"For those about to rock......"

Being Part VI of the END OF ALLISON Saga

There was a time and a place for glitter speckle and bubblegum.

There was a time and a place for pink highlights and rosy cheeks.

No more.

This was a time for leather miniskirt and fishnet stockings.

This was a time for cruel spike heels and a tight low cut vest.

Bare midriff.

Long legs.

Sultry smile.

Allison traced a dark line of mascara around her eyes, erasing the normally
cheerful speckles of glitter.

No lollipop rock and roll.

This was rebellion.

The hell with him

The hell with her.

What a zarking waste of time.

From the corner of the room, Mary Poppins watched the slim form of Allison
bending over her makeup desk with more than a little concern.

Long legs........thin waist.......low cleavage.......

16 years old?

While normally it was fascinating to watch the human female ritual of
face-painting, even the sentient rock could detect a definite change in
attitude and design.

She looked dead......or maybe it was Allison's heart that looked dead.

Mary watched as Allison smoothed down her skirt and licked her goth-red lips
in the mirror.

"So what did he say dearie?" the electronicly modulated voice carried a
touch of the Horta' concern. "What did he say when you confronted him?"

"Wouldnt see me." Alli answered without turning from the mirror. She
selected a tool from the desk and applied black highlights to the tips of
her blond hair. "Bastard wouldnt even talk to me."

Black tips....black like her heart.

Mary frowned....if it was possible for a rock to frown. "Well it is a busy
time......what with the mission and all."

"Yeah? Well fuck them." Alli spat, "They dont want to be rescued what the
hell do I care? At least he could have talked to me."

Mary recoiled a bit. She had never....ever known her roomate to use
vulgarities.

"He's getting married."

"Yeah....well....we'll see about that."

Mary watched as Alli retouched up her lipstick and leaned forward to 'kiss'
herself in the mirror.

She considered the resulting lip-print with concern.

"Going out then tonight duckie?" the rock asked hopefully. "Getting over it
and seeing new people?"

Allison whirled to face her roomate, and evil red smile painted on her cold
pale skin.

"Amatuer musician's night in Ten forward Mary.", she breathed huskily a sexy
strand of hair falling across her eyes. "Im gonna play tonight."

Eyeing the short skirt, hose, and cleavage, Mary wondered what was meant by
'playing'.

She couldnt help but feel a motherly role towards the young human.

Somebody had to watch over her.

Allison walked her long legs over to where her purple guitar sat and slung
it up and across her back.

Screw em.

Screw the Galaxy.

Screw Mika.

Screw James.

She paused to take a look in the full length mirror.

The image there could not decide if it was reflecting a 16 year old
whore......or a grown woman on the prowl.

~~Who the hell am I?~~

Who cares?

"Dont wait up Mary." she strode for the door, hair flashing in the light, "I'll be out all night."

"Give her an Offer She Cannot Understand" - Part 1

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Midshipman Aina Mason
Communication Officer

**** Unity Headquarters, Somewhere in London - Mid Nineteen Sixties *****

The double doors swished open as Agent Mason entered into the Technology
section of Britain's elite Intelligence Agency known as Unity. The vibrant
orange mini-dress with the brown fitted coat and the white vinyl calf boots
she wore clashed with the white coats and black trousers of the technicians
that bustled around testing and working on some of the technology that an
elite intelligence operative needed in the Cold War against the Russians on
Earth.

She looked at all of the tape drives and blinking indicator lights. There
was the clatter of typewriters spewing reams of paper as the results of
analysed data was printed on the paper. She noticed a hazy black and white
image on a monitor showed a grey cinder block wall.

She picked up a compact case on a bench next to the monitor, flicking it
open, she looked at herself in the small mirror. As she raised an eyebrow
in appreciation, she flicked a lock of the pink hair away from her forehead.
Another hand, a rather male hand reached out and with fold of the fingers,
the compact case clicked shut.

"I would wish that you would look with your eyes and not with your fingers,
Agent Mason. I would think that an agent of your reputation would act more
responsibly," the Head of Science and Technology, 'S' said as he took the
compact case and handed it to another technician.

Aina watched as the second technician took the compact case and moved
through a heavy door into another room, on the black and white monitor, she
watched as he rotated a stylised 'A' on the lid and then with the tips of
his fingers, rotated the edge of the compact case.

Placing it against the wall and touching the 'A,' the man left the room with
a hurried casualness. Aina noticed that the Head of S and T was watching
with a little interest as well. A few seconds after the technician had
exited the room, he flicked another switch and on another black and white
monitor flickered on, it showed a close up of the compact, the symbol slowly
rotating back to it's proper orientation.

As the 'A' rotated back to it's normal position, the monitor went white and
a muffled whummmpf seem to come from the other side of a wall, behind Aina.
S gave a slight smile, but that changed to annoyance as he looked up and saw
a thin trail of plaster dust falling from the roof. With a flick of his
hand, he removed the plaster that covered his shoulder.

On the monitor, was a large hole in the two foot bricks, big enough for a
couple of people to walk through, the debris of the cinder blocks were still
clattering to the floor.

Aina nodded, "Very impressive..." she started.

"Modified D4 explosive granulated and re compressed, we've been able to
direct nearly all of the blast into the surface, rather than it being wasted
against the air," returned S. "Years of work in redirecting the blast."

"I'm sure, but it proves to me that if you want to make a big entrance - be
sure that you have the right make up," Aina dead panned, internally, she was
beaming, quite proud of herself coming up with that line.

As S gave one of his confused looks, Aina heard a message over the PA of the
base. "Agent Mason - real world communications - Lieutenant Bental."

With a frown Aina froze the holo-program and called up the arch. Walking
the couple of metres to the panel, she tapped on a control. "Midshipman
Mason: Yes Lieutenant, how may I help you?"

=/\= Ms. Mason, if you're not busy right now, could you please come to the
intelligence offices at deck 8? =/\=

Aina nodded as she spoke, "Yes Sir, I can be there in a couple of minutes."

=/\= Excellent. I'll see you there. Bental out. =/\=

Aina tapped the control, more intrigued and interested in what the
lieutenant would want with her, the Head of Intelligence.

Tapping another control, the double doors to the holodeck opened and Aina
walked out. She didn't notice any of the surprised looks as she headed back
to the turbolift. Unlike many people, they just had the holodeck wrap the
optical illusion of their costume on them. But Aina preferred to wear the
costumes, it helped her in becoming the character.

And it seemed so appropriate to - she would be Aina Mason - The Operative
going to the intelligence section of the USS Galaxy.

**** Few minutes later ****

That small hint of showing off, the confidence that had Aina wearing her
holodeck costume had started to wear off. She was nervous with having an
armed intelligence officer, (a Lethean!) standing next to her as she sat
down in the middle of Intelligence Command and Control. She had been
waiting for Lieutenant Bental for the last couple of minutes. This mixed
with the feelings of embarrassment of wearing such an outlandish costume
started to combine and she could feel every stare from the small number of
personnel worked in the area.

She was in a standard SFI ship-board center, but there had been
modifications - she recognised some of the more esoteric data assault
devices and system entry, more super secret squirrel stuff, even she had
seen at Santa Clara. One of the things that would have interested her
more, if she hadn't stupidly decided to wear the costume was that a lot of
the screens were still displaying data and information. She was trying to
make every conscious effort not to look at the information. They might have
forgotten about Information Security Protocols, but she hadn't.

So she stared at the floor, trying to ignore the wealth and treasure of
computers and devices that would normally have her undivided attention, as
she waited for the Lieutenant.

Nervously flicking a pink lock of artificial hair from her eyes, she watched
as a small door sled open in the back of the central hall and Saul Bental
walked out.

The Dutchman didn't miss a beat at the clash of primary colours against the
subdued colour scheme in the CIC. He stopped next to the obviously nervous
midshipman, scanning her unusual attire from pink hair to toes.

"Unique." He muttered with a smirk.

Aina stood up as the man she recognised as Lieutenant Saul Bental moved over
to her. He wasn't wearing a uniform either, she noticed, but rather a beige
shirt made of real wool and a brown corduroy jacket that saw better days.

"Midshipman Mason, reporting as ordered." Her eyes glanced down at the
device around his arm, but she forced them back to focus to back to his
face.

"I'm Saul. Nice outfit. Made it yourself?"

Aina gave a nervous nod, "Yes sir. I was off-duty and I was..."

"On the holodeck, I suppose. I prefer to bring my own clothes too. Although,
I like the real life action rather than the simulations, never mind how good
they get."

Aina nodded, "I don't think there is much chance for that, Lieut..."
She turned as Saul waved his hand at the scary escort Ensign - he chose
Vortas for a reason - and the two were left alone.

"Please Aina, you don't mind Aina do you..." started Saul.

Aina shook her head, as he continued, "Saul," he finished with a slight
smile.

"I heard a little about your feats on DS5, and I really liked your work."
Saul began. "Some of the stuff you and the others did probably kept some of
the guys here in one piece. So I thought to offer you the grand Intel CIC
tour to show my appreciation, especially since we probably have some
technologies here that might interest you. IF you're interested, of course."

Aina was certainly interested and Saul saw that in her eyes - "Yes Si...Saul
- I would like that. But..." she started.

"If you're worried about the clothes, we have some spare uniform - Lali's
about your size, and Raynor's not around so you can change safely if you
want to."

"Ummm, Yes I'd feel a lot more comfortable, thank you sir. But, most of
this," Aina gestured to the screens, "much of this is above my clearance
rating."

"Usually that would be true, but right now they're on 'guest mode' and don't
show anything that truly risks operational security. First thing first -
Lali!"

A tanned Ensign left her post and approached them. Smiling broadly, she
introduced herself to Aina, then led the Bajoran to a small refreshment
area. It had a small bathroom a mirror, and several lockers.

"Feel free to take a uniform from the one marked 'Indrakshi'." Lali offered

"Thank you," Aina called out as Lali left the small refreshment area.

"Connor"

With

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

*Temporary Billeting*

Connor was next to him, his fishing pole the best that credits could buy.
Max had an old style fishing vest and hat to go with his rubber boots as
they stood in the marshes of the road that led to Grand Isle in Louisiana on
Earth.

"Dad!" Connor exclaimed, as his line went taut, then started to pull the
pole into a sharp bend.

"Easy, Connor," Max said moving quickly to help his son. "Give the line
some slack, but not too much. You don't want him getting away from ya."

The pair laughed and giggled as they fought together with the 100 lb test
line, the fiberglass pole seeming to be ready to give at any second.
Finally with one last sharp tug, they pulled a 20 lb Redfish out of the
water.

"Dad, look at that!" Connor shouted in excitement.

"Yeah, you got a nice one there," Max replied. "We'll grill it later, you
think?"

"Absolutely! Can we get that Cajun spice that you like?"

"Ah Gah-ron-tee, uh-huh," Max said in his worst Cajun accent. Both exploded
with laughter, and Max actually fell back into the shallow water, unable to
contain himself any further.

When he got up, the laughter was gone, the marsh was gone...Connor was
gone. The immediate anger, sorrow, and sense of loss gripped him like a
constrictor grips its prey. He sat up in his bed, sobbing. The tears could
flow freely, now. There was no one to see them. Once again, he was robbed
of his son, even in his dreams. A sound escaped his throat not unlike some
wild beast mourning the lost of its young. He could feel his throat
beginning to close up, his breathing labored...a panic attack!

It was the third such in the last week, and it was wearing him to the point
of breaking. He scrambled out of bed finally, and got a class of water from
the replicator. Then he replicated another with ice cubes, and set it on
the hideaway next to his bed. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, he
had stopped sweating, and his hands didn't feel so clammy.

After about ten or so minutes, Max went to the CommTerminal and sat down in
front of it. He hesitated, not sure if he should make contact now, or wait
until after the mission. It tore at him, the indecision. The screen would
remain blank this evening, however. Max eventually went back to his bed,
rolled over, and didn't dream for the rest of that night.

"Give her an Offer She Cannot Understand" Part 2

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

LT JG Valentina Kyznetsova
Intelligence Officer - Technical Operations

Midshipman Aina Mason
Communication Officer

Aina headed out of the refreshment area to meet back with Saul. She felt
more herself wearing a proper uniform, rather the more garish costume.

"Black collar suits you well." The Dutchman told her.

Aina just gave a small uncertain smile in return. Straightening up the
uniform and knowing she wouldn't have to worry about Operational Security
had her that little more relaxed. As she looked around, she looked at Saul
- "Very impressive sir."

"The automatic Subspace baseband channel parser with the Lingo module?" Saul
bent over the wall panel, taking a closer look. "Yes, we're probably the
only Galaxy-class who have one of those, you usually find them only on
stationary outposts. But why am I talking - Valentina!"

A pale skinned woman joined them. Saul introduced her as the Technical
Operations officer. Aina didn't quite catch the family name, but had little
time to deliberate as Valentina launched into an explanation about the
AutoParser. It was a nice piece of hardware, boosting the ship's abilities
to intercept subspace messages on-line. An autonomous and isolated computer
core was in charge of translating the voice into a text message, and
filtering out any message containing malware or other harmful signals intent
on frying a sensor array.

Aina nodded and inside she was impressed, this was the edge of data mining
and security. She looked over it, "You still using the NlangTran three
point seventy seven library?" she asked.

Valentina nodded, "I try to keep things as up to date as I can." She looked
pointedly at Saul. "I'm not always privy to the latest upgrades."

Aina nodded, "You might want to look over the three point ninety two beta.
Seventy seven was open to a half port SQL injection on the speech to text
conversion. The module would crash and the bogus packets would allow a root
access request that would forge module access."

Valentina stopped for a moment and the style of the conversation changed,
her description became more technical, in some little ways to find out the
midshipman's level of competence. Aina just kept right with her.

Saul waited for a while before interjecting with the two women's
conversation. He didn't understand half of what they said as it was, so he
had no guilty feelings.

"Like I said Aina, I heard what you did on DS5 - what I would like to know,
what was the inspiration for using the Hydrans own work against them," He
asked.

"It's because computers are all programmed to do what they are told, and
everybody knows that. So usually when someone gets a computerised system to
do something and it says it's done, they'll believe it. What most people
don't ever think of is that a computer can sometimes lie."

Saul gave her a crooked grin. "Or at least, be told to lie, eh?"

Aina gave a nod, "Your job is to find the lies in people and to tell
believable lies to people - but you have to convince people what you are
saying is true."

"A little like in real life." Saul echoed.

"I convince computers what I want them to know is true and when the computer
tells a person, they will believe the computer, no convincing needed. The
other side of my job is to find out when a computer has been lying. I can
control information flow and information is used to control everything
else," Aina explained.

She shrugged, "I knew that the Hydrans thought the sensor hack was turned
off and I controlled what went into the sensor hack, so they were believing
my lies. Like the Command Staff believed the Hydran lies when the Hydrans
attacked. It was logical to me."

"That's why I tell my people daily never to take anything for granted."

That was actually true; The issue came up once every two or three meetings,
and the intelligence crew already knew Saul's philosophy on the matter. It
was, basically, to assume that everything can be a lie and nothing can be
trusted, and mitigate the derived risks.

"Let's see what else might interest you... hmmm..." The Intelligence chief
scratched his chin. "The left door over there is the small research center;
Intelligence research is usually done on stationary bases but we do small
research jobs here and our analysts have the benefit of a state-of-the-art
Intelligence Database. The adjacent doors are to the technical workshop and
the I.W. room - they'll stay out of bounds for obvious reasons.

Saul didn't need to spell out what I.W. meant to Aina. She knew the meaning
of the acronym pretty well. Information Warfare.

They continued the tour, stopping now and then by a station or a crewmember,
Saul giving a short explanation and Aina asking questions. The officers
seemed mildly annoyed at having to stop their work for a visitor, but
answered questions politely nonetheless.

After another half an hour, both ended up in Saul's office. Saul knelt next
to the replicator and began ordering two glasses of hot tea.

"Tell me - the manifest states that you're a communications officer. Is that
what you really did on the Miranda?"

"Yes sir. Communications has been reinstated as a department because of the
exact same reason that Tech Operations Officer Valentina...Kissnetsoza?...
ummm was so proud of her equipment. Everyone still utterly believes
computers, they have to. If you didn't..." Aina shrugged, "If you don't
believe the life support system, then why are you stepping onto a starship.
But there has been more and more evidence of tools to bypass Federation top
information security systems and Starfleet is worried. The one that effects
the autoparser, we think came from the Romulans."

"So you did use your skills and the things you learnt on Santa Clara, as a
communications cadet?"

"Yes sir, but most of the time, it was mostly grunt work. Bandwidth
maintenance, channel transfer, signal routing and the like. The only real
time that I got to have 'some fun' was on Gyndine. But after that, I think
I prefer the holodeck, you can't get shot in a holodeck. Uhhhh - what do
you know about Gyndine, sir?" asked Aina a little worriedly.

Saul's straight face hid his amusement completely. The cadet didn't flinch
at him mentioning Santa Clara, but then brought up the issue of Gyndine
which she was reluctant about. Or perhaps she caught up with the game and
tried playing herself.

"Intelligence ALWAYS knows. Or at least we try. Let's say that I was
curious, and when I'm curious about things I study them in depth. In fact,
that's why you are here today."

Aina gave another slow nod, as she gave a silent 'oh.'

"I got an idea which I think you'll like."

Saul put both cups of tea on the table, then took a long sip, not taking his
eyes off Aina. So young, and yet she came with enough receipts. Come to
think of it, it was untypical for him to regard another officer as 'young'.

The drink seared his tongue. He placed the cup down.

"I think Intelligence will be a more appropriate place for you than
Operations, professionally. While I can see why you didn't major in
Intelligence in the first place, but nonetheless I think working with us
will prove very fruitful for you. Also, my current computers specialist is
wounded, so someone who knows her way could benefit me as well. What I
propose is that you work here two days a week, and perhaps full time for
short periods of time given specific 'projects'. Your thoughts?"

Aina didn't need to think about it much as she lifted up the cup and sipped
the hot tea, it was a chance to be on the cutting edge, to pit her skills -
and as much as she was scared on Gyndine and as much as she would deny it -
it gave her that thrill to be a real 'spy.' She nodded smiling, "I'd like
the opportunity, si...Saul."

"Good."

He took her hand and shook it - not too firmly, but not too gently either.
"Welcome to the crew Aina."

"Thank you, s...Saul. Ummm..." Aina started. "Lieutenant Jamson? He has
to..."

That sly grin again. "I'll talk to Michael and let you know when it's
official. Don't go bragging about it before you hear from me, but it IS
going to happen. In fact, don't go bragging at all."

Aina had stood up and now she waited a little unsure of what to do now.

Saul smiled. "Yea, yea, you can go. No need for an escort. Be here for
department meeting in two days, 10:00 hours. And keep the uniform."

With a tiny nod, Aina headed out of his office into the Intelligence Area
and then out to the ship proper.
Saul waited for some time after she vanished, rubbing his nose bridge
slightly. She took the bait easily - almost too easily. He would say that
this proved that she was too naive for intel, but their conversation about
truths showed him that she had potential.

Even he was naive once. When he was three or four years old.

He left his office, and counted in his heart until the first reaction came.
The count didn't pass '3'.

"Despite her apparent skittishness, judging from her previous works I
believe Ms. Mason will be a valuable addition to our department's
activities." Valentina came up behind Saul from where she'd been discreetly
observing the entire exchange in the CIC proper.

"Good. Because she'll be under your supervision as technical officer." Saul
replied, giving her a friendly tap on her shoulder. "I just hope her fashion
taste will improve. I'll never send her to a covert OP dressed like
THAT..."

"Thorns"

Saul Bental
J. Andrus Suder, apc

****

USS Galaxy
Cargo Bay

He knew he shouldn't but there was something irresistible about
annoying the hell out of Saul Bental.

"Hi Saul," Andrus said cheerfully.

The Lieutenant glared at him. Since ch'Rihan, he came to think of
Andrus as a thorn on his side, painful but not lethal. The Betazoid
could be potentially dangerous to him - and the Captain - but he
seemed to bid his time making his next move. Saul resolved to be
patient as well, and instead of making a move of his own kept a very,
very close eye on the fake librarian.

"You still here? And aren't you supposed to be closely guarding some
holomovies?"

"I'm doing my civic duty," Andy replied with a smile. "Helping set up
for the incoming colonists."

"How gallant of you. Most stowaways I know of usually just sit tight
in their mouse hole until they reach the right port. Which isn't going
to happen soon, by the way, war and all."

"I know," The librarian replied with an exaggerated sigh. "It seems
I'm destined to remain onboard the Galaxy. Indefinately."

For the rest of your life, perhaps, thought Saul. Andrus knew too
much. He had to be kept under close supervision, or to be rid of. Saul
disliked the second option, but the first could blow in his - or
Captain M'Kantu's - face at any time.

"You can never have too many con men on board the ship." Saul shook
his head. "Some times I think you stay here because you're terrified
of what's going to happen to you the moment you leave."

"It's possible," Andy said conversationally. "I'm not really sure what
I want to do when I grow up, although I was giving strong
consideration to applying to Academy."

"I'll give you a reccomendation letter if you want - they are in dire
need of lazy librarians," Saul retorted.

That pissed him off. He may have used the job as a cover but he always
did his best at it. The same with any cover job he had ever pulled.
His parents didn't believe in half messures, after all. "I am an
*excellent* librarian, Bental."

"How does one measure the skill of a librarian?" Saul inquired,
pretending to give the matter a deep thought. His brows knitted, and
he tapped on his forehead with his finger. "A difficult question
indeed. Perhaps you are overqualified for the academy."

Andrus shot him a look. "I am. The Federation is weak when it comes to
certain disciplines."

"On that, you have no argument on that."

Saul was the first one to criticize the Federation for suffering from
the same maladies as many nations which provided their citizens with a
high quality of life. His fellow cadets back at the academy were a
prime example for what happened to people who were used to a life of
ease and safety. He had no complaints about the Federation's
librarians, though.

"Perhaps you and my department's informatician, Seren, should hold a
Librarian's competition?" Saul offered, in a manner so serious that it
would require a telepath, such as Andy, to realize Saul was joking.

Andy mentally counted till ten. "Well, I can see your busy. Nice chat.
Must do it again some time."

"If I feel like keeping you around."

And this was why he shouldn't have irritated the man. Karma was such a
bitch. "If I took a lie detector test and passed, showing I have no
intentions on trying to mess up you or this ship, you still wouldn't
believe me, huh?"

Saul extended his arms to the sides. "No, because of the way you got
on board, and not just because I know you're a very good liar. You
would do the same if things were the other way around."

"I did what I had to do, Saul," Andrus replied. "You'd have done the same."

A sincere chat with Andrus. Who would've thought? Then again, Saul
regretted not having Thing around. The furry pet was entertaining Saia
right now, instead of protecting his owner's mind.

"To get out of ch'Rihan? Probably. Though I would go about it in a
different way. Sticking around on a military ship with at least two
senior crewmembers knowing that I don't belong? I would get off as
soon as I am able. Too limitting."

"The thought had crossed my mind." More than crossed actually. But
fate it seemed kept him onboard. That and a certain psychologist. Then
he grinned. "But if I left we'd never have these moments together."

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Saul's glare darkened. "All good things come
to an end."

"My mother actually," Andy said with a shrug. "She also told me never
to buy into anyone's bullshit so ..."

The intelligence chief chuckled ominously. "At least she did ONE thing
right, eh?"

The Betazoid felt himself tense. Saul knew he didn't take comments
about his parents lightly so there was no need to remind the man of
his weakness. "I really should get back to help. I'll be back at the
Library later if you want to trailed veiled threats and insults. Hell,
even just threats and insults."

"Are you assigned to one of the teams?"

"For the moment."

"Good luck." Saul said simply, turning his back on the librarian.

"I'm sorry, could you say that into my good ear?" Andy shouted after
the intel officer, but was rewarded only by silence.

"Twas the Night Before Christmas, a Galaxy Tale"

T'was the Night before Christmas, and all through the ship,
The crew had passed out from a synthehol trip,
The party robust from the Holiday cheer,
Had left poor Ten-Forward without any beer.

Krieghoff had carted the stragglers with care
To their quarters or brig to sleep off the fare.
M'Kantu and Ianara had finished their toast,
To the Federation ship that suffered the most
>From assassins, and Hydrans and T'Kith'kin, oh my!
'Twas enough to make even Cutter Kara'nin cry.

The decks were all silent, like a stygian tomb
And even the shuttle-bay was idle, with room
Enough for a ship of unusual draft
That made aft scans warn of an alien craft.

A bright, cherry red-caddy with bright chrome and fins
Drawn by five tons of murderous Kzin,
Who were irate at the weight of the caddy they'd borne,
Captained by a red and white outfitted Gorn.

With a glare from his eyes and a drip from his fangs,
He strode through the bay where Quaaliu hangs,
And pesters and prods his pilots to work,
While they mutter and grumble and bitch at the jerk.

With stealth that belied his incredible bulk,
The Gorn strode through the decks of the hulk,
Through Engineering, Security, Tactical he sniffed,
Medical, Counseling and Sciences weren't missed.

At the helm, on the bridge old Darkstar did snore,
With Jamson at Ops (the job IS a bore),
Pennington dozed, restless in slumber,
And Jaxom flaked out with the rest of the number.

Onward he hunted for his difficult prey
For 'revenge', he swore would be his one fine day.
Not cold, like some difficult Klingonese dish
But bleeding and warm was his reptilian wish.

'The manifest', he thought with a murderous urge
And to the comm station he leaped with a vigorous surge
To tap quickly at the board at Ania's station
In hopes that the hunt would lead to elation.

Galaxy's crew was substantial, the list was quite large
And the Gorn's stomach when he noticed some Targ
Brought into stores for Arel Smith's dinner
(she should really cut back, it'd make her much slimmer).

When he found what he sought he screamed with a hiss,
For the target of his hate, he had hunted? and missed!
"TRANSFERRED", was the word on Le'on Khatrowen's file,
That would boil K'aa's temper for more than a while.

"Bassstard", he muttered his fanged maw agape,
Then he noticed the figure of Artim awake.
With phaser in hand, the Miranian smiled
"Santa's been bad", said the voice of a child.

"Sssanta'ss pisssed off", K'aa said with a smirk
"And made precautions to make sure that phasssersss don't work.
And pointing that thing will worsssen my mood,
Now fork it right over, or I'll consssider you 'food'".

To the shuttle-bay Santa K'aa finally came back,
With unfrozen Targ wrapped up in his sack,
And Artim at last had something clever to say
"Just what brought you here, all this terribly long way?"

"It'sss a long ssstory, not just mere fancy or whim,
That's carried on over from another Trek Sssim"
With a wink of his nictitating membrane slick,
And broad grin from his fangs, little Artim was sick.

"Now Fluffy! On Kibbless! On Frisssky and Chipper!
On Meow-Mix, on Bigglesworth, on Snowbell and Whiskers!
Let'sss make it off thisss ssstarship in time,
And make course for Cait ? REVENGE WILL BE MINE!"

"All of Me"

Argrata Kaul (NPC-Michal)
Colony Leader

Location: Gamma Vereed III Personal Home

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

The slight brisk chill in the air teased the fridge on the bottom of
her skirt as she walked with a light step, but heavy purpose as she
hugged herself from the chill. Chastising herself presently, she knew
she should have wrapped herself in her shaw earlier that day.
However, the sun warmed her, so toting around an extra piece of fabric
was not conductive to her positive flow of inner energy. Her age was
wearing on her, the layers of warmth from her body structure were
thinning these days, as with much of her overall demeanor. Youth, in
so many ways had it's advantages but lacked the wisdom of the aged.
Given the choice, she would readily combine the two.

Her hands rubbed her forearms as her abode came into her vision.
Small, yes. However, there was only her that resided there.
Honestly, her and her cat Dartanion. Upon the door, a wooden
Pentagram wreath greeted her. Part of her was surprised that it had
not been knocked off like it had been in the past. Someone, some
people did not understand her practices. She was a minority of sorts
among the colonists, yet still revered for her visions for the
colony.....not her spiritual practices. Someday soon, that would
change, she felt it in the air...an electricity that was negative in
nature was gathering all around them. A strange essence, one of
uncertainty and unrest was disturbing to her.

Entering her home, the stale wooden scent of lilac incense welcomed
her. Everything was in it's place. Maroon walls showcased the
pictures of her life. Her daughter, her son in law, her small
grandson all greeted her with warm smiles from the past. Sighing
heavily, Argrata stopped as her eyes fell upon the one picture she
held dear. It was of the whole little perfect family. Her
daughter.....her revered goddess of who she raised by herself now
granted a family of her own.

Her frail withered hands reached out and plucked the frame off of the
black lacquered grand piano that was in her front room. Her fingers
outlined the frame as her heart felt an overwhelming sense of sadness.
Nothing, at least not much in this universe was balanced. Wars
started, wars ended, wars started once more. History repeats itself
because people do not listen the first time. As many times as she
wanted to scream this at the top of her lungs for all to hear, it
would not change anything in the big picture. As many protective
spells as she cast, they fell short for some reason. Her small
family, except her grandson lay slain at the hands of another enemy of
Starfleet. She was, after many years of solitude about to become a
full time grandmother in a very short amount of time.

The idea of having Eragon again felt right despite her age. She would
take loving care of the little red head, much the same that her
daughter did for the six short years of life she had the privilege of
having him as a son. He was aboard the USS Galaxy, in the care of a
Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora. From the story that she had been given, she
found him hovering over her daughter's dead body on DS5, held onto
him, and loved him like her own. The precious woman.....to take
someone that she knew nothing about and love him. Argrata was
positive there was more to the story, perhaps if things went good, she
would meet this Lt. Zamora and properly thank her.

Her wounds were fresh, yet she had to heal herself to be able to
handle the challenges that would face her shortly with her usual grace
and poise. The woman didn't want to....she wished she could run away
to solitude and face what she felt coming. The ominous nature hung
over her for many nights and days. There was only one way that this
could happen.....it wasn't light she was feeling....it was
darkness.....extreme darkness.

"The Eusaran"

Lambda Vered IIc Colony

--

Her father had told her that land was the single
most important thing a body could possess. It
made you real, he said, it made you matter, and
it made so many other things completely
insignificant. As long as you had a place where
you could be, where you could exist, everything
else was manageable. And as soon as a people had
their own space in the cosmos, they could not longer be beholden to anyone.

It was all well and good and Zhara Vi'Nald could
not say she didn't appreciate no longer having to
live on that ship -- at least, not while it was
trapped in the vacuum of space. But she had to
admit that more often that not she wondered if
*this* land had been worth his life, if this
wasn't just some sort of joke that Hlath'hal
(the Great One) was playing on her people.

With all the cautious optimism her people had
developed over the vast number of years, they had
come to call this place D'ch kal mat'hal. It
translated literally into Standard as "the
position upon a hill whereupon our deaths mean
the brightest sunshine." More colloquially, it
was the Promised Land, the place for which they
were meant after millennia lost in the cosmos, a
punishment bestowed upon them by Hlath'hal for
destroying their own home world long, long ago.

Zhara wasn't one to question Doctrine. Like all
Eusaran, she'd accepted it as truth from an early
age and had journeyed with parents, clan, and
sect in search for D'ch kal mat'hal.

She just wondered why their Promised Land had to
be such a proverbial D'mak'tal th'al ra'hal (hell hole).

The tiny moon orbiting a gas giant was barely
M-class, and the terraforming had only made a
marginal difference. The growing seasons were
short and the rain infrequent. Irrigation had
been difficult and relied too much on replication
to be wholly in tune with the scriptures, though
the V?ll? assured them that the Doctrine provided
for the idea that living was the prime directive
as Hlath'hal commanded each Eusaran to have
their own and unique Kal Athara (great
experience): it was the only way Hlath'hal could learn and experience.

Theirs was a broken people, a people that no
power in the universe seemed to want. The
Vulcans found their religion illogical, the
Bajorans found it conflicting, and the Federation
was so large, so prone to conflict, so populated
and so misguided in so many ways...

The Eusaran had tried it all, every piece of the
quadrant, and sometimes it would go well in the
beginning, but their ways would end up being
obstacles: because they were pacifists, because
they did not believe in materialism, because they
placed their existence and Kal Athara above everything else.

Yes, they believed in hard work, but they
believed it should never interfere with life in
the greater sense, they believed that work
should, under no circumstance, do anything but
supplement an individual's existence and ensure their life.

Understandably, it made things complicated.

Zhara pulled the shawl closer up on her shoulders
as she studied the stone grave plate at her
feet. It extended the length of her father's
corpse under the soil and was marked with the
symbols of their religious language -- never to
be used outside that purpose. It commemorated
her father and told the stories of his Kal Athara
and how he walked in the path of Hlath'hal,
nobly, and led the people to a place upon which
they could live and Exist to the universe. How
he died serving others and assisting to build
their life in D'ch kal mat'hal.

In one hand, she held the shawl, with the other
she held the orders handed to she and the others
on the Elder's Council by the Starfleet man. She
wasn't an elder, not by any stretch of the
imagination, but she served as Naldis Yiv'Vols's
eldest child. It was a point of honor and
recognition for the role her family had played in
the continuance of their people and
culture. Were she no longer able to serve having
left no child of her own, it would pass to her
brother Kotis Yiv'Nald, though she wondered
sometimes as to his ability to perform the task;
he often interpreted the barring of work (beyond
that necessary to survive and serve the people)
in a strict context and would find the Council
meetings a grey area at best. Like any meetings
they were a little... tedious at times.

She sighed, glancing down to read the message again.

The Federation called D'ch kal mat'hal by the
designation Lambda Vered IIc or "Eusaran Refugee
Colony 17" and it was in disputed territory that
was being claimed by the Dreshayans, a species
with which Zhara had never met or dealt with or heard anything of but rumor.

They were a colony of fewer than three hundred
people. It had taken them a decade to carve out
shelters deep in the rock of this pathetic little
moon and they'd fought tooth and nail to survive,
coming up against severe temperatures (over 130F
in the summer, -90F in the winter) and near
starvation every season. They'd lost almost a
third their numbers since they'd settled.

Including her father.

"So what do we do?" Chalis Yiv'Ald asked.

"Why are you asking me?" she questioned, looking
over her shoulder at him, brushing dark purple
hair away from her face. "I'm an Elder because of custom, nothing more."

"We're all Elders because of custom," he
said. "Age means nothing, it is wisdom that
makes you an Elder, and your father passed to you
his wisdom as all our fathers passed theirs."

"I don't know how valid that is."

"It's what the Doctrine teaches."

"The Doctrine teaches many things," she stated,
"that haven't served us well lately."

"Any V?ll? would tell you, a set back is nothing
but H?lath'hal? teaching us to exist stronger."

"And see, I would say that this set back, here,
is Hlath'hal telling us that we're not done
paying for our people's past." Zhara cleared her
throat, brushing at large silver eyes with a
long, slender finger. "We should not have
presumed we were ready to find D'ch kal
mat'hal, yet, and should not have allowed
ourselves to believe that however vengeful
Hlath'hal may be, our chosen home would be so
difficult. When we are permitted to find our
Place, Hlath'hal will ensure that it's every bit as our original."

"See now? You sound like your father."

"My father had nothing but devotion for this place."

"Your father was tired and had nothing but
devotion for any place upon which we could pause
a moment without external strife," Chalis
said. "You don't recall because you were young
and he wanted to keep his daughter from natural fear and reservation."

She nodded, expression grim. "I know," she said,
"he wouldn't want me to, but I know. I just wasn't sure if you did."

"He was my dearest friend, my closest companion."

"Yes," she said. "As you were his."

"Zhara, I ask you again, then. What do we do now?"

"What can we do?" she asked. "We are no longer
welcomed. So we pack our belongings and prepare
for the evacuation. This is clearly not D'ch
kal mat'hal and no amount of wishing will make
it so. We will evacuate with the USS Galaxy, and
we will entreat the Federation to provide us with
the means for another generational vessel and we
will continue our quest. We've done this
before. We'll do it again. It's all we have."

"My Life"

Being Part VII of the END OF ALLISON SAGA

USS GALAXY

ITS MY LIFE

ITS NOW OR NEVER

I AINT GONNA LIVE FOREVER

I JUST WANNA LIVE WHILE I'M ALIVE

(ITS MY LIFE)

Allison's long black fingernails tore their way down the strings of
her purple guitar while the gutting emotion of the lyrics tore their
way out of her throat

MY HEART IS LIKE AN OPEN HIGHWAY

LIKE FRANKIE SAID

I DID IT MY WAY

I JUST WANNA LIVE WHILE I'M ALIVE

ITS MY LIFE

Sweat glistened on her pale skin, sparkling under the harsh glare of
the house spotlight, bathing her slim form in a halo of unearthly
smoke and light.

THIS AINT NO SONG FOR THE BROKEN HEARTED

NO SILENT PRAYER FOR THE FAITH DEPARTED

I AINT GONNA BE JUST A FACE IN THE CROWD

Gone was the normal bubbleheaded silliness of everyday Allison Jimsdottir

She was surrounded by light and sound and music,
twisting in the ectasy of her art
howling pain and anger, using fingers to tear raw emotion from the guitar
sending it shattering like waves into the shocked audience before her

YOU'RE GONNA HEAR MY VOICE

WHEN I SHOUT IT OUT LOUD

And shout she did,

Her voice strident and angelic at the same time.

A heavenly visitor with a tortured soul and a song to sing

ITS MY LIFE

She howled....it was HER LIFE damnit!

ITS NOW OR NEVER

I AINT GONNA LIVE FOREVER

Blurred fingers tore up the neck of the guitar, years of classical
training bent to serve the whims of the Rock goddess.

Mozart may have taught her fingers to war, but Bon Jovi was her weapon
of choice.

I JUST WANNA LIVE WHILE I'M ALIVE

ITS MY LIFE

The crowd in Ten Forward were blown back into their chairs by the
light and noise that had invaded the typical peace and quiet of 24th
century life.

True it was amateur music night tonight but........

The evening had started with a string quartet rendition of Bethovens
6th followed by a lilting flute solo by a Vulcan master.
However when the young blond girl clad in a black leather skirt, fishnets,
and a
six string slung across her back had mounted the stage things had
quickly gotten noisy.

This 20th century Banshee had no place in the cultured minds of 24th
century sophisticates...

THIS IS FOR THE ONES WHO STOOD THEIR GROUND

FOR TOMMY AND GINA WHO NEVER BACKED DOWN

Through the smoke and haze Allison could make out the double doors
opening in the back of the bar and the silhouette of the object of her
frustration appearing in the light.

James....zarking.....Corgan!!!

Damn Him!

TOMORROWS GETTING HARDER MAKE NO MISTAKE

LUCK AINT EVEN LUCKY

GOT TO MAKE YOUR OWN BREAKS

In spite of him she tore deeper into the strings that were straining
under the fury of her flashing nails.

In spite of him she thrust her hip to the side arching her thin back
like a fiery haired succubus in the throes of passion

In spite of the bastard her blue eyes blazed out with a deadly mix of
love, hate, lonliness and rage, bathing the crowd in a wave of sound
and fury.

In the back of the room James glared back at her, feeling a strange
mix of attraction and revulsion twisting in his belly.

One one hand the music....oh gawd but the music thudded into his chest
like a welcome lover, beating in time with his own love of the
genre.....

On the other, her passion, the luscious softness of her slender
curves, the pale white of creamy thighs under the black skirt and the
provocative grinding of her hips fascinated and repelled him at the
same time.

This was not sweet little Allison who made his life a daily exercise
in bubblegum and silliness.

This was a Rock and Roll Goddess writhing in a storm of music and
light, blazing with passion, her azure gaze piercing straight into his
own eyes.

There was not doubt she was screaming the lyrics at HIM.

ITS MY LIFE

ITS NOW OR NEVER

For him.

I AINT GONNA LIVE FOREVER

I JUST WANNA LIVE WHILE I'M ALIVE

With him

ITS!!!! MY!!!! LIFE!!!!

~~~Damn you.~~ She seethed, tearing her eyes away to hide the tears
running at the corners of her black mascara. ~~Its my LIFE we're
talking about you jerk.~~~

TBC......

"Operational Maneuvers"

"Athena" Rookie Fighter Pilot
"Sapphire" Rookie Fighter Pilot

***

Across the void of space, a dozen fast-moving objects streaked toward their
objective. In the distance, orbiting a red-brown world dotted with
occasional signs of habitation and industry, a cruiser sat waiting. The
objective was not the ship, but the small station hovering in its mass
shadow.

As if the objects had crossed an invisible barrier, a swam of similarly
sized objects poured from the cruiser. Fighters. Once, a technology and
tactic unfavored in the capital ship battles of the Federation and its
neighbors. But the times had changed. No longer were the battles mainly
conducted by larger ships armed with vast arrays of weaponry.

"Contact," came the cry over the squadron's communication channel. "Sixteen
marks, bearing eighty-nine point five. Intercept, one minute."

"Stay sharp," said the calm voice of the squadron's leader. Steven
"Shotgun" Calahan was his name, and he was supposed to be one of the hottest
pilots in all of the Federation. "Athena and Sapphire, stay close to the
rest of us. We don't want to see a pair of rookies dusted in their first
engagement."

"Aye, sir," Athena answered. The young pilot nodded through the canopy of
her fighter toward her blue-skinned wingmate. Sapphire gave a thumb's up
sign.

The minute separating both squadrons lasted forever. Each side advanced in
orderly formations. Athena toggled her sensor overlay to bring up schematic
information on the approaching fighters. They were outnumbered, but the
Federation pilots had more finesse than anything the Hydrans could stuff
into a cockpit.

"Formation, Price-7," Shotgun called. In response, the squadron formed up
into the double-wedge.

There was another brief moment of peace, and then the battle was joined.
Sixteen Hydran fighters blasted into their midst with guns blazing. At the
contact, the Federation formation dissolved as each pilot and wingmate found
herself in a battle all their own. Two Hydrans picked up Athena, blasting
away but the young pilot's evasive maneuvers kept the dangerous energy
weapons from cutting up her shiny new fighter.

"Cut to point nine five," Sapphire called over the tactical channel. "I
believe I can have a shot at him."

Artemis rolled her fighter, twisting it around to point nine five as
directed. Sapphire's fighter tore through, phaser cannons blazing. The
Hydran erupted into a ball of white fire.

The second Hydran wasn't as easy to pin down. It swept up behind Sapphire
but couldn't get a good shot. It was only a matter of time before Athena's
wingmate's luck and skill ran out. Bringing her own fighter around, she let
loose with a barrage from her phaser cannon. The Hydran spun away, but
didn't stay gone long. It swung wide and came back around on Sapph's tail.
Athena flinched as she saw the tail of Sapphire's flare bright as the Hydran
scored a hit. Her wingmate through her fighter into a corkscrew pattern to
avoid the Hydran, but the alien was too intent on the kill.

Sapphire had put on some speed, putting a little bit of distance between
herself and the Hydran. Athena hit her thrusters and high-tailed it up to
take out the Hydran. With her phaser blasts dogging it, it kicked into
defensive maneuvers. Sapphire cut away from the fight, but Athena's
continued harrying kept the Hydran from pursuing.

"I am coming back around," Sapphire said. "Will you be alright, Athena?"

"Oh peachy," Athena answered. "Zarking hell, I've got one on my tail." She
checked the tactical assessment. Shotgun was gone, and so were about half
the fighters in the squadron. There were only eight Hydran's left, but she
had two of them on her. Well, she would once the one in front of her
figured out one of his friends was on her tail.

"We have to retreat," someone cried. Sounded like Squiddy, but Athena
wasn't sure.

"No," Athena barked. "We have a mission and we're seeing it through. The
entire Federation is counting on us. We take out this station, and we can
win the war!"

"We're all gonna die!"

"That's a risk we all signed on for when we joined the fleet," Athena said.
"Buckle down and do your job!"

Strange thing was, Squiddy did. And a Hydran got blown up because of it.
Athena wanted to think it was because of her, and maybe it was. Their
flight leader was gone, and someone had to take charge. Might as well be
the rookie. Of course, the little speech nearly cost her her life as both
Hydrans moved to turn her into space dust.

Juking to the side, the one now coming from dead ahead missed and she opened
up her phase cannons at him. Where once there had been a Hydran fighter
turned into a bright wash of energy and debris. Athena blazed her fighter
through the wreckage, the Hydran on her tail's guns blasting after her.

Sapphire wasn't going to make it to her in time. If she didn't do something
and fast, she was a goner. With one hand on the stick, Athena flipped a
pair of switches. She eyed the scope as the Hydran roared up behind her
with his guns trying to find their mark. She juked the stick. The fighter
spun.

Through the Hydran's cockpit, she thought she saw a look of surprise on his
face, but it was hard to tell in the environmental suit. With one hand
still on the stick, she thumbed her phaser cannons. With the other hand,
she waved.

The Hydran fighter exploded in a blaze of fire. Athena swung her ship back
around, kicked her thrusters in again. The squadron fell in around her,
Sapphire on her right.

"Alright, folks, let's go win this war," she called out. She was met with a
chorus of cheers.

As they came up on the Hydran ship and the station beyond, they only had
five fighters left. It looked very much like a suicide run, and Squiddy
said as much. But, with a laugh, he added, "Just make sure they get someone
handsome to play me in the movie they make of this."

This was it.

Athena tightened her grip on the flight stick. "Let's go! Attack pattern
Casey-1."

The fight Federation fighters shot forward in an arrowhead formation. The
Hydran cruiser spat energy blasts at them, but their size gave the fighters
a huge advantage. Athena was at the point of the arrowhead, juking her way
through the oncoming attacks. The five Federation fighters flew down under
the cruiser, bringing the station into view.

"Lock targets."

A chorus of confirmations echoed through the channel.

Ventral weaponry blazed on the cruiser. As Athena readied her torpedo
launcher to fire its quantum torpedo, she saw Sapphire's wing disappear in a
shower of debris. Her wingmate managed to touch off her torpedo, sending it
streaking toward the station, then veered off to explode in a fiery burst.

"Fire!"

Four more torpedoes followed Sapphire's. They impacted solidly, but nothing
happened.

"What happened," Squiddy cried.

Almost as if it in answer, a cascading wash of light swept over the
station. Athena grinned as she banked hard and angled her way back to the
fleet.

"Let's go home," she said.

A ring of energy emanated outward along the axis, following the fighters as
they streaked away. The station exploded in a violent display of light.
Congratulations went all around. The war had been won and the good guys
saved the day.

***

Too bad it was all just a game. Sharzhevashi zh'Rin stepped out of the
holodeck with Artemis Bancroft at her side. The Andorian zhen was shaking
her head.

"I still cannot believe I was eliminated," she was saying. "The computer
must have been altered."

Artemis grinned. "Or the cruiser got in a lucky shot. Or you were in the
wrong place at the wrong time. It could have easily been me. You know it
was going to be one of us though."

"Certainly," Shi said. "I would have preferred the cruiser attack one of
the holographic fighters. Such as Squiddy."

"Oh, if I hadn't given the rousing speech at the right moment, he would have
died. But one of us had to get shot at there. That's the way it works."
Artemis laughed. "Anyway, you flew great in there."

"I fly ships professionally," Shi said. "I graduated from Starfleet Academy
as a flight control officer. I am supposed to fly with extreme competence.
And thank you for your compliments, Artemis. What I do not understand,
however, is how you flew so well in there."

Artemis grinned even bigger. "Mum calls it my gift. Well, her gift to me,
really. That and music. She's the best pilot ever. Well, I think so
anyway. There are others better, I'm sure, but she's really fantastic. So,
being her daughter, I guess I had to pick it up as I grew up."

"Why did you not enter into Flight Operations," Shi asked. "You have a
knack for flying."

Artemis mused on that for a moment then sighed. "I'm not really sure. I
think part of it was because I do love it so much, and that's what mum did.
So, I wanted to do something different. I wanted to make a name for myself
doing something else. I don't know if anyone really remembers Tebrianne
Bancroft anymore, but she was a fantastic pilot, and I didn't want that
coloring people's thoughts on me. In the end, maybe it doesn't matter.
Besides, I do like Ops. It's kind of like being at the heart of
everything. Besides, if I was going to be flying, I'd be flying fighters.
No offense, but flying big tugs like this one is a bit boring. Mum would
have freaked if I'd become a fighter pilot."

Shi smiled. "If that is what you wish to believe...Athena."

"And besides, I'm not even an ensign yet," Artemis said, laughing, "I've got
time to decide. But I've got to run. I need to get changed and get to the
Ops center."

"Has Starfleet Command assigned you here," Shi asked, hopeful
inquisitiveness coloring her question.

"Not yet," Artemis said. "I just can't be on a ship and not try to be
helpful. Comes from growing up on a ship, I think. See you in the lounge
tonight?"

"Davis may be there."

Artemis rolled her eyes. "We'll ignore him again. He's bound to get the
hint eventually."

"I will see you then," Shi said. "Have a good day, Athena."

"You too, Sapphire."

Artemis nearly skipped down the corridor to her temporary quarters. She
quickly changed out of her flight suit, stared at her guitar for just a
moment, then hurried on off to Ops. She'd have plenty of time for music
later.

"It's my life, as well!"

Midshipman Aina Mason - Communications Officer

**** Ten Forward - USS Galaxy ****

Aina had never been so happy to have lost her luggage, to be more exact, lost her luggage and then have it found again.

For a few weeks, much of her clothes and some of her private belongings had been lost in transit from the Miranda to DS5. If it had been arriving on time, it would have all been lost on the Carthage. But being lost before hand, it was now in her hands and one of the most precious pieces of luggage - far more important to her than any of the slightly illegal or some of them down right illegal software, holo-deck adventures or even her own AI-research files was the leather bound book that she held in her hand.

With something akin to a reverence, she opened it up and taking the metal ink filled pen opened up to a page.

Finding the first empty page, she started to write - in big flowing letters, just like Grandma Mason showed her when she was living in Glasgow.

"Dear Diary - it was with great sadness when I first heard that everything had been lost. Who could think in the twenty fourth century that luggage could get lost. But now, I have you in my hand again. To think that if it hadn't been lost and sent to Cait via Vulcan it would have arrived on time and would have been on the Carthage when it was destroyed by the Hydrans."

"Well, it has been a very interesting number of weeks, most of it has been with the Galaxy has been returning many of the wounded and the refugees from DS5."

"Currently, we are heading off to the Vered Cluster. There is a threat from the Hydrans that the government thinks could have the colonists there in danger. Yesterday we had a training session from people from the USS Nightview, they are here on the Galaxy to make sure that we are prepared. One of those things we trained for was to drag people from their homes, if they don't want to leave. I'm not sure I can do that."

"Well, I have been officially assigned to the Galaxy, so from the Miranda to the Galaxy. The Galaxy won't be a part of the new Communcations program until it's next refit which won't be for another few months or so. So until then - it will still be the tactical officer handling any ship communications. I can still never understand how a person who hefts a phaser and shoots things is going to know how to deal with the myria of things that make sure of good communications."

"I haven't met Lieutenant Jamson yet - he will be my boss, but I'm not sure where I will be. I'm a communications officer, not an operations officer - I don't have the training to co-ordinate ship operations. Maybe I've answered my own question. Training."

As she wrote, the amateur muscicians from the Galaxy were performing. She turned around and watched for a few minutes as a blonde, who was doing a bad imitation of a glam-goth walked on to the stage with a six string.

Her make up might have needed some work, but her voice was cool. Aina sighed, she didn't recognise the song, but she knew that it came from Earth sometime about the year two thousand. She couldn't understand why everybody seemed so stuck on the Millenium Kick, Seemed most people didn't seem to understand that there was music after twenty one hundred from Earth or even other planets existed. Hadn't anyone heard the Living Dead or Bloodpulse. Well, maybe they hadn't heard Bloodpulse, vampire-rock isn't something that the older generations would approve of.

Even without recognising the song, beside being someone who wanted to live the way they wanted, Aina's head was bobbing to the beat. She gave her approval to the song and turned back to her diary as the woman headed off stage. Aina couldn't help but notice the slight streaking of the woman's mascara. Next time when you are on stage, you need to use a non-water based one, Aina thought.

Turning her attention back to her diary, "Something else, was a couple days ago, I was asked by the head of the Intelligence if I would like to help. It seems that they were impressed about what happened on DS5 and how I used the Hydrans own trick against them. The Hydrans were stupid. So a couple days a week, I'll be helping out in Intelligence. I'm not too sure on how Lieutenant Bental thought of my sneak suit I used on my spy adventures. I did look a little silly in it, when I got to the Intelligence Centre."

"Well, with the official transfer to the Galaxy and the up and coming mission on Vered, I got my orders to head to medical and to counselling. I already done them on the Carthage, none of the doctors I've seen anywhere are as good as Doctor Cat. Will the Galaxy's doctors by like her?"

As Aina began to slide the pen into the old leather loop, her ears picked up a familiar set of chords. As she turned around, to look at the stage, she heard to beginning of a vampire-rock song.

"Zohmygod," she splurted out. Someone had heard of Bloodpulse. Quickly closing her diary and making sure of the lock, she turned her attention to group of crewman smashing out the latest out of Liverpool, Bloodpulse.

The First SHIT Department Meeting

Or "Joe makes fun of the blind, birth control, and politics while talking
about fecal matter a lot but oddly enough never mentions nudity, strippers or
beer!"

With interstellar man of mystery Captain Leo Streely, supreme comendante?
and grand pubah of the Starfleet Heroism In Tactics department ? yes, I have
finally gone off the deep end and made Leo a department head of his own
fictitious department.

Going back to my roots here, this post will also contain a few NPCS:

Aimee Mariella, Terran Teacher
Lt. Twunk, Bolian Medic
Ensign Moffit, Terran Janitor

Time: While the Galaxy is en route to the Vered Cluster

Location: Main Shuttle Bay, USS GALAXY

?S?

?H?

?I?

?T?

?Can anyone here tell me what those letters mean to you?? Leo Streely
asked, tucking a riding crop under his armpit and standing with his chin pointed
in the air to such an impossible degree that he looked as though he were
trying to halt a nosebleed.

Seated across from him, the trio of crewmen simply looked at one another.
With a shrug, Aimee Mariella a dark haired Terran with a pixie haircut spoke
up. She was a civilian teacher of yoga and stress relief techniques who had
just come aboard recently and liked to proudly display her flexibility by
folding her body up into a regulation issued federation duffle bag - as she was
doing now much to the delight of Captain Streely.

?Um?it shpellsh out shit, Leo? she said with a pronounced lisp, then
blushed slightly.

?Shorry. My diaphram ish a little shquished.?

?Hey we're not here to talk about your faulty birth control methods, OK?
SHEESH! If your diaphragm is bent out of shape, yank it out and get on the pill
or something. The way you are folded up, I don't see why you even need a man.?
the little man said then whispered "see me afterwards and I'll let you ride
the Captain's log and polish my pips!"

?She?s right about one thing, however. It spells shit. SHIT! And that?s
exactly what seems to hit the fan every time this ship is sent out to a new
planet, space station, nebula, etc. etc. etc. You can be sure that whenever we
drop out of warp, crazy shit is going to happen.? he said, then lowered his
voice and looked over his shoulder to be sure that nobody else was around.

?Coarse if you ask me this would all be avoided if they kept the PPC Cannon
and the third nacelle we used to have. ANYHOW?.to help keep the USS GALAXY
safe when the shit hits the fan, and due in part to my track record of rising
to the occasion and saving the day, Admiral Bhrode formed the Starfleet
Heroism In Tactics department around me.?

?Isn?t that the same thing as the department Jaal Jaxom is assigned to??
asked Twunk, an obese Bolian who worked in the Medical Department yet fainted
every time that he saw any sort of injury.

As one would expect, this had somewhat limited his career in the field.
?Jello Jetson? Never heard of him.? Leo said. ?And his department couldn't
possibly be the same thing. "Brass Balls" Bhrode realized that a Hirogen or
Cardassian can seemingly beam aboard at any given time, resulting in
decapitations, maimings, maulings, castrations, impregnations and or loss of power to
the main shields and phaser banks. To combat this, everyday men and women
need to man up and protect the ship while the rest of the rank and file do their
best to hold this old bird together. Like modern day minutemen, if you will.
?

"I love minute maid! Their passion berry gagh juice is the bomb!" Twunk said
running his fingers through his long blue beard.

?I bet it is Billy Gibbons, but at any moment you could crack open a juice
bomb and find a Paklid hit squad! That's what this department is here for.
When the shit breaks out, S.H.I.T breaks in. And with my vast expertise at
saving the day and making the universe a better place, the good Admiral thought it
best that I pass along my techniques to the rest of the crew. That leads me
to this. Can everyone see this?? Leo said holding up a pamphlet.

?Um?I can't? said Ensign Moffit, the ship?s custodian, who happened to
have been blind since birth.

Leo glared at him.

?There?s a wise ass in every bunch, isn't there? Maybe if you weren't so
busy tap dancing with your cane there Sammy Davis and paid just a little bit of
attention here, you would be able to keep up with the rest of the class, OK??

?He?sh blind, Leo.? Aimee said from where she reclined comfortably in her
duffle bag.

?OH. So he is. That explains why the carpets in the hallways are never
vacuumed. That's a story for another time. This is now! This....This is a pamphlet
outlining various suggested heroic measures to take should one find
themselves suddenly facing down an angry crystalline entity, Yiridian or other rabid
evil doer. Think of it as an if/then manual to the unexpected dangers of the
cosmos. It covers basically every scenario I could think of and what I
personally think would be the best recourse to remain physically and mentally sound.
? Leo said handing out piles of the leaflets.

?If you find yourself suddenly in the presence of flesh eating Romulan
Zombies: RUN!? Twunk read aloud.

?Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor? Streely said sagely.
(Say that 3 times!)

?If you find yourself suddenly being chased by rabid transsexual Gorns
looking to repopulate the universe with your love children: Kneel down and pray
they have lubricant?!?!?!? said Moffit.

Leo waved the riding crop in front of the man?s face.

?You must be new here. If you crawl out side and take a look, there is a
bumper sticker on the Galaxy that says SHIT HAPPENS. And hey, I thought you said
you were blind? How did you read that one, smart guy??

?I read it to him? Aimee said. The duffle bag with just her head popping
out was now resting on the Bolian's lap.

She exhaled through her lips to blow Twunk's beard out of her face. (Bet you
were expecting a joke about a Bolian being blown here, weren't cha?!)

?OK, OK, OK! Lets stay focused on the task at hand here, OK? I have hand
selected all of you for this mission, the first of the Starfleet Heroics in
Tactics Department. I need you all to go door to door throughout the ship and see
that everyone has a copy of this pamphlet so everyone is prepared for when
the time comes.?

?We just go door to door?? Twunk asked.

?You got it, Babe the big blue ox! It?s like an old-fashioned grass roots
campaign to be sure that everyone is informed. I'm like the Galaxy's version
of Ron Paul! I just want people to hear my message. And this is how we do it.
Simply knock on the door and in a very friendly non-aggressive manner tell
them you want to talk to them about S.H.I.T. and hand them a pamphlet.?
?Doesn?t sound to difficult.? Ensign Moffit said.

?See? Even a blind man can see how easy this is gonna be.? Leo said. ?Any
questions??

?WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE CAPTAIN?S YACHT?? Chief Raven Darkstar rumbled
from where he was looming in the doorway unnoticed.

NEXT UP: Is Raven actually going to ask Leo for advice? Sure will. Joe tries
to write serious for a change and not end up with a post that sucks, then
its back to his typical lunacy as he tackles the "BAAN! Competition" with A
Versed Cluster Colony!

"Random Encounters on the Flight Deck"

Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Aristi "Cyclops" Ferguson (APC - Kat)
Siobhan "Shiva" Ferguson (ONPC - Kat)

*****
Deck 39
Fighter Country

"So, as I was saying, I think we should redo our quarters in pink."

"Bleah! Purple."

"What about red?"

"Now you're getting there. Here, eat some more of this." In the low
light washing over the fighter's wing a greyish hand appeared,
fumbling for a small plate that sat between the two shadowed figures.
"I didn't replicate this for nothing."

"What? Do you know how bizarre that sounds? Anything we don't eat
will just go into the matter reclamators anyway."

"So? It's the principle of the matter."

"Pfft."

"Whatever. You think you'll get fat or something?"

"Shut up."

"Fatty!"

"Shut up!"

For a second or two, all was silent. Then, very quietly, Aristi
rolled onto her side, inching along the surface of the wing towards
her companion. "Got a secret for ya."

Siobhan turned her head to look at the other woman, obviously not
convinced. "What?"

Aristi grinned, white teeth gleaming in the thin shaft of light. "Fatty."

"Damnit Aristi!" Siobhan exclaimed, smacking Aristi on the arm. But,
as luck would have it, the sound was drowned out by a much louder
one: that of Aristi's loud, raucous laughter.

Just then, the girls heard a clattering noise, followed by muffled swearing.

"What the--?" Aristi's head popped up as she looked around, searching
in vain for the source of the noise.

Before they could move to see who it was, the handsome head of a
Terran male popped up over the edge of the fighter's wing. "What the
hell's goin' on here?" he demanded in a low, drawling voice, his blue
eyes shining in the dimly lit shuttle bay.

"Um, nothing..." Siobhan began, immediately recognizing the face of
the Deputy CAG.

"What she means to say is..." Aristi interrupted, rolling onto her
stomach so she could get a better look at the cute Terran. She too had
recognized him immediately, but unlike her younger cousin she knew
there was no point in trying to appear innocent around "Cowboy"
Everett just because he was of higher rank than them. Besides, they
were off duty.

Grinning widely she continued, "...nothing was going on here until you
showed up. Sir," she finished with a wink.

Nathan matched the Cardassian woman's grin as he grabbed the top of
the wing and hopped upward, pulling himself onto the wing with them.
"Y'all're the Ferguson sisters, right? Ah'm Cowboy, nice to finally
meet you," he said, smiling at them both.

"Cousins, actually, but close enough," Aristi replied. "I'm Aristi,
the quiet one is Siobhan," she continued, jerking a thumb toward the
still somewhat nervous-looking blonde next to her.

"Sorry to disturb you," he continued. "Ah left a padd down here
earlier today and Ah was just tryin' to find it. Then Ah heard y'all
talkin' and Ah thought Ah'd come investigate. There usually isn't
anybody 'round here this time of night."

"That's why it's a good hangout spot. By this time of night everyone
who would be down here is usually either asleep in their quarters or
hanging out in Ten Forward, Angel Moon, or some other bar or mess hall
on this huge beast of a ship," Aristi explained. "Down here there's
not much to do except hang out in the dark, but it's a good place for
that at least."

Nathan shrugged. "Makes sense, Ah guess."

"So did you find your padd?" Siobhan finally piped up.

He smiled and held it up, waving it slightly. "Safe and sound, darlin'."

Siobhan smiled softly. "That's good."

"Anyway, Ah should prob'ly get goin', Ah didn't mean to interrupt yer
hangout time," Nathan apologized.

"Don't worry about it, Mister Cowboy," Aristi said with a wink.
"Always good to see a new friendly face around here. Maybe I'll, ah,
see you around sometime? After hours?"

Cowboy grinned at her. "Y'know where to find me," he told Aristi,
returning her wink. He hopped off of the fighter's wing, the clacking
of his boots against the deck echoing through the bay.

He looked back up at the Fergusons and pointed a warning finger at
them. "Now you two keep yerselves outta trouble," he said with a
teasing smile.

"Sir yes sir!" Aristi called out, tossing off a mock salute as she
watched him go. Damn, but he had a nice walk. "Two fighter jocks
staying out of trouble, sir!"

Beside her, Siobhan couldn't help but giggle. "G'night, sir. See
you around the deck."

"Devils"

Being Part VIII of the END OF ALLISON SAGA

The applause in Ten Forward was scattered and confused.

Rock and Roll? In the cultured 24th century?

Unheard of.

The leather clad angel of Allison Jimsdottir allowed the final note on her
purple guitar to wail itself to sleep.

Ignoring the polite accolades, her mascara rimmed eyes struck out at James
like twin blue icebergs to his Titanic.

She tossed the purple Ibanez across her skinny back and stepped into the
crowd, making her way towards him.

~~~Damn you.~~~ He seethed, wincing when she used her emotion as
as weapon, " ~~~What the hell are you doing interfering with my life?~~~

It was obvious to James that Allison was very, very angry at him, and he
was beginning to acknowledge why.

Maybe Allison really was serious. Maybe she really did like him.

Alot.

Too much, even.

There was always a cure for that though. When subordinates fell in love
with their superiors, the cold hearted ones would ship them to the furthest
reaches of the galaxy, the unscrupulous ones would take advantage and
dump them when they were used, and the nice guys would just leave it
alone and hope it goes away, lest he hurt her feelings.

James' nice guy approach wasn't working. Neither was being an asshole.

Was it time to be coldhearted?

He clapped his hands with everyone else that bothered to try. As he
learned years ago, 24th century sophistication didn't go well with the
road warrior, primitive, thrasher types the 20th century breed. Some
just didn't know what to make of the rock princess in her slutty attire
and abrasive music.

That was why James had a few years on her.

He knew that with music, you had to play for a certain crowd, even
if it meant changing your own style. He loved a rock and roll synth
festooned speed metal jam as well, but more delicate hearts needed
to be seduced into the art, not gyrated into.

So it was his turn to take up the stage.

Passing by Allison, they both exchanged electric glances.

James Corgan couldn't doubt that Allison was a beautiful creature,

but to think of her as desirable? She was half his age! He could handle her
being a friend
and apprentice. Rival to his girlfriend? Tease? It was too much
for his sensibilities to handle.

The '38 Special, his old Fender Stratocaster Model 2038 (Special
Edition) whipped into his hands, the fingers deftly plucking at strings
like a spider testing threads.

"Here come the woman

With the look in her eye

Raised on leather

With flesh on her mind

Words as weapons sharper than knives

Makes you wonder how the other half dies..."

Allison was a challenger, but James was the king! Leather pants that
were tastefully loose, a white shirt and a black leather vest (fake,
animal skins were out of fashion) were unimaginative, so it meant
James had to rely on charisma, good looks and skill to keep the
crowd interested.

"Ohhh... the other half dies"

~~~She wants to use words as weapons, then she's got a nuclear
war on her hands...~~~

The guitar revved in a show of power. He didn't full frontal assault with
his music. It was all about presentation. Defense.

"Here come the man

With the look in his eye

Fed on nothing

But full of pride

Look at them go

Look at them kick

Makes you wonder how the other half live.."

If Allison wanted to convey her emotion with music, James could too.
He had been doing it for alot longer, his only outlet when he thought
trauma would overwhelm him. It wasn't supposed to be a weapon againt
someone else, it was supposed to be a form of self expression.
So he used himself to express some fear and warning.

"The devil inside

The devil inside

Every single one of us the devil inside..."

"SING IT!"

Because his life was too hard fought to just allow a teenage girl to get
in the way. ~~~What the hell did I survive all that for?~~~ He thought,
~~~"How did I get so far, lost so much, regained just enough to call
it almost even, and then have her silly obsession try to ruin it all?~~~

"The devil inside

The devil inside

Every single one of us the devil inside"

The guitar growled with extra resolve. ~"Alli, only one of us is walking
off of this stage."~

"Here come the world

With the look in its eye

Future uncertain but certainly slight

Look at the faces

Listen to the bells

It's hard to believe we need a place called hell!"

~"Only one of us... and it's me!"~

"The devil inside

The devil inside

Every single one of us the devil inside"

Stepping off the stage James ignored the confused applause once again, his
eyes buring deep holes into the smoldering gaze of Allison.

His eyes were icy blue diamonds of unwavering hardness.

Her eyes were mascara streaked oceans of unrivaled emotion.

Moving through the swirling smoke to the back of the bar he looked down at
the leather goddess, making the final decision to drink in her beauty or
spew it forth.

"James?" she looked up at him hopefully.

"Pack your bags sister." he cut her off, "Im transferring you out of my
Department. Out of Security and hopefully off this ship."

"But..."

"I want you out of my life Jimsdottir!"

He stomped through the hissing doors and out into the passageway leaving the
shattered debris of a young girl's heart in his wake.

"Corgan....." she whispered.

"CORGAN!" she shrieked, "God Damn you don't walk out on me!!"

She stormed out of the bar after him.

Behind.....alone and forgotten.....sat two guitars.....the Fender and the
Ibanez.

Alone...and silent.

"The Little People"

With

Cane Newport (NPC)

With the huddled mass of able bodied people, Cane Newport awaited what was
next. After they had disembarked from the Rail Transport, they were left in
an area that was not on any map on Lambda Vered I, not visited by tourists,
not known to exist except by The Administration of Security. It was
basically an armory of sorts. There were numerous amounts of crates lined
up against the walls and in rows off to the side of the large group. Pairs
of Security Administration agents were at every exit with a nasty looking
rifle of sorts in their hands. Apparently, no one was to leave without a
hall pass or something.

Finally, someone who looked a bit important came to the fore and addressed
the group.
"Everyone, listen up," he said in a near shout. "I am Agent Hiram Quentin
of the Security Administration. In accordance with Corporate policy and as
a legal execution with your contract, you have been drafted for service in
defense of the Colony. I think we are all in agreement that we will not
have our way of life, indeed our very livelihoods taken from us by anyone!"
Surprisingly, despite the manner in which they were all brought here,
everyone cheered in agreement. Even Cane found himself nodding.

Quentin waited for the crowd to settle down, and then continued.
"You will receive basic training in defensive tactics and measures to ensure
the safety of the main City, and your respective towns. We do not have very
much time, so we will need to have everyone on their toes and ready."

Something in the back of Cane's mind started to quail a bit, that the
interests of everyone would not be met here. He didn't want to leave his
home, his job, but at the same time, he wasn't going to just ignore his town
and the many other towns that littered the subterranean world of Lambda
Vered I. And it seemed to him that Corporate wasn't very interested in
protecting it's employees...more like their assets. He had no clue how
right he was.

"A Hello And An Offer"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer
Petty Officer (2nd Class) Benedict Maxwell - Paramedic

* * * * *

Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell strode into the conference room
with all the purpose and game face of a supervisor. He still couldn't get
over the fact that he was not only allowed to stay in the 'Fleet, but to
also keep his rank and recreate the Emergency Medical Response team. And
from what Dr. Burton implied in her message, it had potential to expand. He
nodded a greeting to Kimberly Burton as he took a seat adjacent to her at
the table. He also took note of the fact that no one else was present in
the conference room. He knew he came a couple of minutes early but... "Is
it just us here, or are there any other people coming?" he asked.

"For now, just us," Kimberly replied, "I'll formally introduce you and our
other new-comers around a little later, though I imaging you've already met
a lot of the staff, and there'll be a meeting later in the week where you
can catch up with anyone you've missed. But first, welcome aboard the
Galaxy," she said with a smile, "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to meet you
as soon as you came aboard."

"Thanks," said Max, a genuine smile of eagerness on his face. "I can't tell
you how glad I am to be here. And to be alive, considering..." he trailed
off, not really wanting to go into that at the moment. DS5 was a harrowing
experience for everyone, he didn't care who it was. "I'm definitely looking
forward to meeting the rest of the staff here," he diverted, hoping she
wouldn't press him on the matter. All he needed was another round of
psycho-therapuke.

"Well, we've a pile of transfer paperwork to go through, but that can wait
for later," she assured him, casting a quick look over several PADDs on the
table, filing his other comments aside for now, "but for now I thought I'd
start out by discussing your duty assignment. The transfer form lists you
as a Paramedic, but I believe you had other responsibilities aboard the
Miranda, would you care to expand on them?"

"On the Miranda," he began, "I began the Emergency Medical Response Teams,
which were made up of both Paramedics and Med Techs. The mission was to
provide a first response utilizing crew who were primarily trained for
emergency medical care, and who could provide the necessary stabilizing
treatment until the sick or injured could be moved to either the ship or a
field hospital. This freed up the doctors to worry about critical patients
that they may have needed to perform lengthy procedures on at said fixed
facilities."

"The initial effort didn't go too well during the battle at Romulus," he
continued. "There were initially two teams. Needless to say, I got injured
pretty bad, and the other team...well they bought the farm." He looked away
at that part, not happy with losing anyone under his supervision. "The next
evolution of the teams included one for each shift, consisting of at least
three members, and at least one Paramedic among them. They were being
trained while en route to Gyndine. I have no idea if they were ever used,
as I kind of went off on my own side trip. On a side note, I've received
notification that I am now a licensed Paramedic Practitioner."

Nodding occasionally as he spoke Kimberly recalled the notes she had read
earlier that had said much the same, though there hadn't been much mention
of a side trip. Making a mental note to ask about that later she picked up
a PADD a she spoke, "Well, we operate medical response teams on the Galaxy
as well, recent events, as well as several past missions have actually led
to their being expanded on slightly. We run a four shift system on the
Galaxy, and there is an ensign on shift at all times who is a certified
medic, usually an intern on rotation, they have a team of three under their
command, normally two med-techs and a paramedic or nurse for similar
situations aboard ship."

"Looking at your file I think you'd fit perfectly into one of these units,
you have the experience and qualifications, but I was hoping you would
consider something a little different, it would be a little more hazardous,
but potentially far more important."

"You have my attention," piped up Max, wondering what exactly she was
getting to. *Different? Hazardous? Please do tell me more,* the
adventurous
part of him pleaded silently.

"After what happened on ch'Rihan it came to my attention that away teams,
primarily Security and Marines, though less so regarding the Marines, often
go into the field and into hazardous duty situations with only the minimum
support needed. And that includes medical staff. Now the Marines have
their own combat medics, but as events on ch'Rihan a little while back
showed us, sometimes that's not enough." Recalling some of the injuries and
infections she had had to treat after everyone had come back she grimaced
slightly, the only place she should have experienced trench foot in her
career was in a history book.

"I'm looking to put together a team who will act as reserve medics for
Marines or Security when they go on away missions. You'll train with them
periodically to help work with them, as well as assist in all medical
matters that may arise along side their own medics. Essentially you'll
cross train as a field EMT, for starters it would only be yourself and two
med-techs, but if this goes well then we may assign a couple more personnel
to join you if needed."

"Who's going to run it," he asked. He was concerned about being pushed back
into the shuffle. "And you do understand that I am trained well above a
'field EMT'?"

Nodding, "I'm well aware of your qualifications, which is why when I
received your transfer request I automatically considered you for the post.
This will require you to be able to think on your feet and probably act
independently of support on away missions, which is where your skills will
be put to the best use. The cross training will primarily consist of combat
and tactical training with the Marines and Security. And as for who will be
leading this unit, well that would be you." She informed him with a smile.

"I have a list of qualified med-techs and junior paramedics, if you're
interested I'd like you to have a look and interview suitable candidates and
have a short list to me by the end of the week, along with recommendations
for a training plan to maximise your teams' capabilities. As I said to
start with it'll be yourself and two others, but in time that will hopefully
increase." Picking up one of the PADDs on the desk she slid it over to him,
"I suppose the first question is; are you interested?"

Max took a moment to think about the proposal. It was very alluring in the
fact that he would be expanding his scope to include training with the
Marines. While his heart belonged to pure medicine, he figured that it
would actually be a good deal to have some more combat experience under his
belt. It would make him that much more versatile.

"I am interested, Ma'am," he said, using the honorific to emphasize his
answer.

"Excellent, and thank you. Officially for now you'll be on the duty roster
as a senior Paramedic and Medical Technician, but not part of the standard
duty rotation for now. Once you have your team together and we get a chance
to assess how everyone is working with each other and how the training with
the Marines goes we'll look to making this a little more formal. I spoke to
Major Shaw regarding this a little while back, but with his transfer off
ship I guess the new Marine XO will be the person to speak to. I'll leave
you to make training arrangements with their XO, okay."

"No problem, when do we start?" Max asked. The more he thought about it,
the more he began liking the idea. ~Maybe I shouldn't sell this doc short,
he thought to himself. This assignment could prove interesting.~

"The sooner the better," glad he had accepted Kimberly nevertheless felt a
little guilty, this assignment would place him and those under him in
considerable danger, though just being out here at the moment constituted a
hazardous posting, this assignment would increase the danger they would face
on a regular basis. The advantages though, being able to help people on the
scene as it were would hopefully save more lives than it risked. "If I may
though, before you start shortlisting the staff, I am curious about a couple
of things."

Not liking where this was going, Max steeled himself and let out an audible
sigh. "What exactly are you curious about," he asked diplomatically, not
trying to sound rude, but at the same time not exactly being inviting.

"Well, there's a note in your file about some time spent in the brig on DS5,
before everything went to hell there. According to your file that was
cleared up otherwise you wouldn't be here but the file is, as always with
Starfleet reports a little thin on detail." Looking at him curiously she
raised an eyebrow, "Is there anything you feel I need to know regarding
that?" she asked simply.

Damn, he thought. He was hoping to avoid the subject altogether, leaving
the issue dead and buried, so to speak. "It was a matter involving an
unauthorized excursion into restricted space. The matter has been cleared
up, and that's really all I can say on the subject." Then he added with a
shrug, "Sorry, wish I could tell you more." It wasn't a lie, just certain
omissions that he'd rather keep private at this point.

~ Unauthorised excursion? ~ Curious, but well aware of what an unauthorised
excursion might constitute having been the cause of one herself during the
war she nodded. If the Fleet was happy, and he didn't want to share she
wasn't going to press the issue. For now.

"Fair enough, for now we'll leave it there then." Indicating the PADD she
had passed over earlier, "have a read, shortlist the crew you'd like to
consider, and then we'll have a chat with them. Other than that, I've the
usual paperwork here for you," sliding across several more PADD with what
seemed like a small sigh of relief, "so enjoy, and when you're ready I'll
show you around."

"Thanks again, Doctor Burton," Max said. He stood and extended his hand.
"And I'll get to work on that short list. Expect it within four to five
days."

"Oh, and again, welcome aboard." She repeated.

"Life and Living"
with Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin
and Cadet Artemis Bancroft

Location: Ten Forward

***

"Vindictive Harmonies?"

"No."

"Acoustic Delusions?"

"No."

"Captain Kirk's Left Boot?"

Sharzhevashi zh'Rin burst into laughter. "That's really a musical group
from earth?"

"From Mars actually," Artemis Bancroft said with a nod. "Bradbury City, but
yes. For awhile, there were bands with names of every article of clothing
Captain Kirk might of worn and a few he wouldn't. Don't tell me you haven't
heard of Captain Kirk's Frilly Garters."

Another giggle. Shi could only shake her head.

"You and I need to sit down with my musical collection. Alright, how about
Molten Rebar? Mum does a wicked version of their song Rancid Cheese."

Shi perked up. "Oh!"

Artemis blinked. "You've heard of Molten Rebar?"

"No, I've heard of a band from earth with cheese in their name. Something
Cheese."

There was a long pause while Artemis tried to think of which band Shi might
be thinking of. She was at the point of giving up when, much to her
surprise, Shi actually sand a verse from the song. The song itself, flew
right out of Artemis' head. What stuck there, filling her ears and mind,
was the fact that her Andorian friend had a beautiful voice.

Sitting stunned for several long moments, she just stared at Sharzhevashi
zh'Rin. "That's Plain Ordinary Cheese, Shi. They're a band, but they play
songs for children. The Smartest Teapot. Over the Kitchen Table. Vulcans
in the Meadow. That one you sang, far more beautifully than they ever sang
it, is Blue is For Andoria."

Shi's antennae flattened to her skull and her skin flushed. "For children?"

Artemis smiled. "It's very fun music though. But more importantly, why
don't you sing more often? Your voice is freaking amazing. You should be
up on the stage right now, wowing us all."

Shi looked up to the stage. Currently, it was filled with an engineer
vocalist who seemed to have several sets of vocal chords and was currently
singing in harmony with himself in three separate octaves. Behind him was
an Edoan percussionist on a very impressive set of bongo drums. And a
Tellarite shuttle pilot playing an electric cello.

The Andorian pilot glanced back at Artemis. "That would be difficult
competition." Her antennae were bowed over her skull, and the bend
indicated a playfulness Artemis had only seen rarely from her friend. Since
meeting her here and now, it was the first time she'd seen it. On the
voyage back through time, there hadn't been many occasions when it was
warranted. It was uplifting to see.

Artemis took a moment to watch the performers. The vocalist had changed
styles. There was a vague familiarity to it, but it took several moments
for her to pick it up. "Rap? He's singing rap music?"

"That does not seem to be singing, Artemis."

The cadet nodded. "Yeah, well, yeah. That's one of the reasons it pretty
much died out in the middle of the twenty-first century. There are some
scholars of musical history who claim that the third world war was fought
over rap music and rap music lost. How did it survive into the
twenty-fourth century?

Thankfully, it was time for an electric cello solo, and the audience from
further torture. The act ended with a bongo drum solo and...was that a
yodel? The trio took a bow and exited off the stage.

"Strong start, but a little sloppy on the dismount," Artemis said.

Shi vocalized no response, but instead her antennae perked up noticeably.

"Long story," the cadet said. "Study terran gymnastics, and you'll see."

"I understand," Shi said. She made a pointed glance at the guitar leaning
against Artemis' chair. "What I do not understand, however, is why I have
not seen you on the stage yet."

"I wouldn't feel right going up there," Artemis said. "I mean, I want to.
I'd love to go up there. But, I'm just staying here until they ship me back
to the Academy. This is for the crew, and I'm not part of the crew."

"You are silly," Shi said. "I do not believe anyone present would object to
your participating. If you do not take your guitar and sing a song for us,
I will be very disappointed."

Artemis couldn't help grinning at her friend. "Well, how could I argue
against that?"

Sharzhevashi zh'Rin smiled. "You are incapable of arguing against me in
this matter. Now take your guitar and go, before I am forced to push you
onto the stage."

With a laugh, Artemis picked up her guitar. "Alright, I'm going, I'm
going."

The guitar felt comfortable as she slung it over her shoulder. The weight
of the guitar felt just right as it gently slapped against the small of her
back. She took the steps up onto the small stage, and took her place onto
the center of the stage.

She settled the guitar into place. The chords came just right, her fingers
glided easily along the neck. The song was not quite a ballad. It told the
story of a young dreamer, trapped in a journey through time and space trying
to find her way back to home. She had written the song herself after the
end of just that journey. She had just met her grandparents and her uncle,
before she had started her beginning classes at the Academy.

The song was filled with the journey today led into tomorrow. It was a song
of life and living.

"We Wait"

the Councilors:
Fala Aesino
Mika Anton
Thorin Malik

*****
Gamma Vered II
New B'Hala colony
Southeast Branch, Mika Anton's workshop

"So, what do we do now?"

For the moment Thorin Malik remained silent, watching the end of the news
feed once more. It was the fifteenth time he had reviewed the short clip,
and it hadn't told him anything more than it had the previous fourteen
times. That, coupled with the communiques they had received from the other
colony leaders, from the leader of the Vered Cluster's own council, and from
the offices of the Federation Colonial Liaison, left a picture that was
pretty cut and dry. The Vered Cluster was disputed territory, an area
claimed by both the Federation and the Dreshayans, and dangerously close to
the Hydran border. It was too risky to keep the colonies here; Starfleet
forces were spread thin enough as it was, and so a small fleet of ships was
coming to evacuate them from their homes.

"Not much we can do."

That was Anton, his low, gravelly voice easily cutting through Malik's
thoughts and bringing him back to the present.

"What do you mean, 'not much we can do'? We can do plenty, Anton, and you
know it."

Inwardly, Malik sighed. He'd had a feeling it was going to come to this.
More and more these days Anton and Aesino found themselves at odds, and
Malik wondered if they would ever agree on anything again. Maybe it was
because of the radically different lives they'd lived before coming to New
B'Hala. Anton was a skilled weaver of cloth; he'd been so all his life. He
was one of the rare few who hadn't abandoned his d'jarra when the
Cardassians had come. Part of that was because he'd come from a very
traditional family, and part of it was because Anton himself was not in any
way cut out for fighting. He'd been born with a defective left leg, which
by the time he'd reached adulthood was about 6 cm shorter than his right
leg. He'd been forced to wear a lifter shoe on that foot and even then he
still walked with a limp, clomping along loudly with the heavy shoe, so the
more traditional activities of a Resistance fighter had been impossible for
him to perform. It also meant he was useless for just about any sort of
manual labor the Cardassians had in mind. Luckily for him though, he was an
amazingly talented textile artist, and so the Cardassians had contented
themselves with taking his work and selling it for ridiculous prices on the
open market as 'rare folk art' from the 'indigenous peoples' of Bajor.

When Anton had settled on this planet with the first wave of colonists, he'd
immediately resumed weaving. Over the years his body had become more
stooped, the fingers of both hands almost permanently set into the somewhat
claw-like ways in which he held the control mechanisms of his fly-shuttle
looms. He was much older than Malik and especially Aesino, old enough to be
their father even. Looking at him Malik knew that Anton wasn't just tired
of fighting...he never wanted to even think about it again for the rest of
his life.

But Aesino on the other hand...

Aesino was the youngest of their little trio, not even forty standard years
old yet. She was also half-Cardassian, something which didn't really make
her that unique, but which still caused the occasional bit of uproar seeing
as how she was one of the leaders of a very traditionalist Bajoran colony.
Like her late mother Fala Sul, Fala Aesino was an architect and a surveyor,
a proud though slightly unconventional member of the Te'nari caste. With
her mother she'd been responsible for surveying the initial site upon which
the colony was built. She'd also helped develop its layout, proposing that
the city be built off eight main streets; Branches as they'd called them,
aligned with the cardinal directions on the planet.

But she hadn't always been that way. Born an unwanted product of her
mother's rape by a drunken Cardassian soldier, Aesino had learned almost
from birth not to fear but instead to hate the soldiers who'd polluted and
destroyed their planet. When she was old enough to hold a blade and
understand how to use it the young half-breed girl had been trained as a spy
and assassin; trained by her own mother no less. It was fairly common that
some of the soldiers' tastes ran towards the younger end of the spectrum,
and Aesino was young and exceedingly beautiful as well, so oftentimes she
could be found holding the other end of the short knife that was inevitably
plunged into the soft, vulnerable flesh where the strong Cardassian jawline
met tough neck plating.

Sometimes, Malik couldn't help but wonder if the younger woman had truly
left that life behind.

"For the time being we wait," he spoke up at last, looking his two
compatriots in the eye. "We wait, and we see what the Federationers do. We
wait, and we see what the Cluster Council decides. Then we make our
decision. Do we stay, or do we go."

"Pfft. Whatever," Aesino retorted, crossing her arms in disgust and turning
her back to them. Behind her, Anton resisted the urge to shake his head and
instead slouched forward almost in defeat, elbows propping up his weight
against the cloth beam of the loom at which he was sitting.

"Councilor Fala," the older man began slowly. Aesino's head jerked to the
left, examining him carefully. He rarely called her that, preferring
instead to call her by her given name. It meant that he was either going to
rip into her with the anger he saved up for special occasions, or that he
was going to treat her so coldly that she felt like a scared little girl
who'd been caught stealing from the biscuit jar again. Whatever it was, it
was not likely to end well for her.

"Councilor Fala," Anton repeated, locking eyes with hers, pale green staring
down rich brown, "A meeting of the Vered Cluster Council has been called.
Councilor Thorin and I would like you to represent our interests there."

"Re-really?" Fala stuttered, looking back and forth between the two men.
They'd never asked her to do that before. And just like that the harsh,
angry side of Fala Aesino had melted away, leaving behind the little girl
who had so long ago yearned for acceptance and approval from her peers.

Malik nodded. "It's time you took over that responsibility. Anton is
nearing retirement, and I'm..." He paused, unsure of how much he should
reveal. Should he tell them that before he'd heard the news, he'd been
planning his final exit from the colony? Or would that just complicate
things even more?

"I'm not cut out for such things," he said at last, standing and walking
over to where she stood. He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder and smiled
down at her. "You're perfect for it, Aesino. You're fair, and balanced,
diplomatic enough to put everyone at ease but aggressive enough to not be a
pushover. You're what we need."

Aesino beamed, a genuine smile spreading across her features. "Thank you.
But...when do I need to leave?"

"The session begins in about five hours," Anton supplied. "So, soon."

Five hours. That would give her about...thirty minutes to get ready before
she left. Just enough time to gather some belongings and fuel up the small
shuttle they used for intra-system travel. "I'd better be off then," she
concluded, moving towards the front door of Anton's modest shop.

"Good luck, Aesino," Anton called after her, giving her retreating form a
friendly yet brief wave. Then, once she had disappeared from their sights,
he turned back to Malik.

"So what do we do now?"

"Not much we can do, old friend," Malik replied, echoing Anton's earlier
statement. "We wait."

"Songbird"

Lieutenant Nathan Everett
Flight Officer Ella Grey

===

Nathan was busy making his rounds around Fighter Country, introducing
himself to his new wingmates and trying to get a handle on what they
were like. For the most part, they weren't much different from the
Rogues, if somewhat more subdued. Perhaps it was simply because there
were less than half as many people, but the Galaxy seemed to be a
quieter ship than the Miranda, overall.

Either that, or Cowboy just hadn't been to the right parts of it, yet.

When he'd asked the computer to locate Flight Officer Ella Grey, the
Vanguards' SAR pilot, the annoyingly polite voice informed him that
Grey was in Ten Forward. Being that it was still early in the
afternoon, Nathan figured she was probably having lunch, or she was
just a heavy drinker.

Which, if that were the case, meant that the two of them would get
along splendidly.

He wandered into Ten Forward, and needed only a moment before spotting
a human woman in a Starfighter Corps flight jacket, sitting at a table
by herself. Nathan walked over, plastering a friendly smile on his
face as he approached the table.

"Good afternoon, Flight Officer," he said as he reached Ella's table.
"Ah'm Lieutenant Everett, just joined the Vanguards not too long ago."
He smiled again and offered Ella his hand.

"Hi," Ella replied as she shook his hand. Thankfully, her vocal patch
was functioning today so her voice sounded like it's usual robot
monotone instead of the high pitched whine it kept reverting to.
"Welcome to the ship."

"Thanks." Nathan had already read about Ella's vocal patch before
meeting her, but it was still jarring to hear her speak with such an
off-putting voice. "Mind if Ah join you fer a moment?"

She gestured to the seat across from her.

He sat down across the table from her and ordered himself something to
drink before turning to face Ella. "So, how long've you been flyin'
with the Vanguards?"

"Not too long," Ella replied. "You were with Miranda's team, right?"
She smiled at his look of surprise. "Your reputation precedes you."

Nathan grinned at that. "Really? What've they been sayin' 'bout me?"
he asked, leaning forward slightly, curious to know just how much of
his reputation Ella knew.

She smiled wider. "That you're a good pilot who likes to have a good
time. And something about a heterosexual lifemate named Thyago?"

He rolled his eyes. "Everywhere Ah go, that little pest haunts me," he
muttered. A server arrived with his drink (non-alcoholic, of course;
he was still on duty, after all), and Nathan took a sip before
continuing. "Anyway, you don't need to worry 'bout me tryin' to live
up to mah rep today," he assured her. "Ah'm here on business."

"Oh?"

"When you first transferred to the Vanguards, you were hopin' to fly
fighters, right? How'd you end up as the SAR pilot instead?"

"Probational post," Ella said with a shrug. "They needed one and I
wasn't ready for full combat, or I assume that was the argument. I
quite like it though. And of course now I've been cleared for a
fighter as well, especially since the war is on."

He nodded. "That's why Ah'm here, actually. Do you think yer ready to
handle a starfighter in the middle of a furball?"

She nodded. "I do but I guess we'll see." Ella tilted her head and
regarded the other pilot. "Do you have a cowboy hat? I can't picture
it."

Nathan chuckled. "Actually, Ah do have one; mah dad gave it to me
after Ah graduated from the Academy." He shrugged. "Ah never wear it,
though. Don't wanna perpetuate the stereotype anymore'n Ah already
do."

She laughed.

Now it was Nathan who quietly regarded Ella, the corner of his mouth
twitching into a smile as he looked at her. "Okay, this has been
buggin' me fer a while, so Ah gotta ask. Are you *the* Ella Grey? The
former opera singer?"

Ella stared. Years ago she had practiced this conversation, had it
down pat, but the subject of opera, for some strange reason, didn't
come up as often as one would think. She certainly hadn't expected it
from Everett.

"Yes," She said tentatively.

"Ha! Ah knew it was you!" Nathan said as he slapped his palm down on
the table, his smile widening.

She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Didn't think you were
the opera type."

"Naw, but mah mom was, she used to listen to you all the damn time."

For some reason, that made her blush slightly. "That must have been annoying."

He shook his head. "Opera's not really mah thing, but it wasn't bad.
You had a great voice, it's too bad you never put anythin' else out."

"The second album didn't really sell that well and then, well, it just
didn't give me the same joy it used to. But I'm glad your mother
enjoyed it."

Nathan nodded. "Can't blame you fer gettin' bored," he said. "If it
helps at all, Ah think you made the right choice." He nodded to Ella's
flight jacket. "It fits you well."

"Thank you."

He smiled and looked around. "Well, Ah s'pose Ah oughta let you finish
yer lunch. Ah just wanted to introduce mahself and learn a little
'bout one of mah new wingmates." Nathan finished his drink and stood
up, winking down at Ella. "Ah'm lookin' forward to flyin' with you,
Songbird."

Ella stared at him for a second and then laughed. "Songbird?"

Cowboy grinned at her. "This is the Starfighter Corps, darlin'.
Everyone's gotta have a callsign." He gave the other pilot a nod and
turned, making his way across the lounge and out the door, the smile
still on his face.

"Songbird," Ella repeated, shaking her head. In the end, she decided,

"Getting Help? Part 1"

1st Lt. Branwen London
Lt. Mark

"Marc can you squeeze me in today?" Branwen ran towards him. "I know you
don't like me, but everybody else is fully booked for weeks, and I have a
small issue that I really need to work out. Pretty please?" She smiled at
him.

Mark watched her with a critical eye from behind his desk where he was
reclining and lost in thought. "What makes you think I don't like you?
... for that matter, just what kind of 'like' are we talking about?"

"Your body language the other day was clear enough, I think. And watch it, I
am about to get married." She told him. "do you have time or not?"

"Have you ever thought that, as a counselor, I might use misleading
body language to throw people off?" he asked leaning forward and
resting his hands on his desk.

"Oh please. I do that all the time. But usually to reassure people, when I
don't like them very much. I never use it the other way round. Why would
you?" She looked at him.

"To test people," he answered simply.

"To test people." She aped shaking her head. "You are a strange man."

"Before we get started, I try to make people feel comfortable," Mark
reached into a desk drawer and pulled out two shot glasses and a
bottle of bourbon. "Care for a quick swig before we get started?"

Branwen chuckled. "You really use that with clients. All right why not,
this is difficult enough." She took a seat.

"Yes, I do." Mark filled the two small glasses, "I'm really quite
normal considering some of the alternatives around here. So, what's on
your mind today?"

"Well everything is okay now on the marriage front, that is going on and the
doc is going to cure me. What I need from you today is you have one hour to
cure me off my phobia of senior naval officers."

"Why do you make being a Starfleet officer sound like such a bad
thing?" he asked while picking up the shot glass, but not drinking from
it yet.

"That is what I need to find out. My sister is one, and my uncle was one and
those were the people who rescued me from my parents. I should revere them,
not be frightened by them. It does not make sense."

Mark rubbed his chin in thought for a moment. "Do deal with Captain
M'Kantu much? How do you react when he's around?"

"Bad. I mumble and stutter. He is pretty good about it, he ignores it and
that makes it easier to handle. The XO is a lt commander and that is the
last rank I can handle without problems so that works as well. But you know
I can stare down generals just not commanders, that is insane. And we have a
new guy on board, Jaal something and he is rude, mean and horrible."

This last statement trouble Mark. He served with Jaxom on the Miranda
for several years and knew the man quite well. The Trill was anything
but rude and mean. He did, however, have a very low tolerance for
bullcrap. Mark knew Jaxom well enough to know that her fear of higher
ranks was, quite frankly, bullcrap. "If you knew him, you'd see that
he really isn't. I served with Commander Jaxom on the Miranda for
several years. I know him well enough to know that he isn't what you
say." Mark waved one hand dismissively and downed his shot, "But
that's all beside the point. Our priority now isn't bashing officers.
It's what to do about your alleged fear of that third pip. Any ideas?"

Branwen opened her mouth to disagree with him, and shut it again. Mark was
right, arguing about it would not serve anybody. But it bothered her a
little bit that he defended Jaxom so strongly, and did not seem to believe
her. "No, I have been racking my brain for years, believe me, it's a damned
nuisance I could do without. I am a career woman, Mark, and this is holding
me back."

"Hmmm," Mark commented to himself while pouring another shot. He set
the bottle back down and looked at Branwen. "We're ALL in Starfleet.
Right? Have you ever thought of that? We're all part of the same
organization. The Marine Corp just happen to be another department of
Starfleet people specializing in combat situations and ground
assault... much the same way, for example, that the engineering
department takes care of the ship's hardware and the medical
department takes care of our health."

"Been there and done that. I even tried a long holiday with my sister
on board her ship. But she is the only one who doesn't trouble me, so that
didn't help. Getting angry with myself also doesn't help." She looked
utterly frustrated.

Mark rubbed his chin in thought for a moment before answering. He
leaned back in his plush chair putting his hands behind his back.
"No," he repeated, "Getting mad never helps." He leaned forward again
and began tapping something into his computer terminal. "There are
three other commanders on the ship. Do you have a problem with any of
them?" He asked returning his focus to Branwen.

She had a think for a long time. "No, may be the kind of the job they do has
something to do with it as well. With Commander Ellesidil I just try and
forget the rank and see him as a therapist. And maybe because I knew him
before he became a Commander. With Commander Corgan, he is in security, and
in my mind at picture him as another Marine, because it's a similar job.
May be it's just those in command jobs that are a problem. Although Captain
Dallas has always scared me a little. Strange." She said musing.

Mark listened to her intently. After her explanation he was pretty
sure what he problem was. "Sounds to me like you don't respect the
commanders whose skills you have not witnessed in action. Maybe if you
knew, for example, Commander Jaxom, before he was promoted to
commander or perhaps watched him in a combat situation. I happen to
know he spars with several people on a regular basis. He's as good as
any marine out there... well, his marksmanship could work but that's
besides the point."

"So what do you mean, I try to see him as a Marine as well?" Her eyes grew
larger. "You're not suggesting that I spend more time with him, do you?"

Mark thought about that for a moment. If he suggested it he knew he'd
be in a heap of trouble. "Yes."

TBC...

"Getting Help? Part 2"

1st Lt. Branwen London
Lt. Mark

"So what do you mean, I try to see him as a Marine as well?" Her eyes grew
larger. "You're not suggesting that I spend more time with him, do you?"

Mark thought about that for a moment. If he suggested it he knew he'd
be in a heap of trouble. "Yes."

"All right, I'll ask for a sparring match. How does that sound?"

"No, but in a social setting. Get to know him as a fellow officer
rather than just some generic commander you're scared shitless of."
Mark downed another shot and debated on taking a third. "All I'm
trying to get you to do is lose the labels you place on people. Rather
than see them as Starfleet or Marines, just see the people as... well,
people."

"As if he is going to agree, he hates my guts already. You really think he's
going to want to spend time with me socially." She rolled her eyes. "And
what do you suggest we do, remember that I have a fiancee!"

Mark thought about that a moment. "Okay, on second thought, don't." He
rubbed his chin again thinking. Time to try another track. "I can
assure you he doesn't hate your guts. I've served with the Commander
on the Miranda for several years. This is something you shouldn't take
personally. I believe he just expects someone in the Marine Corps to
be tougher... that is not afraid of anything, not even higher ranking
officers. But again, we're getting off track. We're supposed to be
talking about you," he pointed at her, "not him."

It brought out a small giggle. "Maybe I should see him as a client, may be
that would help. And he has no idea about me, does he, no idea what tough
means." She could take pain and hardship with the best of her Marines, and
had proved so several times in the past.

Mark downed his second shot. In a somewhat admonishing tone, "Au
contraire, the Commander does, indeed, know about toughness. He is
tougher than most people suspect. One doesn't get to be first officer
of a ship of the line without being tough. I think it's fair to say
both of you don't know each other."

"But he was the one who started to judge me." She said calmly. "And that
upsets me, since he is a senior officer there is nothing I can do about it."

"Yes," Mark said evenly, "There is."

"Oh yeah? Shoot!" She ordered him to tell her.

"Several things actually, press harassment charges," Mark ticked off
things with his fingers, "you could slap him with the white gloves and
challange him to something, get your fiance to beat him up, or you
could just show him you're a marine, not a mouse."

"The first is not my style." Bran replied. "I handle my own problems. The
second one sounds good though." She grinned. "A nice old fashioned duel to
show him what I am made off. That way I could show him I am a marine at the
same time."

"Now you say you solve your own problems," Mark pointed accusingly at
her, "How about the problem with the higher ranked folks then? Are you
ready to solve that?"

"Most of the time I do, don't nick pick, Mark!" She pulled the face at him,
beginning to feel more at ease with his counselling style. "How about I
invite all senior officers for a duel? That might solve my problems."

'She could be asking for a LOT of ass-kicking,' Mark thought privately.
"If you think it will help you get over this irrational fear, then by
all means, do it."

Bran laughed. "You sure are strange, Mark. You should be telling me that
violence doesn't solve anything. But I think I will start with Commander
Jaxom anyway."

"Well," Mark smiled, "Violence doesn't solve anything. Just keep in
mind we Starfleeters are not pansies."

"So? It seems to be the best idea you've come up with so far." She shot
back at him.

"Regardless of what you think, young lady," Mark admonished her,
"violence, is 'still' not the answer."

"In that case, suggest something else." She crossed her arms at him.

Mark crossed his own arms and watched her a moment. "Why don't you
respect the senior officers? Is it because you don't think they can
fight? You don't think they can do the things you and your marines do?
You don't think they worked hard for their positions? What is it?
Hmm?"

"It is not that I don't respect them." Suddenly she stared straight ahead
thinking back of her youth, something.... Then it was gone again. Branwen
shook her head. "Fear is not the same as disrespect, Mark."

Mark's eyes narrowed. He could sense he was finally getting to the
root cause of this mess. "No, it's not," he agreed in a soothing tone.
"Now... why do you fear them?"

She thought about it, and I was something in his voice that made her eyes
glaze a little bit. "They are evil, of the devil." She whispered. "Out to
hurt me."

"Oh really now?" Mark sounded rather surprised.

"Yeah." She said still a bit out of it.

He rubbed his chin thinking he should pour himself that third shot.
"And has a senior officer ever proved that little hypothesis to be
true? Have any senior officers 'ever' hurt you?"

"I guess so, torture?" She looked confused.

"A senior officer tortured you?" Mark pressed on as gently as he
could. He was getting somewhere, but the place Branwen was taking was
amongst the least expected. "Are you willing to tell me about it?"

She seemed lost in her own world, slightly frowning and shivering. "When I
was very small. My father protected me from them later, so they could not
come again and hurt me. He warned me every day to stay away from them."

"And these were actual Starfleet officers?" Mark needed some
clarification, "You know, it's not standard operating procedure for
Starfleet to torture little girls."

Bran frowned, seemingly coming out of her trance like state. "I don't
remember. I don't remember any of it, must have been some kind of dream."
She shrugged.

Mark drummed his fingers on his desk a moment. "I happen to know
someone who might be able to help you remember," he told her, "Our
esteemed chief counselor, Mister Elessidil has hyptnotherapy
experience... that is, if you really want to remember," he offered in
a baiting tone, "And I bet you do." If she didn't, Mark was ready to
prescribe it for her.

"Aw shucks Mark, not the boss." She pulled a face. "Let's leave him
blissfully unaware that I have some problems okay?" She gave him a pretty
smile.

Mark wanted to say it was rather obvious that she had problems and
anyone with one good eye and at least two living brain cells could see
that. But instead he simply asked her, "Don't you want to get to the
bottom of this rank-o-phobia you seem to be suffering from?"

"Yeah...." She looked away. Delving into her past was something she
avoided. Because of her own psychologist training she had always been able
to deflect the questions. Her big sister had not made her see a shrink when
she was liberated. Shanna didn't like them much herself despite the fact
that her husband had been one.

"Would it help if we went to see Mister Elessidil together?" he asked.

"I guess. If you promise not to portray me as a nutter. It is just a small
problem, Mark. Remember that."

Mark's expression turned serious, "Branwen, if you want to get over
this fear, I feel looking at some things that happened in your past is
the key." He leaned back in his chair putting his hands behind his
head, "Unless of course you don't ever want to solve this little
phobia you have. It's up to you really."

"I am NOT a coward." She shot back. "Oh alright, we will go and see him."

Mark loved it when a plan came together. "Very well. Whenever you're
ready we'll go see him."

"I am ready now. Soon I will be busy with marriage, operation and the
mission. So I would say let's do it as soon as possible." Bran suggested.
Time for running was long over.

"Culture Clash"

by Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin
and Cadet Artemis Bancroft

***

After her song, Artemis slipped off the stage. She motioned to Shi that
she'd be right there, and veered off toward the bar area to get a bottle of
water. With water in hand, she turned back to her table and trudged onward
toward where Shi waited.

However, when she got close to the table, she could not help noticing that
someone had taken her seat and was talking to her Andorian friend. By the
set of Shi's antennae and the way her head was canted to the side, Artemis
suspected it wasn't a happy chat. When she got closer and could see him in
profile, she realized the problem.

Davis!

Taking a breath and steeling her resolve, she finished her approach. "Hey,"
she said cheerfully.

Shi smiled. Davis turned, blushed, and said, "Hfprph, Arphesesh."

The cadet blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yuusvh vrr amerazhing. Yrr veesh izh bafflefle."

Artemis blinked again and for a moment thought that the universal translater
was offline. She glanced at Shi.

With a sigh, Sharzhevashi zh'Rin said, "He said 'You were amazing. Your
voice is beautiful.'"

"Oh." She looked at Davis. "Thank you." She turned back to Shi. "How did
you know?"

"Before you returned, he told me when you came back, he was going to tell
you you were amazing and that your voice is beautiful."

She looked back to Davis. "Thank you."

"Yrr walchhrm." Davis said. He smiled, blushed again, stood up, appeared to
want to bow, then turned to the door. He put one foot forward, shifted his
weight to take the other step. However, as he did, his eyes rolled back in
his head, and he toppled forward.

Fortunately for the chair and table Davis was about to fall upon, Artemis,
being still quite young and agile, managed to catch him before he did any
serious damage to himself or the furniture. Not being an exceptionally tall
person, but she seemed to have no trouble holding him up. She glanced at
Shi who shrugged her left antenna.

"Sickbay," Artemis asked.

"Perhaps that would be best for him," Shi said. "Will you require
assistance?"

Artemis shifted her weight and Davis' and hefted him into her arms. She
seemed to have no problem lifting him and when she turned toward the exit,
she moved easily.

"Is he heavy," Shi asked as she fell in step.

Artemis shook her head. "I'd guess probably around ninety kilos."

While Shi was not tall, she did look down onto Artemis. "Alien physiology
confounds me at times," she said. "You are stronger than you appear."

"Vulcan," Artemis said. "I'm not nearly as strong as mum, but I guess I'm
alright."

The turbolift doors opened and Artemis entered sideways, making sure not to
bang Davis' head into the plating around the door. Poor guy had enough
trouble as it was.

In the silence of the turbolift ride, Shi turned to Artemis. "So, what are
your thoughts on our upcoming mission?"

"Haven't really had a lot of time to think about it," the cadet answered.
"I guess with not knowing where I'm going to end up. From what I've read
and heard, I'd hate to be in it. I mean, picking up and moving at the drop
of a hat is what we do. Starfleet officers don't really settle in
anywhere. We're used to being able to just move. These people, those are
their homes. I know I wouldn't want to just pick up and go. If I lived
there, I'm not sure if I could."

"It is unsafe for them to remain," Shi said. "Remaining in the path of such
danger will lead many of the colonists to their deaths."

"I guess as long as it's their choice, who are we to interfere?"

Shi frowned. "If they will not look out for their own well-being, someone
will need to do it for them."

"They're not children, Shi," Artemis said. "I mean, the grown-ups aren't.
If they make a decision, aren't we supposed to respect that decision?
Regardless of right or wrong. If they know the consequences, are fully
aware of what they're getting themselves into?"

"I will concede that point," Shi said as the turbolift doors opened.
"However, many people may die if they are not relocated. It is not right to
leave people in such a position when we are capable of preventing it. If
you knew someone was preparing to take their own life, by whatever means,
what would you do?"

"I'd say that's different, but I'm not sure," Artemis said. "Except
shooting yourself in the head with a phaser is different from remaining in
your home while impending doom approaches. If you go to kill yourself,
you're giving up. If you stay in your home, you're just staying where you
want to be and meeting what's coming on your own terms."

"But it need not cost you your life," Shi said. "Unless the region will be
contaminated beyond habitation, when the crisis ends, a colonist could
return to his home."

The pair walked into sickbay and Artemis set Davis down on the bed she was
directed to. "But if they can't go back, I imagine some may not want to
leave." She turned to the nurse. "He fainted in Ten Forward. Anxiety of
some kind. I don't think he's been drinking or doing drugs. Really nervous
sort, I think." She turned back to Shi as they started out of Sickbay.
"The only ones we really need to be concerned with, in my opinion, are the
ones who can't decide for themselves. The ones not old enough or too old to
help themselves. If me and mum lived there, by law, she'd make the decision
and I'd have to live by it. Even though in two years, I'll be considered an
adult. But, I'm a zarking Starfleet cadet. I'm old enough to throw myself
in front of a Hydran soldier but not old enough by law to choose if I want
to stay or leave. Mum has to decide for me."

They reached the turbolift again and stepped in, and Artemis continued, "I'm
not a parent and probably won't be for a long time. But, I know if I was
crazy enough to say I'm not leaving, I'd want to send my kids out of
danger. It's the parents who want to stay and face certain death and insist
their kids stay with them we have to worry about. Someone my age, even if
we're not able to by law, we can make up our minds. I think we're rational
enough for that. I say we need to get the people who want to go and the
kids out. If someone doesn't want to leave, I don't think we really have
any right to force them out."

Shi's frown deepened. "You would leave them to die."

"Before leaving them, I'd make sure they understood their decision, but in
the end it is their decision. Their home, their life. I don't see, even
though they're Federation citizens, that we have the right to force some new
life on them. Not if they don't want it. I know we may want to have
everyone's best interests at heart, but what we think is someone's best
interests and what they think are their best interests aren't going to be
the same."

Shi sighed and her antennae drooped. "I still do not like the idea of
leaving anyone to die. Andorians would not leave their people to die. If
it were Andorians on these planets, they would know that their duty was to
survive."

"And Vulcans would all pick up and go, because it is the logical thing to
do," Artemis said with a nod.

"Then why do you argue the colonists be allowed to stay."
Artemis smiled. "Because it is the human thing to do."

"Juggernauts"
By Chris and Dallas

Being PART IX of the END OF ALLISON JIMSDOTTIR SAGA

......right after leaving the musical forum.

"Damn you Corgan, dont you walk out on me again." Allison swore as she
stomped down the corridor after the fuming Security Chief. "I've got
too much invested in you to let you go now."

She was still dressed in the black leather skirt and rock and roll top from
her thundering performance in 10 forward.

Slim legs clad in fishnet hose and thrust into thin heels clicked angrily
after the man.

Rounding on her with a snarl, James clenched his fists in fury. "Back
off blondie!" he threatened, "Get your stupid pink glitter spackled
face out of my life!"

"Why you....."

"No, now YOU Listen kid" James stuck his finger in her face, ".....because
thats all that you are.....a kid.....just some stupid spoiled rich brat who
thinks of Starfleet as
some sort of slumber party adventure....something that she can laugh
and giggle her way through while not taking an ounce of responsibility
for her duties, or her fellow crewmen. You've made it clear you think
of this whole ship as one big joke, and have done nothing but make a
pest out of yourself to everybody.....me especially!"

Alli worked her jaw in shock as if she had been slapped across the
face. How dare.....

"Stow it, Crewman recruit!" James barked like a commanding
officer, "You have gone too far this time! Defying my authority!
Offending everyone in Security! Making yourself the running joke of
the entire fleet! Ruining my good name!"

He growled low, "But now......threatening Mika. Threatning the woman I love!
Well thats the last straw kiddo. I can only excuse so much from
you, explain so much as being some silly little vacuum head's teenage
fantasy, cover your underaged ass when you should have executed by
being spaced out of the main cargo bay! But no, this the coddling
ends! This time I've had enough! Interfering with my personal life,
even going so far as to bring Mika into your fucked up delusion is far
enough! CONSIDER YOURSELF TRANSFERRED! I won't have you fucking up my
department and my life anymore! Goodbye, little miss! Your Starfleet
career is over!"

"You...." she spat, "You should talk Mr. Doomy and Gloomy pants! If
I had known what a self-centered pathetic mewling little crybaby you
were I would have never wasted a year of my life on you! I offered
you everything....I spent every waking moment on this dumb ship
thinking about you....worrying about you....trying to figure out ways
to make your life better!"

"Don't you fucking push me, little girl, and shut up when I..."

She stomped her leather boots onto the deck in frustration. "And for
nothing!!! Everything is always about your poor pitiful life.....oh I
am traumatized by my past.....oh I feel the need to be a potty mouth
and curse about everything."

"Well I have news for you bucko.....there are some people in this
universe who would kill for a little attention from you! Some people
that are shocked at how listless and without direction your life is!"

Failing to lose face, James was inwardly shocked by her stiff
resistance, but rather than be taken aback, James wasn't angry. He was
furious. All his other shows of aggression were shows that an
otherwise more laid back James didn't want to show. Not many times did
he feel genuinely mad; it was an emotion he wanted to avoid.

Jimsdottir was an annoyance, and his 'anger' was a pitiful growl and a
snarled warning.

But now he wanted to punch the little girl in the face. Wanted to see her
lifeless body
slump as a blow to the jaw would knock her out on impact. James had
the training, he knew one punch from her would silence her for good.

How he wanted it.

James loomed forward, and said with iron determination, "Crewman
Recruit, this is your last warning if you value your life. You do not
know shit about what you are talking about, and if you don't want to
experience something that will make your court-martial paradise on
Risa you better stop right there."

"Hell," Alli crossed her arms haughtily, "Is no wonder you abandoned
your kid to go chasing around the universe! "You can't handle the damn
responsibility....You think too much about yourself and not a bit
about your poor baby daughter!!"

"THATS ENOUGH!" the walls shook and James fist reached out to smash the
blonde haired demon from his sight, his fist sending Allison crashing
to the floor holding her wounded cheek. "I told you that my daughter
is none of your damn business Jimsdottir!!! You have no right.....no
qualification to talk about her! You don't know anything about my
daughter! Her mother and I are long gone! She chose to betray me for
her stupid fucking empire! She did it to me! She made me look like the
asshole, and that's exactly what you're doing to ME!!!"

Panting like a locomotive, James found his right hand trembling, a
speckle of blood on the knuckle. He found Jimsdottir sprawled on the
floor, her lip bloody, long pale legs all askew.

He was expecting her to be afraid, rattled, bruised and cradling her
wound, but she was just as angry as James, her ice blue eyes showing a
fire in spirit rivalling his own.

He could feel his own fire die. His fist had Alli's blood on his abraised
knuckle. It was from a wild swing; a direct hit could have broke the
little girl's neck or caused a concussion, but she wouldn't have been
standing and ready to fight back.

As it was the blow nearly spun the girl's head off. He towered over
her tiny form as she took great gasps of air to collect her wits.
Amazingly however, hell blazing in her eyes told him that she wasnt
down for the count......a few seconds to get all the circuits back
online and she'd be right back in his face.

There was something in James mind that screamed at him that what he
did was wrong. It was something he always though was vulgar, something
he vowed not to do.

Hitting a girl half his size.

It was something his father would do. Intimidate. Scream. Even
use his fists.

He promised himself he would never be like that.

~"Then what the hell do I call this?"~ James looked at his still
trembling fist, ~"I mean, I'm not supposed to be like my neanderthal
father, and I did worse than he ever did. I hit a woman. I hit my
subordinate just for pissing me off. What the hell does that make me?"~

"Oh my god..." James whispered, "I'm sorry... talking about Nuhir is
no excuse to hit you."

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE FUCKING ROMULAN BABY!!!" Alli shrieked at
the top of her lungs shocking James with her sudden uncharacteristic
vulgarity. "How can you be so DAMN BLIND! I am the ONLY one
qualified to talk about abandoning your child!!! You are the one who
doesnt have a damnright to talk about your daughter because you left
her! You were never there!! NEVER THERE!!"

"What are you talking about?" James coiled back, fishing nervously for
a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his knuckle, "How does your
situation even involve me? I never met you outside of this ship
before. I don't even know your parents! And shouldn't you pissed off
about me hitting you?"

Pulling herself to her feet shakily...wobbling a bit on the heels, Allison
drew herself to her full height, blue eyes blazing with hatred and fury,
daring him to hit her
again. "I am the ONLY ONE who can tell you this you blind bastard for one
reason" she stucke her tiny chin out proudly, "My name is not Jimsdottir!!"

"No." James said, his fingers reaching for the comm button, "This ends
now. Commander Corgan to Lieutenant T'lan. Report to security office
immediately."

"NO! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO IGNORE ME NOW!" Allison actually physicaly
blocked the man twice her size ," I'M NOT ALLISON FUCKING JIMSDOTTIR!
MY NAME IS ALLISON VON ERNST!"

James paused in his tracks. ~"Rebecca?"~

His thoughts flooded with the memory of Rebecca Von Ernst. It was
memories of his darkest time when he first came on the Galaxy, the
time when he meet Rebecca.

She was the sorriest person he meet outside of himself. Tiny, scrawny,
wimpy, a wallflower had more respect than the dimunitive redhead.

But what she did have, aside from her tactical genius, was a naive,
cute personality that James found enduring. She was also a lost cause,
and fancying himself as a knight of sorts, James wanted to do what he
could to watch out and protect her.

In her worse times, James tried too hard and failed to help her, but
he didn't want to just let her go. Even when she shut herself out from
the rest of the world, James held out for the part of her that he
loved, the cute little redhead that saw him through his first tour of
duty as one of his few real friends.

~"And somehow Allison is a connection?"~ James thought, ~"Why?"~

"Von Ernst.....That was a name I have not heard in a long time." James said,
"The
one bitch I know that has that name didn't even have the sense to say
goodbye to me. How do you get that name?"

"I WAS BORN WITH IT!!!! " Alli yelled, hands on hips defiantly, "I GOT THAT
NAME BECAUSE I AM YOUR GODDAMNED DAUGHTER YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"

"End of Jimsdottir"

Being part X of the END OF ALLISON JIMSDOTTIR SAGA

"I WAS BORN WITH IT!!!! " Alli yelled, hands on hips defiantly, "I GOT THAT
NAME BECAUSE I AM YOUR GODDAMNED DAUGHTER YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"

With that line, James dropped his handkerchief, letting the blood
speckled cloth drop on his polished shoe.

He stared down at the child...was she a child?

A young girl, eyes streaked with mascara, clad in leather skirt and fishnet
hose, that at one point tempted him, but now seemed revolting.

In a perverse way, it made alot of sense. Her obsession with him, her
unquestionable adoration, her intimate knowledge of his life and her
lockhorn personality.

When James thought he saw alot of himself in his apprentice, he had no
idea it was so literal.

He should have seen it when Allison exibited the same tastes in music
as he did (with slight alterations, James was a Techno-Industrial,
Dark Metal kind of person that loved his synths to go with his heavy
guitar, while Allison was a Hair Metal goddess of the older school,
like Trent Reznor versus Bonnie Raitt).

It was right in his face when he found the unexplainable uber-
organizer with better hardware than his own starship, complete with a
negative quantum signature.......who else but Rebecca von Ernst, one of the
greatest Mathmaticians in Starfleet could have produced that
encryption code.

Allison was odd, but James could see the signs of her origins
everywhere on her, as if a veil was unlifted from his vision. She was
short and petite, even for a teenager, and if she was shorter and
scrawnier she would have fit Rebecca's body type. The rest, James
could have surmised, was from his side, seeing the parallels of his
own sister's blonde beauty and his mother's kindly face and impish
smile. Her freckles were, if it was possible, from her mother's side,
but her hair was straight and flaxen like a Corgan female's. The eyes
were from his side. He could remember his eyes being that bright and
blue, and his mother and sister both had the same.

Her precociousness? Corgan. Her intelligence? Von Ernst. Her cunning?
Corgan. Her playfulness? Von Ernst. Analytical abilities? Von Ernst.
Spirit? Corgan.

And there was no doubt what Von Ernst Allison was talking about.

Rebecca.

Allison really was the amalgam of the USS Zeus's captain and the USS
Galaxy's security chief, scary as it was for James to imagine the both
of them mating and producing offspring. Plausible it could be that
Allison really was his daughter.

Except for a few glaring facts.

He'd never had sex with Rebecca.

"Who is your mother?" James had to hear it from Allison.

She rolled her bright blue eyes and wondered if he really was this
stupid. Gawd but she had been dropping hints since the first day she
set foot on the Galaxy. She had come here for one reason and one
reason only. For him. She wanted to know her father, gawd but from
before she could walk she had wanted to know who her dad was and why
he wasnt around. Why had he left?

She had come back....back across the ocean of time to find him....to
prove to herself that it had all been a mistake. He really was a good
person, and hadn't meant to abandon her and Mom. The reality of the
situation was more than she could stand.

Looking him dead in the eye she confirmed his guess. "My mother is
Rebecca von Ernst."

"Bullshit." James rightfully dismissed.

"WHAT?!" Allison piped up, "ARE YOU EQUAL PARTS STUPID TO GO WITH THAT
BLINDNESS?!?!"

"No, but i'm equal parts skeptic." Corgan turned cold, turning his
back to Allison, "You're already a teenager and I'm barely in my 30's. I
would have
had to be a pre-teen to have meet your mother and have sex with her,
and my first time was in the Academy with one of my classmates. I
didn't meet Rebecca until my first tour of duty on the Galaxy, and
though I tried to get close to her, I never once had sex with her. You
have to be lying."

Alli buried her face in her hands silently cursing the thickheadedness
of it all. When she first came up with the idea of coming back to find
Dad she had imagined that he would recognize her on sight and openly
embrace her. She never in her wildest dreams thought she'd end up
playing twenty-questions and have to take a paternity test.

"I never said you banged her when you were teenagers.....gawd thats
like a gross thought by the way.......I'm from the zarking
future....duh!......My birthday is July 20th , 2386, thats in two years
for those of you keeping track."

Seeing the incredulous look on James's face.....As if she suddenly
sprouted another head, Alli threw up her hands in frustration. "Well
its true.......who else but mom would have the money and the
brainpower to work out the computations for a slingshot around the sun
to bring me here?"

"Are you sure you can back that up, little woman?" James Corgan flung
his handkerchief at Allison. "That's your blood on that rag. In case
you haven't forgotten, you pissed me off enough to deck you out on
your little ass. Go ahead, test your blood. I'll be there with you to
see the results. You're on."

"Fine with me bucko." Alli snatched up the kerchief, and flipped her
hair smugly at him. "Lets march down to medical and prove to the
whole ship that Im a time traveling teenager from the future......should be
pretty run of the mill for a crazy ship like this."

"You have one chance" he explained, "and the way I see it it
guarentees my win. I'll let you and I go through a DNA test and put
the issue to rest. If you are wrong and I'm not your father, you will
be arrested and most likely sent to a psychiatric institution until
you are a fit member of society. If, and if God decides to shit on my
parade today and somehow make you my daughter, I'll march with full
escort and full disgrace to the brig and start serving my sentence for
striking a fellow officer. Deal?"

Alli rolled her eyes. Gawd but did he EVER stop talking? Why
couldn't he be the silent type like mom?

"How the hell did a genius like mom end up with a halfwit like you?"
Alli tapped her forehead mockingly, encouraging James to think. "You
cant arrest somebody for violating Starfleet regulations if they are
not in zarking Starfleet! I'm not your zarking fellow officer, I'm
your daughter!"

She scoffed, "Do you like think that I would actually go and recruit
myself and go run around in basic training for 8 weeks before I showed
up on the Galaxy? Hel-lo....Earth to Dad! My mother was Executive
officer of this dumb ship for over a year and knows all the access
codes, and fleet computer protocols, .....she MEMORIZED the darn ships
manifest, how hard do you think was it to forge a Starfleet ID and a
set of transfer orders?"

Allison poked one skinny little finger into James chest. "Time to
face facts mister. You got yourself a brand new kid...Congratulations
asshole, It's a girl!!"

She crossed her arms defiantly, "You can ground me, send me to my
room without any dinner......you cant send me to military prison."

James sighed, "No, but if your confession to forging documents was true and
you're not a real officer, you're going to have life in a penal colony,
where sunshine will be perpetually pumped up your pale ass until your dying
days, all while you glow like a Parithian sunlamp! So if you're right, and
even if you're right... that would be impersonating an officer, cracking
military secrets so that's espionage, having access to restricted military
grade technology... that hole you dug for yourself just hit bedrock. Want me
to get you a jackhammer?"

"Really......" Alli pretended to yawn, "You make too much of your
security protocols......Remember this is all old news to us. Twenty
years from now access codes and ships logs are public domain
information. Duh!"

"You know that pink sequined electronic planner that had been baffling
everybody for so
long? Check this out," she motioned. "I've got a complete set of
ship's logs for the next year and a half stored in there. Every dumb
battle and crazy plot this ship is gonna get involved in is like
ancient history to me. "

~"A log into the future..."~ James reeled, ~"Ever mission, every outcome,
there for anyone. I could see into the future, find out about my
friends..."~

"NO!" Corgan's retreated like he was seared by a hot iron. "You're f**king
looney tunes, and you have to be lying! Even if that thing was true, that
would seriously violate the Temporal Prime Directive. If that thing really
is what you say it is, you shouldn't have it."

Allison shook her head, gingerly touching the stinging welt on her
cheek where he had hit her. "Knowing somebody as skittish and careful
as my mother," she said, "Do you really think she'd send her darling
daughter back in time 20 years without some sort of insurance policy?
How the heck did you think I always knew about upcoming battles, and
where to hide out to be safe? I have repair and casualty lists in
this thing. I know what parts of the ship are going to be damaged in
a fight beforehand. I know what away missions will take
casualties....Mom made me promise to stay safe and keep out of the way
when things got hairy."

She shrugged. "Didnt you notice I always requested time off right
before a battle?"

James tried to recall, but even when T'lan was given most of the
administrative tasks, he knew most of what went on in security. In his
recollection, he could piece together when Alli had her time off and when
certain 'events' took place.

It was a coincidence too hard to ignore.

"Oh... my god." James coiled back in shock, "You could be the real deal. An
actual time traveller."

Alli's face was really begining to hurt now that the adrenaline was
wearing off. He had hit her HARD. Slumping wearily to the deck, she
drew up her bare knees to her chest and breathed a sad sigh.

"Look D...dad?" she wasnt sure how she felt using that title yet, "
I...I'm tired of fighting with you. This....this isnt at all like I
had pictured it in my head. I mean mom warned me......tried to talk
me out of going, but......"

A single tear rolled down her cheek, the salt stinging the injury a
bit. "I just wanted to meet you. To find out who you were. To find
out who I was, where I came from........and......" she swallowed, "
and......find out why you left us." she glanced up at James, a look of
being lost on her face, "W...w....was it me? Is that why you left?"

Even with the anger that was released in that one blow to her face, James
felt a sympathy for the frail, vulnerable little girl he had taken under his
wing as his little apprentice. In whatever delusion she harboured, James
could still see through her eyes, feel what she felt if given her
circumstances.

He started to believe that her story could have a kernel of truth. There
were too many coincidences to deny.

The only part he didn't believe was that she was his daughter. Any
timetraveller that had a Corgan female's gold hair and blue eyes could pass
herself off as a Corgan. It could be used as a way to get into him, use him
for whatever the traveller's purposes were.

Starfleet documented many time travellers in the voyages of its many ships.
The idea just wasn't ludicris anymore.

But his daughter? So many things were wrong. It also opened up the
possibility of a future he didn't know and didn't want. No hint of Mika was
in her, for Allison was a full blooded human Was she adopted? Artificial
insemination like what happened with his daughter Nuhir? Did he remarry? Was
he married to Mika? What happened to Mika?! Damn the Temporal Prime
Directive! It didn't match what he thought would he a daughter of his.

It threw his what he thought was a good life on the recovery in an uncertain
chaos.

His answers were somewhere with Allison, and to get him, he reasoned, he
would have to entertain her delusion one last time. He extended his hand to
her, picked her up with a strength and compassion his security background
taught him, a hint that there might have been something she expected in him
after all.

"Lets go to sickbay." James Corgan grinned at her, "We'll get you looked
after. Officer or not, you're still hurt and I still assaulted someone. On
the way we'll test your blood, see who you really are, and go from there,
ok?"

Wobbling a bit in her heels, Alli nervously accepted the help, but her mind
held its breath....not daring to hope.

"Alright. One foot in front of the other now." James joked, his foxlike grin
handsome and comforting at the same time. He hovered over the girl
protectively, his thoughts alternating between keeping her calm and safe and
keeping himself from giving in completely to her story. Escorting her to the
turbolift, he shut the door, commanded it to go to sickbay, and leaned back
on the wall.

"Sorry if I wasn't what you expected." James said, felt it needed saying,
answering her questions, "That's the problem with meeting your heroes. They
end up being real. Or in your case meeting me, they end up being real
assholes."

Silence as the lift whoosh whoosh whooshed....

"Your other questions... I can't answer them. Maybe if you asked a different
time, or someone else even. Right now, how can I give you answers to things
I haven't even experienced yet? If I am your father, and need I remind you
that's a BIG if, why didn't you ask me in your time? Surely I wasn't that
intimidating...." He paused with a dreadful realization, "...Was I?"

She looked up at him......blood and mascara runnig down her cheek.

James shook his head, "Nevermind. I don't even know if your story is true
yet. Lets just go to sickbay and sort this crap out, ok?"

Thus ends the adventures of Allison Jimsdottir
Thus begins the Adventures of Allison von Ernst

"I'm Staying"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commander Jaal Jaxom

==Ready Room==

Jaal Jaxom stood in front of the captain's desk in the ready room with a
freshly replicated uniform and three, shiny, new pips on the collar. The
replicated clothes would have to do until he could get some
properly-tailored uniforms. It's a bitch losing everything you own when
your ship gets blown out from under you.

"I'd like to stay," he told M'Kantu simply.

"Good." Daren smiled and waved Jaal to a chair. "I've already talked to
someone about working with you, so you won't be stranded and alone.
Commander Smith will be liaising with the Security Department and
offering insight and advice on integrating the Klingon forces into our
operations once they start to arrive."

Jaal took the offered seat as M'Kantu explained. "Commander Smith and I
work well together. I don't foresee any problems with that. She's top
notch, especially when dealing with Klingons." The Trill had his own
connection to the Empire but decided not to namedrop at the moment.

"That's more or less what Jii said when I contacted him," Daren nodded.
"Have you got any questions up front?"

"I understand we're headed for the Vered Cluster. The scuttle onboard
has it we're going to be evacuating some colonists," Jaal ventured.

Daren nodded. "In this case, it's correct. We've been assigned to assist
in the evacuation of Federation citizens from the Vered Cluster in
advance of an anticipated Hydran push there. Necessary or not,
evacuations like this are always problematic at best. They're conceived
by people that can't see below the level of the 'Big Picture' and who'll
never have to explain to someone why they have to abandon their lives
and everything they know." He handed Jaal a padd. "Here's the
operational information."

Jaal took the offered padd. "Nothing good ever comes of these types of
missions." He glanced at the padd, "And in case Jii hasn't mentioned it,
I really hate politics."

"That's because politics isn't our job," Daren observed. "If we loved
politics, then it would be our job. Instead, we work for politicians,
because this is the job we love."

Naturally, Jaal understood. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

Daren thought that 'wave your hand and make this mess vanish' was both
unprofessional and extremely unlikely as answers went, so he just
nodded. "The Department Heads are dealing with full plates already, so
I'm going to give you a job that I can pull off of theirs. Go over the
orders and Admiral Megarex's operational plan with an eye towards two
things: one, what's going to be left behind when the resettlement is
completed - the materials, facilities, and resources. When the Hydrans
come through, they'll concentrate their efforts on the planets that
offer them the greatest immediate benefit, and knowing that makes our
planning actions against them easier. You'll need to coordinate with
Lieutenant Bental on that."

"Makes sense, plus, if we have time, we can booby trap the deserted
facilities," Jaal replied with a bit of mischief showing in his tone.

"Two, I want you to try and think of everything that you can that might
go wrong. Talk to Security, Intelligence, and Operations and get with
Commander Tarin to set up simulations to let our people get a feel for
what's coming." Daren considered that for a moment. "Talk to Tactical
too," he decided. "There's every chance someone with a fleet of mining
ships, or a smuggler's retreat with some shadow trader's vessels might
choose to use them to block or delay the evacuation. We'll need
simulations to reflect that as well."

Jaal nodded as he took a few notes down on a padd. "Don't forget running
into settlers that won't want to leave." He looked up at his new
captain, "I think that's just because they really don't have any idea of
what's going to happen. Knowledge is power after all."

"Sometimes, yes," Daren agreed. "But when it comes to losing everything
that you have, everything that you've worked for, knowing why you have
to lose it isn't always enough to overcome the need to fight to keep
it."

"These people we're moving, especially their leaders, the stubborn ones,
need to understand that, even though they've been doing okay against the
Drayashans the Hydrans are a hundred times worse. They simply
don't have the equipment and manpower to repel an invasion of this
magnitude. They'll all be dead within forty-eight hours of the Hydrans
getting in system. Plus, we need to somehow make them understand that
the only way Starfleet can protect their lives is to move them out."
Jaal paused a moment looking at M'Kantu with his head slightly tilted.
"But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know," he added with
a tint of amusement.

"No, no you're not," the Captain agreed. "The problem with situations
like this is that no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, too
many of the people that we're here to help will see us as the enemy no
matter what we do or say. The Hydrans are a vague threat that may or may
not arrive - but we're right there, putting a face for them to react
to." He sighed. "I just hope that this doesn't blow up into as big a
mess as that relocation Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise were roped
into a few years back did."

"I remember hearing about that," Jaal rubbed his chin in thought. "But
in this case, I don't think the Hydrans will be willing to share like
the Cardassians back then." The Trill had a very bad feeling this whole
episode was going to turn into manure in a very short amount of time.

"I doubt it," Daren agreed. "Your office space is allocated and
complete - directions are on the padd - and I'll update the Department
Heads and Senior Staff on your new position in a minute." He stood and

"Office Space"

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom
Strategic Operations
USS Galaxy

"Your office space is allocated and complete - directions are on the
padd - and I'll update the Department Heads and Senior Staff on your
new position in a minute." He stood and offered a hand. "Thank you and
welcome aboard, Commander."

"Thank you Captain," Jaal shook his new commanding officer's hand.

Well, now it was official, wasn't it?

==His New Office==

Jaal walked into his 'new' office appreciatively. It was standard fair
for a ship the Galaxy's size. The first room had two desks, one on
each side of the room, presumably for any assistants or liaisons that
would come to work under him. At the opposite end from the entrance
was another door that led to his actual work space. Inside was a desk
with a computer terminal, a couple of chairs, a replicator alcove, and
the entrance to the head.

He walked around checking out different things. He moved the chairs
experimentally to see if they squeaked. They didn't.

He went into the inner office and sat at 'his' desk. He leaned back
and folded his hands behind his head. There was one smallish view port
showing the stars streaking past.

'I guess I ought to quit goofing off and get to work,' Jaal thought to himself.

"Computer," he said out loud, "Synchronize the terminal in this office
with the one in my quarters." This way he'd be able to work in either
place and not have to keep transferring data back and forth.

A second later the computer confirmed his request had been carried out.

Now he noticed his message waiting light winking at him. "Computer,
play message number one."

The screen lit up to reveal his sister's face. Janeen was currently an
ensign on Starbase Atlantis. "Hey, got your message. I'm glad to hear
you're still alive! Looking forward to seeing you again. Things are
getting 'really' strange here, let me tell ya! It's never a dull
moment. Let me know what your next assignment is going to be." Her
smiling face was replaced by the Starfleet seal indicating the end of
the transmission.

Jaal smiled back at the screen as he fired off a quick note back to
his sister letting her know he'd been transferred to the Galaxy.
Perhaps they 'would' get together soon.

He leaned back in his chair to test it out. Reclining and folding his
hands behind his head he remembered the last time he was given an
office? it was about four years ago now? It was right after the battle
of Havras?

##FLASHBACK##

==Jaal's Temporary Quarters, Starbase 212==

The Trill looked up at his commanding officer. Jaal didn't seem him in
casual clothes often and was slightly surprised by it. "Uhm. Hi," he
greeted Elaithin Jii as he zipped his duffle bag up.

"You don't have to take a commercial craft, you know." Elaithin
offered. "I certainly see my way to letting you take the Mississippi."

"I know," Jaal answered, "I thought of that but I just got word that
one of Taalis' cousins will be picking us up. T'Pris, she commands
some science vessel or other."

Taalis had been grievously injured during the battle and currently in
a coma. She was being taken back to her family's estate on Vulcan.

"It's up to you. Don't know that I'd want to be around that many
Vulcans at once, personally." Jii replied with a shrug. "Any new news
on Taalis?"

Jaal let out a deep sigh as he checked the zipper on his bag. He stood
up straight and ran his hand through his hair. A numb look came across
his face when the Trill spoke, "No. The Starfleet doctors here have
had a thorough look at her and can't do anything."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jii offered consoling, patting the other man
on the shoulder. "If it helps, Brex came out of his coma this
morning."

Brex, the Miranda's first officer, had also been badly injured.

A small smile replaced the thin line that Jaal's lips had become a
moment ago. "That's great. How's he doing?"

"He'll be fine, with some time."

"Any word on when he'll be back?" Jaal asked with genuine concern.

"Well, not quite."

"Oh?"

"No. After this incident, the Commander has decided to seek
reassignment to the embassy on Bolarus, to be near to his family. That
leaves me without a first officer. I'll get to the point - how'd you
like to step into those shoes permanently?"

Jaal watched Jii with narrowed eyes for second. He didn't believe what
he'd just heard. An unhappy chuckle escaped before he could answer.
"Yer jokin', right?"

"You did very well at Breen and Havras, Jaal. Especially considering
your personal circumstances. If you're amenable, there's no one I'd be
prouder to have." the Bajoran said honestly, meeting the other man eye
for eye.

Jaal was speechless. This was the very last thing he expected to
happen. In all his career, because of his behavior mostly, he'd been
told there would be nothing higher than lieutenant for him in
Starfleet.

Well, the Trill certainly proved the brass wrong, hadn't he?

Now he was being offered the first officer's spot on one of the most
prestigious ships in fleet. Jaal could barely speak. "I... uh... I...
can I think about it for a bit?"

"Well," Elaithin offered with a inclining of the head. "I suppose you
could. But I understand you have a flight to catch, and I will need an
answer before you go on leave."

Jaal turned and looked out the viewports for a moment still in
disbelief. Despite losing almost everything dear to him in Breen space
his heart raced with the thought. He turned and called to Jii just
before he got to the door, "Captain. I'll do it," he said resolutely.

Elaithin smiled openly then. "I thought you might say that."

A small hint of the personality that everyone knew came through for an
instant. "You think the red uniforms will clash with my spots?"

##END FLASHBACK##

Jaal sat in his chair smiling at the memory. He missed Jii, but now he
had a whole new 'everything' to get used to. 'Fun, fun, fun,' he
thought.

He sat up, 'Time to get to work,' he tapped a few keys on his console
and sent a request to the intelligence department for all the latest
information on the colonies they'd be evacuating.

Truth be told, the Galaxy's new strategic operations officer did not
like their current assignment. Colonists were almost a different breed
of people. They were stauncher, tougher, and more innovative that most
people. After all, it took someone with extra guts and glory to tame
an wild world and tailor things to your liking. Having to move such
people after all the blood, sweat, and tears they'd poured into their
respective colonies was like sticking a branch into a beehive.

OOC: Flashback courtesy of USS Miranda, Season 9, Episode
70-'Facelift', "Movin' On Up"

"Two Ships Pass In The Night And Keep On Going ? For A Change"

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom
Strategic Operations

Ltjg. Ophelia Zamora
JAG Officer

==Ten Forward==

Quiet buzzing of voices lifted through the air of the lounge on a
regular basis, causing the sound to be more expected than annoying.
Slinking over to the bar, unnoticed by few, Ophelia wiggled her bottom
up on a bar stool before ordering a green tea. A random thought or
two flashed across her brain, but not important enough to give a
second thought to them. Staring at the bar in front of her, she
sighed with a rather morose manner. Boredom had such a sound.

Jaal paid no attention to the woman that sat down a couple of stools
away. He was still staring into the bottom of his empty glass
contemplating what to do next.

Sure, he had a new position as the Galaxy's Strategic Operations
Officer. Everything was good in his professional life... but what
about his personal life? The questions vexing the Trill's brain
tonight was what to do about his, now apparently washed up,
relationship with Era. To do nothing was too easy. To do something was
also easy, but it wasn't easy when the other party involved was doing
nothing.

The bartender came by and Jaal quietly asked for a refill. At this
time he took a look around the lounge to see if the scenery had
changed.

Not surprisingly, it did.

The Trill made some mental notes hoping not everyone on the Galaxy had
a morbid fear of high ranking 'naval' officers. What the heck did
'naval' mean anyway? Wasn't that another word for someone's
bellybutton? Some thing in Federation Standard just didn't translate
well.

The bartender came back with another Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster and
set it in front of him. "Thanks," he said. The barkeep nodded and went
on to other customers.

"What's that?" Zamora asked quizically.

Jaal's head swung slowly in the direction the sound came from. Really,
one Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster was enough for anyone. Two was
overkill. Three was way too much. If one drank them as much as Jaal
did, four was way too much. He had just started his second. "It's
really damn good," he answered with a good-natured, lop-sided grin.

"I see. What's it called?" She asked quietly.

"It's called a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster... PGGB for short," Jaal
informed her, "They aren't for the faint of heart... but I'm not here
to show off either." He grinned again.

"Uh huh.....right." Ophelia nodded matching the same lopsided grin
for one of her own. "I'll just stick to tea....." Mentally, she was
making a note of his appearance should a missing persons alert pop up
on her console in the next day or two.

Jaal figured since she started the conversation he could keep it
going. "You've been on the Galaxy long?" he asked unassumingly.

"Long enough to know things are not as they appear. Lt. Ophelia
Zamora...Chief Liasion Officer at your service."

Jaal nodded, even half drunk as he was, he know nothing was as it
appeared. "I'm Commander Jaal Jaxom, newly minted strategic operations
officer."

"Minted and marinated from what I'm guessing." She muttered before
taking a sip of her tea.

"Almost," Jaal stated holding one forefinger up. "Two of these," he
indicated his drink, "is enough." He chuckled remembering a line from
an ancient action movie he saw once. In a voice reminiscent of Clint
Eastwood he stated, "A man's got to know his limitations." He laughed
at his own joke, "After this I'm going back to my cabin to sleep."

"Well, that's good at least. I would hate to think of you attempting
to hit on some innocent woman in an attempt to get her back to your
cabin. That.....my dear officer....would be very uncouth of you."

"I'm not only an officer," Jaal quipped, "but a gentleman too." He
shrugged, "Besides, I have a girlfriend." Then his brow furrowed in
thought, "At least I think I do. She was transferred to Jupiter
Station about six weeks ago... haven't heard from her since." It was
obvious he was troubled by that fact. "She hasn't answered any of my
messages," he said more to himself than anyone else.

"Well, that's not good."

"Yeah, I know," Jaal took a sip of his drink.

"What do you think about the whole situation?"

"Well, my good friend Kopak, who happens to be Vulcan, would say,
'Logically, there's two possibilities. One, she's unable to respond
or, two, she doesn't want to respond." Jaal looked to Ophelia, "Ya
know, I can't stand Vulcans sometimes."

"To each their own." She responded coolly. "How's that going down for you?"

Jaal set the glass down again after taking another long pull. "Let me
ask you a question," he asked suddenly, "How long would you wait...
for a response before, ya know, moving on?"

Ophelia swallowed hard as the tea slipped down her throat.
"Oh...well....um.....if I loved him....forever." She stated simply
with determination. "I guess. But....I've never really experienced
that sort of emotion." Ophelia paused. "I thought I did... at once.
But oh well... shit happens..."

Jaal turned to her glumly and sighed. "I suppose it does."

"You're depressing me." She muttered before waving to the bartender.
Watching as the supplies were set up, she licked her wrist, sprinkled
the salt, downed the shot and sucked the lime. Making the wincing
face, she looked over at him with a dead panned expression. "You can
cause a girl to drink...ya know that?"

"I had no idea," Jaal answered as he watched her go through the
routine. "Sorry? Unless of course you like a good drink now and then."
He shrugged.

"Everyone enjoys that Sir." She offered with a quick wink full of
sarcasm. Her moods as of late, were troubling to her to say the
least. It was as if she was forming into a ball of negative energy,
with enough potential in her negativity to explode outwards at any
moment. Drawing a breath, she leveled her gaze and stared ominously
at him. "Will you need assistance back to your quarters?"

Jaal smiled back at her with his glass in his hands. It was about half
full at the moment. He held it up to show it to her. "If I finish
this and don't fall off the stool. I'll 'should' be okay. However, if
I get off the stool and fall flat on my face, assistance will be
required... and greatly appreciated."

"I'll make you a deal. I'll help you back, regardless... no strings
attached... just please don't puke on me. I just had the uniform
cleaned." She stated with a lopsided grin and a rare chuckle.

Jaal drank as he listened and smiled. Setting the almost empty glass
on the bar he smiled back to Ophelia. "Fair nuff... don't worry, I can
hold my liquor... so long as I don't go past two." He pointed to his
glass again.

It was the fourth one he'd emptied that night.

"Orange Ribbons"

The letter spread through the colonies like wildfire. The original message
was sent to a wide distribution, and after that the forces of society
increased the momentum. Friends sent to friends, parents and children to
their families, employees to their co-workers. By the time the small fleet
led by the Galaxy and the Nightview had arrived to the cluster, there was
hardly a colonist who haven't received it, or at least heard about it.

It was a simple, 3D recording, nothing fancy. The first few seconds
displayed familiar vistas from the cluster. The windy cliffs of Epsilon
Vered II, hydroponic farms on Gamma Vered III. A happy Bajoran couple
holding their daughter's hands and observing the New B'Hala colony.
Corporate shuttles skimming above Zanthus city. A miner from Brass monkey,
his grin the only part of him exposed by the full body suit.
Then appeared a Human man in his thirties. He was wearing simple cloths -
black trouser and a white shirt - that somehow made him look festive. He had
a short-cropped black bird, and a circular piece of white cloth rested on
his shaggy hair.

He smiled at the camera and spoke up.

"Fellow settler of Vered,

My name is Rabbi Vincent Ben Atar, and I want to talk with you about the
hard days ahead of us.

I believe that you, I, and many more of us have the same thoughts in mind.
On one hand, we love this cluster of stars we call home. Otherwise we
wouldn't be here. We invested a lot of effort and love making this place the
pearl it is, a small microcosm which may be the fringe of the Federation but
the center of our hearts.

And then there's the Federation, which I am proud to be a member of. I
don't think there's a single alliance like it in the entire Galaxy - members
of many species, coexisting together and sharing basic universal values.
Like freedom. Like equality, Like the pursuit of peace and happiness.

The boys and girls in uniform that will come here are supposed to
represent these values, and be the best of us. For a moment don't think that
they are evil, and from here I humbly beg you not to hurt them no matter how
angry you are with what they are about to try. These people have dedicated
their lives to protect us. It was a misguided, poor decision that is about
to lead them to betray their values and purpose.

Do not harm them. But neither should you yield to them.

One days, when this is all over, they will regret their actions. Some of
them will be put to trials, others will spend the rest of their lives with a
tormented soul. But if we do nothing, by then the damage will be
irreversible. Our homes will be lost, taken over by the jealous and petty
Dreshayans, and all the guilty conscious in the universe won't bring Vered
back to us.

If you support our cause, I ask you to do two things.

First, wear orange ribbons. On your cloths, your bags, your hovercrafts,
your houses. Let anyone who thinks that Vered should remains in the hands of
its citizens let the universe know of his opinion. Let our silent demand for
justice be heard.

Second, when the Starfleet ships will come, I intend to invite the
officers to my house for dinner, and show them the famous Vered hospitality.
I offer you to do the same. Show them, first hand, that the people they are
about to hurt are not a faceless mob, and the houses they are about to
bulldoze are not some dot on some Admiral's map. Invite them to your homes,
with good intentions, and let their kind heart understand how wrong their
purpose is.

Together, we will surely remain to celebrate life on the Vered cluster
next year and for many years to come.

Thank you for listening and be blessed."

And that was it, aside from some contact information for anyone who wants to
support the cause and directions to tourist databases providing more
information about the cluster.

The message was simple and plain. No fireworks, no special effects, not even
a catchy background music. Nothing to indicate the incoming Orange Tide.

OOC: Occurs a couple hours after "Research", and before we reach the
Cluster.

"The Plan"

Capt. Daren M'Kantu
Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara

*****
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

The Captain's schedule had been unusually busy this morning, and so Iniara
had had to wait a couple hours before she could get some time with him. She
supposed she could have come straight to his office and interrupted whatever
he had been doing, but that wasn't really her style, and besides, this
wasn't a majorly time-sensitive issue anyway.

And because she'd had to wait, it had forced her to sit down and think about
the situation. Really think about it, and what she was going to do about
this one small, seemingly insignificant detail that was likely to blow up in
their faces if handled incorrectly.

In all that time, she still hadn't figured out just what she was going to do
about it. But at least she'd figured out something to try. So, taking a deep
breath she pressed the office's door chime and waited.

The door slid open without a verbal acknowledgment, revealing the tail end
of a conversation between the Captain and the admiral in charge of the
evacuation. "Yes, Admiral, I understand," Daren was saying as he waved her
in. "I'll have my staff get on that immediately. Is there anything else?"

"No, Captain," the Bolian shook his head. "Not for now. I'll contact you at
1900 hours for an update. Megarex out."

Daren waited for the screen to go dark before sighing, rubbing his forehead,
and looking up. "A word of advice, Commander: never try to talk an Admiral
out of something stupid while you have a headache from dealing with the last
three stupid things his staff has suggested."

"Ouch. Well, I'll try to keep this brief, and not too terribly
headache-inducing. I'm concerned about one of the colonies on Gamma Vered:
New B'Hala. The one with the 500 or so mostly Bajoran settlers."

Daren called up the records and nodded. "What, in particular, is worrying
you?"

"Well, the fact that they're a colony of Bajorans, for one." She paused and
tried to think how best to phrase it. "This is a colony founded by refugees
from the Occupation. According to the history we have on this place, it was
settled in waves by people escaping the homeworld... people who left their
homes with nothing but a shred of hope that they could find a new home that
wouldn't someday be taken away from them.

"Most of these people severed their ties with Bajor long before it became a
member of the Federation, and they feel no more loyalty to the Federation
than they do the Bajoran planetary government. I'm afraid that even with our
diplomacy, and our 'sensitive and decisive,' they're going to see us as an
invading force. After all, the Cardassians began their own invasion with
kind words and offers of friendship."

Daren reviewed the material on the group quickly. "They'll be former
resistance fighters, of course ? maybe not all of them, but many of the
adults. That will make things harder still." He looked back up at her. "Do
you have any suggestions on how to handle this? We're still far enough out
that I can arrange to have them assigned to Galaxy personnel for evacuation
control if that will help?"

"The team that is ultimately assigned to them needs to be as small as we can
make it, and should be composed as much as possible of people from species
they won't view as a threat. Other Bajorans, Terrans, Betazoids, maybe
Vulcans. Stay away from the species that are perceived as aggressive or
warlike: Klingons, Andorians, Tellarites... and definitely no Cardassians in
the group. I hate to discriminate like this, but it may make a difference."

"We're supposed to be 'sensitive and decisive,' Number One, not 'stupid and
deranged,'" Daren replied dryly. "I don't see a problem in assigning
evacuation control teams based on maximum perceived chance of success, even
if putting our best face on things means selecting the faces we present to
each group based on that idea."

"I'd also like your permission to try something a bit unconventional."
Iniara paused again, taking a moment to sort through her thoughts. "I've
been through their census documents. Some of the colonists are... former
associates of mine. In particular, one of their Councilors was a close...
ah, friend. I'd like to go down to the colony in advance of the evacuation
team and talk to him. Talk to them. It may help soften the blow... or at the
very least, prepare them for the inevitable."

"Unconventional seems to be our middle name of late," Daren pointed out.
"I'm willing to entertain the idea, particularly since moving them is going
to be a point of contention with many of your people on and off Bajor. How
were you thinking of approaching them?"

"I'd like to take a shuttle down to the planet and meet up with Mali-- ah,
Councilor Thorin," she amended quickly. Then, more deliberately, she
continued, "We haven't seen each other in over two decades. I'm hoping that
he'll see me as the girl who fought with him in the Resistance and was to
become his sister-in-law, rather than as an envoy of the Federation machine
come to rip him and his people from their homes.

"And if I can get that far...if I can convince him that leaving is in their
best interests, it will help me persuade the other two Councilors. The
Councilors may not have much power when it comes to the government, but
their wisdom is respected by the populace. I think if those three tell the
colonists they should leave, and the colonists are convinced of their
sincerity, many of them will leave peacefully or at least with a minimum of
resistance."

Daren considered it. "It's worth a try," he finally agreed. "I can make one
thing easier, at least, and ensure that none of the embedded reporter units
the admiral has decided to allow are allocated to you. And I'll want you to
pick some individuals for a team even if they all don't go down with you
immediately; not many ? two or three at most. Take people you trust, in case
things become difficult. If there are a significant number of former
resistance fighters there, someone may react before thinking things
through."

"I'll do that, sir. I have an idea of who to tap for this job, but do you
have any recommendations?"

"In line with your previous thoughts, I'd suggest at least one Betazoid ?
someone from Counseling or..." he frowned slightly "...if they're already
parceled out, get Mr. Suder out of the Library. He's persuasive and has some
experience dealing with... difficult people and situations. In fact," he
nodded, "why don't you take him along regardless? He'll be of more use than
you think. After that, I'd feel better if you took someone along for
physical security just in case things go badly, but you don't need me
picking your whole team for you."

Iniara nodded as she made some mental notes. "I'll talk to Commander
Elessidil. If he can't give me anyone, then Suder it is." She paused for a
moment, watching M'Kantu carefully. "Unless you have any objections, I'd
also like to take Lieutenant Krieghoff."

Daren blinked. Out of all the people he'd considered sending into delicate
negotiations across his entire career in Starfleet, Victor Krieghoff was at
the bottom of the list. He supposed that there had to be someone somewhere
that the man was qualified to negotiate with, but Allah alone knew who they
were; Daren didn't. "Lieutenant Krieghoff?" he asked carefully.

"He's a competent officer, very results-oriented if a bit unconventional in
his methods," she explained, still not entirely sure why she'd brought him
up. "Whatever it is about him scares the crap out of me on some instinctual
level, but he's on the short list of people I'd trust with my life."

There was that. The man ? or whatever he was ? would do whatever it took to
protect the ship and her crew. Daren glanced at the wall viewscreen, his
memory playing back the scenes from the Battle of Havras where he'd seen
Krieghoff engaging a Hydran demolitions engineer out on the hull of the ship
in hand-to-hand combat... without an EVA suit. "Have you considered that his
presence may be more disruptive than helpful?" he asked quietly.

"I have. But I'm not planning on parading him through the colony's central
plaza to terrify those colonists that are bound to react negatively to him.
I'll station him outside the colony as insurance-- if the situation
deteriorates and I have to call him in, it won't really matter what the
colonists think of him."

A bit relieved, Daren nodded his assent. Under those mission parameters,
Krieghoff was indeed the man for the job. "All right, but be sure and take
something besides a standard combadge with you. See Mr. Bental if necessary.
I don't want you getting cut off in the event of a... misunderstanding."

"Good idea. Hm." Iniara tapped her chin a couple times. "I bet Lieutenant
Kyznetsova could find something useful for me."

"Likely so," Daren nodded.

"Now... before I go rushing off to prepare, is there anything else we should
go over?"

"Beyond the usual, you mean?" Daren asked. He looked at the material in
front of him for a moment. "Yes. While you're studying the New B'Hala
colony, look at their neighbors, too. In situations like this, it's not
unknown for one group to provide advice and equipment to another in the
hopes that they'll create a problem, thus making the original group's
requests and situation look that much better. On top of everything else, I
don't want to see these people used as a ploy to gain a negotiating
advantage. They don't deserve that."

Iniara considered his words for a moment. "That's a good point. I wouldn't
think that the colonists would willingly allow themselves to be part of such
a scheme, but... desperation sometimes makes people do things they wouldn't
ordinarily do. If I see anything like that happening I'll get in touch
immediately, both with you and the teams assigned to the neighboring
colonies."

"Good." Daren studied her for a moment. "Be careful, Number One. Even for an
operation of its type, this one was hastily slapped together and
ill-conceived... and I'm afraid that the Admiral may wind up looking for
scapegoats before this is all over."

"I understand." She nodded solemnly, and then added, "The optimist in me
hopes it won't come to that, but the realist in me knows it's a definite
possibility. We'll just have to be especially cautious. All of us."

"Some of us," Daren agreed, "more than others. Good luck... and Allah guide
you ? and the rest of us ? through this mess."

Iniara smiled. "Amen to that. And Captain... thank you."

"Wait until all this is over, Number One," Daren returned as the two of them
stood. "That's when we'll know if anyone should be thanking someone for
this."

"...And The Band Played On"

*Zanthus City, Lambda Vered I*

Every member of the Corporate community, young and old, worker and student,
affluent and grunt, made their way to Zanthus City. The message was very
clear and endorsed by the Corporate government (in its edited form, of
course). A show of solidarity that has not been seen in some time on Lambda
Vered I was in full display.

Everyone, every single person, had an orange band on their arm, or an orange
kerchief tied around their head. Some even joined hands and tied the orange
cloth around their wrists to show their own solidarity.

Even in the spire that extended well above the surface of the planet, Shin
Takashi wore his orange sash on his arm, and tied another around the
ceremonial Katana that has been passed down through his family throughout
the centuries. His 'new' office suited him. He was always fond of snow and
ice, as he felt those states of matter resonated deep within him. He felt
no remorse for utilizing Myra to dispatch the person who was in his way, her
name he didn't care to remember anymore.

The casual observer would consider Shin to be a sociopathic individual, and
maybe they might be right. He had no problem turning Myra right over to the
Security Administration, as she already served her purpose. He had no
problem ordering the message from that Rabbi edited for his own purposes.
He didn't even have a problem using as many people as possible to achieve
his own personal goals: to keep the Colony running under his own flag, and
reap the rewards that would come with it.

Movement caught his eye as off to the left a shuttle was arriving. The
large gunmetal gray conveyance sank below his field of vision. The
spaceport was partially above ground, but smaller vessels were brought down
below through an elevator system.

Checking the chronograph, Shin finally stood up and stretched. He then took
his long coat, and left his comfortable office, his breath trailing behind
him. There was work to be done.

"The Bearer"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara

*****
Deck 8
XO's Office

"...and following the requisition of ten thousand five hundred eighty units
of..."

Iniara fell back in her chair, for the moment ceasing her half-mumbled
reading of the words on her screen. The report just would not end.

"Someone, please deliver me from this boring paperwork," Iniara groaned,
cradling her head in her hands. "This is not what I signed up for."

A moment later, a small flashing red icon presented itself at the bottom of
her screen, indicating an incoming message. A moment after that, the icon
was joined by a quiet beeping, indicating that said message was designated
urgent.

"Thank you, mysterious someone," she muttered sarcastically as she accessed
the message. At least it got her away from the paperwork.

From: Office of Senior Commandant Keral Yes'hu- Confederacy of Allied
Worlds Costal Patrol
To: Lieutenant Commander Tarin Iniara- Executive Officer, USS Galaxy
Re: Notification of Personnel Missing in Action- Chief Petty Officer Berilyn
Suum-Arvelion

Lieutenant Commander Tarin,

I regret to inform you that a member of your crew, Chief Petty Officer
Berilyn Suum-Arvelion, has been officially classified as missing. Ms.
Arvelion was a passenger aboard the freighter "Streaking Star" when it was
attacked by pirates near the Federation-Confederacy border. A full recovery
operation was enacted within minutes, but unfortunately Ms. Arvelion was not
recovered from the scene of the incident.

However, this message should not be considered a final declaration of status
regarding your missing crewman. We will continue to investigate all aspects
of this attack in an effort to determine any motive behind the attack as
well as recover any and all persons still listed as missing, Ms. Arvelion
included.

If you have any information which you believe would be helpful to this
investigation, please do not hesistate to forward it to this office. We
will continue to keep you updated as more information becomes available.

//end message

Just to make sure, Iniara reread the message again, much more slowly, making
sure she really was reading what she was reading. "Oh, hell...that will
teach me," she said at last, her voice barely more than a rough whisper.
The Chief was a relatively new addition to the Galaxy crew, but Iniara had
been highly impressed with the woman's performance thus far. Especially
during the DS5 rescue, when she'd flawlessly orchestrated the beam-out of
all the surviving personnel on the station. That was probably the reason
why Iniara knew so much about her, since ordinarily there were too many
personnel on the ship for her to remember personal details about every one
of them. But CPO Arvelion was different...her previous assignment was the
USS Miranda, she was married to the new Marine CO who had also come from the
Miranda, she had a young son...

And now she was missing, maybe even dead, all because of some stupid
pirates. Probably Orions, Iniara thought, her frown deepening. Worthless
scum of the galaxy.

But had anyone told her husband? That was standard operating procedure in
these sorts of situations; Colonel Arvelion had probably received a similar
message from the same people, even though the message Iniara had received
hadn't indicated anything either way. But what if they hadn't sent one?
What if the Stagnorians' standard operating procedure was to contact the
person's CO, and then let that person break the news to the family? That
way the news would at least come from someone familiar...

"But..." That meant she'd have to deliver the bad news herself. The XO was
responsible for all the Starfleet personnel on the ship, and as such she'd
received the notification message. And she'd have to pass the news along.

Sighing, Iniara slid down in her chair and switched off the console. This
was the part of her job she hated the most, even more than the endless
paperwork. But, it was part of her job. She'd been trained for this, and
she'd done this before, even though deep down she knew that even after all
the training in the universe and all the previous experiences she would
never really get used to it. After several seconds of relative silence the
XO sighed again, pushed herself out of her chair, and left her office in
search of Colonel Arvelion.

Bad news didn't deliver itself, after all.

"Things Hidden, Things Revealed"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara
1st Lt. Branwen London

*****
Deck 16
Marine Country

Walking more or less aimlessly through the corridors that housed the offices
and storerooms in Marine Country, Iniara couldn't help but wonder who'd
taught the computer to give directions in this area of the ship. Then
again, she supposed it might be related to the fact that these decks had
been extensively reconfigured when they'd taken on a full battalion of
Marines. Before, this area of the ship had consisted of mostly storage
space, an auxiliary cargo bay or two, and some small mess halls, so the
layout of the decks had been understandably brief. But now, this area was
home to a few hundred of the hardest working sons and daughters of targs
she'd ever met, and still the deck layouts were only partially updated.

The XO didn't think it was too much to ask that when she requested the
current location of Colonel For'kel Arvelion, and he happened to be
somewhere in the multi-deck area known as Marine Country, that the computer
could be a bit more specific than "Colonel Arvelion is currently in Marine
Country." Yes, that was definitely a project that needed a few people
assigned to it.

Idly wondering who Jamson had available for random pet projects this week,
Iniara continued down the gently curving hallway, on the lookout for anyone
who could potentially send her in the right direction. Unfortunately for
her, the area that contained many of the offices also contained a lot of
storerooms (most of the offices having been storerooms in a past life), so
this was becoming a bit of a futile exercise.

Or was it, she thought, stopping in mid step. That door she'd just
passed...it was an office, not a storeroom. Backing up, she read the name
plate. "London. Huh." Iniara vaguely remembered the name; she'd met the
young Marine some time ago, and occasionally saw her in the halls or during
a mission. London was one of the platoon commanders...2nd Platoon, maybe;
she couldn't quite recall...no wait, Dobryin was in charge of 2nd now...

Off on a tangent again, Iniara thought, shaking her head in mock
exasperation. Whatever she was in charge of, London could probably tell her
the precise location of Colonel Arvelion better than the computer could.
She pressed the door chime then stood back, waiting patiently.

Bran was sitting behind her desk, feeling damned tired. The last day or so
she had worked even more overtime than usual giving workshops to the marines
on how to deal with the distraught colonists. She decided to do it in small
groups so she could see which of the troops had problems with the whole idea
and needed some more directions. And she had wanted the troops to be able to
voice their own concerns and ask questions.

Luckily this had meant that she had less time to think about her own
problems. Dar had accepted her as she was, but that did not take away the
fear for the operation or the fear that it would not be completely
successful. And she still had not figured out where that silly fear of
senior naval officers came from. Anything full commander and up and she was
turned into a squealing idiot.

The young marine closed her eyes for a moment, trying to stop worrying and
focusing on all the work she still had to do.

The door slid open abruptly, and Iniara hesitated for only a moment before
taking a step inside. "Excuse me, Lieutenant London. I'm trying rather
unsuccessfully to find Colonel Arvelion. You wouldn't happen to know where
he is?"

Bran was a little startled, especially when she saw it was the XO standing
in her office door. "You haven't been here before ma'am?" Bran came to her
feet and tried to hide her mood. "It's on the other side of marine country.
Do you want me to show you? People do get lost in here." Emotions under
control again she smiled.

"No, but thank you; I'm sure you're busy enough without having to lead
around a woman who's misremembered the deck layouts." Iniara smiled, trying
not to look too sheepish. "Speaking of...how are your mission preparations
going?"

"I don't mind. I could do with a break. Maybe I can offer you something to
drink first, and tell you about how ready the marines are for the mission?"
Smiling she offered the easy chairs.

"Sure, okay." Iniara shrugged slightly and moved toward the chairs. The
message she'd just received was still weighing heavily on her thoughts, and
she really needed to find the Colonel so she could speak to him. But, if
London wasn't rushing out the door yet, that meant Arvelion probably wasn't
either, so she should still have a little time yet. Maybe a few minutes
chatting with the young Marine would do her good.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Bran asked as she showed the Lieutenant
Commander to one of the easy chairs.

"Black coffee, please," Iniara replied, taking one of the chairs. "Ooh,
comfy."

"Something is on your mind, isn't it? I'm not a telepath before you ask,
but I have been trained to read body language. And you seemed concerned,
worried." She sat down opposite the first officer.

"Is it really that obvious?" Iniara shrugged again, trying not to think too
much about the thing with Berilyn. There wasn't much she could do about it
right now anyway. "It's just some work stuff. Nothing I can really do
anything about, or even discuss at the moment."

She took a sip of her coffee and smiled slightly. "You know, I was going to
say the same thing about you. There's something heavy sitting right about,"
she held a hand up around forehead level, "here. And before you ask, I am a
telepath."

"Oh dear, no sense denying it then." She smiled. "I will tell, if you
promise to tell yours as well after I have finished."

"Fair enough. You first though." Iniara didn't know how she could possibly
reveal something like 'the Colonel's wife is missing and possibly captured
by pirates or possibly dead', but maybe she would think of something before
it came time for her to share.

"It's personal stuff, I found out recently that some old injuries left me a
bit broken inside. For that reason I cannot have children, or even enjoy
sex until I have an operation. The doctors think they will be able to fix
most of it, but they are not sure. As I am getting married in a few days,
that's a bit of a setback, and a bit scary." She said honestly. The first
officer was really easy to talk to, not what she had expected at all.

"Oh...wow, that is something heavy." Iniara paused for a moment. This
wasn't normally something she heard from someone she barely knew, but...
"How are you holding up? I mean, you seem fine and I probably wouldn't have
picked up on it if I wasn't a telepath but... That's a heavy piece of news
to have to carry."

"You should have come across me yesterday, I was a mess!" she admitted. "But
my boyfriend supports me, he still wants to marry me. And I hope the docs
can fix it, I am scared of course, nobody likes surgery, but I have to
believe everything will work out. Some day god will be done with punishing
me." She smiled. "It helps that I have the mission to focus on and a lot of
work, and a marriage ceremony to plan."

"Keeping busy is a good thing; you can only dwell on something for so long
before it drives you mad. But you know, there are two old Bajoran sayings
I'm reminded of. 'The Prophets never overburden' and 'Only through hardship
do we learn what we are truly made of'. They're a bit more eloquent in the
original language, but I think you get the point. Perhaps this is not a
punishment, but a test."

"In that case god is awfully fond of tests." Branwen chuckled, she was
learning to take her religion a little bit less serious. The argument with
Kimberly had helped, and seeing what rigid religious doctrine could do.
"Now, I have told you what is on my mind, your turn!" The marine was
actually amazed how much she had told this total stranger.

"Oh. Well, we always have a handful of crew off the ship for various
reasons. For obvious reasons I can't give you many details, but...one of
them has suddenly gone missing. It's my responsibility to watch out for
everyone assigned to Galaxy whether they're actually on board or not, so
when something like this happens, I get a little concerned. Standard
reaction for me, really." There, that wasn't a lie, she reasoned with
herself. It was as much of the truth as she could give the young Marine
without causing problems.

"The fact that you are here means it is a Marine." Branwen said concerned.
"Can you tell me more? If he or she has friends who are concerned, I would
like to check up on them."

"Actually it's one of ours...if it was a Marine, Colonel Arvelion or Captain
Maivia would have received the message and not me. And that's about as
specific as I can get without getting in trouble myself," Iniara finished,
smiling slightly. "Sorry."

"Oh? Why is it a secret? Usually everyone is informed when someone is
missing. And why are you in marine country... unless..." Her mind was
working. "Can you tell me later?" She asked softly.

"Well, in this particular case there's not much known yet, so I don't want
to go telling everyone before I know something more concrete. But, when I
know more, if you need to know I'll come tell you."

"If one of the marines has a loved one missing I would like to check up on
him or her to see if I can offer some support." Branwen said. "It's common
practice. But I appreciate the fact that you won't tell me first. It's a
tough job you have to do." Only then the quarter dropped and her eyes grew
huge. The Lt Commander had asked for the colonel's office and Arvelion was
married, as far as Bran knew his wife was away.

It didn't take a telepath to notice the change in Branwen's demeanor. To
Iniara, it was almost like she could see the thought processes running
through the young woman's mind as she followed the clues to their logical
conclusion. "It's not that," she said, then added, "Sorry, I caught a
pretty strong thought from you there. Wasn't trying to pry."

"That must be awkward, knowing people's feeling all the time, you cannot
turn it off?" Bran asked. "I am sorry, you asked for the colonel earlier, I
suddenly thought it must be his wife that is missing. I know she is off
ship. It kinda all fit."

"Good guess though," Iniara responded, the smile returning to her face.
"And sometimes it does cause problems, being able to sense things like
this. But you know, once you get used to it, it's just like an extra
sense. For example, everyone on this ship has their own unique smell. Most
of the time you can just ignore them...but sometimes you just happen to walk
past the guy who hasn't showered in four days and bam! You can't help but
notice."

"That is true, but different as well. For example people can be really
depressed without showing it or wanting others to see it. What do you do
when you pick up on that?" The marine asked. "And guess or correct?"

"Sorry, not going to fall for that one." Iniara chuckled. "Well, I'm not a
counselor, so it's not really my business to go around telling people what
they should be doing with those hidden thoughts of theirs. Even then, it's
based a lot on instinct. If I pick up on something that a person wants to
keep hidden, I have to figure out whether it's more beneficial for me to
bring it up, or just ignore it. Sometimes it's a cloud...it looks dark and
imposing, but it's usually nothing serious and it'll blow over in a day or
two. But sometimes it's heavy, like a stone or a pile of sand on the
person. Those tend to be the more serious cases, the ones where you have to
make sure they get the help they need.

"Take you, for example. On the surface you seem fine, and you've already
told me what's going on and that it's getting better. But there's still
that heavy thing sitting there on your mind. Do I ignore it and hope that
it goes away, that everything with your surgery ends up fine and that you
and Captain Maivia have a long life together surrounded by a whole brood of
children? Or instead do I bring it into the light? Do I ask the really
hard questions, like...what will you do if the surgery doesn't work? Or
have you thought about how you will feel if you can never have children?"

Branwen's eyes grew a little larger, the only outward sign she gave. "Ma'am.
I would like to ask you not to tell anyone. Right now I want to focus on my
wedding, the mission and the hope that the surgery will be successful. I
don't want to think about the thought of it not working. I have to stay
positive." Bran gave the other woman a pleading look.

"Don't worry; your secret is safe with me." Iniara shifted in her chair and
glanced at the small chrono mounted on the wall. If they were on schedule
(which was a ridiculous thought; Marines were always on schedule), Arvelion
and his team would be leaving very shortly. "Look, I don't mean to cut this
short, but I should really get going before I miss Colonel Arvelion
entirely," she continued, putting her hands on the chair's plush armrests
and using them to push herself to a standing position.

"Of course ma'am." That by the way completely confirmed she was talking
about the colonel's wife. "I won't keep you any longer."

Iniara turned toward the door, then paused mid-motion, gaze fixed on the
floor. "I...don't know if this will help any, but if you ever want to talk
about, you know, *it*...just come find me." She turned back towards
Branwen, fidgeting with her hands, her body language clearly indicating that
she'd had no intention of broaching the subject and wasn't quite sure what
she should say next. Sighing a bit she forced her hands to remain still at
her side, palms pressed firmly against her legs.

"Um, not many people on the ship know this but...well, in fact you're
probably the first person outside of Medical, but..." She paused again,
smiling nervously. "I was in your position once. I may not know what
you're feeling right now, but I know what you're going through. When it
happened to me I didn't have anyone to turn to for support, and I
just...don't want to see that happen again when I know I can do something to
help."

It surprised Branwen and there was much more she wanted to ask, suddenly she
felt a lot of understanding for the other woman. "Yes." She said after a
slight pause. "I think I would like that very much, ma'am. When do you have
time? Maybe we can do this after office hours?" Branwen managed a small
smile. It might have been a while ago, but it could be that the Lieutenant
Commander had some healing to do was well, and they could help each other.

"I'm usually stalking the halls of Deck 8," Iniara told her, referring to
the fact that the Battle Bridge, the XO's office and her personal quarters
were just down the hall from one another. "I'll be beaming down to the New
B'Hala colony in a day or two, but if you get a chance before then, come
find me." She paused again before adding, "And thanks for listening."

"No problem. Ma'am, if you need a shoulder after telling the colonel, you
know where to find me now." Branwen said as the other woman walked from her
office.

"Will do. Take care of yourself, Branwen."

"The Leash Loosens"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

1st. Lieutenant Jebidiah Baile
Intelligence Recon (Temporary)

'...know that I am there haunting you, loving you, and always protecting
you.

Your Dark Angel,
Fay'

Saul found himself returning to Faylin's farewell letter often. It was the
second time he read it that day, and fifth that week. He sighed, and pushed
the chair away from his office's desk.
Faylin.

For once, the woman wrote five paragraphs that were the complete, naked,
undecorated truth. It was simple, not tainted with the drama Faylin often
used to spice her words, and it was accurate. Yes, retribution will come
some day, he had no doubt. He was living on borrowed time. Everything he
did, scheming, deceiving, plotting - it was going to explode in his face
eventually. It was only a matter of when and how.

'Will you be there to protect me?' he wondered. He did not think she was
lying about that either, but when the time comes to achieve his agenda, his
secret battle... he might be beyond saving then. So he did not keep his
hopes up. People without expectations are rarely disappointed.

Retribution also seemed to come in the short range. By allowing her to draw
him into one of her lover quarrels, he found himself bound to one of the
most notorious passengers on the Galaxy - Lieutenant Baile of the marines. A
chirp from Saul's console indicated that Baile was already inside the Intel
CIC, and the intelligence chief braced himself for Baile's arrival.

* * *

Did Baile make people nervous? Baile didn't think so. Not like the stories
he had heard about Krieghoff. He hadn't seen any telepaths blow themselves
out of an airlock just to feel safe when he walked by. But there was
something in the back of his mind, something important that he just didn't
seem to be able to remember. Shoving the stray thoughts away he entered
Bental's office. Years of being a marine hadn't left him entirely. He came
to attention in front of Saul's desk.
"Sir. Reporting for duty." There was a very faint tone of amusement in his
voice as he announced himself.

"Shalom, Lieutenant." Saul stood up, nodding at him. He resolved not to
shake any marine's hands after what happened with Branwen, especially not
someone as borderline as Baile. "I didn't get the chance to talk to you
after the department briefing about the Vered cluster. What are your
thoughts on the matter?"

"The Federation got caught with the pants down. The three legged smurfs
managed to build up an invasion fleet without anyone noticing it.." Oh the
irony of it all. Baile looked at Saul through the dark tinted goggles. "This
is going to end up in one big slaughterfest on both sides.. If people
thought the Dominion War was bad then they're in for a surprise."
"Oh, the Triad fleet's build up was noticed. It's the timing of the invasion
everyone missed." Saul admitted. "But I was asking about the evacuation of
the colonists from the Vered cluster."

Baile shrugged. He honestly didn't care what happened to them one bit. It
felt both surprising and liberating at the same time. "Either they leave
voluntarily or they don't."

There wasn't much use in speculating about could have, would have or should
have.

Saul decided not to ask 'And what if they don't.'.

"Let's get to it." He clapped his hands. "While most of our attention will
be diverted to the colonists, we need to make sure no one surprises us from
behind. Intelligence have automatic and Humint sources deployed in the
region, but they didn't take into account the current situation. What we
lack right now - what I want to involve you in - is gathering Tactical data
on the Dreshayans, beyond their lines. Also, we may find ourselves in need
of executing a more 'offensive' covert operation, so it's better to have
some one like you over there and ready to roll.

He handed Baile a black, unmarked PADD. "This has primary and secondary
objectives, as well as ingress and egress routes, and threat assessment."

He'd study them closer later and dispose of the PADD as procedure dictated.
"I want permission to use my old gear. Not the fancy Nancy shit I've been
assigned. There's enough merc units out there for me to pass as one if I'm
found."

"Sure thing - you're the pro." Saul shrugged his shoulders, "As long as no
piece of the equipment bears anything that could suggest you're UFP."

"Anything that can identify me as that is crap anyway."

Baile returned the shrug and flipped the PADD up in the air and caught it
again. "When do I leave?"

"When will you be ready?"

"Two hours."

"I'll get your transportation ready. Meet you in main shuttle bay two hours
twenty minutes from now."

The marine nodded. One hundred and forty minutes until he could leave the
Galaxy behind. Eight thousand four hundred seconds. He had waited for this
long. Those extra minutes would be well worth it. "Then I best get packing
for the picnic then.." He saluted crisply, spun around on his heels and
left Spook country behind. Far behind.

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