all day. There was a much larger harvest today than they were expecting, which meant, as tired as she was, it would be quite a while yet before she could rest. They would have to carry everything back, and then there would be inventory, and then, once it was clear how bountiful the harvest was, it would be decided that they should retell one of Loko's stories in appreciation. She would not be able to go to bed until very late into the night.

"There is more than enough Kalo and Uhi to make a batch of flour," Nani said, dropping a second basket on the ground beside her.

"Yes. I think Loko wants his celebration early this year," Pilialoha replied, looking out over the fields. Rows of crops growing in the soil, sheltered from the hard winds by thick rows of dense 'Ohe, stuck stubbornly into the ground.

"I love sweet bread. I haven't had it in ages," Nani said, grabbing a handful of dry soil and scattering it over their baskets.

"Yeah, but I really don't want to carry all this back."

"Oh, I think 'Eneu and Kananu are going to come and help us," Nani said. "I told 'Eneu that we were expecting a large harvest. I'm sure they'll sail by when Kane changes his mind tonight."

Pilialoha laughed quietly to herself. Of course Nani had asked 'Eneu to come help. It was as clear as Hau's Aniani to everyone in the village how much they liked each other. Clear to everyone but themselves, it seemed. No matter how annoying Nani could be when she was doting over 'Eneu, Pilialoha did find their young love useful. 'Eneu would often come by to help carry Nani's baskets, dragging his friend with him. And, poor Kananu was often forced to carry baskets, too, in order to keep up the appearances of charitable courtesy. Kananu would often end up carrying Pilialoha's baskets for her.

"Do you know where Meli is?" Nani asked.

"I think she, Pua and Nohea are off playing with Kala."

"Well, you better go fetch them. Laa is falling, and Kane will make up his mind again soon. It's almost time to go back, and we'll need their help carrying."

"Okay," Pilialoha nodded.

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

"Once Maui fell in love with Poa. This was when she was young, before she held the position she now holds. Maui fell in love with her because she was so beautiful. Her face was radiant, like the evening sun, and her hair was black as night and shimmered like Hau's Aniani. Her face was smooth, and round, and perfect in every way. She did not like Maui because back then, Maui was very ugly. He had the face of sandstone - hard, and unenven, and craggily. He was bald, except for five thick wiry hairs which grew from the center of his scalp, and his head was misshapen, square and boxy. So, Poa did not like him.

"But, Maui was still as clever as he ever was back then. He knew he could persuade her to love him. So, he did what all boys do when they want a girl to like them - he tried to impress her. He found her one day while she was cooking and began to talk to her. Poa did not want to talk because she did not like Maui, but she did anyway, because that is the nice thing to do. But, as she was cooking over her fire, she raised her poker and it got stuck in the sky. You see, back then, the sky was lower than it is now, and Kane had no room to move. So, she pulled it out and then returned to cooking. But, then, she did it again. And again. Maui saw this, he saw how her fire poker kept getting stuck and how much aggravation it cause Poa. He saw his chance.

"'You keep getting your poker stuck in the sky,' he said. 'I can help you with that,' he boasted. Poa asked, 'how?' 'Watch me,' Maui said, 'Watch what I can do. Once I show you, you will be so impressed you will love me forever.' So, he stood up as tall as he could, and he placed his hands against the sky, and he lifted. He groaned and struggled and lifted as hard as he could, and he lifted the sky. He lifted the sky so high, no one has ever been able to touch it since.

"'Look what I did! Does that not impress you,' Maui asked, 'Does that make you love me?' And, Poa laughed. 'Maui, you are uglier than an 'Iole and you are a braggart. I will never love you,' she said, and returned to her cooking, laughing all the while. This made Maui very angry, and he decided that Poa would only love him if he was as beautiful as she was. So, he came up with a scheme to make himself beautiful.

"He waited until it was night, when it was very dark, and when Poa was asleep. He crept into her Hale and he said some magic words. Then, he cut off his face and then cut off hers, and he switched them and then he crept back out. The next morning, Maui came by again, to wake Poa up. 'Would you come eat with me,' he asked. She looked up at him, and could not tell it was Maui, because he wore her face. 'Who are you?' she asked. 'It's me, I'm Maui,' he said, 'Do you like my new face?' Poa looked at him again, and indeed, now, Maui was very beautiful. He was so beautiful that she immediately fell in love with him. 'Yes,' she said, 'I will go eat with you. But, let me wash first.'

"Maui nodded and left the Hale and Poa went to her washing bowl. She looked down at the still water and she could see herself. And then she screamed. She was so ugly! She looked like a monster! She didn't know she was wearing Maui's face. Poa was so upset that she died instantly, and now, she is Queen of the Dead. She still has Maui's old, ugly face. That's why Poa always covers her face in mud, so no one can tell how ugly she is."

Kala finished her story and looked at the three small girls that sat around her. They all stared, wide eyed, for a moment, and then they begin to laugh. "Boys are so ugly," Nohea said, "They should be jealous of our good looks."

"That is why 'Eleu likes Nani," Meli said, "because she is so pretty and he is so ugly."

"'Eleu is not ugly!" Pua exclaimed, "He has green eyes, like Hina. I think he is the prettiest boy."

"Eww, he is not!" Meli cringed.

"I think you only say that because you like him," Nohea said, and Meli gagged in response. Nohea rose to her feet and started skipping around in a circle, "Meli likes 'Eleu, Meli likes 'Eleu."

"Gross! I do not!" Meli shouted and raced after Nohea. Pua then stood and followed.

Kala watched the three girls run off to play as the wind began to pick up. Kane had turned his eyes towards Hau. It would not be long before he was moving at full speed again. She turned and looked back towards the picking fields to see Pilialoha walking towards them. "Is it time to return?" Kala asked.

"Yes, soon. There were many things ready to be picked. We'll need their help carrying vegetables back to the village."

"Oh, then I'm glad I was the one in charge of watching the girls today," Kala said.

Pilialoha laughed, "Yes, I envy you. My back is quite sore."

"Will we be able to carry everything back by ourselves?"

"Yes. 'Eleu and Kanunu are supposed to come help as well." Kala chuckled softly.

"How long do you think it will be before one them marks the other?"

"I don't know. I think they're both to afraid," Pilialoha said, referring to the young lovers, 'Eleu and Nani, "As much as I wish they would and get it over with, I also hope they don't until after Loko's festival. I find it quite nice to not have to carry my baskets every day."

"And how long until Kanunu marks you?" Kala asked.

"Me?"

"Well, he is always carrying your baskets for you."

"Yes, but only because 'Eleu carries Nani's baskets and I'm Nani's best friend. I think he likes you," she said, "he still wears that feather you gave him."

"Many people wear my feathers," Kala scoffed, waving off the implication. "Besides, I'm too old for Kanunu."

"Too old?! Kala, you're barely a year older than he is," she laughed, and then walked off to wrangle the three small girls, leaving Kala standing by herself.

While it was true that she was just recently eighteen, she was still much older than Kanunu or Pilialoha. Eighteen for her kind was well into adulthood. She did not hold the misunderstanding against Pilialoha, though. It was not her fault. Out of over a hundred people in the village, only two were not human. Kala and Siira, a Risian. So, the villagers could hardly be blamed for forgetting about the differences between them and her.

"Will you go see if the boys are on their way," Pilialoha called back at her.

Kala nodded so that Pilialoha could see and looked up towards the sky. Did Kanunu like her? Maybe, but she was sure she was not really all that interested in him. She would have to guard the back of her neck for the next few weeks.

Kala looked up once more, and then she unfurled her large cardinal red wings and flew up into the sky.

"Unwanted Considerations"

Ensign Artim Shivar - Chief of Life Sciences

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

<<USS Galaxy, Main Biology Lab>>

"DAMMIT" , Artim exclaimed as he took stock of his lab for the first time since he'd gotten back to the Galaxy. "Dammit dammit dammit! Someone find me Merak so I can beat his blue hide purple." Between the harrowing flight on the smugglers ship that his new vulpine friend had and the week in sickbay getting his leg reconstructed he'd left one of his assistants in charge of maintaining his experiments. The Benzinte he'd left in charge of his viral genomics experiements , Merak, was usually very reliable. He hadn't expected all his samples to be corrupted and what data he'd obtained to be scrambled.

"I'm sorry?sir?but?Hydrans?", a whimper came from the corner of the lab in a voice that resembled Merak's but was clearly more shaken then usual.

"Sure, blame the Hydrans. Good strategy. They killed my woman, ruined my vacation, made it so I couldn't walk for a week, and set my work back months. Definitely a good plan to blame it on them rather then admit you screwed up.", Artim replied with a glare that could boil the blood of a Breen.

"But?when?main power?I couldn't help it?", the Benzite clearly knew what Artim was capable of when he was this upset since he'd been on lab duty with him the week after Valera was killed. The fact that the Miran was half his size changed nothing.

"Of course you couldn't. Now get out of here until you've found a way to unscramble my data unless you'd really like to help me with experiment in the pain threshold of methanogenic species I've been designing the last couple minutes."

"BAAAAAAN!", the sound echoed from the Benzite as he tore out of the lab as Artim finished. The Miran found the sound unusual , but utterly appropriate given the situation. The other crewmen in the lab, though amused by the Benzite running screaming from the lab, stifled any thought of a giggle knowing that it might earn them the rath of their pint sized chief. As Artim was in the process of storming back into his office he heard another familiar chirp, that of his combadge.

"Ops to Artim", the rather generic sounding human voice said,

"WHAT!" Artim snorted in reply.

"I have a transmission for you from Romulan space, Jor'el IV, someone name Reltek. Can I put him through?"

Reltek was the slimy lizard the Federation Consulate on Romulus had recommended to help sell the beach house that Artim had inherited from his late was-to-be fiance on the resort planet. Though he seemed to be good at what he did, he'd rather annoyed Artim to date. Of course, he was a member of a profession that lived on deception no matter the world. Since he came from a culture where deception was celebrated as an art, well, Artim would have been better off hiring a Ferengi. "I'd rather you put a photon torpedo squarly on his head, but in the alternative I'll talk to him. And before she asks, tell the boss lady this one's a personal call." , Artim responded with a less than sarcastic tone in the first part. As he settled behind the desk the rather nosy ops officer asked one more question.

"Who is he if she should ask?"

"My realator. Now put the green blooded verool through."

"BAAAAAAAN!", a sound much like the Benzite's scream came through the console's speakers as the Romulan appeared on the screen. As Artim was about to make a smart ass remark, the sound repeated.

"BAAAAAAAAN!". And then it was gone as it appeared the Romulan was making adjustments to the signal.

"Sorry about that. Was waiting for a client at a ranch. Its mating season for the Jor'elian hill sheep. They an get quite loud at times.", the realator said as the filter took effect.

"Sounds remarkably like a Benzite screaming. What do you want Rel.", Artim replied with a clear sense of disdain on his voice.

"Just wanted to see when you were coming. I got three potential buyers for your late fianc?e's property and I was quite concerned when the transport I sent to DS5 to pick you up came back without you on it."

"Hydrans canceled my vacation and Starfleet is making it hard to reschedule. Vered Cluster thing and all that.", Artim said while resisting the urge to strangle Rel through the screen.

"Heard about that one. Tough situation. Anyway, if you'd like I could just handle the whole transaction here and send the funds to the account on Bolius. They're willing to pay quite well. Quite well.", the realator replied, clearly anxious to offload the beach house so he could get a comisson.

"Shove it where even a black hole can't suck it out. I told you once and I'll tell you again, I'm not selling until I've seen the place and if you dare try and sell it without me, well, I know people. Big people."

"So when are you coming?"

"I'm not, not until this Vered thing is handled and I can rebuild my experiments. And you call again, you're fired. Capiche?"

"Yeah yeah. Keep in touch though. Got a big party in a couple months?.oh crud?it's the big one. Gotta go!"

"BAAAAAAAAN!", was the last sound that was heard as the channel closed. Apparantly even 24th century communications technology couldn't keep out the sounds of a sheep in heat.

"Go get him big guy. Go get him." Artim muttered in praise of the sheep as he went back to work.

"Vacation's Over"

Lieutenant Nathan "Cowboy" Everett, Deputy CAG
Lieutenant Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu, CAG

===

Having spent the past two years of his career with the famous Rogue Group, Nathan was sorry to admit that he was a little underwhelmed by what he'd seen of Vanguard Group's facilities so far. While the Pathfinder-class seemed to have been designed with the capacity to carry a large fighter wing in mind, the refitted Galaxy barely had enough room for half the amount of squadrons the Miranda had fielded.

He had to admit that he was starting to have second thoughts about accepting the offer to take over as the Galaxy's Deputy CAG. It was a step up from just being a squadron leader, sure, and he may not have become the Rogues' XO if he'd stayed behind on the Miranda, but at least he still would have been part of a real fighter wing.

Cowboy paused outside of the door to his new boss' office and took a moment to compose himself, making sure that his flight jacket was fastened properly and that he didn't look like someone who had just spent the last half hour disparaging every aspect of the CAG's fighter group. Finally he reached up and pressed the door chime.

The sound echoed for a second before the office door hissed open as the CAG emerged at a brisk walk. Still in his flight suit, Quaaliu's eyes opened in surprise and he stopped in his tracks before running into the human before him.

"The Lieutenant Everett?"

"The one and only," Nathan said with a smile. He took a step forward, extending a hand. "Pleased to meet y--"

"With me, Lieutenant." The tall Nassari resumed his brisk pace towards the turbolift. "This one is thankful you have come from your previous assignment - your timing is fortuitous. Vanguards are in a state of flux, and having someone with the Lieutenant's experience is most welcome. The Lieutenant Everett has questions, yes?"

Nathan blinked as he turned and followed the Nassari, having been caught a little flat-footed. "Uh, yeah, kinda. On mah way down here Ah was checkin' things out, y'know, inspectin' the unit's facilities and such. Ah gotta be honest, sir, it's not exactly what Ah was expectin', given Vanguard's reputation..."

"The Lieutenant has just come from the Miranda-B, a jewel for a squadron wing", Quattro offered as he slapped the turbolift's call button. "An envious post. This one served on the Miranda-A, Jupiter class - not quite a carrier, but better... facilities for the starfighter. Still, what the Galaxy may lack in real-estate it more than makes up for in a view - if you are looking for flying time, you could ask for no place better. " The turbolift door hissed open and the CAG expended one of his four arms. "Enter."

"Thanks," Nathan said as he stepped in, still trying to figure out what was going on. "Sir, may Ah ask where we're goin'?"

Jarajen offered a wolfish, lopsided grin as the door snapped close behind him. "Main Shuttlebay. One does not purchase real-estate without first trying the appliances. But first - the Lieutenant Everett has flown against the Hydran-maj over Romulus, yes? Tell me of it."

Nathan gave a short nod as he thought back to that bloody day. "It was one of the biggest furballs Ah've had the pleasure to fly in, sir." And that was saying something, considering some of the missions he'd flown in while with the Miranda.

"A lot of it's just a big, bright, 'Oh-my-god-Ah'm-gonna-die' blur, but fortunately Ah had a lot of good people flyin' with me that day, and the plane they gave me didn't hurt matters either."

"Rogue V fighter, yes?"

"That's right," Cowboy said, a hint of longing in his voice. "Ah've also logged quite a few hours in the Valkyrie II interceptor and the Corsair recon fighter."

"This one is envious", Quattro muttered as he looked impatiently at the turbolift's deck indicator. "Galaxy's squadrons are two models behind the current one, and this one has been stymied at getting new starfighters. 'Not part of the Starfighter Corp's Executive Plan', this one has been told." The lift settled and the door snapped open, revealing a short corridor that opened to the main bay.

Nathan was about to tell Quaaliu what he thought about the Starfighter Corps' executive plan when the turbolift opened. He turned to get his first glimpse at Vanguard's primary launching paid, and his jaw dropped in astonishment at the sight before him.

"What the..."

He took a few steps forward, his eyes wide as saucers as he looked around. The shuttlebay was a mess--worse, it looked like a hurricane had blown through and sent everything within flying into one another.

Cowboy whirled back around, blinking madly, half out of confusion and half out of fury. "What the hell is that?!" he demanded, pointing over his shoulder at the mess.

Jarajen was actually impressed with how much debris Ops had moved out of the shuttlebay. The deck plating was visible now, with fighter and shuttle components being stacked somewhat neatly in categorized piles. "Your office, Lieutenant."

"What happened?"

"Gravity can be a weapon - it was used as such here", Jarajen offered has he crossed his four arms and leaned back against a bulkhead to ease the pressure on his spine. "We should be fully operational in two days - if all goes well." The unintentional addition of the flier's most famous cliche wasn't lost on the Nassari, and he managed to stifle a grimace. "In the mean time, tactical data on what the Lieutenant will be flying... as well as what he will be flying against has been sent to your personal directory. The latter is remarkably fresh - a few hours old."

Cowboy shrugged. "Ah'm already pretty familiar with Hydran fighters and how they operate, sir; Ah've flown one of 'em before." He flashed back to that particular mission and suddenly remembered being forced into a Starfleet flight suit, modified to accommodate an extension attached to the lower back, which had been occupied by an irritable, talking Russian cat with very, very sharp claws.

That had not been an especially fun day.

"Truly? This is more fortune than this one could have hoped for." Jarajen had been looking for leverage to use against the Starfighter Corp to get an upgrade for newer fighters, and a trump card had just showed up in Nathan Everett. Experience in the Rogue V, and time against - and in - Hydran fightercraft - if General Dex didn't give him the new Rogues, well... it wouldn't be the first time Quattro had duelled a higher-ranking officer.

The Nassari pushed off the bulkhead and made for the solitary Vanguard fighter at the far end of the bay, motioning for the human to follow. "Your CAG's on the Miranda have spoken highly of the Lieutenant - even Mitchello-ji has gone so far as to say... what was his words? Ah - 'not completely useless'. All sing praise of your ability on the wing - but tell me of your experience as a leader. What can your wingmen expect of you?"

Nathan frowned as he followed the Nassari. "Honestly, sir, Ah prob'ly wouldn't be described as the best leader," he replied. "Ah mean, Ah'm no coward and Ah don't leave mah wingmen high and dry, but Ah still haven't gotten the hang of bein' responsible for eleven other lives and leadin' them through a fight." It hurt to admit that, but lying about his capabilities wasn't going to earn him any points with his new boss.

Jarajen heard the words, and it echoed what Everett's personnel reviews read. Still, the CAG had a feeling that the young human wasn't putting his best effort into the game, and that some significant prodding would be required to achieve it. "This is to change - in the Ten Forward Lounge you will find a barkeep, one John Davidson. This one has had much difficulty with the Pilot Davidson, perhaps the Lieutenant Everett will have more success, after all", Quattro finished with a glance at the shuttle bay, "it isn't likely that the Lieutenant will be flying anytime soon."

"Davidson?" Nathan thought he had seen the man before in Ten Forward, during one of his first visits there. He remembered seeing Davidson standing alone at the bar, distractedly wiping down the bar while something else was obviously on his mind. Nathan also remembered watching Davidson, when he thought no one had been looking, look up from his work and glance out the nearest viewport with a mixed expression of longing and anxiety on his face.

"What's his story?" Everett finally continued, frowning thoughtfully as he looked out at the ruined shuttlebay once again.

"Ironically, the pilot's tale is is much like the bay.", the Nassari observed as he watched where Cowboy was looking. "A disasterous encounter with gravity. The pilot Davidson seems healed in body, but something of the spirit is wrong. This one has tried to shame him back into the cockpit, but instead he remains behind serving beverages while we face the Hydran-maj. This one... cannot relate to the young man is going through." The last sentence was, to Quattro, a measure of his own failure. Try as he may, he couldn't understand why Davidson clung to his fear; the concept was... alien. Certainly, the Nassari knew what fear was, but suicide was the accepted remedy for his culture. Jarajen knew enough about the other sentients of the Federation to even suggest it, but his inability to truly relate was creating a gulf into which Davidson's career was rapidly sprialling. "This one believes that the Lieutenant Everett can be of more assistance to the pilot Davidson as a leader, rather than a flier."

Nathan gave Jarajen a dubious look. "Sir, Ah'm a fighter pilot, not a counselor," he said. "What makes you think Ah can succeed where you didn't?"

"This one seeks the 'fighter' in the fighter pilot", Quattro said now choosing to ignore the activity in the bay and to focus only on the human pilot. "A pilot is useless to this one unless he is backed with the spirit to fight. Even if the Davidson could will himself back into the cockpit, he would be a hazard to all who fly with him. This one cannot relate to his... condition, and the Davidson cannot relate to mine. This one thinks the Davidson will see the potential within himself speaking with one more familiar, one he can relate to. Is the Lieutenant up to the challenge?"

Cowboy leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he thought about what Quattro was asking him. He never considered himself to be particularly good at helping other people with their problems, but the Nassari seemed to think that Nathan might be able to do some good.

And if he could help Davidson, he would also be helping the fighter group.

"Alright, Quattro," he said, nodding as he pushed away from the wall and stood up straight again. "Ah'll talk to Davidson and see if Ah can't get him back in the cockpit."

"This one had no doubts the Lieutenant would be up to the task", the Nassari said, relieved that the new XO seemed more than capable of just flying. His workload could now be directed to wrestling with the Starfighter Corps to get the ordnance and fighter-craft they'd need for the upcoming war. "Now the Vanguards may commence rebuilding."

Nathan nodded in agreement. "Sounds good to me, Boss," he replied, giving Jarajen a confident grin. "Let's make 'em somethin' great again."

"Golf Counseling"

Lt. Mark
LtCmdr. Arel Smith

***

USS Galaxy
Counselling

Arel strode into Mark's office, having - as usual - bypassed the Counselling secretary with some well chosen swear words, and kicked his desk to get his attention.

"Let's go play golf."

"But you 'hate' golf," Mark countered stubbing out his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. Admittedly, he was surprised to see her. Since the mass exodus of experienced Miranda staff, he'd seen hide nor hair of one of his favorite 'subjects'.

"Of course I hate it," Arel replied. "But I refuse to be defeated by a ball and a stick." Not to mention that she was bored; she wasn't on active duty yet and Sam didn't get out of school for several hours.

And there was only so many times she could kick Cowboy's ass. Or get her ass kicked by Krieghoff.

'As you wish,' the counselor thought. Mark put out his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. "Well, let's go then!" One of the things Mark could never pass up was a game of golf and with Arel, it was that much more entertaining.

==Holodeck==

Mark was observing Arel preparing to tee to off. He knew she was expecting the usual corrections to her stance and other nuances of the game. This time, however, he was silent.

"What?" Arel snapped over her shoulder. "No comments from the nut gallery?"

"Not yet," Marked chided. "Soon though."

"Whatever," She said and smacked the ball with enough force to send it to the moon and back. It landed, naturally, in a sand trap. "I hate this game."

"But you're making remarkable progress." He meant at golf 'and' as a patient even though he hadn't talked to her in weeks. He strode confidently up to the tee and set his ball down. "So, how were things with Commander Jaxom in charge?"

"Not bad," Arel replied. "He's a good Captain." She watched as his ball soared through the air and landed on the green. "I think I hate you too."

"You'd be hitting that good if you could relax a little," Mark lightly chided her. "How's Korvin doing? He's somewhere safe I take it?"

"With my father and grandfather on Qo'nos," She said. "I decided that it's safer for him for now." Arel started to trudge over to the sand.

Mark followed her nodding, "A prudent move with the war starting and all. I understand a lot of the Galaxy's civilian population will be evacuated soon. I think it's for the best." He noted the position of her ball in the sand trap. "May I hand you your pitching wedge?"

She looked at the club. "What's wrong with this one?"

"That's a four iron," Mark patiently explained, "That won't do you much good in a sand trap."

"Oh." She took the new club and smacked the ball. Or at least tried to. Arel glared at it.

Mark rubbed his face with his hand from his forehead to his chin. 'I really thought I taught her better than this,' he scolded himself. "Good Lord woman! We're apart for a few weeks and you've forgotten everything I taught you already?"

"I was a bit busy," Arel said mildly.

He hopped into the sand trap and snatched the pitching wedge from her, "Like this!" He lined up the ball which had landed half a meter from it's original position and gave it a good 'whack!'

It went straight into the air and arced gracefully away from the sand trap. He handed Arel back the pitching wedge, "See?"

"I'm not sure," Arel said with a straight face. "Maybe you should show me how to get the ball to that little flag thing."

Mark looked at her with a quizzically raised eyebrow. "That doesn't seem like you... to back down from a challenge like that."

Arel wanted to sigh. She had never been good at deception, thanks to her Klingon upraising. "Maybe I just wanted to see you flex your golf muscles." She narrowed her eyes at the flag and prepared to swing. This really was a stupid game.

"Is there anything bothering you? Or do you just want to have a friendly game of golf?" he asked. It was unlike Arel to make social calls especially to play a game she claimed to hate.

"Golf," She said shortly, swinging and watching the ball fly up in the air and then back down again. "You know, this game would be greatly improved by the use of phasers."

Mark chuckled inwardly. 'Now were getting somewhere,' he thought. "And just how would phasers improve the game? I mean really, that would take all the sport out of it. There'd be no challenge at all if you could just shoot the ball into the hole." He watched her line up her next shot. "So... what's bothering you?"

"I was thinking more about blowing them up," Arel said. "I am discontent."

"Blowing up the golf balls or the Hydrans?" Mark asked, "Are you discontent about losing your first officership?" He took an exploratory stab in the dark just to see if he was on the right track. If he wasn't, no matter, Mark could switch tracks easily.

Arel rolled her eyes. "The Hydrans don't scare me. I don't know, I just feel ... restless, I guess."

Mark nodded with his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. Her problem was blatantly obvious now.

She needed a man.

"Sounds like with Korvin away you don't have anything, or anyone for that matter, to take up your time. You can only train so much on the holodeck perfecting your Hydran killing skills and while you're doing well as a student of golf, I suspect you'd rather have a more action oriented hobby."

"Samantha said I'd probably like this game called football," Arel said doubtfully. That rugby game had sounded pretty interesting though.

Mark rubbed his chin in thought. "Oh yes, football. Lots of big, burly men running into each other and knocking each other down. It's very masculine... so I've heard."

She blinked and then shot him a scathing look. "I doubt that will make me feel better."

Mark shrugged, "Maybe a trip to the Tokyo Health Spa? It does wonders for me." He smiled cheekily.

Arel rolled her eyes and stomped over to her ball. "You people and your 'needs.' Last I check this was the USS Galaxy, not the USS 'Jump and Fuc -'"

"Now now Arel, it was only a suggestion," he told her cutting her off before she got into 'full rant' mode. "Hey, whatever happened to that guy you married? Mitchell? Isn't he around anymore?"

"Nope."

"Ah I see," Mark folded his arms across his chest and rubbed his chin in thought. "How long has it been since you heard from him? If you don't mind me asking that is."

"Awhile," Arel replied. "And don't you get any ideas. I do not want any company, no match making."

Mark laughed out loud. "Sorry, you're on your own there. I'm definitely NOT the match-making type." He paused and reflected a bit. "However, there 'is' a fairly lonely Trill who recently came aboard," he mentioned non-chalantly while looking down the fairway.

"Yeah, he's been a fairly miserable pthak lately," Arel said. Then she swung her club at him. "Jaal? I could never ... I mean, he's *Jaal*."

Mark deftly avoided the swinging club. "So what? So it 'is' Jaal. Don't make it sound like a bad thing."

"That cigar smoke has fried your brain," The security officer stated. "Not that you had much of one to begin with."

Mark laughed. "It's more of a brain than most people suspect not that I could prove that to you. Anyway, have you thought of trying to call Mitchell at all? Maybe he's waiting for you?"

Wouldn't be the first time, Arel thought. "Yeah, we talked briefly a few weeks ago. There wasn't really much to say. Different paths and all that crap."

Mark had counseled many a person through a wide variety of situations. One of the hardest was the 'different paths and all that crap' type of break up. Generally, there was no warning from the one leaving and the other was left in the lurch suddenly alone. The only thing worse, in Mark's opinion, was having someone go and die or get killed. He thought hard of something to say but only came up with, "I'm sorry things didn't work out for you."

True to form, Arel only grunted.

"In Corporate, We Trust"

With:

Cane Newport (NPC), Laborer, Mine #81-G114
Doral Winston (NPC), Labor Supervisor, Mine #81-D91

*Rolan Township, Dark Side, Lambda Vered I

For some reason, people had a tendency to think bad about those who resided on the part of the main continent that lay on the Dark Side. 98% of the labor workforce lived there, worked there, enjoyed a thriving, if not modest community life. Sometimes, the residents of this general area would take a trip over to the Bright Side or Light Side (depending on who you were talking to), making a pilgrimage to Zanthus City. Once there, they would pay tribute to the Corporate body by paying their taxes in person as every citizen should.

After, people would take their families around and enjoy the sights as the Bright Side had much nicer and more posh stores, restaurants, plazas, etc. Public Policy Ministers would be seen about, educating the general populous about the latest doctrine and the practice of good citizenship. However the downside to any of these trips were the looks that the laborers would get from the Bright Siders, looks that spoke volumes of what the privileged thought of the lowly grunts. There was even an incident not ten years ago where it was discovered that a Dark Sider was dating a young well to do woman from the Bright Side. The Dark Sider was a miner, the woman, the daughter of a past Administrator. The end result was the disappearance of said miner, and twelve days of rioting on the Dark Side with demands for a proper investigation. None was ever performed, and the Corporate Security Forces were more than happy to drive that point home. Twenty-Nine lost their lives that fateful day, dozens more were seriously injured and/or maimed.

Today, everyone knew their place in that society, the laborer's keeping to themselves, the rich Administrators and their middle class staff doing the same.

Cane Newport, a ruddy looking man in his late 30's got off the Rail Transport in Rolan Township, a community of 30,000 souls. It was about twenty minutes past quitting time, and the Rail was late as always, making him about ten minutes late for his nightly get together with his buddies. He started work after they did, and was always the last to arrive. He hated being late. It was a trait very few had on Lambda Vered I. A trait that landed you in prison or worse, re-education detention if you weren't careful. He zipped up his fur lined jacket, and adjusted his gloves, the temperature somewhere in the upper 20's.

*It could never get warm enough over here,* he grumbled mentally. Indeed, the Dark Side also had the worst maintenance, the worse environmental stability, the worst Rail Transport service. His neoprene ear insulators were wearing thin these days, having not purchased one in a few years. But he'd rather freeze than let his family go hungry. A man had to have his priorities, after all.

He would have had more money, maybe even have been one of the five percent that lived on or closer to the border of the Bright Side. But he had been turned down for Lead Supervisor eight times in the past ten years. It's no wonder, as he was identified as one of the protagonists of the Great Riot, even though he happened to be on the streets just supporting his brethren. Nonetheless, he was blacklisted and relegated to a life of menial labor.

A chill ran through him as he passed yet another open shaft that led to the surface high above him. He had lodged a complaint every day with Public Works Administration with no response other than that they were working on it. The first work request was put in approximately seven months ago. Cane surmised sarcastically that there must've been a lot of work being done on the Bright Side that the Dark Side couldn't even rate a simple shaft cover being welded into place. He even offered to do the work, but was told that only licensed and bonded Public Works employees were authorized to do anything of that nature. He should just worry about his job and leave it at that.

*One fucking day...just one day,* he thought bitterly. But it shouldn't be mistaken that Cane Newport hates his job nor does he dislike living on Lambda Vered I. Hell, he was born and raised there, just like his parents, grand parents, and great grand parents before him. He wasn't like Doral Winston, one of his friends and a labor supervisor in another section of the mine he worked at. Doral was from New Texas and came here fifteen years ago to make a new life for himself on the world of opportunity, community and fairness, Lambda Vered I. Of course, he soon came to find out what life he had landed himself in, but with nowhere to go to, and no money to leave with he decided to make the best of it. He went from Laborer to Labor Leader in five years, and from Labor Leader to Labor Supervisor just two years ago.

It was while Doral was Labor Leader that he and Cane had met. They were in the same section at the time, and found that they both loved Pabst Blue Ribbon, a rare taste these days. They also liked watching full contact bat-ball, a modified version of baseball, only the basemen or fielder had to physically knock you down to tag you out and the same could be done to said fielder. They were both also avid fans of the Rolan Rollers, the Township bat-ball team. It was four years ago when the Rollers finally defeated Karakey Island's Icemen for the league championship, and the duo would drink up until they got shit faced, staggering their way home in raucous laughter and good humor.

Public Policy Ministers were not seen much on the Dark Side unless it was tax time, and even then it would be at a central point in each Township announcing a reminder that every good citizen was to pay their taxes by the appointed time.

"A tax paying citizen is a righteous citizen," they would crow. Well, it wasn't tax time, but Cane noticed that there was a Policy Minister along with several Corporate Security Force personnel near the center of town. There was a large crowd gathered, and amongst them was his friend Doral. Cane walked over and nudged his buddy in the ribs, which earned him a scowl and a finger to the lips, shushing him.

"...And the decree of the Corporate Council is as follows," the Minister was saying. "All citizens are to immediately sequester themselves to their homes if they are not on the draft list. If your name is called, you are to make your way immediately to the Express Rail Transport station and await further instructions. Resistance would be met with swift repercussions. This is a Corporate Decree!"

There was a light murmur throughout the crowd, some if it anxious, some of it angry, mostly if not all confusing.

"What the hell is going on here," Cane asked of his friend. Doral simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"They showed up here about twenty minutes ago," the supervisor replied, "calling for all able bodied citizens to assemble for an important announcement."

"Did the Minister say 'Draft'? What the fuck are they drafting us for?"

"I have no idea. Maybe the Dershayans are moving against us again?"

"I thought that Corporate Security and Defense had more than enough people to handle them."

"Dunno," was the reply to Cane.

"The names will be read out as follows," spoke the Public Policy Minister. "Crast, Redding. Edelman, Michael. Ireland, Will. Jural, son of Gor..." As the Minister rattled off the names, several people were moving (or being moved) in the direction of the Express Rail Transport. Normally, the average citizen didn't bother going to that particular line, as it was more expensive and only made one stop before Zanthus City on the Bright Side. But in times of Corporate State Emergencies, it has been known to be used as a personnel transport, as to not interrupt the mining operations which required the miners to use the local lines. Skies forbid that the mining should be interrupted! It's already an issue with mines 19 through 77 being frozen in, miners trapped inside with a high possibility of death already taking some of them.

Suddenly, a sharp elbow in his right side brought Cane out of his thoughts. Doral was looking at him intently, and Cane's heart sunk.

"They called me, didn't they," he asked. Doral could only shake his head solemnly. Not necessarily a conformist but still a patriot, Cane made his way to the growing group of people called to service. He didn't know what Corporate intended to use them for, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't have a chance to see his family ever again. He didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to his family...

"Doctor, Doctor - Part I"

With

Branwen London 1st Lieutenant, CO, 5th Platoon &
Marine Psychologist Furies Detachment
U.S.S. Galaxy

Benedict "Max" Maxwell
Petty Officer 2nd Class, Paramedic Practitioner
U.S.S. Galaxy

"Look, there has to be somebody else available but Dr Burton." Branwen really didn't want to see Kimberly, not until they got their differences stalked out first in private. And lately they never seemed to be on the same schedule to do that.

"Dr Burton is listed as your physician, Lieutenant and your therapist." The receptionist said again. "I'm terribly sorry."

"I just told you that this time I don't want to see Dr Burton. There must be somebody else." The Marine was getting a bit frustrated.

"Something I can help you with," asked a voice emerging from her left. Max was standing under the arch connecting this room with a treatment area.

"You are new!" Branwen said and held out her hand. "1st Lieut Branwen London, I need to see a Doctor because I want a checkup, and your receptionist is telling me it is not possible." She was completely in angry Marine mode now. Something Branwen did not do that often.

Smiling sheepishly Max replied, "Yes, I guess you can say I'm new. Petty Officer 2nd Class Ben Maxwell, but call me Max." He took her hand and gave it a firm pump. "Maybe I can help you out if you don't want to see Dr. Burton?"

She eyed him up and down. "Hello Max, I am Branwen. Are you a doctor? I mean, they are usually full officers." Her interest was definitely aroused now.

"Not quite a doctor," he replied. "I'm a Paramedic Practitioner. In fact when I first joined Starfleet, I declined numerous opportunities to become an officer." Smiling, Max continued. "In short, I can help you for the most part. Just don't ask me to perform neurosurgery," he chuckled.

"Well thankfully I don't need neurosurgery." Bran grinned. "Shall we go to your office?"

"Sure, I think there's a free interview room in here somewhere," he said, motioning for Branwen to follow him. They took the short walk to a side office that was used by the medical staff to speak with patients on a confidential level, as Sickbay was fairly open otherwise.

"Coffee? Water?" Max offered as he waited for his apparently new patient to have a seat.

"Tea or water please." She said taking the offered seat. "I have never liked coffee very much."

"Sure," smiled Max. "One Raktajino, extra strong and a citrus water," He looked over to Bran, for approval.

"That's fine." She liked the fact that he had added a touch of citrus, so the water would not taste so plain. "Can you do a simple physical? I am getting married within a few days, and I just want to know for sure there is nothing wrong." She blushed.

"That's all?" Max asked. Any Medic could have done that, but hey...

"Sure, we can do that for you. Hop up on that bed there, and we can get started." He grabbed a tricorder so that he could look at specific things, while the biobed gave him an overall picture.

?Sure." She said doing what he said. "I don't have to undress or anything do I?" She asked him.

Shaking his head in the negative, Max activated the scan control and observed her vitals as they came up on the display. He adjusted the handheld for specific scans in Hematology to start off.

"Can you see?." Another blush. "About kids and stuff if there will be any problems. Without actually looking of course."

This gave Max a moment of pause. "Excuse me?"

"Well you know without touching me and stuff." The young marine was getting a little nervous.

Now he sat down on the stool near the biobed, giving Branwen his full attention.

"Okay. I need you to take a deep breath, think for a moment, then tell me everything that you are concerned about." He leaned in a bit closer. "I can give you a more informed medical opinion of you give me the full picture."

"Weeeeellllll. I am getting married in three days. And of course I am a virgin." Another blush. "I have read an instruction manual so I guess I know what is going to happen to me. But I need to know I am healthy and nothing is wrong with me."

"Well, let's see what we've got. And don't worry, you don't have to disrobe or anything like that. Just lie still and let my scans to the work, M-kay?" He was fairly quick with the hematology scan, which revealed nothing out of the ordinary. He moved on to osteography, and that's where he had to repeat his scans to ensure that he was seeing correctly. He expanded to an integumentary scan to correlate.

"Branwen," he asked, "could you excuse me a moment?" Not waiting for an answer, Max went to the console at the desk and pulled up his patient's file. After a moment he found what he was looking for. And it all made sense. He walked back to Branwen and looked her in the eye.

"Alright, here's the deal. In general you are healthy, and with good prenatal care, I don't doubt that you can have a safe pregnancy and subsequently a healthy child. But I wouldn't put it past one child. You've had numerous fractures of the pelvis, femur fractures, thoracic and lumbar fractures, numerous fractures to your skull...well, I guess you'd know better than me." He took a deep breath and then continued.

"Now I did say that you can possibly have one child, but your injuries as a youth yourself had some unchecked damage. As a result of the way your pelvis healed, it won't expand during the course of your pregnancy to allow for a natural birth. As for getting pregnant...well you may want to consider other alternatives."

Her mind reeled. She had come here not expecting any thing to be wrong, just for a little reassurance, and now this doctor was telling her all this dreadful news. She felt herself go completely pale. "Are you sure?"

Max sighed. He was still new on board and hated to already hand out bad news as a new Practitioner. "Confirm what I'm telling you with an OB/GYN, but I don't believe you will be able to conceive normally. You see, another part of the unchecked damage from your prior injuries is the scar tissue that appears throughout your uterus, most likely from bone fragments from your pubic bone shattering a couple of times. Current treatment techniques would have helped a great deal, but it would seem that you received minimal treatment...and at such a young age, if these scans are correct."

"Are you telling me that I cannot have sex?" Bran looked at him dazed.

For a long time, Max didn't answer, his mind speeding through every possible option that this woman could pursue. But in the end, her immediate needs could not be met.

"As of now, I wouldn't recommend it." He saw her face begin to fall, and quickly added, "I do, however have several acquaintances back at Starfleet Medical, and a few non-Starfleet hospitals that could help you out. Maybe some reconstructive surgery..." He trailed off. What he confirmed was enough to stop anyone in their tracks dead.

"I am sorry." She whispered getting off the bed. As a tough marine she didn't want others to see her cry, and she did not want to cry in front of this stranger. Forgetting her hairband she started to rush out of the exam room.

"Lieutenant," Max called out. He knew that she was distraught, but he needed her to understand that she did have options before she went and did anything rash. "Wait up a sec," he continued.

She did not want to wait, but something in her voice kept her at the door.

"Like I said, you have options. And I really think right now, you need the services of a Counselor. Anyone in particular you'd like to speak to, being that you've been here longer than I have?" He gestured to the chair opposite the desk he was using.

"I am a blooming counselor myself. I don't want to talk to anybody else, nobody has need know. I have to go and cancel my wedding. She doubted Dar would want her now, broken." Angrily she wiped away as stray tear that had escaped.

It was one of those moments, Max would remark to himself later, when his mouth began to run before his mind could catch up to it. He couldn't help it, he was passionate about tragedy and other people's sadness.

"Now you're just being ridiculous!" he snapped. "I just said you had options, options that will make those concerns a thing of the past. There's no instant cure for anything, despite the knowledge and technology we have these days." He took a breath, realizing that he just went off on a tangent. "You need to be patient, and consider your options. As for talking to someone, if you don't want to talk to a Counselor or have anyone know your business, that's fine, I totally get that.

"You said that you're getting married? Well talk to your mate regarding this, see what he or she thinks. As for people who know? Well I know, and I know I'm not being the most compassionate right now, but I can hep you. The choice is yours in terms of letting someone help you." Tirade/speech/counsel complete, he awaited her answer and reaction.

Bran wiped more tears away. "You said you didn't know what to do for sure, and if something can be done? My fianc?e has been waiting for months to have sex with me. How can I disappoint him and tell him that maybe I won't even be able to have kids. He is a proud man, an honorable one, I don't want him to take me out of pity. I don't like being weak." The tears came in earnest now, there was nothing she could do to stop them.

Max walked over to the biobed and picked up Branwen's hairband. Then he walked over, extended the hand that held it, and spoke softly.

"I personally can't do anything but give you medical advice, and refer you to someone who has the clinical expertise to treat your condition, maybe even completely reverse it. As for your Fiance, if he is as honorable as you say he is, he will support you in anything and all that you do. That's not pity, Branwen. That's true love."

"Thanks.' She picked up the band. She wasn't really hearing what Max was saying. "So what next? Do I see you again?"

"Well, you're welcome to get a second opinion," he replied. "But I think that since I began your work up for this particular case, it would be prudent to allow me to continue with the direction of your care. Besides, you don't want everyone to know, right?"

She nodded. "when will you know more?"

"Give me a couple of days, and I should have something for you," Max offered.

Branwen nodded, she was still in a state of shock. "I have to get back to work now."

"That's fine," he said nodding. "Get back to me when you feel ready. I should have some more information by then."

"All right, thank you Doctor." As somebody sleepwalking she walked out of his office, to numb to cry. But she was certain the tears would come later.

Max took a moment to organize his thoughts, then opened a channel to Starfleet Medical. When the connection was made, and the desired party appeared on the screen, he began his 'sales pitch'.

"Mom," he started, "I need some information for a member of the Galaxy crew..."

"Memory Lane"

Lt Chris Daniels
Tactical Officer

With Shameless mention of various characters from the Miranda and Atlantis

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

Chris Daniels knew he shouldn't have gotten into this situation?but somehow, against his better judgment, he had managed to anyway. Now, he was racing down a non-descript Starship hallway, just trying to get away from his pursuers, who were, for all intents and purposes, mad as hell and coming quickly to track him down. This was a bad situation, to be sure. He ducked into another corridor and took cover in an alcove, under a table. Hopefully, had any of them seen him, they would simply run past thinking he had continued down the hallway. Unfortunately, his enemies were too skilled at this type of pursuit. They knew these halls all too well. And, before Chris knew what happened, he was surrounded. ?Come out NOW!? One of them yelled. Chris knew he was beat but refused to give up. He surveyed all 6 of them, and picked which one looked the weakest. It didn?t take long. As they began to move in on him, he took a deep breath, dropped his shoulder and started running at them. ~Here goes nothing?~ he thought as he made impact with his target, knocking them to the ground. Unfortunately, Chris had become entangled, and what had been a good idea suddenly had led to the end of the road for him. He was brought down in seconds by the others, and certain doom would follow.

Then came the sound that was the end of all good things. ?OWWW! MOMMY!!! Chris tackled me!? Ezzie could never keep her stupid trap shut? Within minutes, Mezia Daniels had corralled her 9 year old son and was promptly dragging him back to their quarters on Deck 5 of the original USS Galaxy, to a fate that would surely be worse than death.

Starbase Atlantis A Few Weeks Ago The 24 year old Chris Daniels was now looking over a stack of job openings in the fleet. The current Chief Tactical Officer of the USS Reliant had already been getting restless with his current job. The ship barely left the station, and he definitely didn?t get along with the new schlep who they brought in to replace his friend K?aa. He had tried his hand at Station service, and it didn?t suit the young man at all. He had been wondering how he was going to get off the station and somehow get back out where he felt he belonged. But as he looked at the list of current billets?CTO of the USS Del Rio running border patrol on an empty frontier was one of the better ones?he wondered if staying on station was his best option. God, why hadn?t Admiral Murdock let Captain Elaithin keep his Miranda crew instead of scattering them to the four winds? Then fate intervened in the form of the incident at Deep Space 5. News was scarce still, but in the next few days, with war all but a certainty at this point, tactical jobs started opening up like they were going out of style. Now, Chris not only wanted to return to the fleet, he felt compelled to. He volunteered for nearly every job on a front line ship he qualified for, department head or not. It didn?t really matter to him?he just wanted to be out there, where he had grown up, where he had broken his teeth as an officer, and where he had always wanted to be.

USS Galaxy 13 years ago Holodeck 2 ?Come on Chris, a little further! You?re almost to the top!? This was yet another bad idea that the young Daniels had had in his short life. One of his friends had a holoprogram of a lake from his home in Corpus Christi, Texas. The lake had a huge tree overlooking the lake that Ryan claimed everyone would jump out of into the water. Chris was 8 feet from the top and wasn?t sure jumping sounded as much fun as it had just a few minutes ago. He was a nimble little kid, always doing sports or some athletic thing to keep himself busy. It was all he could do to keep from going nuts on the ship when school wasn?t in session. Besides, from what he had heard, this was what normal kids did, right? Reaching the top, he looked down. This was definitely NOT a good idea. But he couldn?t give in now. His friends would think he was a wuss and he?d never live it down. And to an 11 year old, embarrassment was pretty much the end of your life as you knew it. So he held his breath, closed his eyes, and flung himself towards the earth. He woke up face down on a biobed in the pediatric ward, his head spinning and a very weird feeling on his back. He could see through the haze of his headache his mom and his doctor talking. ?The concussion effects will be gone in a few hours, then we?ll release him. We repaired the tear in his back that the branch made but it made a pretty big scar?do you want us to get rid of it?? There was a pause. ?No, leave it?I want him to learn a lesson from this.? Inside, Chris groaned. Usually, Mom?s lessons really hurt.

Starbase Atlantis Less Than A Few Weeks Ago ?Evidence of Lirisi culture in the equatorial deserts of date back nearly 7000 Earth years, indicating that the existence of these legends is, at the very least, born from a culture that actually did exist in the proper timeframe.? Chris was reading Exploration of Early Risan Culture: The Lirisian Period and Connections to Modern Risan Society. He had lately become a history buff when it came to ancient cultures on his home planet. Only in the last few months had he picked up the interest. However, given recent events, maybe the answer he was looking for didn?t really matter. But, the door chime broke him from his quiet moment of thought. When the door opened, it was his ACTO, Lt Marcos. She had recently been lucky enough to get picked up for an assignment to the USS Damocles. ?Captain Dawson wants to see you.? ?About?? She shrugged. ?We did get a communiqu? from personnel earlier??

He stood up. ?And?? ?Have fun packing?? She winked and left the room.

USS Galaxy 12 Years ago 12 year old Chris was very much silent as he walked off the gangplank of the Galaxy for the last time. Dad had taken a job at the Tactical Warfare School on Mars, instantly turning the Daniels family into domesticated planet dwellers, which young Chris did not appreciate. He had had a stable group of friends, good schooling, and a good home on the Galaxy. Now he was being uprooted and sent to a new school, new sports teams, new girls?what the crap was this? This sucked! Mom and Dad were just sooooooo excited about living on a planet! It was crap! Mars was ugly, red and hot! That was it, and that sucked in young Chris? mind as he stomped off the gangplank onto the pier orbiting Utopia Planetia. ?Stupid Starfleet.? He muttered.

A few days ago Chris was like a little kid again, staring at his old home. Captain Dawson had been disappointed to see Chris go. Janeen, well, she had taken it a lot better than Chris could have hoped for?somehow he had the feeling that Anjoli would keep her company. However, he hoped beyond hope that somehow, some way, he could make it work between them. He had gotten his wish and been sent to the Galaxy. And he couldn?t be happier. This was as front line as it got, and he would be reunited with a lot of his fellow crew from the Miranda. He had been given the chance to work with Galaxy crew during the Battle of Romulus as well, so he was looking forward to working with them full time now. Leaving on the shuttle from the station had been tough, he had to admit, but as the rendezvous with the Galaxy had grown closer and closer, he became more excited about what the future held in store. The shuttle landed on the Galaxy and after a few minutes of shutdown, it was ready to disembark a man who had once left the proud ship as a sad 12 year old boy. It had been a long time coming, but Chris Daniels finally felt like he had come home.

"Complications"

Marine captain Man'darr Maivia
1st Lt. Branwen London

Branwen had been crying again when she came to his quarters. Angrily she wiped the tears away, this was not how she wanted to present herself. “Dar, do you have a moment?”

Concerned about what could have upset Branwen, he let her in. "Of course. What is wrong, Branwen?"

"I think… I think we should call of the wedding." She bit her lip to refrain from further crying.

"Call the wedding ceremony off? Why? What is wrong?" he replied, wondering what could have caused Branwen to behave in such a way all of a sudden.

"It's not fair to you. I cannot be a good wife." Bran bit down a bit harder. "I am sorry."

"Sorry for what? What makes you believe that you won't make a good wife? Tell me what is wrong, Branwen," Man'darr was thoroughly concerned now.

"It's me, I am all wrong. I saw a doctor this morning. I cannot have sex or children. They might be able to fix something in the future, but not now." She did not dare look at him to see his disappointment.

Man'darr was stunned for a moment. 'Was unable to have sex even possible?' "How are you unable to have sex? Children I could understand, but sex? Is this some sort of lie?"

Tears dropped down. “My dad, when he punished me when I was little. He also smashed bones…. Down there. That is what the doctor said.”

"Your father did this?!" Man'darr was enraged. "I will kill him! Were your injuries never healed?"

“No. He didn’t believe I deserved care. It’s okay I told you I escaped when I was fourteen. I thought everything had healed. I am so sorry, Dar. I won’t hold you to your promise to marry me of course.”

"It does not matter. I will still kill him!" Man'darr then let out a heavy sigh. He was torn between two thoughts--he loved Branwen and had promised to be her mate, yet in capellan society, women unable to bare children were looked down upon in society. What good was a woman if she could not bring a new warrior to the Capellan people? Yet this was not Capellan Society and Branwen was not capellan. "I did make a promise to you, Branwen."

She heard the doubt in his words and was not surprised. “Forget it, Dar. I don’t want your pitty. I will not hold you to your promise.” Tears streamed more freely now. “See you.” Bran started to go.

Man'darr grabbed her arm. "Branwen...you mean alot to me. It is true that I am unsure what to think about this, but my love for you is one thing I am quite sure of."

“Your eyes and body language say something else.” She said softly.

"Do not call me a liar," he snapped. "So what are your plans now? Perhaps we should talk to your doctor to ensure if anything can be done to heal you." She nodded quietly spooked by the fact that he snapped at her. Dar had never done that before, even now his attitude towards her was starting to change. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Man'darr sighed heavily again. "I am sorry for snapping at you, Branwen, but you know I do not like being called a liar."

“I didn’t call you a liar, Dar. I am just observing, it’s my job. Maybe you don’t know yourself what you want yet. Maybe the doc can clarify things for you.”

"I know what I want, Branwen. I just wished that I knew with all the medical technology available, that why your injuries cannot be repaired.

"He said it might in regards to sex, not to having children." She made sure she was not going to cry again. Man'darr was still unsure of what to think. He would simply have to wait to see what the doctor said. "You never know how these things will turn out," Man'darr replied.

"I can't believe this"

[takes place before complications]

Lieutenant Mark
First lieutenant Branwen London

Bran blew her nose. She was fumbling with a stack of Padds standing outside her office in counseling. She used this office less and less doing most of her counseling in her regular office in marine country. Most of her marines preferred speaking to her there. But today she had a few naval clients. Bran hoped she would be able to focus after the orrible news Max just told her, her head certainly was not on helping others right now.

Mark walked into the counseling offices behind Branwen. He was just coming in for the day. Sure, he was a little late but hopefully no one would notice. He heard the Marine counselor blow her nose just as the door swished closed behind him. "How do you manage to catch a cold in space?" he asked curiously.

She blushed, Branwen have not seen him, or she would not have blown her nose. "Easy." She lied. "You pick it up from somebody else." Bran avoided looking at him. This was not the time to make an appointment with Mark as she had been planning.

Mark, ever conscious of people's body language, watched her closely. "You're not really sick are you?" he asked gently. "I can tell by the consistency of your snot." This time he lied.

She sighed. "No, you are right, I'm not. I just got some really bad news, and I don't really know how to deal with it. I've got a patient in an hour and I just....." She couldn't believe herself, she so wasn't going to talk to Mark or anybody else. "It's okay, I'll manage."

"We have an hour to talk if you want to," Mark offered seriously.'

"Maybe I should. I was going to come to you one of these days to talk about something else, funny." She tried to smile. "Your office or mine?"

Which ever you're most comfortable in," Mark said gently with a nod and a smile.

"My office, I'm definitely more comfortable in my office if you don't mind." And she resolutely walked into her small office. "Don't mind the mess please, I'm not here that often."

Mark followed her into the office with his hands folded neatly behind his back. He took a cursory look around and stated, "It's not as messy as mine." He smiled hoping to put Branwen more at ease.

She smiled. "Would you like something to drink before we start?" That made her feel that she was in control.

Mark almost said 'ice water' but then he remembered who he was talkling to. "Got any bourbon?" he asked hopefully. He really doubted she kept alcohol in her office but it never hurt to ask.

She shook her head disapprovingly. "Alcohol in the office, really lieutenant." Branwen had her back to him, so he could not see she was smiling. "Please try again."

"Some ice water will be fine then," it was as Mark suspected. "Then we can get to the nitty gritty. So tell me Miss London, how are things? What's got you bent out of shape today?" He decided to get started as he also had an appointment in an hour.

"Honestly? My whole life just came crashing down my ears. I went to the doc for a check up and he told me some news I don't want to hear." She handed him the water. "I am damaged inside which will make sex difficult and kids impossible. My fianc?e is from a society that does not tolerate imperfection."

'Good luck with that,' Mark thought privately. He held his temples between his thumb and middle finger, "Let me guess, you're still seeing the Capellen gentleman? That's a tough one. Have you told him yet?"

"Not yet, I have just come from my doctor's appointment. It's going to be such a disappointment to him, he's waited so patiently for sex. And I'm going to lose the man who wanted to marry me." The shock was so great after the initial crying Branwen was now way too calm.

"It's hard to tell how he'll take it," Mark advised. He really wanted to tell her if he was a typical Capellan, she'd end up looking for another boyfriend. He chose against that though as her emotional state at the moment most likely wasn't ready for such a raw truth. "If you don't mind me asking, how does this fellow reacted to other bad news? That may be a good clue as to how he'll react to this." With luck, she'll figure it out for herself.

"Well....' she thought. "I don't really know. They only bad news we have had was at work and then he reacts like a capable officer. He adapts and tries something new. But we haven't had many major fights in our private relationship. Hmmmm not completely true, usually he does give in to me. He even promised to see one of you navy guys when I asked and he hates shrinks. But this is different, this is a cultural thing for him and I don't want pity."

Mark had a strange feeling she wouldn't be getting much pity. That was, of course, unless this particular Capellan wasn't 'typical'. If he wasn't things won't be so bad. "Let me ask you this: Have you two ever talked about things not quite working in your relationship before? Things like disagreements with religion? Political stances? Different ways to raise children?... Not being able to have children? Or other things that could possibly crop up? Most people talk about these things before getting engaged especially if they're of two different species."

"Not really." She blushed. "The only thing was that I cannot have sex before marriage, we discussed that, and that is the reason that we are getting married so soon. So he can have sex." Branwen explained. "I didn't really think about children yet, I thought that would happen naturally in a few years time." There were a lot of things she had not thought about.

Mark blinked once. Then he blinked again. Then his eyes narrowed. "Ya know, it sounds like the only reason you're getting married at all is to get his dick wet. That's a great reason to make a lifelong committment." No, he wasn't typical Capellan after all. He was a typical male.

She blushed deeply red. "Lieutenant Mark could you please watch your language around me. Yes, we are getting married to have sex. That is what men enjoy, and it is the role of a woman to give it." She explained. "I don't mind, I also told the doctor that I don't mind if it hurts, I am used to pain. But he doesn't know if it is possible at all." Now she looked frustrated.

One of Mark's eyebrows slowly rose. "I'm no member of the moral majority but I think you need to give your relationship much more serious thought. Getting married for the sole purpose of having sex is quite shallow. People get married becuase they love each other and are willing to spend the rest of their lives together no matter what. You don't strike me as being ready for all that."

"Who are you to judge!" She frowned at him. "Are you calling me promiscuous? I am a virgin! And as things stand now I will propably die a virgin. I have finally found a man who finds me attractive and good enough and I intended to hold him. I love Dar and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Sex is not important to me, but I know it is to men. I have accepted it. I am NOT shallow!" Bran almost growled.

Mark laughed out loud. "Far be it from me to judge you. I certainly was not." His tone turned serious once more. "I was only telling you the truth. Sex isn't important to just men. It's important to everyone but that doesn't make it the basis of a lifelong relationship. The rest of your life is, hopefully, a long, long time."

"He loves me, Mark. Me! He is the first man who has ever chosen me, and I love him. This isn't about sex, not for me. But I want to give it to him because that is what women do. I don't mind. But you make it out to be all about sex." She was a bit frustrated with him.

"No," Mark held up one warning forefinger, "YOU made it sound like it was all about sex." Honestly, she was acting like a high schooler dating someone her father didn't approve of.

"I told you it is not important to me, so whatever gave you that idea, Mark?"

Mark's brow furrowed. He really couldn't believe she had such a 'short' short term memory. "Didn't you just tell me, not two minutes ago that, 'The only thing was that I cannot have sex before marriage, we discussed that, and that is the reason that we are getting married so soon. So he can have sex.'" He did a practically perfect imitation of her tone and body language as he repeated what she'd told him earlier in the conversation. Mark folded his arms across his chest. In his normal voice he said, "Well?"

"You do that to your patients as well?" She asked him. "amazing you don't walk around with two black eyes. Believe me, if you ever see some of my marines, don't." Bran took a deep breath. "Yeah I said that because it is important to him, not to me."

Mark ignored the veiled threat of blackened eyes. He spoke only the truth. Unfortunately, some people couldn't handle the truth. He was sad to see Branwen couldn't. "Miss London, before you make another decision, no, before you even 'think' about making another decision, ANY decision, you need to decide what IS important to YOU." He pointed directly at her for emphasis.

"Being normal." She didn't have to think about it. "Having a mate like everybody else. A normal life, with a partner and children. To prove them wrong." Finally she was showing a little bit of emotion again.

It was a rhetorical question but as long as she answered it, Mark continued to press on. "Then you fiance needs to know that too. Does he?"

"Know what?" She blinked really not understanding what he meant now.

Mark just wanted to grab her by the collar and slap some sense into her now. Honestly, how could someone be so dense? Instead he spoke calmly as if speaking to a small child, "He needs to know what you want."

"Isn't that clear? Doesn't everybody want that." She blinked again.

One of Mark's eyebrows rose up slowly again, "Judging from what you've said so far all he wants is sex and children." Before she could answer he added, "Yeah yeah I know. He loves you but that can be faked to get what he wants. I'm not saying he 'is' doing that but on the other hand, you would know better than I."

'At least I hope so,' he thought to himself.

"Why would he do that?" Bran asked curiously. "Why would he marry me then? IF a man is willing to marry you that means he is honorable."

"Not necessarily. Even honorable men can do honorable things for the wrong reasons," Mark explained with infinite patience, "Men are stupid that way sometimes."

"I don't know. I like honourable men. Saul is my knight in shining armour, he came to my rescue once when I needed it. But he didn't find me attractive. And my other knight is like my Big Brother. Victor thinks he is scary." She smiled. "But Dar is just perfect. You know, which you consider seeing him for his consultation? He promised to see a shrink, but if I don't set it up and I doubt he will go."

Mark's mouth became a thin, flat line as he considered. "I have quite a full schedule as it is. Aren't there any other marine counselors he could see? You seem to like the imagined demarcation between Starfleet and the Starfleet Marine Corp."

"I am the only marine shrink onboard, remember I am something of an experiment. So he has to see a naval shrink, and he's not happy about it. But if you don't want to do it." She was feeling hostility coming from him and didn't understand why.

"It's not that I don't want to," Mark explained, "It's a matter of me having the time to add another appointment to my calendar." He paused and thought for a moment, "Why don't we do this: See if he can get an appointment with one of the others. If he can't, then I'll squeeze him in somewhere. How does that sound?"

"That sounds fine." She paused. "Are you angry at me?"

Mark blinked in astonishment. "My dear, whatever gave you that idea?"

"Your body language. Remember I'm a counnselor as well. I might be wrong, but I get the impression you don't like me very much. Sometimes I am wrong." She admitted.

"Yes,: Mark answered, "You are." He took a glance at his wrist chronometer. "I have to get going. Let me know if your fiance will be seeing me or someone else. Okay?"

"Okay, I'll ask him if he has found somebody already. If he can not succeed I'll get back to you." She knew something wasn't right here but decided not to push anymore.

"From Normal Beginings"

Starring Ensign Jill Normal

The after graduation party had been a happy blurry mess.

Stern prideful new officers had melted away into goofy revelers that were hooting and hollaring like a bunch of first year cadets.

It was expected and tsk'd at by the Academy powers that be, but of course it was overlooked all the same.

The class of 2384 had only hours before marched across a banner-covered stage and raising their right hands (flippers, talons, etc) recited the oath of service into the Starfleet of the United Federation of Planets.

Hats were thrown in the air....fireworks boomed.....and the stadium was rocked by a fly-over by Nova Squadron, the Academy flight team.

After that the normally dull grey walls of the Dormitory Quad was overcome with a fatal bout of party streamers, loud music and a chugging margarita mixer.

Hugs, kisses, tears, and slaps across the face.

A long line at the com booth to call back home.....Yes Mom...I love you Mom.....I got assigned to the Fleet......Im going to the Enterprise.....the Zeus....Starbase 26........whatever the case may be.

For Jill Normal, born and raised in Pena Blanca, New Mexico, the call was bittersweet.

"Yes Dad, I know.....I know....can you guys turn that down a minute!?....No Dad....the guys have the music up too loud......no its not a wild party Dad........Dad its graduation.......Its the Academy how much trouble can we get into?"

Jill grinned at her Father's worried tone in one ear, as she stuck her finger in the other to drown out the noise.

"No Dad.....I have to ship out on Friday.....a shuttle to Jupiter station, and then whatever ride I can find out to the fleet.......no Dad I wont get lost....they arrange these things."

More tittering and well wishes.

"I know Dad.....love you too, and give my best to Mom....Im glad you came to Graduation.....I know....Love you too.....bye bye."

That was72 hours, and one Academy-imposed mandatory cleaning-up session later.

The next class would be arriving soon, and as their last duties, '84 pitched in to put the dorms back the way they found it.......mostly.

Standing alone in her tiny dorm room, Jill Normal brushed a mousy brown lock hair back from her eyes and smiled inwardly.

It was amazing after four years how small the room had become. Four years of blood sweat and not a few tears cried into the Academy-issued pillow that now sat stripped sterile and bare against the headboard.

Four years of study sessions......push ups.....and fond memories.......over.

They'd have to replace the chair of course.

The previous graduation revelries and well-wishing had sent two newly minted Ensigns crashing to the floor in a tangle of wooden splinters and giggles.

At least the margaritas had come out of the fleet-grey carpet.

"Heads up Abby," came the warning cry a mere half second before a playful smack of the back of her head mussed her hair.

"Gonna have to have quicker reactions than that out on the frontier Abs," the goofy, red faced grin of Cadet Sims......no make that Ensign Sims stared down at her.

"Leeme alone dingo-brains." Jill smoothed her hair back down for the umpteeth time, "When you gonna start acting like an officer and a gentleman Doug?"

"Awwww dont be mad at me Abby. Not may fault you gotta ship right out and I have a whole three weeks of laying on the beach before reporting in."

Jill Normal.......instantly dubbed with the nickname "Abby" Normal her Freshman year glared at her friend.

Her smile however conferred no malice. Little Dougy Sims had grown from a skinny little nervous cadet four years ago into one of the most talented young officers in the class of 84.

Four years of cramming for tests......joint survival exercises in the Australian Outback......and not a few nights helping each other home from the local watering holes had formed a lasting friendship between the two.

And now they were going their separate ways.

"Gonna miss you Dingo brains." she said with a small snifle.

"Likewise Normal. You be careful out there you hear?" he grinned slyly. "Stay away from strange plants this time okay?"

That one earned the lout a puffy smack with the previosuly mentioned Acadmey-issue pillow.

One akward situation on her Midshipman cruise involving an overly-amourous sentient Rhododendron and she was forever branded 'Sheena...Seducer of potted ferns.'

Still...it was really over.

Together they looked out the dorm window, across the well manicured Academy lawn...across the blue San Francisco bay and across lightyears of icy darkness to where their futures lay.

For Jill Normal that lay on a ship known as Galaxy.

"The Space Adventures of Jill Normal"

Starring Ensign Jill Normal

USS GALAXY Boarding Dock 5

"Ensign Jill Normal reporting for duty, permission to come aboard?"

It had been a phrase she had been rehearsing since childhood.

Ever since Uncle Joe took her out in the backyard with a telescope and pointed out the blinking lights of the orbiting spacedocks.

Ever since she had sweated her guts out on a gymnasium floor struggling to pass the rigourous Academy PT requirements.........since she strained her eyes pouring over study guides to meet the even more stringent academic cut offs.

Four more years of trials and tribulations at the Academy itself, and one five week ride in a runabout out to the frontier had landed the mousy-haired girl from New Mexico on the front doorstep of one of the grandest ships in the fleet.

USS Galaxy.

This is what she had hoped for.

This is what she had dreamed for.

Unfortunately for Ms. Normal, she was in store for a huge let down.

"Welcome to the Galaxy Ma'am," saluted the crewman at the docking hatch, "Throw your duffle on the x-ray table, state your bra-size for the record and throw your Bat'leth on the table."

"My bra size and Bat....what?" Jill furrowed her eyebrows as she ran her heavy sea-bag through the scanner. "My Bat'leth?"

"Yeah," the crewman shrugged, "Or your katana, or ancient family battleax, or whatever symbolic edged weapon of mass destruction you will be hanging on your wall.....we just got to tag it for posterity."

Figuring this was some sort of initiation joke, Jill went along with it. "I dont have any edged weapons on me crewman....and my bra size is none of your business."

"Oh....very well" the man checked an item off the list, " We'll just you down for bra-less..., and as far as the weapon goes...we'll take your personalized Sniper Rifle, or illegally modified photon bazooka with which you've sworn blood vengeance upon the man who killed your family when you were young."

Jill looked around the empty room and then back at the bored looking man with a stupid look.

If this was a joke, the guy was sure selling it well.

"I'm sorry....maybe there is some sort of mistake," she began, "Im a new transfer from the Academy...Ensign Jillian Normal Serial number XPQ3434..."

"Right right...." the crewman made little hurry up motions with his fingers. "Look lady lets just you're weapons catalogued and we can go."

"I dont HAVE any frazzing weapons!" Jill snapped, "I have not sworn a blood oath on anybody, my family is still alive!"

"Still alive? No weapons?" The crewman looked genuinely confused, "You do realize this is the Galaxy right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well....USS Galaxy.....everybody and their grandma has a Bat'leth or a sniper rifle hanging in their bedroom? Everybody has some mysterious stranger that killed one of their family members as a child........are you sure you're qualified for this assignment?"

Jill was quite flustered..."Qualified....I just spent four years of hell at the Academy to get qualified!"

"Four years?" The crewman had to smother a chuckle, "Oh well that explains it.......what the heck did you take four years for?"

"That was the curiculum!!" Jill snapped.

The crewman made dismissing motions. "Well here on the Galaxy we have a tradition of everybody taking 2 or 3 years tops....if at all. Everybody graduated at the top of their class too."

"Everybody?"

"Yup....We have six valedictorians from 2382 as a matter of fact."

"How the heck do you have 6 valedictorians from the same year?"

That earned her a stupid look.

"Duh....its the Galaxy."

Jill suddenly felt very weary and quite confused......what kind of looney bin had she gotten herself into?

"Look lady......"the crewman felt a bit sorry for her. He tried to use small words since she was obviously an idiot....taking four years for the Academy and all..."I'll go ahead and assign you your cabin, and see if I can rustle up a spare Bazooka for you.....just so you dont feel left out."

Jill just looked at him dully.

"Anyhow," he continued, "Your cabin is 101A on Deck 10.....report to the WABC Department at 0600 tomorrow."

That sparked a new question in Jills mind. "WABC Department? Whats that? I'm supposed to be a torpedo room specialist."

Obviously the girl was a true idiot. "WABC....Walking Around in the Background Department." he rolled his eyes. "You're job is to put on a uniform and walk around in the background not saying a word while the more important crew members do all the talking. "

"WHAT?"

"No no.....you cant speak....when somebody asks you somethinhg you can only nod....see like this.." he demonstrated nodding. "Also whenever an important crewmember walks in the room you have to get up from wherever you are working and let them use that particular station."

"This makes no sense......Im a Torpedo Spoecialist."

"Well now you're background crew.....so get walking lady......just remember when the red alert lights go on just walk faster and with a more determined look on your face."

"I'm so confused...."

"Duh....welcome to the Galaxy."

Thus begins the Space Adventures of Jill Normal.......

The only normal person on the nut bin that was the USS Galaxy.

"Encounter with a Black-Collared Merchant"

Commander Jaal Jaxom

Lieutenant Saul Bental

== Intel Center ==

Jaal walked in to the Intel office looking around. It wasn't entirely different than the set-up on the Miranda, at least ar first glimpse. He glanced at the Denobulan cadet that opened the doors for him and apparently was his escort.

"Captain M'Kantu wants to me to be debriefed before letting me return to duty. I'm Commander Jaxom. I was rescued from DS5."

"Come this way, sir."

The Denobulan led him through the central hall, to the Chief's office at the back. Screens flickered shut and officers ceased their work momentarily as they walked past. It was just like the Intel center on the Miranda, Jaal noted. No unauthorized eyes would get a look at anything they weren't suppose to see. A small half-grin showed on the Trill's face as he followed his escort through the room.

The office was considerably smaller than Jordan's. It was dimly lit, and the walls had a dark shade. For some reason, it reminded Jaal of a back room in a casino. A broad wooden desk divided the office to two separate spaces. The man behind it stood up as soon as his eyes landed on Jaal.

"Commander Jaxom." Saul Bental offered his healthy right arm, smiling cordially. "Welcome to the Galaxy. I am Saul."

"I'm Jaal," he reached to shake the other man's hand, "Obviously, but I'm sure you know all that by now."

Saul just smiled back. Of course he did. He knew the names of many people who were rescued from DS5, and his counter-intelligence specialist Vortas knew all of them, since any one of them could be a dormant Triad agent. But in Jaal's case, it was also Saul's curiosity that led him to find more details about the man.

"I'm also sure you're aware that Captain M'Kantu sent me here to be debriefed after our unexpected stay on the occupied DS5." Jaal tilted his head curiously as he spoke. He couldn't help comparing this intelligence chief with the one he knew for so long on the Miranda.

"Yes. I read the initial reports but I am eager to hear it from the commanding officer in the field. Especially anything you managed to learn about the Hydrans, and how did you manage to practically hand DS5 over to us. It was... spectacular."

"It would have been better to hand it back in one piece," Jaal quipped, "My own ship was overwhelmed by fighters. I had everyone emergency beamed to the station thinking we could help there. I suspected there'd be boarding parties. By the time we got aboard the station, it had already been mostly overrun..." Jaal recounted how his crew and the other survivors of DS5 hid out in the lower decks of the station. He went on to describe how he, Aina, and June sent the original SOS and subsequent message with information about how the Hydrans had taken over. "The only real contact we made with the Hydrans was to drive them back to the upper decks when they got too close to where we were hiding. We really didn't have the personnel or resources to try and take the station back."

"I'm amazed you even survived that long." Saul admitted. "And there were so many of you. Didn't the Hydrans try to vent the lower decks or send armed squads to 'purify' them?"

"They did try and vent the lower decks once," Jaal admitted, "but you'll have to talk to Thyago to find out how they stopped it. He never got around to telling me that story. We kept the patrols at bay by booby trapping most of the decks between us and them. Plus, we used round the clock patrols to keep abreast of their positions." Jaal shook his head, "Jii and I 'knew' the Triad would start hostilities after we stopped them at Romulus but I guess we thought they'd take a different track into Federation territory."

"They didn't have to go elsewhere - look how easy the station fell." Saul shook his head. "Did you, while you're there, gain any information about how the station was taken over without resistance?"

"Our best guess was a mole. The station's sensors never registered the Hydran ships approaching. We found this while rooting through the station's computer network," the Trill explained, "It was like their whole sensor net was just looking the other way at the right time." He shook his head, "There's no way that would normally happen on a Starfleet ship or facility unless 'someone' was screwing with it."

"Like you screwed with the same array after the Hydrans took over." Saul commented. "Very nicely done. To be honest, I was sure that the message was a fake, and its contents a trap. It seemed too good to be true."

Jaal shrugged, "The Hydrans actually had a good idea. We simply used it against them thinking that would be what they least suspect. The only way I could authenticate the message more was to send live video feed. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible at the time. I thought my command passcode and June M'Kantu's signature would be enough." Jaal paused and a grin came to his face, "Next time I'll try harder."

"No need for that. I would suspect anything that comes from an occupied station, no matter how well-authenticated it is. Obviously, it was enough to convince Captain M'Kantu to base the assault plan on your message. Lucky you had an army of hackers with you."

"If you can count three people as an army," Jaal replied with a small laugh, "June and Aina were indispensable. Aina is even better than I am. She's only a cadet but she has some serious skill." He was loath to admit it, but without the cadet's help, things would have turned out very differently.

Saul assumed that by June Jaal was talking about June M'Kantu. But the name Aina was unfamiliar to him.

"Cadet, you say? Is Aina her last or first name?"

"Aina is her first name," Jaal answered, "Mason is her last name."

"She's probably one of these folks who joined the academy after a career on the 'outside', I presume... lucky for you to find one."

"I... don't think so," Jaal corrected him, "Her parents were members of the Miranda crew. Her and several others joined the Academy at the same time, the year after my younger sister."

"Is that a fact."

The Dutchman contemplated this for a while, making some mental notes, until the Commander returned him to the present.

"I've got a question for you now," Jaal offered in an easy going tone. "Captain M'Kantu asked if I'd stay on as a strategic operations officer. What I'd like to know is, has this ship ever had one before?"

"Not since I came on board. I think Commander Tarin is in charge of that right now as part of her responsibilities as Executive Officer."

Jaal nodded, "I see." He pursed his lips in thought a moment before going on. "I went through the strategic ops school back in the day, but I've never been on a ship that actually made use of the position. I don't want to go around needlessly stepping on people's toes. I see Captain M'Kantu has a tightly knit, well seasoned crew here." What the heck was he saying? He wasn't even positive at this point whether he'd take the position or not. Truth be told, however, deep down, the Trill knew, he just had to dig deep and find the answer for himself.

"This crew needs every good man, and never mind the official titles." Saul replied, with sharpness that surprised even himself.

Jaal nodded. 'That settles that then,' he thought privately. The Dutchman bent forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

"I have one final question. Were you able to find out anything - anything at all - about the Triad's objectives or their plans?"

It was a loaded question. The Intelligence community was caught unready by the Triad's invasion. Even now, research specialists and analysts were trying to find answers to the simplest questions anyone who faces an invasion ask himself - 'why was I attacked?' 'What is my enemy going to do next?'.

They still had more questions than answers, and time was ticking.

Jaal was quiet again for a few seconds considering his answer. "Why does anyone attack the Federation? Why does anyone attack anyone else for that matter? We have something they want. What did the Hydrans want on Romulus? What did the Breen want at Havras? Resources? Technology? Spreading their religion? Galactic domination?" He held his hands up, palms out, "Could be any number of things. Jii and I talked about possible reasons at length after our adventure at Romulus." He shook his head, "That or we've done something to seriously piss them off."

"We patronized them." Saul shrugged. "I hardly think it's enough, but it certainly fueled their anger."

"Patronizing can be different things to different cultures. Something you or I would blow off could be seriously offensive to Klingons, Romulans or Hydans. Not to mention the Hydran Proctor killed a while back. I've a nagging feeling that didn't help matters. Not that it's your fault, but I'm surprised the rest of Starfleet was caught so flat-footed on this. We've all known something was going to come to a head sooner or later."

"We just didn't know when. Well then. If you recall anything that has to do with the Hydrans' plans, that you haven't mentioned yet - contact me. At any time."

"Definitely," Jaal replied earnestly, "Had we had the means to take a prisoner and keep him, we could have gotten more." The Trill shook his head, "We were too busy staying alive," he offered as an explanation.

"I'm glad that you succeeded."

"Oh great, a newbie..."

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineer
Ensign Alexandra Lee (PCC--Aaron)
Lt. George Kastanza (NPC)
Lt. Hwii (NPC)

(Set after last battle)

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

Alex's body was sore from the workout she had gotten from the recent battle, which was her first battle ever. For now, she concentrated on attempting to fit a gel pack into one of the EPS lines. She soon heard the sound of someone approaching.

The someone then knelt down. She could smell the stench of body odor and char. Most people found -some- time to shower after the battle, but he didn't seem to care about showering since last month. "Hey, doll."

Remaining fixed on the Gel Pack, she had ev en looked at the perso n next to her. "Hello," she replied simply. "Can I help you with something?" She strained as she tightened the last EPS Valve to the new gel pack.

The grin was predatory. Or feigned predatory. George was sleazy, and a t t imes downright cre epy. "Why yes you can. I get this swelling every so often." Somehow he found ways to be disturbingly forward without getting fired.

Meanwhile, Nara was having a lively conversation at the aqua entrance with Hwii, who had, once again, started chirping and whistling too fast for the translator to keep up. Nara gave up and let him go on his rant as she glance d over to see Kastanza pounce on someone. "Are you listening to me!"

The translated words, turned her attention back to Hwii, "You know you talk too fast for the translator. You're going to have to repeat that whole last spiel. The circuit is what?" Overhearing George, she held a hand up, "Sorry, Hwii, a personnel problem."

"You should go and see the doct or then. I doubt I could do anything about it," Alex replied, not catching the true meaning behind the man's words as she ran a test of the gel pack. Soon a rapid beeping sound came from the EPS Conduit. "Ah, shi..." Before Alex c ou ld react, the gel pack exploded, covering Alex's face with the biological gel.

Nara stepped over behind George with her hands on her hips, "I know you outrank me, but we both know what would happen if Lt. Eshe found out."

George gave Nara a look. "Fine. I'll snag her off-duty." He didn' t seem to mind that the girl he was intending to 'snag' was still right there.

Once he left, Nara gave an apologetic, yet amused smile to the woman, "I'm sorry. It's typical of him. If he gets too forward with you, on or off duty, let our chief know."

"Forward? Why? He was simply telling me about this swelling h e h as an d I suggested he should go to sickbay and see a doctor about it," she replied as she cleaned the biological gel off her face and uniform.

Nara smiled and shook her head, "No. He was hitting on you. Very crudely."

"He was?" she asked, dumbfounded. After a moment it dawned on her. "Oh! That dirty son of a targh."

Nara smirked, "He's much worse than that. Are you new here? To the ship or to this shift?"

Alex smiled. "Both. The Galaxy is my first assignment out of the Academy. Ensign Alexandra Lee, but my friends call me Alex." She then extended her hand.

Nara took her hand and smiled, "Lt. J.G. Naranda Roswell." She was getting rather tired of using those initials. She worked hard and she could see why her attitude wouldn't give her the fast track to Chief, and she was working on that, but she figured her skill and hard work and dedication would get her a rank promotion. At least after this long. It was something that didn't matter. She was going to do her job the best she could and she wasn't about to beg or hint or any such nonsense. There was George who had risen in ranks regardless of...or perhaps because of his lecherousness. Nara tried not to think about it, but she did feel like she had fallen between the cracks and was just forgotten.

She hoped that wouldn't happen to Alex. "Well, I'm not chief or even assi sta nt chief . Heck, sometimes they still have me doing grunt work, but I'd like to tell you some informal nuances about this shift, department and ship."

"Lt.?!"

Nara winced hearing the high pitched annoyed squeal that Hwii produced. "After shift?"

Alex looked to the Hwii officer and then back at Nara. "What about after shift?"

"A drink or coffee or something. If you like. There are some characters I need to warn you about." Sure it sounded like gossip, but she needed to know about certain people who could make you jump out of your socks if you're not prepared. Well, even then.

"Sure," Alex smiled, glad to seemingly have made a friend aboard the ship already. "Sounds like fun."

Nara nodded and hurried back over to Hwii. Neither would admit it, but they'd grown on each other and that chemistry made them sound like an old married couple the way they bickered. Nara's bemused smirk and Hwii's relaxed body language counteracted their tones of irritation and frustration.

Alex went to the Engineering storage locker to retrieve a new gel pack. 'Lets hope another feedback doesn't cause this one to blow up in my face,' she thought.

*****Later, in Ten Forward*****

Nara and Alex sat at a table with drinks and Nara looked eager to share with the new girl about her shipmates. "I'll try not to be gossipy, but there are things people who serve with you know that Star Fleet doesn't include in their bios."

"Oh? Like what?" the young, upbeat officer asked.

"Well..." Nara couldn't pin one person in her mind, "Who would you like to know about?"

Alex searched for any persons she could come up with that she had come across.

"Well...you already warned me about Kastanza...but I guess you should tell me a bit more about the Chief as I haven't had a chance to work with her much since coming aboard. Are there any other 'Kastanza's' aboard that I should be on the look out for?"

Nara thought. "Not really. The others aren't clever or whatever enough to talk themselves out of trouble when caught. But Eshe?" Nara leaned back and thought, "She's tough. She expects the best of a person and will accept no less." She smiled, "It's quite admirable. I don't know how friendly she is with people not in her department, but it doesn't matter. So long as you're in her department, I have a feeling, you'll be treated with firm leadership. Screw up and she'll let you know. She does acknowledge hard work and skill. She's a great boss, but I'm not sure how she'd react to someone trying to befriend her." N ara personally neve r tried. They worked together and now she was over Nara and there was a comradeship, but that's all there needed to be. Both seemed satisfied with that.

"Well, sounds like I got myself a good chief for my first assignment. I think I saw a Capellan aboard...he was wearing a Marine uniform. I have to admit, that I've never even seen a Capellan before. We just studied their culture and physiology a bit during one of my Basic Xenobiology courses at the Academy. Know much about him?"

Nara furrowed her eyebrows. She wasn't sure she had met him. "What's his name?"

"Not sure...but the man is nearly seven feet tall, and built like a hover tank. Not bad looking I must say...speaking of which...any decent men around here? I haven't really noticed any taking an interest in me..but then again I guess I'm aloof to such things...hell I didn't even realize Kastanza was hitting on me until you told me."

Nara chuckled. "A few, I suppose. Saul Bental's mine. But he's hardly decent." She winked.

Alex cocked her head to the side slightly as as she pondered the woman's words..."Oh! Ok," she replied, understanding. Alex could build a EPS Relay Junction from scap parts, yet when it came to men, she was as clueless as a Ferengi at a Vulcan 3-D Chess Tournament. "Who is Saul Bental? Just so I'll know."

"You'll know." Nara smiled, "Unarming charm. Sparkling mysterious eyes. A smirk that could melt your knees." She further explained his actual station on the ship.

"Ah, ok," Alex replied with a smile. "Sounds like quite a man. Anyone else I should be on the lookout for?"

Nara nodded sagely, "He's in the brig, but if you see a wild eyed Marine, named Jedidiah Baile, high tail it to your quarters and call Security. Don't get too close to Victor Kriegoff. He thinks he's death... and he might be right. There is a winged guy around here somewhere. Be careful of him. Also, Eshe's sister. Looks a lot like our chief, but I think a bit sharper."

Alex was actually silent now, as she looked at the woman across from her wide-eyed. 'What kind of ship have I been assigned to?' she mentally asked herself. "So, we have a psychotic Marine, Death himself, a bird man, and identical twin of the chief...got it. So...I guess onto different questions as I'm afraid to ask anymore about the crew. What made you join Starfleet?"

Nara gave a knowing smile. Yes, she understood. "My parents' legacy maybe. I have an interest in ship's systems and all that. Protecting the universe Exploring."

"Hmmm.... I guess its better than mine." After a moment of silence, she continued.

"I...enjoyed an easy life growing up you could say. Went to the best schools, played and did well in sports, and even got a job offer with a top engineering company after graduating New Paris U. But I learned that my parents had made that possible...not myself. So, in retaliation, I joined Starfleet--a place I knew their money couldn'tr dictate my life any longer."

Nara shrugged and took a sip. "Not a bad reason at all."

"So what else is there to do for fun on this ship other than gossip?"

"Plenty. Holodecks, gyms, arboretums. And if you ask nicely, the dolphins may share their moon pool."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Moon pool? Dolphins?"

"You saw me talking to Hwii?"

"Ah, they have their own pool?" she asked, curiously. She loved Dolphins on Earth and was partially fascinated by Hwii.

"They can't move without water. They have to use aquaducts and they have a right to a living area like the rest of us."

"Interesting that they get their own pool and not modified quarters. Have you ever been in this Moon Pool?"

Nara thought a moment. "Maybe they do. But they're a community creature, so need a large space to congregate. And I have. But I got on Hwii's bad side and I'm not really allowed in there. The others want me in there, but I think he's got lead on them or something."

"Why? What did you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't really remember. We've never got along."

"I am sorry to hear that," Alex replied. She never really had a problem getting along with anyone.

The two continued their conversation, gossiping about various crewmembers and getting to know one another.

"One Evening In The Lounge"

1st Lt Branwen London
Cmdr Jaal Jaxom

==Lounge==

Jaal sat at the bar staring down at the bottom of his full glass. He'd ordered a drink but didn't really feel like drinking at the moment. Drinking was for celebrating and the Trill just didn't feel like celebrating at this particular time.

There were a great many things on his mind. First and foremost, should he take M'Kantu's offer and stay aboard? He needed to give the captain an answer the next day. If he stayed aboard how would that affect his Starfleet career? And should he care? Should he keep trying to contact Erastus? He's sent her several messages but had yet to get a reply. It seemed like his entire life had been turned upside down in the past week.

Branwen breezed into the bar and ended up standing next to the stranger. As she was waiting for the bartender to have time to serve her she smiled at him. "A new face, are you one of the new people?"

Jaal looked up at the fresh faced newcomer. He tried to smile but didn't quite pull it off. "I guess you could say that. I'm one of the rescue-ee's from D S five... " he didn't bother to mention his all too brief command of the USS Carthage. The point was a moot one now.

"Who are you and what do you do here?" The Trill was hoping to get her to talk as he didn't really feel like divulging details at the moment.

"Don't worry." She petted his am, "we will have you feeling at home in no time. I'm Branwen, the marine shrink." She was thinking that the man looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place him. "Have they assigned you permanent quarters yet?"

"Marine shrink?" Jaal blinked twice at her, "Marine's have their own shrinks now?" he asked skeptically. Maybe he'd start drinking that drink now.

"I am an experiment." She shrugged. "I run a platoon as well. Makes it easier for them to accept. And they are... you know starting to accept me. But I see navy patients as well. You are navy I guess?"

"If by navy you mean Starfleet, then yes," Jaal answered warily. You could never be too careful around a shrink. "So how does it feel to be a Guinea pig?"

"I like it. It's very rewarding work, especially when you see those tough marines starting to trust you. They know I'm one of theirs so some of them find it easier to talk to me then a navy shrink. But sometimes it gets busy." She didn't tell him that she did overtime almost every day.

"That's great," Jaal mentioned while finally taking a sip of his Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. After setting the glass back on the bar he asked, "So, how long have you been aboard?"

"About two years I guess. Time really flies." She chuckled. "It was my first posting straight from the marine academy. A bit of a shock actually. And how about you?"

He checked the chronometer on the wall, then turned and smiled at Branwen, "About fourteen hours now."

"Poor man!" She said with feeling. "You must be so overwhelmed with all images on the ship. And it is a big one. Is there anything I can help you with to settle in?"

Jaal shook out the first thought that popped into his head. She most likely had a big burly marine boyfriend he didn't want to screw with. "I... don't think so, I'm not even sure I'll be here that long."

"Awwwww why not? Has somebody been unkind to you?" She asked softly. "It's going to be okay, you'll get used to ship this big." Branwen patted his arm.

Jaal watched her pat his arm warily. There was no way he'd believe she was a marine. Arel would eat this chick for lunch. He lightened up and explained his situation a little better. "I'm actually used to a bigger ship than this. I'm originally from the Miranda. I was transferred off to my own command a few weeks ago. The Carthage was destroyed during the Hydrans initial attack on DS5. Now," he shrugged, "I'm stuck here until Command decides what to do with me."

Her hand shot back instantly. "Command!" She blushed profusely. "Sir! I am sorry for being so disrespectful."

Jaal looked at the woman as if she'd sprouted a second head on her shoulders. "What are you talking about?" He had no idea for the reason of her sudden outburst. He had detected no disrespect.

"I treated you as if you were an equal." She was very red in the face now. "I am very sorry, Sir. I find it so difficult to be around navy superiors." She mumbled a little bit in Welsh.

"Oh stop it, please?" Jaal took another drink from his glass. "You were doing fine until you freaked. Relax. We're both off duty right? So as far as I'm concerned we 'are' equals."

It did stop her dead in her tracks, in fact with her mouth open. Slowly Branwen closed it. "Really? You mean that?"

Jaal rolled his eyes while sitting back on the stool, "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

"I am sorry, Sir." She squeaked making herself as small as possible.

Jaal wanted to crawl away. 'Great,' he thought, 'what a great first impression to make.' He shifted his weight in the chair to get a little more comfortable. "You 'need' to relax. Is everyone on this ship as uptight as you?"

"I'm not uptight, sir." She sniffled. Jaal was not be only one wishing she was somewhere else at that particular moment. "I am so sorry if I continue to say the wrong things."

"But..." Jaal waffled. He really couldn't believe this was happening. How was Starfleet going to beat the Triad with marines like this? "You haven't said anything wrong yet." He handed her a napkin to wipe away her tears.

"Thank you Sir." She took a napkin and straight away blew her nose. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not shy around marine officers or civilians. But navy offices...." She shook her head. "Except for my sister, but she's not scary. Not that you are scary, Sir." There she went again, always saying the wrong thing.

'No way this chick is a marine,' Jaal thought to himself while chuckling. "Well, I hope I'm not scary. I have a feeling I'll be around here for a while."

"Then I had better learn not to do stupid things around you, sir." She smiled. "I am working on it, I promise."

"Look," Jaal said seriously looking right at her, "What makes you think I'm so easily offended? For that matter, what reason have you been given to believe 'any' Starfleet officer is so easily offended?"

"I don't know." She mused. "As a child I only had positive relationships with naval officers. My uncle who took my sister and me in after our parents threw us out was a naval commander and my sister is now a naval ship's captain. I just don't understand why higher ranking naval officers scare me now. It happened from the moment I left the marine academy. I have no problems at all shouting at the colonel but when it comes to a commander or a captain I squeak." She said sheepishly.

Jaal just looked at her for a moment wondering... did she have a multiple personality disorder? Every other marine he knew was tough as nails and 'never' squeaked. "Right. Okay," he acknowledged her explanation non-comittally.

"I know it's a problem, and I know it's strange. But I am going to do something about it, I guess I am going to need to talk to one of my naval colleagues, it's just a bit embarrassing, you know. It is so strange, I am afraid they are just going to laugh. I was hoping it would go away, but it is getting worse. The other day I was... well never mind." She blushed.

"Have you thought about seeking professional help?" Jaal asked curiously.

"That's what I just said." Branwen repeated. "I should, but I am afraid they would laugh."

"True professionals won't laugh at you," Jaal countered. "If they laugh, then you should find someone else to talk to."

"usually you are right. I would never laugh at a patient. But the councilors on the ship, I guess we know each other too well. You understand what I'm saying?"

Jaal smiled a mischievous smile. "No," he stated flatly. "There was only one councilor I was actual friends with... but I saw someone else on a professional basis. In fact, I hear he's aboard this ship right now. Ever hear of a Lieutenant Mark? I'd suggest him to anyone looking for a good councilor."

"I knew one councillor on the Miranda briefly, but she was actually pretty nasty to me. Horrible woman. I haven't met Lieutenant Mark yet, you think he would take me seriously?"

"I'm sure he would," Jaal replied confidently. "Who was the nasty one on Miranda if you don't mind me asking?"

"Parri. A really nasty bitch." Branwen wrinkled her nose. "A totally incompetent therapist if you ask me."

'Joli's lover,' Jaal thought to himself. "I can't say I ever really talked to her so I can't offer my own opinion of her," he told her diplomatically. He finished his drink and wondered if he should stay or not. "I guess it takes one to know one eh?"

"You... you...." Now she was turning red with anger. "How dare you say that about me!"

"No," Jaal stated calmly, "I only meant that it takes a 'good' counselor to recognize a 'bad' one. I didn't mean you were on the same level as she was." He chuckled some at her reaction.

"Oh shit." She buried her head in her hands. "You see, I did it again. Saying something stupid."

Jaal laughed a little harder now. "You really gotta chill out." He stood up. "It was really fun talking to you. I've gotta run now. See you 'round."

"See you, sir." She squeaked without looking.

"Not if I'm lucky," Jaal muttered to himself.

"Big Girls Don't Cry"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

Location:Personal Quarters

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

So, she had a dark streak in her. So the hell what? In the big picture...did it matter? This universal struggle between good and evil. One could start out snow white, then change due to circumstance. Ophelia sat gingerly on her couch, surrounded in part to the personal effects of her ex husband. They included his wedding ring...

"What a joke." Her voice harshly cut through the air as she twirled the ring on her index finger, staring at the scratches and dents from years of abuse that usually occurred on her.

She watched as the ring bolted off her finger. The light of the quarters forced it to beam brilliantly, although in her opinion it was always going to be tarnished much like his very soul. It flung itself off the wall, landing with a soft 'push' right in front of her. It's taunting nature made Ophelia outright frown.

Sighing heavily, her shoulders slumped forward. As the console beeped, her head raised with a mild curiosity at the incoming message.

Her way made over, the woman sat, surrounded my memories of a life that despite her best efforts, could not erase from her mind. Pressing the button, a familiar face came to light.

"You shouldn't have contacted me now....this sort of thing is traceable." Her frown hardened in part to the sheer stupidity of the woman on the screen.

"Of that I am aware. It's secure and scrambled. That being said, you received notice of the job being completed. To your satisfaction I gather?"

"He's dead....of course it's to my satisfaction."

The hint of a smile played across the other woman's face. "Excellent. I did receive my payment..."

"Good." Ophelia stated simply. "Anything else?" She spat.

"Nada.....McAlister out."

"Good riddens." Ophelia muttered before turning to activate another button on the console. This time, and older gentleman, somewhat withered in appearance offered her a grim smirk laced with venom. His uniform fit him snugly, the time in the fleet evident by the number of pips on his collar.

"Well?"

"I'm sending the information to you now....Sir. The proof of credit transfer....the tape of the vocal contract....."

"Excellent Lt." He sat back slightly in his chair, the hint of a smirk still haunting his curved lips. "You know....we've been after her for quite some time now."

"Really? How so?"

"Well, we thought we had her a while back...however, the powers that be chose to gave her a reprieve in exchange for her capturing her father. There are those of us that wish and believe it is right to have her pay for her crimes....."

"I understand" Ophelia stated wearily.

"She is after all.....a murderer....and deserves due punishment."

"I agree wholeheartedly Sir. Some of us are pure...some are evil and need to be dealt with according to the fine upstanding code that is Starfleet Law."

"Your account will be credited what it took to hire her...."

"That's fine....." Zamora swiftly responded. "Anything I can do to help.....I am thankful that you and the counsel saw me fit enough to carry out such a responsibility. How long will it be...until she is apprehended?"

"Last reports have her still on earth. However, with her unique talent, she could be anywhere in the universe at this point. My advice is to keep your guard up....in our opinion...she's very dangerous. I'll keep you updated."

"Thank you........."

He nodded then wished her well in a round about sort of way. As the screen deadened, Zamora stared at it for a while, attempting to squelch another feeling of overwhelming dread that started to form in the pit of her stomach yet again.

"Doctor, Doctor - Part II"

With

Branwen London 1st Lieutenant, CO, 5th Platoon & Marine Psychologist Furies Detachment U.S.S. Galaxy

Man'darr Maivia Captain, Battalion XO 188 Detachment, CO 4th Platoon U.S.S. Galaxy

Benedict "Max" Maxwell Petty Officer 2nd Class, Paramedic Practitioner U.S.S. Galaxy

Bran did not feel very comfortable waiting in the waiting room. Dar wanted to hear himself from the doc what was wrong and see the evidence. She knew how conflicted he was over this. They both were sad and confused. She still could not believe this could have happened to them.

Max emerged from the same office that he saw Branwen in before, nodding to the couple before inviting them in. He felt a bit nervous, having to rehash all of the information that he gave Bran to her Fiance. But it's what she wanted, and he was obliged to give the most concise picture possible.

"Alright," he began. "I'm going to go through this in as comprehensive a way as possible. I'll try to keep the medical lingo to a minimum, and point out exactly what I'm talking about. If you have any questions, please feel free to interrupt and ask."

Branwen nodded, she was feeling extremely uncomfortable. She could only pray that the doctor had found some miracle cure since yesterday.

"First," Max said, "I'm going to give you some very good news." He waited a moment for that to sink in, then continued. "A colleague of mine-" My mother's, in reality "-will be able and willing to meet the Galaxy and perform the reconstructive procedure needed to allow you the much improved chance of naturally carrying and bearing a child." Max smiled to emphasize the point.

It was indeed the best he could offer them. He carefully worded his statement, though...He never said an improvement in her ability to conceive. The scarring throughout her uterus...

"You mean my problems are over, I can have babies?" She asked excited. "And what about the?? the act itself?" She was starting to look a little bit happier.

Max felt a sudden need to rub his eyes very hard, although the lighting in the office was not set to very bright at all. "Yeah, about that...Look, Branwen. I'm concerned...well I'm concerned that with the amount of scar tissue that you have, vigorous intercourse may be...problematic..."

"And there is no way you can remove, repair, or replicate the damaged tissues?" Man'darr spoke up suddenly. He may not like medicine, but it didn't mean he didn't understand the basics and capabilities of modern medicine.

"Please Doctor. Can't you somehow remove it, so Dar can have sex with me. Or is it just the pain, I don't mind pain." She knew she would lose her boyfriend if she was not able to perform and to have children. Coming from his warrior society he would never accept her if she wasn't.

"I can't, but the same specialist that's available to help you may be able to do some reconstructive surgery on you. But that's ultimately up to you." Max's last words were meant for Branwen. As much as her and Man'darr were concerned about the ability to be fully intimate with each other, he still believed that the ultimate decision would and should lay with her.

"I don't really have a choice do I?" Branwen said. "Can I talk to this specialist? How much chance do you think there is that we can be intimate and have children. I need you to be honest with us, doctor." She looked at him, pretty calm now.

"I think that you do have a chance actually," Max said confidently. "The specialist's name is Marjorie Fellowes. She's an OB/GYN surgeon, and has done outstanding work over the past 20 years of practice. She's currently at New York-Presbyterian Hospital on Earth, but is willing to head on out here at an opportune time and help you out."

Branwen looked hopefully. "Can I talk to her? I would really like to know how large my chances are. We both need to know before we make decisions."

"I'll arrange a meeting. Say, oh, two hours?"

She turned to Man'darr. "Perfect. Hon? What do you think?" Bran asked softly.

Man'darr thought over what this doctor had to say. "It seems good so far. We will have to see what this specialist has to say." Man'darr was hopeful about this specialist, yet he was still fighting to control his anger at Branwen's father. He hoped for the man's sake that they never meet or it would be his death warrant.

"Okay, great. Any other question before we adjourn?" Max looked to both, hoping that if anything else was going to come out, now would be the time. He always liked the idea of couples being comfortable talking to their medical provider together.

"No. I think we now have to depend on what the other doctor can tell us." She said a bit more hopeful.

"Very well then," Max concluded. "In about two hours, then?"

- - - - - - -

Two Hours Later..........

"Dr. Marjorie Fellowes, thank you so much for taking the time to respond," Max said.

"Anything to help out a family friend, Max," Dr. Fellowes winked back at him. Max internally flustered. He wasn't terribly keen on too many people knowing just how well connected his family was in the medical community, particularly on his mother's side.

"Now, for Branwen and Man'darr I'll give you a description of what I'll be doing: Branwen will undergo a procedure, which will allow her to carry and birth a child normally. This procedure entails reversing the fused pelvis, correcting any osteo malformations, and ultimately allow for natural expansion during gravida and birth. Now I understand there's an added issue of naturally conceiving this child? Max has forwarded the relevant information to me in regards."

"yes ma'am." Bran said. "Can I have sex? I don't mind if it hurts really, but will my partner be able to enjoy it?" She asked casually.

Dr. Fellowes actually blinked for a moment, then quickly gave a polite smile. Max almost choked on the Raktajino he was sipping on.

"Well," the Doctor said on the CommScreen, "The issue is not whether or not he can enjoy it. We have to address the issue of all that scar tissue around your vaginal tract and uterus. It's what's at the heart of Max's original concern for you having safe intercourse.

"What exactly does that mean." She wrinkled her brow in frustration. "There is no opening?"

"Oh, there is an opening, it's just doesn't have a normal shape, no doubt warped from the scar tissue pulling to one side or another," replied Dr. Fellowes.

"But you can change that right? Make it bigger or something?"

"What we can do is replicate the tissue that lines your vagina and uterus," she explained. "Then we can try to graft the new tissue onto where the scar tissue will be removed. That should reduce the stretching and pulling that's warping your lower reproductive tract."

She took a moment to look at something off screen. "My apologies, but I do have a procedure to perform in fifteen minutes. To summarize, if successful, we should be able to restore you to a state where you can have enjoyable intercourse and naturally have children. Do you have any further questions?"

"No ma'am." She smiled.

"Doctor," Max cut in, "how long before you can get here?"

"I can catch a Runabout and be there within four days. Would that be acceptable?"

"Ma'am, how long would it take before I am completely healed after the operation?" Bran asked.

"It will take a few days," she said. "I'll see you in a few days, then. Max, as always," Dr. Fellowes winked as the connection ended.

"Well, there you have it folks," Max said. "I'll start you on a vitamin supplement regiment to promote healthy tissue growth and regeneration. This should reduce the amount of time it takes for you to heal after the procedure. I'll also need you to head over to the lab and give some tissue samples for us to replicate."

"Anything, if that heals me. Thank you Doctor." Branwen gave him a very bright smile.

"Please, call me Max," he said with mock exasperation, his hands held palms out.

Man'darr glared at Branwen. He felt both angry and hurt at Branwen's words. "I am glad you think so little of me," he began, sarcastically. "To be pleasurable for me only? Do you think that I do not care for your safety and well-being?"

"Dar!" She whispered. "Please, not in front of the Doctor." She shot Max an apologetic look. "I know how important this is for you, don't be angry, I am having this operation for you." She pleaded.

"You don't want this discussed in front of the doctor, yet you feel fine to make it sound to others as if I do not care for your safety."

"You don't understand." Branwen whispered. "I don't mind pain, really I don't. I am used to it, and I know that sex and reproducing are important to you." She really didn't understand why he was so angry, she was doing this for him.

"You should not be used to pain. I do not want you to feel pain while mating...and have you ever stopped to think that just perhaps you were important as well?"

"If it's a choice between feeling pain and losing you, it's not a difficult one." She whispered.

*Oy vey*, Max groaned silently. "Branwen, Man'darr," he said aloud. "While the conversation doesn't faze me one way or another, I think this is something that you two should take to a place a bit more private, and more conducive to the both of you working out...whatever it is that needs to be worked out, M'kay?" He looked at both of them, hoping he was conveying the clear fact that he didn't really need to be involved at this point.

"You're absolutely right, Doc, I apologise. Dar shall we discuss this in private?"

"Very well," Man'darr stated simply, as he stood and made his way towards the door.

Branwen gave the doctor an apologetic look and then followed him. "I will be back for my vitamins and the tissue samples."

"I'll be here," Max smiled, watching them go. *Oh, yeah. This is going to be very interesting... *

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