"The Press"

For'kel
Arel, apc
Reese Merriweather, npc
Jaemon Brodie, npc

****

"So when's the last time you heard from 'fly boy'?" Fly boy of
course being the Colonel's favored term for a pilot, and depending
on his tone could be considered either an endearing jab, or a deep
insult. In Cowboy's case for example, it would have been said in a
more friendly context. As he was asking about the one who's name he
rarely spoke in respectful tones however (hey, everyone had to
get their props 'some' time) it was obvious to his blood-sister of
whom he was speaking... the one known simply as 'Mitchell'. "You
'do' know you can do better, right?" He popped one of the snacks
Bery had turned him on to, chocolate covered pretzels, into his mouth.

"I don't understand this snack," Arel said, frowning down at the
pretzel in her hand. It wasn't as if she hadn't had this conversation
about Mitchell before so she chose to ignore it. "The treat is
supposed to be salty so why is it dipped in chocolate?"

For'kel could tell when he hit a nerve, and backed off of it. He
wouldn't want to make a stranger that uncomfortable, let alone someone
he cared for like a sibling. "It's very contrary in nature, much like
the rest of the universe." It might have been the kind of
philosophical remark that, over a snack
such as this, would make the passive observer wonder about the use
of marijuana, but there it was.

She was about to reply when a skinny kid suddenly burst into the
office.

"Don't ... " The young man panted. "Don't ..."

For'kel blinked before his eyes found the flash of a press pass
around the kid's neck. If it weren't for the fact the 188th had a
strict pre-mission training schedule 'someone' would have been posted
to sentry duty. As it was, he needed every hand on deck and
orders to follow, meaning he couldn't just arbitrarily have someone stop
the Press. As it should be... even if you didn't think so at the
moment.

"Calm down, who's coming?" The first thoughts running through his
head had to do with a surprise new front the Hydrans had launched...
and that would make lunch really short, and 'really' sucky.

"She's ... coming," He said, gesturing behind him. He took a large
breath. "I'd leave if I were you."

"Leave my own damned office? Like hell..." Fork rolled his eyes
over to Arel. "Is this your doing? Is Jaal in on it?"

"Why does everyone think Jaal and I are in on anything?" Arel
said around the pretzel in her mouth.

"Because you guys usually are?"

"Hello," another voice said from the doorway where it's owner
posed with PADD and stylus. "I'm Reese Merriweather, I'm sure you've
heard of me. I'm here to interview you for the Galactic Society
Weekly. You're privileged, I'm sure. Is this your girlfriend?"

"Don't kill her," The young man whispered. He'd heard about Arel
Smith within five minutes of being onboard the Galaxy; Reese was sure
to warrant some of that gutting and impalement stuff he'd heard
about.

There were so many things wrong with that whole line of talk that
Fork didn't even have any idea as to where to begin debunking it.
It would have made a picture perfect Twix commercial really, but
lacking the candy bar Fork decided to pop another pretzel in his
mouth to chew on his thoughts. They were supposed to be practicing
diplomacy... so why not try a diplomatic approach? "No, she's my
sister."

Another pause in conversation.

"Long story." For'kel explained simply as he reached for another
pretzel. "Welcome to Marine Country. Is there something I can
help you with, ma'am?"

"I want to know all about your operation," Reese replied, making
a grand encompassing gesture as she looked about the office and
then frowning as she dismissed the notion of taking the cover picture
in here. It was definitely too ... uninspiring. "My readers want
to know more about the darker aspects of Federation life. "

"Wow," Arel said, reaching for another pretzel.

Arel wasn't kidding, wow indeed. For'kel didn't particularly like
or hate reporters despite what the generic predisposition in 'the
military' might have been toward them... no he was just disliking
'this' particular one. "I'm afraid I can't help you with the
'darker' aspects of Federation life without knowing exactly what it is
you're looking for."

"Is it true that your marines are mostly hot heads and ex convicts?"

"No, that would be the movie version of the historical French
Foreign Legion." For'kel replied flatly, pushing the plastic bowl of
chocolate covered pretzels slightly ahead of him in an offering. "Hungry?"

"Oh no," the reporter said as she watched Arel put one in her mouth.
"Those will go right to your hips."

Arel glared at her.

"So you're saying that you don't have a marine who attempted to
kill another member of your department? What about this psychologist who
is terrified that another crew member will give her a contagious
disease?"

"The Marine in your first question is no longer under my command.
The Marine in your second question is perfectly fit for duty and an
excellent field officer. The people of the Federation can rest assured
that they are being defended by the best, most qualified officers
available." For'kel popped
another pretzel, the only one in the room apparently who didn't care
about what happened to his 'hips' as a consequence.

"What about the rumors regarding your tantrid love life?"

For'kel chocked on the last pretzel he popped at those words, his cheeks
rosing over in instant embarrassment, and little specks of chewed and
non-chewed pretzel shrapnel inevitably launching forward. "Excuse me?"

"Come now Colonel, there's no need to be embarrassed. As a married
man, I'm sure you've come to realize a vanilla sex life becomes tedious
after enough bites... and honestly, sound proofing only hides 'so'
much..."

He couldn't believe the question was being asked. On the Miranda, a
female Q posing as a talk show host had the gaul to ask him about
erectile dysfunction, and now he was being accused of the exact opposite?
"Where the hell do you people get your information?!"

Reese turned to Arel. "A little birdie told me that you're having a
secret love affair with an engineer."

"Hardly," Arel said flatly. She wondered how she was going to get her
brother out of the room before -

"A Thyago Carneiro? " the reporter said.

Too late, Arel thought.

For'kel laughed, at first. "Now I know you're lying. Ma'am, wherever
you get your information from, you ought to..." he had looked over to
Arel for support. She was quiet, and the moment of incredibly awkward,
disturbing silence ensued. It was so bad that the very Stagnorian,
very pious worshipper of
the Prophetic ways couldn't help but blurt out a very Human saying.
"Oh... my... 'fucking'... God!"

Arel rolled her eyes. "Reporter, pipsqueak, out."

"Now see here, missy," Reese started. "I am a member of the Press Corps
and..."

Jaemon quickly linked his arm through the blonde's and pulled her
towards the door. "We'll just wait right out here until you're ready."

As soon as they were gone, Fork looked back at Arel. "You have a
'really' bad taste in partners, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yeah, quite a few," Arel said with a shrug. "Look, it just happened
okay. If anything, it's your fault."

"Hah! I'd like to 'see' you pin that sin against nature on me!"

"Yours, everyones. How many times can you have people tell you that
you're lonely before you start to believe it?" The security officer said with a
scowl.

"Hey, take a seat." Fork softened up immediately upon hearing those
words. "You're hardly alone on this ship. You've got Jaal, me... get Korvin
back if that will make you feel better, but you certainly shouldn't use
loneliness as an excuse to do... that!"

Arel shrugged again. "I'm not sorry, Fork. I wanted to have some fun and I
did. Now it's done with."

For'kel sighed. "I guess he 'is' better than Mitchell." Not that that
was saying much. "If it made you happy... just..." he cringed. "Let's not
bring it up again."

"I didn't bring it up in the first place," Arel said crankily but then
decided to let it drop. She wanted to get through this thing without getting too
annoyed. They still had the reporter to deal with.

That's right... damn reporter. Fork growled as he sat further up in his
chair. "True. But for now on, I want a memo or something. An 'In the event
an intrusive reporter comes by...' checklist or something."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

Taking a breath, Fork hit a button at his console which opened the doors
again. "Please keep your questions confined to relevant issues from this
point, onward."

Reese sniffed. "They're all relevant."

"Ting, Little Pills"

Flight Officer John Davidson
Fighter Pilot/Bartender

Ensign Rena Lanford (NPC)
Medical Officer

****
Sickbay
****

"What do you mean you can't give me the pills?" John snarled at the lithe woman.

"As I tried to tell you," Rena replied, as she tried to keep her body from visibly shaking, "It says in your medical records that you've had 3 refills in the past month. And without the Chief Medical Officer's approval, I can't refill it again."

JD nearly reached out to strike her, but managed to reign in the impulse. "How am I supposed to get to sleep?"

"Have you tried counting sheep?" She asked, sincerely.

John moved to slap her for what he perceived as a sarcastic remark. He even raised his hand to do so, but stopped. He wasn't about to hit a woman. Not now; not ever. "I've tried everything. The nightmares about my crash just won't go away. I need those pills."

Sensitively, she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. "The pills are just a crutch." She said softly. "You need to focus on the heart of the problem, not push it to the side."

"I tried that too. It's been months and I still can't get close to even getting into a cockpit, let alone fly again."

Rena sighed, her Terran side pushing her emotionless Vulcan half to the side. "Doctor Burton will be on duty in a few hours. You could come back then..."

JD nodded, and forced a smile onto his face. "I guess so."

Rena smiled, despite how he looked. A smile usually brightened people's day. At least that's what she had been told back in the academy. Watching him stand and walk out the door, Rena let her shoulders sag. She felt sorry for the man. He'd obviously been through a lot and had not yet been able to face his fears. She prayed that he'd find a way soon.

Turning away from the door, she nodded in greeting to the Bolian a couple of biobeds away. "Hi Benil"

****

After walking for what seemed like ages, JD sank to the deck, his back sliding down the wall. He was exhausted, and wanted to sleep so badly. But he couldn't. The nightmares would be back. And without the meds, he was not able to keep them at bay.

Cupping his head in his hands, he sighed. It was like he was being punished. What for, he didn't know, but he could see it no other way. Was it God? Some other higher power? Had he done something to upset God? He hadn't taken his name in vain, at least as far as he could recall. He hadn't murdered anyone, nor stolen anything. He couldn't recall anything that he could have done.

Then again, there were the Q. They always found ways of making people's lives hell. Perhaps one of the crew was a Q and was tormenting him.

What did it matter. He still couldn't get over the fear; the nightmares; he still couldn't fly. He was still stuck doing paperwork, and tending the bar. The accident was months ago and he hadn't really gone anywhere. He doubted he'd ever be able to fly again. To never feel the rush of flying at breakneck speeds as you dueled with an enemy fighter, he felt like his heart was going to break.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the cold metal of the bulkhead.

As he drifted off to a restless sleep, he mumbled five little words, "Damn those tiny, little pills!"

The James Corgan Christmas Special: "The Proposal"

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
And Mika sh'Sonora
USS Galaxy

Time: Sometime during Christmas holiday season, USS Galaxy.

?I was made for lovin' you baby... you were made for lovin' me....?

Corgan was in high spirits today, and for good reason. After months of even more strife, he looked forward to one of the few rewards his life had to offer him.

Christmas was here, the terran holiday for sharing, giving and loving. Christian or Atheist, it brought the best out of many humans, and James was feeling very charitable, especially to one.

The Galaxy's resident middle school teacher, diplomatic protocol droid extraordinaire, and love of Jame Corgan's life, Mika.

There were a lot of crewmembers that jabbed and commented about the stereotype of the sherriff and the schoolmarm. In an age where western themed holodeck programs were yet the latest rage among rages, it seemed that everyone noted the odd stereotype being played out in the stars, and each one somehow had the nerve to joke about it like it was an original thought.

James didn't care. In fact, he liked it. It was the most romantic image anyone could associate himself and his love. Like comparing King David and The Queen of Sheba, Paul and Linda McCartney, Khan Noonian Singh and Marla McGivers... had nothing on James' feelings for Mika.

He wondered if anyone would note or write about his love for her sometime in history.

?Naw.? He shook his head, ?I'm not important enough. I'll have to do it myself.?

It was customary for humans such as James Corgan (such as he was) to bring a small token to their beaus and belles before the date was commencing. In a way, James Corgan was a throwback, and not by his penchant for violence and loud, heavy rock music. He was old fashioned in the way that when he wanted to pick up his girlfriend for a date, he wanted to do it in a style befitting a man in his most dapper, professionally handsome behavior. It meant wearing his best suit, a black slack and blazer combination with white turtleneck and brass coloured buttons, freshly replicated out of his personal files and patterned after a similar maroon civilian suit a famous starship captain wore in his latter years. James' hair was meticulously trimmed and combed back, and from the lack of scent other than the subtle hints of aftershave after phasering off his stubble it seemed he had sonic showered too.

All that he had to do in the security office's lockerroom. He promised Mika to pick her up by 20:00 hours, and since they were living together in a common arrangement (IE: in the same quarters, which game the more than consenting adults to keep the neighbors awake at all hours with their tawdry antics), James had to give Mika her space to prepare.

What of the gift? A terran with a kick for 'tradition' had to come at least with a rose. James had one replicated rose ready for his love.

But that wasn't the only gift he had for her...

Rather impatient to give said gift to her, James Corgan rang the doorbell. He waited for the eminent crackle of the loudspeaker. =/\=?I'll be right out, love. Wait patiently for me??=/\=

?Sure will, honey.? James responded to the door.

Five minutes and an eternity later in date time, the doors to James quarters parted ways. Bracing himself for a breathtaking spectacle, he found himself at a loss. Even though he steeled his resolve to hold back against being utterly flabbergasted, he was always amazed at how little these futile actions actually worked around Mika.

The odd thing about his Andorian girlfriend was how she could always out predict him, a byproduct of superior intelligence and off world schooling. She was educated, not like how Corgan was self taught to be clever and book learned in Starfleet Academy. When it came to Mikaiu Sh'Son'ra of Andoria, whom didn't need off world colleges, the brain farm at Starfleet Diplomatic Corp and an education system that tried to keep pace with Vulcan due to centuries of rivalry and was worldly enough to put the security chief to shame, he had to admit she was more than superior, like comparing the USS Galaxy to a civilian garbage scow.

She decided to forgo her traditional (and unbeknownst to James, hugely aristocratic and decadently expensive) Andorian orange and saffron dress robes, the one with the embroidered kingfishers that she found influence from Earth fashion.. It was even replete of its parasol, a purely Earth invention.

She was instead in her favorite orange and yellow, but that was all that distinguished Mika from Mika. Her clothes were light and airy, but tight around her petite body. A yellow headdress and sash wrapped around her head and highlighted her baby blue skin and willow reed like antennae, resting on her short, curled hair rather than tightening it to her head. The sash extended itself the floor, integrating itself with her orange dress that kept her in an hourglass frame. It was armless and aside from the sash over her midsection it was midriff less, exposing a belly button and an unassuming but strong midsection that showed hints of her years of physical conditioning. She had jewels, a jeweled earring, a nose stud like a diamond resting in a tiny valley, burnished brass microfibre vanity weaves that snaked along her arms like henna decorations, and her snow white hair dusted with highlights of black and blue.

Knowing her personally and intimately, James knew she could be a fashionista and a ravishing creature.

But of this grade? He had no idea, and was thankful for it.

?As always my dear, I am taken away by your obvious beauty.? James complimented breathlessly, ?Never seen you in that before. It looks familiar... definitely not Andorian.?

Mika smiled, ?Neither are my Kimonos. I have an ever growing affection for Terran clothing.? She said with careful precision. The habit of Andorians calling Humans by the derisive 'Pinkskin' would still sound like the clarion call of angels when she wanted. ?It is a Sari. Do you like it??

?Do I like it?? James mocked himself, ?I love it! You have a way to look beautiful in anything my dear, Terran, Andorian, Klingon... I don't care. I'd make love to you here and now if we didn't have tickets to Ten Forward's show.?

Brushing off his aside with a laugh, she replied, ?And ruin the microfibre decoration? Not in your life or the next!?

?Awww....? James groaned.

She illustrated her point with that same henna patterned hand, ?We are not just going to jump into the nearest dark corner to, as you Pinkskins say, make love or as you would eloquently say, f...?

?Perish the thought!? James censored her. When he swore, it was part of his personality, but when she did the same thing it was an anathema of her highbrow personality. ?I'll keep it restrained! I promise!? He mimed his heart being wounded by an arrow. ?See?? He mimed his hand running a zipper up his pants, ?My lips are sealed. Promise! I'll be a gentleman all night.?

The serenity Mika usually exhibited was broken by her laughter, which tried hard to contain itself. She said under pursed blue lips, ?You James, are a rude, crude, unsophisticated animal of a man... who is more animal than man I might add! But if you promise that you'll be a gentleman all night and treat me well...? Her eyelids lowered into slits, as her hand rested on her upcurved hip, ?I might have something for the animal side of you. Promise to be good??

James offered his arm to her, ?I'll even bring your seat out, and open ever door for you. Shall we??

?Yes.? She said as if it was her due, ?Show me the way, love.?

*****
Ten Forward
*****

?I'm surprised James.? Mika leaned over to him, ?I would have never thought you would like Jazz music. It is all about that dreadful rock noise you listen to. Have you become cultured??

Feeling in a rather humorous mood, but with pinpricks of panic jabbing him on his insides that threated to turn his bowels and heart to mush, James Corgan pretended to wipe the food off his mouth with his dinner cloth, with dainty dabs on his cheek while faking a aristocrat's domineering sneer. An act as easy to see though as a porthole, Mika laughed musically. Like James, she was more animated and less uptight than usual.

It could have been the wine. Synthahol was a voluntary drug, after all. It could have been the lamb over fois gras with a raspberry vinaigrette salad. Food was just as sophisticated when prepared properly on its voluntary effects.

Or maybe it was the ambiance, or the Jazz music. Ten Forward was busy on a Saturday night (galactic standard calendar), and it was filled with off duty officers and their significant others (most officers themselves) taking in a rare free moment together to enjoy the ship's resident Jazz ensemble do half of the work for the men tonight in terms of getting on the good side of their partners. A lot of the music was ambiance, but when a true song started everyone in Ten Forward paid attention, waiters and host included. Jessie's Jazztones had an uncanny ability to find switch between background and center stage. It was why James liked this particular group.

Between songs was the small talk. Preliminary work on his part. He recounted to Mika his daily trials as the security chief, and Mika in turn told him about the challenges her students put her through at the ship's school. On this night, it was a challenge to tell which partner had the more dangerous job, a story on top of another, outdoing each other with point after point.

Eventually James had to concede. A Borg armada had nothing on a class of hyperactive grade schoolers. Not just because of the job, but the burden of responsibility of leading the next generation towards a proper path, which had a similarity to herding Terran cats. Mika was welcome to it.

But he could appreciate and feel her gladness for a rewarding life path. It seemed that Mika was, for all purposes, adapted to the ship and finding her way. James was happy for her.

Then she had to ask about this change of scenery. Mika was right, and perceptive of any changes he made. Jazz was still not his medium, and he usually preferred to take her to the holodeck for a real date. Did she already catch wind that James set up this evening, the Jazz, the gourmet meal, the special night.

Did she know what he had planned.

?Well..? James had his best 'awww shucks' face armed and ready, ?You know... even a guy like me can appreciate the finer things in life... oh look! Lieutenant Winslow's coming to our table!?

She asked, showing for the first time in the evening some nervousness, ?James, what are you trying to do....?

She silenced herself when Lieutenant Jessie Winslow, the man at the front of Jessie's Jazztones and the saxophone player of the quintet approached James and Mika's table. He said with a baritone voice, ?Commander Corgan, I see you brought your lady tonight.?

James smiled slyly, ?More like I'm her man, my man. What's on your mind??

?Well...? Lieutenant Winslow said to the crowd, his voice carrying to all corners, ?Rumour is, my man's hot with a guitar! Put any guitar in his hands and he'll make it sing like the angel's chorus. Is that true, my man??

?Umm... well... I'd hate to understate it but...? He paused, the crowd in Ten Forward were beckoning him on. It was himself against Ten Forward, as he planned.

Mika narrowed her eyes. ?Jamesu... what is going on??

~?Uh oh... she might be onto me.?~ James sweated, but he directed himself to the Jazzman, ?...well... I might know a song or two.?

'Then come on up, my man!? Jessie of the Jazztones invited with a wave of his arm, ?I'm sure we can scrounge up a guitar for you and you can play like the devil possessed! What do you say??

?James?? Mika arched her eyebrow, a trick previously known by the other woman in his life, T'lan. ?Did you do all this for me??

James' heart plummeted at terminal velocity speed. ?Uh oh....? He jested, deciding to come clean, ?Looks like she's onto me.?

?What?? Jessie played along with the joke, ?You were about to do something romantic for your little lady??

?I guess so.? He walked over to Ten Forward's bar. One of the bar staff handed him an acoustic guitar, another staged event James planned out, ?What do you say, honey? A song for the people??

James could literally hear the awww's from the female contingent in Ten Forward. The fact that he himself was rather handsome in his good clothes, his blonde hair like a well groomed flaxen crewcut and musculature that screamed 'I am a real man', served to put Mika in an awkward position. He had to ether tell him to stop the nonsense right now, and face the surprise and scorn of everyone else for passing up such a romantic offering, or say yes and be the object of adoration for the next three to five minutes.

She hid her lips to her hand, playing the part of the embarrassed maiden, but secretly smiling.

?No Klingon Death Metal.? She ordered, bringing about mirthful laughter from the crowd.

?Promise.? James smiled. ?No speed metal, no punk, no panty droppers. Just pure romance for you, baby.?

?Go ahead, James.? Her voice was almost a whisper, ?Play a song for the people.?

?Hey...? He shrugged to the crowd, ?You heard the lady. Lets play something beautiful. Jessie... some Urge Overkill.?

?Excuse me?? Lieutenant Winslow looked perplexed.

James whispered out of Mika's earshot, ?The song we practiced this afternoon.?

?Ohhh... right. Hit it Jazztones! One... two... one two three...?

The saxman kept his silence; it was James turn to lead. As the Jazztones set the background for a lovely melody, James fingers danced across the guitar strings like a spider testing the web. From simple woven brass on a wooden structure, unrelated sounds came together. The noise didn't come together and blend in like a lot of his music. Each note had a distinctive sound when plucked. It was crisp, full of life.

And when he sung, it was coherent, melodic, beautiful. He sang as if he meant to sing, heaven on a cloud, nothing but love.

?Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Please come take my hand
Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Soon you'll need a man.?

He speed up his guitar to give it a peppier tempo.

?I love you so much, can't count all the ways
I'd die for you girl, and all they can say is
?He's not your kind"
They never get tired of puttin' me down
And I never know when I come around
What I'm gonna find
Don't let them make up your mind
Don't you know...?

He slowed the guitar down, as the sax made a ghostly, low pitched wail. James circled around the table, watched the crowd get captivated by his performance. It was at these times he didn't care about the charisma he radiated, or how much people loved or hated him. It was him, in the music, expressing with song his emotions that couldn't be done justice with words.

?Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Please come take my hand
Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Soon you'll need a man.?

He did allow the luxury to see Mika once. She was spellbound, too enraptured to slink into a corner from embarrassment. He did another chorus and continued the song.

?I've been misunderstood for all of my life
But what they're sayin', girl, just cuts like a knife
"The boy's no good"
Well, I finally found what I've been looking for
But if they get the chance, they'll end it for sure
Sure they would
Baby, I've done all I could
Now it's up to you...?

Confidently, James strolled to Mika's table, playing along the way. He didn't have a crowd anymore, none that he was aware of in his head. There was only Mika, the smoldering brown eyes, the antennae swaying tranquilly, the look on her face that bordered between dreaminess and shock. Maybe it was too much for her, and if she asked for him to stop it would have been devastating.

Since she didn't he finished the song, each note closer to her.

?Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Please come take my hand
Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Soon, but soon you'll need a man.?

He plucked the final note on the guitar, his face a meter away from the table, kneeled to one knee, his eyes locked onto hers, and romantic, but befuddlingly goofy smile on his face.

Mika was still in shock, but laughed it off. ?James... if you ever put me on the spotlight like that again... I will kill you!? She said with a smile.

It had the crowd laughing.

?Oh dear...? James wiped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief, ?Guess then you're going to our descendants twice over for what I'm going to do next...?

?Oh....? Something in Mika's voice turned dead serious, but welcome to the secret.

?Oh I don't know if I should tell you, babe. I could tell you after our date, but you would have to wait all this time... and it's a big one...?

Mika chuckled, ?Oh, just tell me you Pinkskinned satyr!?

The crowd erupted in gales of laughter. ?Oh, she wants me to tell her?? He beckoned to the crowd for support, which he easily got, ?She wants me to tell her. Ok... I warned you....? James reached into his pocket, dropping the guitar onto his chair. He palmed the fist sized box in his hand, and decided to walk to her side.

?Mika, my darling,? James said, his handkerchief wouldn't have been enough to stop the downpour of sweat he swore he was feeling on his forehead as it came too real to him what he was doing, ?My dear... I know your people do things differently when... significant others come together. Heck... it is different. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this whole quad idea, but as I thought of it, I keep thinking about you and us. Lets face it, we are a core, you and I.?

He came down to one knee, the crowds and the Jazztones giving him his space, ?Mika, you have spent more time on Earth than I have, and I know you have a thing for Earth customs, Earth clothing, Earth music... heck... you know more about Earth than I do. I know you love Earth, love humans like me, though god knows why you love an Earth man like me. So I know what I'm about to do won't lose its impact just because you're from the other end of the stars... or because this isn't quite what you'd have in mind...?

He read from Mika the marvel of emotions that were coming from her. Confusion, perplexion, then just silence. Silence emotionally and mentally, as if she could not imagine anything else going further. She was in a scenario she never prepared for, and James had all the edges.

To seal it, he opened the little box in his hand.

Inside was a gold band with a large, sparkling white diamond.

?Mika, you are the love of my life, but this is not just what I want to do what I'm going to do in a moment. When you came into my life, I was in a self destructive spiral. When I first meet you... I was suicidal for Christ sakes! When you came back at Gryphon, it gladdened my heart when I found that I could find companionship with you, but I was too stupid to take it. And when I heard you were angry at me... I hurt me so much and I wanted to do anything, anything at all just to make you feel better. Heaven and earth? Stars and moon? F**k 'em. If they were in the way I would go through them for you.?

?Jjjjj.jjjj....jjjjj...james??

?When you came on board Mika, when you insisted you come on board to see me, to be with me, it was the best thing you have ever done for me. I was almost about to go through another downward spiral. You saved me from it. From there on, you kept me in balance, kept my destructive nature in check. You're my guide when I can't see, my conscience when I don't give a damn, and the one thing I have to live for when my life gets to its worse. Mika, without you I am nothing. I know now what I should have known years ago. You are my love, and it would be a great honour...?

?James... please...? She stuttered, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

?...if you would take my hand... in holy matrimony. Mika... will you marry me??

The only sounds in the room were eyes welling in tears. James waited, looked up at his dimunitive wife to be with expecting eyes, the ring presented to her in the palm of his hand.

He was hurt to see that she was holding back, wanting to run away, the tears in her eyes and the stricken look in her face made him dread the worse. Her makeup was running with the tears, the hiccups lodged in her throat. She wanted to run, James knew it. It was a failure. He was rejected. It was slowly creeping on him, clawing at his resolve, unsure how he would take losing such a gamble, losing Mika over one proposal.

?James....? She stammered, ?... Of course I will marry you, you big blundering idiot!?

Before James could say, ?Alright!?, Mike dove at him, her kisses peppering all over his face, the salt of her tears mingling between their lips.

The Jazztones played their music. The people around him cheered, clapped hands and made a celebration out of their personal event. In all that time, James could only feel Mika's billowing breath from her pert nose, the heat of her mouth against his, the envelope of darkness as he and Mika closed their eyes just to feel each other that more intensely.

When their lips parted, James said, ?So... does that qualify and gentlemanly??

Mika shrugged with a breathy promise, ?My dear James, it qualifies as you and I using a sick day tomorrow to recuperate from tonight...?

?Wow...? James chuckled, ?I should propose to you every day.?

?F**k It... Time to Have an Episode!?

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Guest Starring:
Mika Sh'Sonora
Lieutenant T'lan

Location: Holodeck

Soundtrack: ?Summer Breeze? By Seals and Crofts

Nighttime took an artificial cycle on the ship, and yet nobody missed it. It was the time when the regular crew was off shift, and were wanting to enjoy some free time, a luxury unheard of during their stay in the warzone.

Tonight was a performance.

James Corgan wasn't just the ship's security chief. He was also their best guitarist, and on occasion he would put on a performance.

Tonight was especially soulful. James, in simple and conserved black leather and white cotton, started to pluck at the electric guitar strings, creating a rhythm that echoed his mind.

See the curtains hanging in the window
In the evening on a Friday night
A little light a-shining through the window
Lets me know every thing's all right

He could be himself. Mika loved to watch him play, even if she was not impartial to the music. On stage, he could let go, drop the authoritative act, and just let himself loose with a guitar, play with a soul that reflected his true emotions and personality. Since it was coming from a man who was as tightfisted with his thoughts as a Ferengi was with his gold pressed latinum, this insight into her personality was rare and delicious.

Mika could only guess what T'lan was thinking, but she brought the Vulcan over as part of her 'therapy'.

Or maybe her own therapy. The warzone was rough on Mika. She thought she saw everything that could rattle her, but she was proven wrong.

Mika Sh'Sonora was a schoolteacher, and now that her charges were coming back after their stint in the warzone, she would continue to that task. When not a teacher, she was a nurse in the Medical Auxiliary.

Travel the galaxy, go to warzones under staffs that brokered peace, and she thought she knew war.

She knew differently now, and if she listened to James objections in the first place she would still be in ignorance on what it was really like.

How she wanted to take it back.

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine

Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

*******

?Eeeeyyaaahhhhh!?

Mika screamed out in panic as the ship was rocked by an unshielded hit. Not used to her space legs in combat, she was bucked into the walls, splayed out while her medkit tumbled down the gravity warped hallway. She picked herself up, her arms and shoulders a protesting mass of bruises, as she tucked the makeshift stretcher under her arm, picked up her kit, and ran her way through the gravity fluctuating hallway.

When the gravity would shift, so would she. There was an advantage to being agile.

She watched behind her for one of the medics and found him lagging behind. It was a young ensign, a full doctor unlike herself. He was trained to go into danger. Mika was essentially drafted when a breach came too close to the emergency refugee infirmary. So with the doctor in tow, scanning with the tricorder at the sections ahead, she was on stretcher duty.

And how she didn't want this.

?Straight ahead!? The medic said.

Mika didn't even remember his name, didn't even get one. ?Yes sir!? She answered. Sir would have to do.

Gingerly, she stepped over the twisted bulkheads into the section ahead. She made the turn, then saw to her horror the casualties that she had to save.

What was left to safe.

The hallway was sprayed in gore, a section of the ship shorn away as forcefields kept the vacuum from sucking them outside. Red gore dripped onto the beige carpet, staining it crimson. She could make out uniforms, but there was not much else, of those that were killed in the initial hit. Inertial forces too great for a flesh body had guaranteed their death and etched their images in Mika's mind.

The secondary casualties were worse, ahead according to the Ensign in his up to date tricorder, but even he was taken aback. They both heard the moans of the dying, screams of pain as the phaser fire punctuated the din of battle. The medic and the nurse had to pick their way across, and Mika felt one of them grab at her ankle. He didn't look human any longer. Blood turned his face entirely red, and a ragged stump where his other arm should have been looked like a bloody paintbrush. The noise from his throat choked and sputtered.

Her first reaction wasn't to help. She wanted to flee, kick his hand off her ankle and run away. The case looked so hopeless, so horrible. It was something she didn't want to face.

The horror was interrupted by closer phaser fire. Two security personnel took protective positions at the junction in the hall. One was taller and female, and fired back with a phased polaron carbine. The other held a jet black phaser pistol, and while one hand aimed, the other slapped down on the trigger and fired sprays of red energy.

~?James! T'lan!?~ Mika wanted to cry out. The ensign stared down and demanded her attention. She opened her kit and began to treat the wounded officer's hopeless maimings.

Corgan spoke as if off handed, ?Is that you, Medic? Get Ramirez the fuck out of here! We're barely holding on here!?

?Yes James!? She yelled out, a sonic suture sealing the lost limb.

*******

See the paper laying on the sidewalk
A little music from the house next door
So I walk on up to the door step
Through the screen and across the floor

How James felt about the battle was summed up in the pitch and tone of his voice. He was mournful, a longing for a more peaceful, idyllic time. A time when he had to worry about himself.

Now there were so many responsibilities. The ship. The people. His friends. His love.

How much more was going to be heaped on him? It was times like that that James wondered how much more he could shoulder before he would take too much, before it led him to fail.

That was the case in the battle. Too much to protect. Too much to pay attention too. Situation information overload, they called it. Why Starfleet Officers didn't use Land Warrior rigs or patch their heads directly into the Federation Infonet. Too much on his head. Too much to worry.

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

Was it too much? Was it the reason why his section fell apart in the battle? Why Mika saw too much horror, why T'lan fought when she was clearly not ready?

There was too much worry. He just wanted to bury himself into the song.

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

********

?Meeks?? James called out when he saw the Andorian nurse come after Ramirez, ?Is that you??

There was a detection of fear in her voice, a quiver she only had when she was really, really upset. James knew it, he brought it on once or twice, but this time it was different, a little too serious in its fear.

The phaser fired. One hydran down. The rest of the squad backed away.

?Yss.yes!? Mika pipped, lightening when she heard the familiar voice.

He tried to put on his most positive face. ?Hey babe! How are you holding up??

He could tell Mika didn't have the fortitude James had for combat. Her nerves frayed and antennae whipping like taunt ropes, she had the look of a cornered animal. He had to admire her spirit, even if it meant he was worried sick between pulls of the trigger.

James didn't press further. ?You're doing fine, hon. Get Ramirez out of here. We'll take it from here.?

Focusing on the squad of Hydrans he pinned down, he hadn't noticed Mika and the doctor carting away Ramirez's body, but between his groans and James' worries about their position being overrun, he was relieved to have both away from combat.

Boardings were going through the Galaxy's shield gaps like a sieve, the evacuation of DS5 in the middle of a ship to ship firefight was not easy. Protecting the prisoners and the wounded was harder still, the fights taking place more like the flow of rivers than a static defense. Corgan and T'lan's position was the most stable on the entire ship. They were holding off Hydran shock troopers from overwhelming the vulnerable prisoner gathering points and civilian shelters. They were the relief of the squad that preceded them, and died before them in the breach.

?How are you holding up Lieutenant?? Corgan had to yell as he took cover behind the corner, disruptor shots plinking off the armoured plates.

T'lan ducked the corner to avoid oncoming fire, and swapped power packs into her carbine with practiced movements. ?I am functioning within normal parameters.?

~?My ass you are!?~ Corgan nodded back at his Vulcan subordinate, reloading the clip to his phaser pistol. He had to recall her back to duty as an emergency measure. Normally, he would have shelved T'lan. She was suffering from all sorts of mental instabilities, brought on by years of psychic attacks and more recently the trauma of having someone else's memories and personality forced into her head. By all accounts she should have been a section 8, for all the robust protections a Vulcan places on their minds, once broken they lacked the coping abilities emotional sentients took for granted.

But from what he saw of her so far, she could have been any other Vulcan in combat; unemotionally dispatching enemies and with a professionalism and skill that put most humans to shame.

He hoped somehow it lasted.

?Keep it up! We got plenty more!? Corgan added.

******

The song halted, fingers on the guitar seizing up as it made sputtering, ineloquent screeches on its metal surface.

Flashbacks. Pain. Then nothing.

It was as if the lightswitch in his brain was instantly flicked off, sucking out his sentience, robbing hi of his most cherished gifts and leaving him a barely functioning shell. He was left to look at an abyss, as nothing special, a tool, a used man up man expended of his talents and left only with his occupation to define him. Hollowed out and gone.

Gone.

?What?? Corgan stammered as he dropped the guitar.

The crowds were showing more concern as the song was cut off. Mika was left to look awkwardly, lost in the bliss of his music but not understanding why he quit. There were murmers in the crowd.

T'lan didn't make a move, didn't speak.

She understood exactly what was going on.

******

?BOARDING PARTY! LEFT FLANK!? James Corgan boomed out, his phaser pistol sweeping to a massing of energy signatures taking form as Hydran soldiers. Firing his phaser pistol, its red beam streaked through one of the bodies and waited as the beam completely rematerialized the Hydran soldier. With a shriek, the black armoured creature went down. Its burned out corpse, still smoking, dropped a shell of ruined armour, with a pronounced logo of three taloned claws stained red.

James Corgan's eyes went wide. Something was not right. He knew from Intelligence reports what these Hydrans were. They were not regular shock troops. Not even elite boarding specialists. Hydran Special Forces, the best out of all their armed forces, scary enough to take on Federation Marines and live.

He was faced, with only T'lan as backup, with two squads coming out of the nether.

~?What the hell? Hydran SF? What are they doing here??~

What he had to fear was something else entirely. Unrecognizable equipment on the lead Hydran. He didn't have time to surmise it's function. Strange weapon on a strange elite Hydran meant KILL FIRST!

The creature with the strange weapon grumbled something in it's mother tongue, weapon lowered and raising faster by the nanosecond. James, quick on the draw himself, whipped his pistol at the target aimed and pressed the button.

The Hydran was first, and what he felt was literally a ripping inside his skull as his ears and skin were buffeted by shockwaves.

Hydrans tortured James in the past. The Borg scarred him for life. A lifetime of war and death first destroyed his personality then was rebuilt despite a heaping helping of more violence and death. He lost his loves, had few to hold him to the universe, and had to fight with himself just to keep himself motivated, keep himself alive. Physical pains were numerous and harsh. Body reconstructions after exposure to space vacuum, skin reconstruction multiple times from chemical exposures, and phaserwounds the envy of the most hardened Klingon warrior.

All that was nothing compared to what he felt now.

And to that, so helpless was he, he screamed as his mind tore itself to pieces.

His legs buckled and he quivered on the floor by the time his brain quit its overload, but even then it was as if his head was on fire and decompressing while his emotional state was in an overstimulated flux. Under all that excitement, he saw the most amazing site.

T'lan was rushing at the Hydran elites, snarling, her rifle brandished like a club, and ignoring the lightshow from the other side that wanted to take her life.

All restraint lost, T'lan tore into the ranks of the Hydrans, rifle splitting in half as an upward swing cracked the second head of the lead Hydran with the exotic weapon. Discarding the gun as the Hydran fell to the floor, T'lan rushed into the squad and in a berzerker rage pummelled, kicked, punched and beat into a score of the elites. Hydrans rushed with blade and fist, fought in the manner of their elite training as only exemplary, yet T'lan was more ferocious. She ignored bayonette and boot knife, her fist a latinum brick that cracked skull and ripped into spacesuits.

And when the last one was left she could not stop. Grasping the last Hydran by the neck, her body a mess of tears and green grey blood, T'lan lifted the five hundred kilo creature off its tendrilled body, slammed it against the bulkhead, and mercilessly beat it with her fist.

The hits rang like a hammer on a forge, the blood spraying on Corgan's face, his raw nerves feeling cooled as it sprinkled on him.

Yet he could not move, surrounded by the horror.

The lights were off.

*****

?I'm sorry. I'll have to conclude this performance tonight. Excuse me.?

Hands shaking like an epileptic, Corgan dropped the guitar out of fumbling fingers, the antique thunking against the floor and sending echoing feedback through the amplifier. His whole body was starting to shake, and uncertainly he tried to pick up the guitar. His fingers would not obey.

?Sorry...? James voice began to shake.

T'lan and Mika went up to the stage and helped James out. He looked pained to be helped, the mighty hero in a rare sign of weakness. He wanted to pick up the guitar, was shucking off their help, but found he could not refuse or risk a scene. T'lan picked up the guitar, Mika steadied his handshaking.

Yet he did not feel comfortable.

It was as if the lights were off and he was no longer himself.

~?What... the fuck??~ James thought with the first genuine fear he felt in ages.

OOC: That's what it felt like to have my writer's block, on and off for the last six months. Can't write. Can't motivate myself to write. Just friggin' can't. I just wanted to punch a fist thorough the wall every time I couldn't confront it or pick up the keyboard and create some more. Lets see how it goes.

And if you're wondering... James Corgan isn't alright. Think the Hydran Capture mission. You know what I mean.

Be prepared for a darker chapter to begin.

"Nighttime News"

Commander Jaal Jaxom
Strategic Operations

Midshipman Aina Mason, Communications Officer - USS Galaxy
Temporary Assignment to Vered Cluster Evacuation Centre - Epsilon Vered II

*****

Aina yawned as she looked up at the chronograph in the mess for junior
officers in the Evacuation Centre, the numbers said that it was oh two
thirty five, but her body and brain kept on saying it was much later.
She was on duty in three and a half hours and she knew that tomorrow,
correction, today she was going to be totally wasted from lack of
sleep.

On the table in front of her was the leather bound diary from her
grandmother, the leather bound diary was her pride and joy and was
very old. And since Aina had been very young, it was her confidant,
her confessor, her sounding board. She wrote her soul into it and it
became a private tradition that she would write in it everyday.

Not everyday, there was the time, when she was stranded on DS5 that it
had been lost on the way to Vulcan, but she had got it back.
Sometimes, she was unsure what she wanted to write. Sometimes she was
too tired and all of the day's events got written on the next day.

But today, tonight, the page was blank, it held nothing and she felt
it looking at her accusingly. Aina had the old-fashioned metal pen in
her hand, but every time she would put the nib close to the paper, her
thoughts would dry up.

And what was the reason for this, Aina knew exactly why - her brain
continually raced, reviewing what she heard in Commander Baker's
office. She had no evidence, she had no proof - she wasn't even sure
herself. But she couldn't forget what she heard, she couldn't forget
what she saw and with it, she couldn't sleep.

With a sigh and the resolve to go to the medical centre for something
stronger than coffee, she looked down at the blank page, but it wasn't
so blank. Written in neat cursive loops of her writing was one thing
- JAXOM.

Looking at it for a few moments, the thoughts crystallised in her head
and with a definite slap of paper against paper, she shut her diary,
turned the simple latch and with it in hand headed out of the mess.

*****

It was the middle of the Galaxy's 'night', such that it was. Jaal was
sound asleep. He thought he was dreaming about something going
'beepbeep... Commander Jaxom, you have an incoming message.'

One eye opened. The call repeated itself. "Commander Jaxom, you have
an incoming message."

Realizing he wasn't dreaming, he answered, "I can take it here." He
listened while rubbing the sleep from his eyes while activating the
terminal.

On the screen was Aina's face, "I'm sorry Captain Jaxom - but I really
need to speak to you."

"Do you know what time it is Cadet?" he asked scratching something
Aina couldn't see. Thank God for small screen area.

Aina gave an uncertain smile, "About oh two forty five, sir."

Jaal looked at the clock on the terminal and saw that not only was it
early in the morning, Aina had made a request for a highly encrypted
connection and one that a midshipman could not usually use.

Now he was fully awake. "All right Mason, what's going on, and this
better not be a prank... and it's 'Commander again'."

Aina nodded, "I need to speak with you, but...I don't want people to
hear what I have to say." There was a long pause, "Just in case I'm
wrong."

Jaal studied the young female midshipman's face and selected the
confirmation request for a high level encrypted connection. The
screen went pixelated for a few moments and there was a sound of a
slight whine. But the picture soon returned to normal and there was
silence as Jaal waited. He read indecision and worry in Aina's face.
And was ready to give her a few moments to compose herself, but not
too many, he had a meeting at oh seven thirty and he was running on
minus sleep with the whole evacuation liaison thing.

Aina's hands steepled in front of her face on the screen,
"Commander...I've...I've...I think that the whole evacuation thing is
a swap, a deal with the Dreyshans to not support the Hydrans and Breen
and T'Kith'kin."

Jaal peered into the screen at the young woman with very concerned
features. "That sounds pretty serious. What makes you think that?"
This was definitely worth getting up for, he decided. If it made Aina
antsy there had to be something there to go on. But before he took
this news to the captain, he needed as much information as he could
get. "Tell me everything."

A pained expression appeared on Aina's face and it seemed that there
was a small battle going on in her mind. "I was in Commander Baker's
Office - she is the liaison with the FedAid Groups here with the
Evacuation. I was in her office to fix her terminal. The thing was
glitching, the TCP stack was corrupted and it needed a full rebuild of
the protocol library. That wasn't the worst thing, the settings on
the router were really screwed I was going to reset..."

"Aina! The reason you called me?" asked Jaal patiently, through being
tired, he didn't feel as patient as he sounded.

Aina stopped and closed her eyes for a few seconds, "I think I heard
Commander Baker talking to Admiral Megarex on the comm. I didn't know
it was the admiral at the time though, all I heard was the commander
talking and she was talking all about the evacuation. Well I'm not
sure, but...I thought I heard her say...ummm...'if the Dreyshans want
this cluster, they are going to have to wait till the evacuation is
finished.'"

The commander's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And how did you know she
was talking to the Admiral?"

"Ummm...I had a diagnostic running on the main system for the office
when she took the call," returned Aina. "I was able to recreate some
of the conversation from the captured data that the diagnostic
grabbed, after I got my toolkit back."

"Where were you when you heard what the Commander was saying?" asked Jaal.

Aina stopped, "I was in the toilet in the office. I was
being...ummm...sick - I uh...ummm...had a hangover."

"Hangover?" Jaal's expression changed slightly, "Nevermind that. I
need that data transmitted to me. This is definitely something I need
to take to M'Kantu... probably Bental too. This is important Aina. How
soon can you transmit it?"

Aina's expression took on a puppy like quality, the same expression
when the puppy knew that it was going to get punished for doing
something wrong, her voice became very quiet - "I deleted it."

"WHAT!" exclaimed Jaal, now wide-eyed.

"I deleted it," repeated Aina.

"I heard you." Jaal paused, conflicting emotions ran through his
mind. If there was any data, how could Aina be so stupid, she wasn't
usually like this. But one look at her face, and she knew it as well.
He sighed, it was no good ranting at her. He grimaced for a few
moments as his brain raced for options.

"I didn't think it be any use, it was only a few syllables and bad
video, most of the time, it was all broken up and noise. The
diagnostic kit hasn't much cache and most of it had been overwritten
by the time I got it back," Aina explained, still waiting for Jaal to
get angry.

"What do you remember of the data?" Jaal asked anxiously.

"I could get that Admiral Megarex was saying 'Dreys' - I think that
was Dreyshans. 'Unhappy'...'evac', ummm, evacuation...'slow.' Then
Commander Baker said, 'situ,' umm, situation and 'no' and then 'easy.'
Then Megarex said, 'loo', I think look, 'no,' and then 'tri.' I don't
know if that was try or short for Triad. 'Supp,' I don't think that
was for supper, I think it was for supply or support. Then was
'colon,' for colony. Then he said 'ex," and Aina shrugged as she
shook her head. "Existing or experiment or excellent." And the last
syllable I could get was 'swap,' I think that was the complete word."

"But with what I heard Commander Baker say, it sort of fits," she finished.

Jaal held his chin and tapped the end of his nose with his forefinger.
"I should at least bring this to M'Kantu's attention. I might be
nothing, but it might not." Now he pointed at the young woman on the
screen in front of him, "Keep your ears open. If you overhear anything
again save it and send it. Got it?"

Aina nodded as she returned, "Yes, Commander."

*****

The screen flickered as the normal Starfleet symbol appeared on the
comm-terminal. Aina unplugged her work padd from the terminal,
ejecting out the ODN rod that had her encryption software on it. She
felt a lot better, finally telling someone, especially Commander Jaxom
about what she heard.

With out her conscience keeping her awake, she was looking forward to
getting to her bunk. Now, if she could stop Ensign Travers on the
bunk below her to stop snoring.

*****

Jaal went back to bed knowing full well he wouldn't sleep. First thing
in the morning he'd go see Captain M'Kantu. Even if there was no basis
for alarm, he felt his commanding officer should know.

"Chick Rock."

Starring

Artemis Bancroft (Matt)

Allison von Ernst (Chris)

OOC: (Timeline note: The guitars and Ten Forward concert mentioned is from
my own End of Allison series, and not the recently posted Proposal post by
Dallas (Welcome back BTW) I am assuming Dallas' post comes first timeline
wise followed a day or two later by my own.)

"Artemis," Shi was saying as she and the cadet returned to their seats in
Ten Forward, "the colonists are being evacuated for their own safety. No one
is trying to take their lives and livelihoods from them, yet if they remain
where they are now, circumstances beyond their control may very well do
that."

Artemis nodded. "I fully agree, and I'd be out of their like a rocket, Shi,
but the decision is their's to make. That's a big part of being a member of
the Federation. We have freedoms, and one of those freedoms is being
pigheaded in the face of death. If they want to stay and there are no laws
that say they have to leave, then who are we to tell them what to do? And
even if their are laws, what are we supposed to do, go in with phasers
blazing to get them out? In that case, we're no better than the Hydrans,
except they won't be dead. Oh hey!"

Shi's antennae quivered. "What is it?"

Artemis pointed. "The guitars?"

"Yeah, from that girl and the commander guy?" said with a nod.

"Commander guy? Do you mean Commander Corgan?"

Artemis' head bobbed in a nod. "Yeah, they left their guitars."

"I am certain they will return for them?"

Chewing her lip, Artemis mulled it over. "Well, yeah, they might. But,
they're guitars. You don't want to just leave them lying around. They could
get broken or stolen or something. Would you...?"

Shi smiled. "No, that is fine. I will remain here and enjoy the
entertainment you will be missing. I believe the next performance will
feature a trio featuring subsonic harmonies."

Artemis hopped out of her seat. "I'll try to be back before they're done,"
she said. She picked up both forgotten guitars carefully and headed out of
Ten Forward with her own guitar bouncing against her back. Now for the hard
part, finding the owners of the guitar. She knew one name, but had no idea
who the girl was. Perhaps if she found one, she'd find the other. And,
hopefully both would still be alive when she found them.

As it was, Artemis was able to track down neither owner to the pair of very
nice guitars. Fortunately, she did know the name of at least Commander
Corgan, so after a brief bit of work with Ops and a rather fantastic meeting
with Commander Tarin Iniara, she set off to return the guitar to Commander
Corgan.

With Shi along, she ventured to the security offices. Unfortunately, the
Commander wasn't present, but she managed to find a security officer there
who looked bored and willing to help. She and Shi explained what had
happened, and that she was trying to return the guitars.

"Just go ahead and leave it on his desk. Through there."

And so Artemis did. As it so happened, there was a file open on the screen
in the office, and she nearly let out a shout of victory.

"What is it," Shi asked.

Artemis pointed, the blonde girl from the last night. "He has her file open
there," she said. "Now at least the computer can tell me where she is. Let's
go!"

Shi checked the time and frowned. "I will have to take a rainey check."

"Rain check," Artemis said. "What's up, Shi?"

"Holodeck training session for the evacuation," the Andorian said. "Let
Allison Jimsdottir know that I did appreciate her music."

"Will do," Artemis said. "See you tonight?"

Shi nodded, then frowned. "Jimsdottir, what is the origin of that surname?"

"Probably the daughter of some guy named Jim. Kind of weird if you ask me. I
mean, the people who give their kids their own name are kind of odd. Why not
let their children have their own identity, rather than shoving yours on
them. Jim was probably like that I guess. He was probably upset that he
didn't have a son, so he stuck her with his name as her last name. Or it's
kind of like when mum would write my name in my underwear? That way if
anyone found my underwear, they'd know to take it to mum. No idea why she
thought people around the Solstice would be finding my underwear though."
She shrugged. "Maybe, this way, if Allison ever got lost, people would know
she was Jim's."

"That does sound reasonable," Shi said. "Who is Jim?"

"Dunno. She looks to young to be Kirk's though."

"Captain Kirk's Frilly Garters," Shi said, then grinned. "I will see you
tonight, Artemis."

They separated outside of Security. Artemis turned to the wall and asked the
computer. "Computer, please find Allison Jimsdottir."

And the computer directed her straight on to Alli

She was watching the stars float by outside in the gigantic black fishbowl
that was the universe.

The Vered Cluster offered a bit more than the usual pinpricks of light of
interstellar space?..this time being filled with the blaze of a dozen suns
in close proximity.

Pale nuclear furnaces of eternal fire that blazed silently in the night.

Allison von Ernst??for Jimsdottir was no more??. touched the cold 'glass' of
the view port, feeling the chill of nothingness trace through her fingers.
Death awaited but a few centimeters away. Like the death she felt in her
heart.

Betrayal was the greatest of sins one could commit upon a person. James
Corgan had committed the most grievous variety of that particular wrong.

He not only betrayed her?.he betrayed her expectations.

He was supposed to be a warm loving dad to swoop her up in his arms and make
everything all right??just like in her imagination.

Instead he turned out to be quite???human.

Who could forgive that?

The silent hiss of the door behind her brought Alli to the present. "Rooms
occupied." she sniffed without turning. "Ship's got like a bazillion other
windows to look out if you don't mind."

"Sorry," a voice from near the door said. "Already checked with the
bazillion other windows' occupants and none of them are missing their
guitars. You're my last chance. You missing your guitar, because if you're
not I can always add it to my collection."

Alli turned and studied the newcomer. Pretty girl.....Starfleet uniform. She
was holding Allison's purple Ibanez which had been quite forgotten in all
the drama and angst of the previous night.

Forgotten her guitar? Now that really took something to accomplish.

Then again it WAS the guitar she'd received as a child from a certain low
down no good jerk-face of a father.

"You were at the concert." Alli said simply. Not really a question. It was
just she wasn't quite ready to work up the nerve to take the instrument
back.

"What'd ya think?"

"I thought you were fairly fantastic, actually. You don't much hear music
like that on a Starfleet ship. Usually, it's just like Beethoven and the
whole cycle of stuff from the Klingon operas. I'm Artemis, by the way.
Artemis Bancroft. Just came aboard from DS5."

Limply Allison took back the Ibanez, her fingers falling back into familiar
places, her aluminum nails experimentally touching at certain strings.

"Beethoven........" she said softly. "Beethoven was the first thing I
learned on this stupid thing."

Her fingers flew up the neck tapping out a snippet from Fur Elsie.....the
strings sounding cold and dull without the amplifier.

She laughed at herself. "Mom couldn't stand rock and roll. She hired some of
the best classical guitarists on Earth to try and teach me something other
than making noise."

She plucked again listening to the string hum.

"Maybe I should have listened to her huh?"

The hum was met by an answering chord as Artemis pulled her own guitar
around. "You seem a bit down. Want to talk about it? Not sure if I'll be
much good at it. I've not really ever met anyone my age. At least, I think
you might be my age. Aina is too, I think. She was on DS5. I think you two
are the only other I've ever met who were my age."

Alli stood silently listening to the resonance between her own purple Ibanez
and the new girls' guitar.

It was an acoustic, Gibson, and had seen a bit of use. The strap holding it
in place was worn and full of patches and stickers.

Torn between the love of her craft, and the real disappointment with sharing
that love with her Father, Alli was hesitant about playing further.

Why should she share a talent with a dad whom would have nothing to do with
her?

Did she really want to be connected in that way? Could anything good come
out of him?

"NO!" Alli spat to herself, striking a deep growling powerchord at the same
time.

"My music is not from him! Its from me! I'm the one who slaved away for
hours over this thing....."

She glanced up at Artemis seemingly for the first time.

"Like....new gal huh?" she asked with a wicked smile. "Zarky.......lets see
what you got?"

Artemis thought for a brief moment, and then with a smile played out a
series of chords for an old, old song her mum had taught her years ago. It
didn't start all that complex, but it definitely got there. Fast, intense
playing. At least she had new strings on the guitar and wasn't likely to be
breaking any. Her fingers were slender and dexterous, moving easily along
the strings. She definitely knew what she was doing.

Allison watched the other girl's technique for several long minutes?..noting
fingerings?..strumming patterns and rhythm.

Nodding with a small smile, she made a few small adjustments on the tiny
built-in amplifier in her electric.

First killing the distortion?.she needed a 'clean' sound if she were to
accompany the old acoustic??and then watching Artemis making sure she got
the progression down.

Artemis's acoustic provided the song's natural steel guitar rhythm, while
Allison picked up a higher pitched bass-line on her electric.

Hesitant at first, the sounds gradually intertwined into a steady
orchestration of music that had the two girls gently bobbing their heads.

"Bit different than what I'm used to." Alli called over the sound as they
shifted into the chorus, "Totally haven't touched an acoustic since I told
my last Classical instructor to go take a flying leap?like y'know."

"I like not needing an amp," Artemis answered back. "Can take it and play
anywhere. And my electric is space dust after DS5. Haven't had a chance to
replace it, except if I wanted a piece of replicated rubbish."

"Too true." Allison experimented with some alternate fingerings?.her
aluminum nails flashing up and down the neck.

"Although haven't ya heard of built in amps???Duh. Its like the 25th century
and all."

There was a small squeak of a missed note and Allison's guitar grew silent.
"24th Century??this is the 24th century."

A shadow seemed to fall across her face and she didn't feel like playing
anymore.

Artemis noticed the shadow very clearly. As intently as she was watching the
other girl, she had to have. It took her another moment to realize one of
the strings on her guitar had snapped. She swallowed, then tried to laugh.
It didn't work so well.

"I keep having to remind myself that too," she said. "What the century it
is, which year. It's hard to keep track of. I'll have to, uh, have to see
about one of those guitar next time I'm somewhere that sells them. Cuz, uh,
you know I won't be replicating one. The sound on them is...um, terrible."

She chewed her lip for a moment as she watched Alli. "So, when were you
born. I know I don't look it, but believe it or not, I was born in either
2380 or 1846. It really depends on who you ask actually. Doctor Thrax said
things were a little strange at the time, temporally speaking, when I popped
out. They definitely didn't give me enough space on my Academy entrance
papers to fill that out, that's for sure. Oh hey, I need to get a new
string. Did you want to stop by the lounge later. If you have time. I've got
some studying I still need to do. But, if you wanted to hang, that'd be
great." Explaining the details of her birth was never easy. It was always
best to get it out of the way as soon as possible and as quickly as
possible.

Alli was nodding along with the idea of not replicating a guitar??.(the
horror)??but kinda missed the whole temporal birth order?..whatevershesaid.

Her poor blond head was a bit fuzzy at times, and when people started
talking about the particle of the week, she tended to tune out.

"Oh yes?.absolutely?.zarky." is what she said aloud bobbing her head. She
was sure the girl mentioned something about shopping and that was always a
good idea.

"Lets drop the guitars off in my quarters?.its on the way and Hel-lo?.Mary
is gonna be like so worried about me??She's a rock right, but she can be
like totally spaz-tastic at times."

"Shi's the same way. Well sometimes. Like we've been doing this holodeck
program. It's that new Hydran War one, where you're part of this fighter
squadron. The holographics are totally frosty. I think I'm about to hit the
romance part. The guy, I mean he's a holostud, but still, nova hot. Shi's
totally twitched that since I started the program, I get to be in on the
snogfest. Not that she really has room to talk, of course, since she's heavy
committed to her bondmates. Still, she's frosty, even though she refuses to
sing.

Alli smiled?it had been awhile since she had met anybody that spoke
'teenager'

"So you gonna get new shoes to go with the new strings? You gotta get new
shoes to go with your guitar strings?.I mean Hel-lo?.these are shoes we're
talking about."

"Oh, I should! Like, all of my clothes were vaped when the station blew. I
just hope the Hydrans didn't find them before they got blown up. The thought
of a Hydran with my clothes? Total ick! Do you know if they've got shops
here? I haven't seen any. All replicated. I know it shows, but I guess I was
desperate. I really need to get everything all over again. I don't think Shi
likes shopping. She's Andorian, so she doesn't really understand some of the
needs we have. You know, like shopping. It's a definite must."

Slinging the Ibanez across her back and hooking her arm around Artemis' own,
Alli made for the door. "Absolutely a must! Did you check out my nails? They
got this new transparent aluminum acrylic covering that's zarky as
anything??."

Artemis took a closer look as they left the observation room and started
through the corridors. "Oh those are wicked frosty! And I bet you wouldn't
even need a pick on the guitar. I so need something like that! You got those
here? Shi didn't show me! Not that she knows. I'm so glad I met you! Now
I'll get to know where everything is. So where can I find a??.."

"Building Bridges"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Lieutenant Branwen London

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Burying your head in the sand doesn't work. The ostrich may like it, some species even seem to think it relaxing, but
metaphorically speaking it accomplishes nothing. One conversation after another only served as a reminder that she tried to ignore
things, hoping that they'd go away on their own. Russo, Dhani, Lt London. To name a few. After her first chat with Branwen she'd
ignored her, using work, anything as an excuse instead of sitting down and sorting things out.

Where had it gotten them, nowhere. Tapping the door chime to the Marine shrinks quarters Kimberly waited patiently, not entirely
sure why she'd followed up on the urge to be here, but realising that the sooner she at least sat down, spoke to her and tried to
sort herself out the sooner it would cease playing on her mind.

Taking a deep breath she let it out slowly as she waited, the computer said she was in there, ~ Knowing my luck, she's in the
shower! ~

This was a rare night that Branwen was not spending with Dar or working. She was tired, and just about to go to bed when she heard
the chime. Mumbling about who this could be, she walked over to the door.

Branwen was very surprised to see her one-time friend standing there on the other side. "Kimberly." She managed to get out. "What
can I do for you?"

"Hi." Having come this far she realized abruptly that she had given absolutely no thought as to what to say ~ Nice forward planning
girl! ~ She muttered to herself. "Was wondering if you had a moment?" she enquired after a second, "to chat?"

Although she was tired, Branwen moved aside. She had been wanting to talk to Kimberly for a long time, and this was going to be
better than either's office. "Come in." The Marine said rather neutral. She hoped this was not going to be about her recent
problems.

"Thanks." Stepping in Kimberly paused just inside the door, "Look, I'm sorry to bother you but we haven't really spoken since our
little vacation a while back, so I thought I'd drop by." Looking around she noted the low lights, "though if it's a bad time?"

"No, not really, just a little tired. But I have been wanting to speak to you for a long time as well, so please come in." Branwen
said, gesturing towards the small seating area. She was glad she was home alone to night. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Please, coffee. Thank you." As Branwen made her way to the replicator Kimberly looked around absently, "So, how have you been
lately?"

"I'm sure you have heard rumours." Branwen actually smiled as she handed over the coffee. "Not so good, but I think we should talk
about you and me today. How things got so bad so quickly between us."

Raising an eyebrow Kimberly shook her head, "Actually, I don't usually get the time to listen to ship board gossip, lately I seem to
be the last person to find out most anything." Shrugging she looked unconcerned though, "not really a problem, I've more than
enough to keep me busy anyway. But you're right, I came here to talk, to catch up with you."

"I think that's overdue, and we have both been to blame." Branwen smiled. "I could have tried harder myself. How have you been,
Kimberly, I know the last couple of months cannot have been easy for you."

Sitting on a convenient couch Kimberly sipped the coffee, stalling for a second. "To be honest, the last few months have been busy,
but with all that's been going on what else would you expect. I would hazard a guess that things are just as busy for you?"

"They are. I'm getting married in a few days time." She smiled. "I have been having some medical problems, but that's been taking
care of. Dhani and I have grown a lot closer as well." She watched Kimberly closely for a reaction.

Pausing, with her cup half way to her mouth, Kimberly let Branwen's last sentence register completely on her consciousness before
she replied. She had heard that Branwen had been in sickbay, but had not pried, she'd not been consulted or informed of any
difficulties so had assumed it was all routine. At the mention of Dhani though she felt a guilty twinge, and for more than one
reason, there was one issues that was not going to be easy to resolve. The one thing though that really pulled her train of thought
up short was 'that' word again.

"Married?" She asked, "Uh, congratulations, but, like when did this happen?"

"Dar and I have been dating for a while now. I tried to tell you when we went on our trip. He asked to marry me about a week ago.
We are going to do it quickly. Nobody knows what the future will bring." She had already thought he had been dead once, and they
were both in a dangerous profession. "What about you? How's your private life going, Kimberly?"

~ Married. Wow. ~ She thought, ~ That happened fast. Though she's right, we were gonna talk a lot while we were away, but so much
else happened. ~ As for the other question though, "My private life," chuckling softly, "Branwen, with my day job, keeping up to
speed on all the latest in medical and counselling and getting Sara-Jayne ready to take her entry exams I don't 'have' much time for
a personal life."

"And yet it is so important, Kimberly. You also need friends." Branwen said gently. "For example, have you even tried to set
things right with Dhani?"

"Branwen, I know, I know." Kimberly replied slowly, "and yes, I have had a chat with Dhani. didn't exactly go terribly well." She
said with a shrug.

"Do you want to talk about it, or about what went wrong between us?" Again it was asked softly.

"If I knew what to say about Dhani I would. I think I've managed to insult her pretty badly, and without any reason it transpires.
Somehow I've got to apologise, but I'm not sure how." Shrugging she sat back and shook her head, "as for what happened between us,
I think we have a case of cultural misunderstanding, don't you?"

Branwen looked at the other woman. "Just go to her and be honest." She suggested. "It's the only thing you can do really. And
we, do we need to discuss what happened between us more?" She smiled. "I miss our friendship."

"I've already tried honesty with Dhani, that's where all this started I think. As for us. What did you want to discuss?"

"First, one word of advice from one professional to another. Dhani. give her time. We both know that she has a lot of issues, but
she is not going to talk under pressure. She is one of those people who has to come to breaking point, and when she thinks she
cannot go any lower, then she will come to one of us and talk. It's not easy to see as a friend, but it's going to be the only way
for her." Branwen said gently.

"About us, I made mistakes because of my religion. It's still hard for me to accept your religion. But I am trying. On the planet
I saw what the rigid adherence to religion can do, and it has helped me open my eyes. At the same time it was very difficult for me
that you were not willing to listen and forgive me after I apologised. And that you were cold to me in therapy about something that
I said in confidence." She leaned back in her chair. "I am sorry, but I had to clear the air."

"I know Dhani is stubborn, and I'm well aware now that it's going to take time. And you're right, it is difficult to at times to
want to help, but to have to sit back. I think that's where part of our troubles started." Sighing she shook her head, "I guess
time for now is the answer. I'll speak to her when she's ready. As for us, well, I know what you said was in confidence, and I
tried to keep it professional but I have to admit it wasn't just that. I know I sorta took things out on you, and for that I do
apologise. We're all products of our upbringing, our past has made us who we are, and I guess the people of New Rhea just confirmed
what I've always believed about fanatics." She added with a note of disgust in her voice.

"It's not you though, I'm just as stubborn as the next person and I think at that point you were just there at a bad time for me. I
was frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken offence. Sorry." She ended, realising that as apologies went, she could have worked on
that one a little better.

"It's okay, I guess we have both learned a lot recently, about ourselves and the other. I've also learned a lot about religion, so
I don't think I am so quick to judge others anymore." Branwen relaxed. "I would very much like a new start to our friendship,
Kimberly. I think now that we have come through this, we can be good friends again. Seeing each other professionally is maybe not
such a good idea." She smiled.

"Agreed, let's leave the professional talks for someone else," she agreed readily, "As for us, I'm game to start fresh and again
apologise for not being as understanding as I should have been."

"It's okay, that is in the past. In the future we will be there for each other and be more understanding." Bran grinned and held
out her hand. "Deal?"

"Deal." Kimberly agreed, though she was still slightly thrown by the fact Branwen was getting married. ~ Dar? Who the Frell is
Dar? ~ she wondered silently.

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton ? CMO
PO3 Victory

[USS Galaxy - Sickbay]

Petty Officer 3rd Class Victory stepped into Sickbay. She was determined to find the Chief Medical Officer. Since the Galaxy had rescued her and the other refugee?s from Deep Space Five she had become lost in the paperwork as it were. Yes she had been given a bunk to sleep in a cramped compartment with five other Petty Officers but since then she had received no other word on what was to happen to her. She had even lost track of Maxwell and hoped she could find him in or around Sickbay as well.

She knew he had been assigned to the Galaxy and had just been waiting for the ship to arrive and pick him up when the attack had begun. Unlike him she had been assigned to a different starship, the USS Victory , which had been destroyed in the battle. Her home and all her friends were gone and she was without a home.

The only person who she had left to relate to was Max, he had been he one person who had been there through all of the mess on DS5 that she had related too and gotten to know. They still had a dinner go to, which in all of the mess since their rescue had been overlooked. She knew she had to make a decision about what she wanted to do. Eventually someone either on the ships Command Staff, or Starfleet?s Personnel administration would send her somewhere. She did not want to be sent off somewhere strange and unfamiliar. She knew she needed to go where she at least knew someone she could feel safe around and Max was that person. If she was going to even have a chance at getting a transfer to the Galaxy she needed to put in the request before she was sent somewhere else.

She had inquired about the identity of the ships Chief Medical Officer from the main computer and knew she was looking for a Lieutenant Kimberly Burton. From the file image supplied by the Computer she knew Burton was a dark haired human woman of the same stature as her own. It would not take long to pick the Doctor out of the assembled medical personnel and others who currently inhabited the Galaxy?s sickbay.

Once she had identified the Doctor Victory made her way over, waiting a few moments as the Lieutenant finished with an examination, before troubling her. ?Lieutenant Burton, may I have a moment of your time?? Victory asked, as respectfully as she could muster as soon as the Doctor seemed to have a free moment

Turning to face the newcomer Kimberly studied her for a moment as she replaced her equipment where it belonged. The glasses she wore were an anachronism you almost never saw in this day and age, though it did help her to put a name to the crewmember easily. ?Petty Officer
Victory ?? She asked, recalling the name from a transfer request that had hit her desk after Deep Space Five.

?Petty Officer Third Class Victory? She confirmed the name, introducing herself in full.

?Welcome aboard.? Kimberly offered simply, nodding in the general direction of her office she led the noncom across the ward, ?I understand you?re transferring here from the USS Victory , is that correct??

?Yes, ma?am. I wish to serve aboard the Galaxy. After what happened to the Victory at Deep Space Five I have nowhere to go? she replied and a hint of sadness touched her features, though she did her best to hold it back.

?I heard about the Victory , and for what it?s worth I?m sorry your transfer here comes about because of her loss,? letting the noncom enter her office first Kimberly waved Victory to a chair as she closed the door behind them, ?and I?m sorry we?ve not had a chance to speak before now.? She apologised as she sat.

?That?s alright. I can understand how busy you must be right now? Victory said. ?And I want to say thanks for taking a little of your time to speak with me?

Shaking her head as she paused by the replicator Kimberly ordered up a coffee as she spoke, ?It?s never a bother to take time to sit down and chat, on or off the record,? she assured her. ?Drink??

?Oh, thank you, just a small cup of tea, please? Victory replied with a smile. While her entire body was artificial, she had been built to blend in with real people and was capable of consuming small amounts of food and drink, even though she did not need to eat. Her internal power generator and life support systems took care of all the needs of her body and biological brain.

?So, you?ve been aboard what, a week or so now, how have you been settling in?? Kimberly asked as she settled into her chair. She was recalling the file notes she had read when the paperwork had hit her desk, and considering they already had Eve aboard, the crew shouldn?t really have a problem with a cyborg among them. ?Any problems??

?No, everything is fine, no problems? she said. ?I don?t know anyone on the ship yet save for Max... um, Petty Officer Maxwell, we met each other on Deep Space 5? she explained. ?Otherwise I have really had nothing to do and would like to get back to work, if you will have me in your medical staff??

?Well, for now you?re on temporary detached duty to the Galaxy pending a full transfer. Officially, you should be on leave following the loss of the USS Victory, but it?s your choice of course. I?ve had a read of your file, and I have no problem putting the paperwork through if you?d like to join us permanently?? Kimberly offered.

?I would like to stay here? Victory replied. ?Getting back to work will help me keep myself focused. If I sit to long with nothing to do and think on what I?ve lost I won?t do well at all. Anyways, at least here I know there are some friendly people? she managed a smile.

?That at least is certain,? Kimberly assured her, ?there are a lot of friendly people aboard. I?ll get the transfer papers sorted and you should get the formal notification in a week or so as soon as it?s approved. In the meantime, we?ll get you settled in some permanent quarters and I?ll sort out the duty roster. For now I?ll add you to the shift rotation on alpha shift until you?re up to speed with the department, then we?ll have a chat after a while and see if you have any preferences. If possible I do like to consider what you?d prefer, makes life easier on us all. Any questions??

Victory shook her head. ?No, I don?t have any questions, I am just eager to get back to work? she replied with a more genuine smile. ?Thank you Doctor Burton? she felt as if a weight had been lifted, the worry that she might have to be sent back to Earth or some base before getting another ship board assignment, and the thought of being basically out of a job and left just with her thoughts and no one familiar had been eating away at her the past few days. Now knowing she would have a new home, she felt at least as if she could have some consolation for all that she had lost.

?Okay then. Well, welcome to the team.? Kimberly offered her hand as she spoke, reports from DS5 spoke well of her, she should make an interesting addition to the team she decided.

"And The Dam Breaketh..."

With:

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

Man'darr Maivia
Captain, Battalion XO 188 Detachment, CO 4th Platoon
U.S.S. Galaxy

Marjorie Fellowes, DO
Rear Admiral, Starfleet Reserve Medical Corps
Director of Women's Health, New York-Presbyterian Health System

Having, been delayed to attending the Medical appointment Branwen had
scheduled due to having to oversee several aspects of Deployment Readiness,
he now hurried down the corridor at a quick pace. As he rounded the corner,
a crying female bumped into him. He immediately recognized the woman as
Branwen. "Branwen? What is wrong?"

"Don't ever make me see a doctor again, ever." Her fists pounded his chest
without any strength. "I hate them, all of them!"

"I never made you see a doctor in the first place, Branwen," he said as he
gently took Branwen's fists into his hands to try and clam her down. "What
happened?"

"The sadistic bitch. She is denying me the surgery." Now she completely
collapsed against him and cried. "She won't do it."

"Did she give a reason?" he asked, as he wrapped his arms around Branwen.

"Not really. When I said that I could not rest for two weeks because we
have a very import mission coming up in which all the psychologists and
counselors are going to be needed, she said I had issues and wasn't ready
for the surgery. That was it!"

"You need the rest, Branwen," Man'darr countered, looking down at her.
"Your health is more important than the upcoming mission...but that is still
no reason to refuse to conduct the surgery."

"I wasn't very nice." She whispered. "When she suggested that I was not
strong enough to recover without sedatives I might have become a bit
unfriendly." The young marine admitted. "Two weeks in bed without moving
with painkillers and sedation, Dar! That is not me!"

"What would rather do? Two weeks resting in bed or a lifetime with no
sex?" Man'darr knew his choice already--he loved Branwen very much but he
was unsure if he could go a lifetime without having sex with Branwen....what
male could?
"You are taking her side?" She stepped back a little.

"No, I am being reasonable, Branwen. You need to stop being childish." he
said in a firm voice, hoping Branwen would understand. "I may not like
medicine or doctors much, but you need to rest after such a surgery."

She looked at him as if he had slapped her in the face. "You trust these
people, you are taking their side against me? Two weeks, Dar, for something
so simple. You know I'm tough, you know they need me on the mission. Why
are you being like this?"

"No, they do not need you on the mission. There are enough counselors to
cover your absence and the Marines will be fine without you there for this
mission. And the surgery, from what I understand is not simple...not if you
want everything to function and heal correctly. You need to set your
priorities. What is more important to you? Us or this upcoming mission?"

"That's not fair! And you know it. The Marines are going to be an
important part of this mission, and you know most of them don't trust
shrinks. I've built up a bond with them. I cannot let them down. That
doesn't mean I don't love you, I don't understand why I can't wait until
after the mission. I've had this since I was a little girl."

Man'darr sighed heavily. "It's not fair because somewhere, your brain is
trying to tell you I am right!" Man'darr then sighed again as he began to
walk away. "Do what you want! My thought s and concerns obviously do not
matter to you!"

"As if I want to have that operation with you down on the planet. I am
scared, Dar! I am not going to face those two or three weeks alone. I
can't do that, I am not that strong." She shouted after him.

"Who said you would be alone?" he turned to face her. "First you say you
are tough and now you say you are scared. Which is it?" He was becoming
frustrated with Branwen.

"What ever, Dar!" She said. "Just run away." Men! She thought, they
understood nothing about women. "I will go and find one of my girlfriends
to talk to."

"You need to stop creating problems where there are none, Branwen. I never
said anything about you being alone for those two to three weeks. That was
you!"

"As if the Colonel could spare both of us. You are his second in command."
She muttered.

"No, but I can always take breaks to come and visit you."

"Yeah right." As if a 10 minutes visit every three days would help. If he
was not prepared to wait a few weeks until after the mission, then may be
Dhani was right. "Just go, Dar. You obviously don't understand."

"No, you are the one not understanding..and you doubt my words! Why? What
is your problem Branwen?!"

"You are the second one to ask me about that today!" Branwen was irritated
as well. "I have no problem, the only thing I am asking for is to wait
until after the mission, is that so much to ask for?"

"Fine!" Man'darr replied.

"Fine what?" She snapped back.

"Have it your way! Get it done after the mission!" Man'darr had grown
tired of Branwen not listening to him and seemingly always doubting him one
way or another.

"But you are still angry." She rubbed her forehead, suddenly uncertain.
What if he stopped loving her?

"Because you are constantly not listening to me or doubting my words!"

"But I feel you are not really listening to me. This isn't easy for me,
Dar."

"Nor is it easy for me, but I do not go around doubting your word as you
have done," he replied sternly with crossed arms.

"I'm sorry." She said softly. What else was there to say?

Letting out a sigh, Man'darr approached Branwen.. "Just do not do it
again," he said, taking her into his arms.

"Do you still love me?" Branwen looked up at him. "If you have any doubts,
please be honest with me, I know I can be difficult sometimes. I'm trying
not to be." She buried her head against his chest.

"You make it difficult sometimes but yes, I do love you, Branwen."

"Things like this are going to keep happening, you know." She looked up at
him. "It will not always be bliss between us. We have to know how to handle
that as well. "

"Yes, I know that. But we can minimize such occurrences as long as you talk
with me first," Man'darr responded, looking down at her.

"Talk to each other, that is going to be soooo important." She caressed his
back with her hands. I do it all the time in my work, why do I forget it at
home?"

The caressing felt good, causing him to relax some as he held Branwen. "I
do not know but it is something you need to start doing and trust me more."

"I will try, all right." She doubted if she should tell him more about her
difficult past. Like Victor, she was afraid Dar might actually the able to
go back to her family and kill her father if he knew the complete truth.

"You do not sound very confident. What is wrong?" Man'darr knew that such
a thing was not as hard as Branwen made it sound. "Is there something
else?"

"No, don't worry about it." She said tenderly. "I'm just glad you and I
are all right."

"Branwen, if there is something else, you should tell me. We will soon be
married, and I do not want any secrets between us."

"It's not a secret, Dar." Bran answered him. "I was just thinking about my
childhood. I have told you a little about that, haven't I?" She looked up at
him.

"Yes, but not much. Just that your injuries were the result of your father
beating on you when you were a child. If I ever see your father, I plan to
return the favor."

"Well maybe that is the reason I am not telling you more." She smiled trying
to make it a joke and close the conversation between them.

"Is it?" he asked sternly, looking down at her.

"I haven't seen my family in a long time, but I don't wish my father dead or
seriously injured." Branwen looked directly at him.

"After what he has done to you? He deserves to suffer a long and painful
death," he looked back at her. How she could stand up for someone who had
caused her nothing but pain in her life was beyond Man'darr's
comprehension.

"He's my father! And he genuinely thought he was saving my soul. That's
exactly why I don't bring it up, you don't understand, because you didn't
live there. The only ones who are allowed to judge my father are my sister
Shanna and my brother Owain because they lived there."

"Any sane person is allowed to judge your father. I am your husband to be,
I have every right to judge that pathetic man! What he did was
dishonorable. Only someone who is delusional would think that beating their
daughter would be saving their soul."

"That is because you did not grow up there. You don't understand my
parents, or my religion. I don't agree with it anymore, otherwise I would
not have run away, but I am not angry at my parents anymore. My father is
not a bad man."

"What makes you think that? What sort of religion allows the father to badly
beat their daughter in such ways as he did with you?"

"Because I was different, Shanna, Wain and I were different. We were
interested in the outside world, we wanted to learn about technology, and
people who were different from us. To them that is frightening. My great-
grandfather pulled our family and several others back from the modern world
because they were not coping, and they thought the devil had created
technology. They star ted their own little colony on a piece of l and in
South Wales. Technology was not allowed. I grew up without computers,
washing machines whatever. We did everything by hand. And we prayed three
times a day. On Sunday most of the d ay was spent in church giving thanks
to God. It's a good life , for those who don't want any more. Those people
are happy. And t hey believe that if you wanted to leave, you are possessed
by the devil, and the devil has to leave by any means necessary." She
whispered remembering.

"So your idiot of a father thought he could beat the devil out of you? Well
then, I'll be sure to beat the life out of him. Your father is a
dishonorable, senile, pathetic excuse of a man and deserves whatever pain he
gets in his miserable excuse for a life. You did nothing to warrant such a
beating, Branwen."

She threw up her hands. "You see, you don't understand at all! After I just
tried to explain that it wasn't so bad, you totally overreact!"

"How could anyone understand such a life. You father deserves no
forgiveness for what he has done to you. We are having these problems with
mating now BEACUSE of your father! And yet, you still protect that
dishonorable bastard!"

"He is MY FATHER!" She shouted back. "He's not a bastard and certainly not
dishonorable. He believes strongly in whatever he does. And you stay away
from him!"

"Just because he is your father does not make him right. What he did was
wrong and he needs to be punished for what he did, or else he will do the
exact same thing to someone else. Is that what you want, Branwen?"

She sighed. "Like I said, 95% of the family is totally happy where they are.
My big sister has her spies in the compound, when she finds someone who is
not happy she rescues them, as she did Owain and me."

"I do not know why you continue to defend your father, Branwen. You owe him
nothing." After a moment of silence, he continued. "I should get back to
my work," he said as he began to leave. A part of him wondered if Branwen
would ever listen to him.

"Run away." She whispered. It made her sad that Dar would not understand her
difficult relationship with her family.

Anger welled up within Man'darr. He clinched his fists as he turned to face
the woman. "Run? I have never run away from anything in my life! I simply
refuse to deal with a woman who protects someone who has no honor and
deserves to die! You also do not ever tell me the whole truth...only what
you want me to hear and I grow tired of it!"

"As if I am going to tell you everything when you threaten to kill my father
already!"

"Why do you care for your father? He has done nothing but hurt you and now
you are suffering the most because of it! If you cannot trust me now, then
perhaps we should go our separate ways because you will never trust me!
That is something I cannot live with! You need to make a choice Branwen!
What's more important? Your pathetic father who likes to beat on those
weaker than him or your potential husband to be?!"

"He has hurt me, a lot. But he is also the guy who brought me up and would
sit by my bed and told me stories if I had been good. Who looked after me
when I had the flu, my parents could give a lot of love and there were
always presents and birthdays and Christmas. And a tree we would get out of
the forest with the whole family." Her eyes teared up. Coming from a family
with 12 children, the first years living with her sister had been incredibly
lonely. And at times like Christmas and birthdays she missed her family
still. "I haven't seen them for years, Dar, my parents or my siblings, and
by now nephews and nieces. I love them."

"Then see them, except for your father! I do not hate your family, Branwen,
but I do hate your father for what he did to you. There is no excuse for
such actions, and you have no need to protect him simply because he was nice
on the few occasions he got his way. Such a man in Capellan Society would
have been killed long ago. We value the strong and the courageous, but we
do not tolerate the senseless brutal beatings of others, even if they are
their own siblings."

"I can't! I am shunned!!!! Don't you see, by running away I had to give up
my whole family. Look I don't judge your ways. Some of your capellan customs
are not my choice but I respect that because it is your heritage. Please
accept that I still love my parents, please. It is my culture." She almost
pleaded.

"At least my culture values honesty! Yours apparently does not as you have
done nothing but hide facts about yourself and your past from me! I have
hid nothing from you! Ever! If you do not change your ways immediately, I
will have no choice but to leave you! I cannot and will not be mated to
someone who lies to me and conceals the truth from me!"

"But you threaten to kill my father! Jeez!!!" She called out. "Fine,
whatever, go!"

"This was before I even mentioned your father! Why is it so damn hard for
you to completely trust me, Branwen! I have never done anything to hurt you
and yet you continue to lie and hide the truth from me!" he now screamed at
her, enraged.

"How have I lied to you!!! What have I kept from you now!!! I told you about
my father from the start. What the hell is wrong with you!!!" Neither
realized they were still in the hallway yelling at each other.

"Have you forgotten your words, Branwen? You said just a moment ago that
you were not telling me everything about your father because I want to kill
him! That means you are not telling me the entire story which in turns
means you are keeping the truth from me!"

"I just told you a heck of a lot more you dumb jarhead." She yelled back. By
now they had a small crowd of sniggering observers around them.

The snickering of the small crowd caught Man'darr's attention as his head
snapped in their direction, his eyes, seemingly glaring a hole through
them. "Mind your business!" The crowd immediately dispersed at the large
capellan's order. "Now, you insult me?!" Man'darr felt the overwhelming
urge to want to hit this woman. But he knew if he did so, he would cause
serious damage or death in even one blow to her. Without another word,
Man'darr turned and walked down the corridor. Branwen's insult and refusal
to completely trust him not only angered hi m but had also hurt him deeply.

"Jarhead!" She shouted after him. "Coward!" Bran was fuming and
disappointed. She thought she had found someone who would support her
through tick and thin and he left her standing there. Damnit this was not
the best of days.

As Man'darr walked away, the word coward struck a chord within him. That
chord cased anger to swell within him. He could take many insults but
coward was not one he took from anyone, no matter who they were. He spun on
his heel blind with rage, and seemingly within a second had Branwen's neck
grasped in his hand as he lifted her off the deck as if she weighed nothing
more than a feather, not fully realizing his actions. "Who are you calling
a coward!? You are the one always running from their own problems! I have
faced my problems! So that makes you the coward!" With that he tossed
Branwen to the deck several feet away.

She fell heavily on her arm, her wrist snapping beneath her and her head
slamming into the bulkhead.. But Branwen did not cry out. She was used to
pain like that, oddly it felt familiar, like the kind of thing her father
would have done when he was angry with her. He would take his anger out on
her that way. By violence. Man'darr was reacting in the exact same manner.
Seconds later darkness enclosed her and she fell unconscious on the deck.

Seeing Branwen drop to the deck snapped away all of the anger and Man'darr
rushed over and held her in his arms. 'What have I done?' he mentally asked
himself as his body began to shake. Had he thrown her that hard? He
noticed bruising beginning to show near her wrist as well as swelling. He
also noticed a slight bruise forming on her head. "I am sorry Branwen," he
whispered as he felt his heart sink. He now hated himself for allowing his
anger to get the best of him again. He thought he had his anger
controlled...and yet he had lashed out at Branwen. No, he did not deserve
such an innocent woman...a kind hearted woman. "Branwen? Are you alright?
Please wake up."

She did not move but lay limp in his arms for a while. It was almost a
minute later before she began to moan a little bit.

"Marine, move away from her, NOW!" Admiral Fellowes ordered as she
approached. She witnessed everything from the point where Man'darr had her
by the throat and was yelling at her.

Man'darr said nothing, lost in his own world of sorrow, wishing what
happened had been a bad dream.

"I said back off or else," Fellowes warned, her tone indicating dire
consequences for non-compliance.

The words finally pierced Man'darr's clouded thoughts as he slowly moved
away from Branwen to allow the doctor to check on Branwen.

Ensuring that there was sufficient distance between the assailant and
Branwen, Fellowes opened up a Medcorder and scanned the now lethargic woman.

"Fractured wrist, concussion." She went to tap her CommBadge, but was
stopped by a powerful hand gripping her wrist. She looked up to see
Man'Darr standing over her.

*I didn't even hear him move up to me,* she thought. Aloud she said
sternly, "One good reason why you walk away from this without spending the
rest of your natural life in a Stockade?"

Man'darr sighed. "Let me carry her to sickbay....I lost control of my anger
when she called me a coward. We were arguing about her upcoming surgery,"
he said softly, his voice filled with pain and regret.

"I fell." Bran mumbled half out of it still. "Own fault."

Fellowes shot Branwen a sharp look, but decided not to say anything. She
recognized the look the young Marine woman had on her face. A look that
knew abuse, pain, hurt. A look that said that it was very familiar with
those things.

"Whatever," she said finally. Turning to Man'Darr, she said flatly, "Bring
her to Sickbay. Hopefully, no one notices."

Man'darr silently did as the doctor asked as he picked up carried Branwen to
sickbay.
Branwen lay limply in his arms, cradling her hurting wrist to keep it from
moving too much. She was pale and silent.

In Sickbay, Fellowes quickly ushered them into a private consult room, away
from prying eyes. She quickly confirmed her initial scans with the readings
from the biobed.

"Hand me that hypo spray and that tray over there," she directed, pointing
at the very objects in question nearby.

Quickly ministrating to her lethargic patient, the Rear Admiral gave agents
to reduce the intracranial swelling and nerve blocking agents coupled with
analgesics to stop her wrist from hurting as much as it did. Next was a
bone regenerator to knit the bones just enough for them to set properly.
She would spend the rest of the time healing on her own, the Doctor
reasoned.

"That was silly of me." Branwen said when she was feeling a little better.
"To fall into that wall. I am so clumsy. But doctor now that you are here,
could I have another word." She finished softly.

"That may be what I'll be putting into my report," Marjorie Fellowes said.
"We both know, however, what really happened there. And don't you argue
with me," she snapped when she saw protest brewing on Bran's face.

Branwen made sure that Dar could not hear her. "Is alright, it's what men
do when they get angry. I will try to deal with it better next time. Duck,
or hit back, or both. I was being difficult. But can we change the
subject, ma'am? I would very much like to ask you to reconsider my
surgery. Could you please, please consider doing it after I get back from
my mission? It means a great deal to us."

Fellowes couldn't believe what she was hearing. Branwen was protecting the
man who just mauled her no more than an hour ago. But she would leave that
for their consciences to deal with. This wasn't her ship, or her crew. She
was here to do a job, and would do it, then leave before the insanity got
worse.

"Here's the deal," she said. "You go on the mission. Afterwards, you
attend one counseling session with any Counselor you so choose to see. Then
you get the surgery. There is no negotiation here. It's take it or leave
it." With that, Marjorie Fellowes crossed her arms and waited for an
answer.

"Fair enough." Branwen said. She didn't like it but one session was
reasonable enough and she had planned to see mark or the commander again
anyway. "Thank you for changing your mind, ma'am."

"Sure. You get some rest for now." Fellowes glanced at Man'darr, not
necessarily in an approving manner. "I'm sure you two have a lot to
discuss." With that, the Doctor took her leave, albeit reluctantly, of the
couple. It would be several hours before she came back to check on them.

?Neuroscans?

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

And Lieutenant T'lan, USS Galaxy

Location: Sickbay, Department of Xenoneurology

Soundtrack: ?The Greater Good? By The Nine Inch Nails (Neural Scan)

?Rendezvous? By Basement Jaxx (Come with me to Vulcan.)

24th century accented lines and beige paneling did not make benign the equipment James Corgan chose to strap himself into. He felt as if he was on a torture rack, under the ministrations of a primitive restraining and rehabilitation device he saw in the old photos of the 19th and 20th century. Those were devices with purpose; total restraint so that the doctor could do whatever they wanted without the patient having control or escape.

Leather cuffs were replaced by forcefields. The beds were softer and not made of rusting iron but metallo-synthplasts and genetically engineered construction grade treematter over a skeleton of tritanium and duranium struts. The torturous headgear, a latticework of wire and metal affixed to teeth, neck and bolted to skull plates (oddly called the Halo) was also forcefielded but held locally to restrict all movement to the head (it helped with neuralscans), two protruding 'horns' that acted like the scanners and technically speaking were just large, aimed magnets with more technobabble features than James had swearwords for his examination's distress.

Drugs were injected with primitive needles. The 'horns' aimed at his head deadened parts of the brain and cut of neural function to the rest of his body, while hyposprays did the rest to alleviate his discomfort and calm his nerves.

One would expect in the old world that there would be an overhanging light. That much hasn't changed. There was also arms that held probing equipment. Again, no changes.

But in the 24th century, that probing equipment had more technological sophistication. It had basic hardwired programming more complex and powerful than entire global defense networks in the 20th century. Not because it had to but because it could. This allowed the articulated medical arms to move to a degree of flexibility and sensitivity most human arms could not, while being superiorly precise.

It was neurology after all. They were about to scan Corgan's brain for abnormalities, and neuroscans had no margin for error. That was why the part focused MRI from hell meets torture rack was mostly automated when even in these days the proper application of nanite infused medicines could cure even the worst injuries.

The medical arm snaked close to his face, its focusing eye red like his phaser beam, its iris shrinking and growing as it made 'click click' sounds, moved inches, then click clicked some more.

Finding the practice more disturbing and unable to express his growing anxiety as the arm scrutinized him some more, James saw images impose on himself. The eye grew a needle that also glowed red, then shot out a scattering beam of lasers at his cornea.

~?Get me the fuck out of here....?~ James Corgan said in silence as his imagination started to grow. Was it his imagination? He just saw the robotic arm pass dispassionately over him, probing and violating, felt the pulsings of the sensor equipment probe deeper into his brain. The robotic arm was a real arm, its armatures a real body, cloudy, a silhouette that dressed itself in a red medical gown, gloves and mask while holding a scythed shaped laser scalpel. Two others like him hovered over, and a flash showed two robotic arms joining in the scans, laser mapping his eyes, sensors reacting his evergrowing panic.

~?Get me the fuck out!?~

The laser eyes were back to being medical personnel, aliens who's features were growing more grotesque and murky in his mind, their devices more mysterious, closing in on him. A helmet, chinstrapped and needles piercing into his skull was put on top of him as in real life, the horns started to move and map out his neural pathways, their spiderweb branches showing in three dimensions to the staff doctor.

The staff doctor was not the staff doctor. To James it was a faceless person, his mind ignoring rationality that it was a real doctor and this was a real neural scan. He felt like a dissected animal, writhing and waiting to let the surgery finally kill him.

It was then that the real scan began. =/\=INITIATE NEURAL SCAN=/\= in calm white letters turned into <=>DOWNLOAD NEURAL PROFILE<=> in bright bold red. A flash of light then a jolt of pain as it thrummed deeper into his skull, scouring clean the vestiges of his personality, sucking dry his soul into the receptacle of a digital hell.

The panic was registered on the scanning systems. Body activity spiked, the heart rate climbed while in another mind it started to flat line and warble back to life. No warning in the imposed world, but in the real one the sensor's equipment was screaming for bloody murder unless it deactivated from Corgan's twisted synapse lest his body decided to disengage all life sustaining functions in one fast climbing panic.

=/\=WARNING WARNING WARNING!=/\=

<=>DOWNLOAD COMPLETE!<=>

=/\=Neural scan complete!=/\=

Then oddly enough, it was over. A cheery, easy bake oven ding and the test was all over. All the equipment backed away, the images that transposed themselves were gone. The room was light, cool, and back to being 24th century slick.

?Please let me out.? Corgan croaked at the doctor.

The forcefield restraints were deactivated, and James could not get out of the table soon enough. One of the technicians helped to right himself.

?I don't know what happened.? The technician apologized profusely, ?It was just a standard scan, then the next thing you know your body's going haywire. You were going into shock. What the hell happened??

James tried to make sense of it in the swirl of his mind, but he too was at a loss. ?I don't know...? He rasped, ?Please, just let me sit down....?

The technician replied, ?We did get the scan, but we didn't anticipate this. It was like you were suffering from some post traumatic stress. What the hell happened in there??

James heard enough. ?I don't fucking know! Please, just let me sit and breathe here.?

The technician replied, ?Ok. Sit tight. We'll get you a sedative to calm you down.?

?NO DRUGS!? Corgan barked.

?Alright. Alright...? The Technician backed away, not daring to challenge James's already strained attitude.

He backed away from the doctors and the machines, kept to his private self, and waited for the test results. Fifteen minutes later, when the data was quantified, analyzed and briefly translated to Federation standard, Corgan had the fifteen minutes to relive what was going on.

It was all part of ongoing behavioral problems. He thought of doing the neural scan after the performance nights ago, where for some odd reason, he could not play a single note from his guitar. When he went home that night to try and play some more, he couldn't even play a basic nursery rhyme with a guitar primer and a holographic teacher. It was as if his muscles and nerves were frayed, action brought an overexaggeration of movement or a twitch that sent it all awry.

It was since the attack, the big Hydran push, when the elites boarded the ship, and shot him with that strange... weapon. Like having his head shredded apart and put loosely together with paste and a slight clue on which pieces matched. He was feeling this way since the attack, disjointed, unsure of himself, mentally fried and useless.

The weapon he was shot with was nothing he identified. Not with Jane's Defense, Starfleet Intelligence or even the Klingon police (he had connections). The closest guess was a Neural Disruption Thrower, an area of effect weapon meant to scramble the brains of their enemies, but Hydrans were not known to use the fickle weapons. They had to be set to certain neural patterns (though a frequency modulation chip could have switched easily from species to species, just a modification of the Federation multi-spectrum chips used in anti-Borg actions) then fired in the area, not efficient since they could be blocked by shielding, had extremely short range and were less effective against multi species compliments such as a Starship of the Federation.

That, and the Hydrans were not known to ever use them. Experiment? Maybe. Use? Not in their lives.

~?So... why was I being targeted by the best shock troops in the Hydran Army? What were they doing with that neural disruptor and why did they go through so much trouble and even sacrificed themselves just to hit me with it??~ James pondered, the answers not forthcoming.

T'lan was out of the officer, her neural scan was twice as quick. Both were scheduled back to back, both had broken heads in need of tinkering and zapping. T'lan's seemed to go much smoother, for her problems were in her head to begin with.

James' problems, according to the report, was nothing but some residual damage from the Neural Thrower, remedied with bed rest and three recuperative miracle tablets a day.

T'lan on the other hand was permanently damaged goods.

She had undergone so many attacks on her Vulcan psyche that their formidable defenses went down like the walls of Jericho on a good singalong. Her first was vampires, then spirits that tried to mindrape her and her fellow security officers into puppets. Then there was having the long dead katra of a proto-Romulan refugee girl sharing space during her most vulnerable times.

All three personalities had emotions that tried to impose themselves.

The result was in her hand, and she looked quite upset by it, a feat normally monumental for a Vulcan became easy for her, and because of that it was also deadly.

?Bad news I take it?? James Corgan asked.

T'lan nodded. ?Yes. It seems I am not capable of raising my psychic defenses anymore. I am open to anything. Attacks, mindreadings, emotions. I am vulnerable.? She added, her mask breaking down as the emotions of sadness flooded her, ?And there may be no coming back.?

?Oh Jesus....? James sighed sympathetically. He sat up to meet T'lan eye to eye, but hers backed away shyly as a tear streamed down her eye.

Giving in, she collapsed into his shoulder, her body a dead weight as much as her dejected spirit.

?Do you know what this means for me?? T'lan shook.

James replied, ?Actually, I do. I've known some Vulcans, and they told me what goes on inside their heads. You guys have emotions, but they're kept repressed. Not many people know why, but I do, so I know how you feel.?

She backed away from James. ?Do you have any real idea?? Her sadness was giving away to mounting anger, confused and halting as it didn't decide whether to be angry at James or her situation, ?Do you? Do you know that we repress our emotions because we can't physically live with them anymore? We evolved to the point where strong emotions will kill us! Too much of it and I will die! What happens when I feel joy and sadness for the first time in such amounts? I feel sick! Even now I just want to...?

Her steps were wobbly, and she fell over into James arms.

?You don't understand...? She sounded calmer, ?It takes all my concentration not to give in, and all my discipline to keep myself balanced. I want to feel these emotions James, but if I do to the extent I want they will kill me! If not in one outburst then over years of exposure. I will lose my mind piece by piece or in one whole attack. I can feel, but I cannot and I can't stop myself. How will I...?

James held T'lan tight, and set her down on the chair, ?Just hold tight, T'lan. I'm here. You may not have lived with emotions all your life, but I have. Your mind doesn't know how to cope. Mine does. So does the rest of us emotionals. We'll help you out.?

?Medicine... please...?

T'lan pointed to her prescription of neural blockers. James went to the replicator and materialized a glass of water, and handed the water and pills to his Vulcan subordinate. She drank the pills and water in a greedy gulp, swallowed, and seemed to compose herself fast.

?And this is what I will become.? T'lan said dejectedly, ?I am already outcast from my family for taking this life, associating with emotionals. I will be outcast to my whole species because I have emotions and cannot control them. I may even lose my Starfleet Commission because of this. What will become of me? James, I am scared.?

At that point, James own problems seemed so minuscule, and guilt mounted on him deeply. The incident with the Hydrans, what James recalled of it, when T'lan fought the elites with fist and feet. He had seen her strength before, and vowed never to cross it. Vulcans were superior to humans in every way physically, and under control their strength was a fluid grace that was all under their control, masters of their forms, used to utmost efficiency. T'lan's fighting was just that. Simple, to the point, no move wasted and always enough to do the job.

Against the Hydrans, she was an animal. Her strength was unrestrained, emotions close to the surface. She howled like an animal as her fist bludgeoned one of her captured prey, messed to a pulp, blood over her savage snarling face and across the bulkheads. Savage. Protective.

She seemed to pick up on what he was thinking fast. ?I almost died that night. It felt so good to give into anger. You were in danger, my only friend. They were going to take you from me. I couldn't not let them do it. I gave in. I am sorry that I gave in but I could not watch you suffer....?

?Hey!? James piped up, ?It was my fault. Really. They mental whammied me and I couldn't get up. Blame me.?

?It is illogical!? T'lan fired back, ?They attacked you! It was the Hydrans! They did this to us!?

?What??

?James, do not hide it. You are not well yourself. I can tell. It hurts me to see you so. And when I hurt I get closer to being sick, to dying...?

?That's enough!? Corgan said, final word, daring an argument, ?I know I was hurt badly out there, and I didn't take that scan well. But you know what? I can manage. I've been through worse. I came out better. You, you're the one that needs help right now. Forget me. Lets get you better first. Please... whatever you need... just ask, and stop worrying about me! I'll be ok!?

T'lan looked wounded, and James stopped being so harsh and flinty. ?I'm sorry. Let's not complicate things as well. Lets get you better.?

But it was T'lan's turn to interrupt. ?No. James, as soon as I can, I have to go to Vulcan. I many be ostracized, but I have to try. My people are my only hope of seeking a cure for my condition.?

?Oh...? James sighed, ?I see. That's ok. Take some time off. Take care of things.?

?And I want you to come with me.?

James took a step back, his emotions taking a whip crack in astonishment. ?What the fuck??

?James... you do not realize how much I rely on you for support. Not I have to use you and emotional support. If I have to go back home, I cannot go alone. I am widowed, my family would disallow me if I did come back and I face stigma at home just for having emotions against my will. I need you as an anchor. Please, when the time comes... come with me to Vulcan.?

James couldn't believe what he was hearing. Though not an expert, he knew Vulcans well. What T'lan was asking him was a high honour, only given to the most trusted of a Vulcan's kin. They were a regimented and homogenous people, prone to conformity and shunning those that were different. When they changed, they changed en masse, and not easily.

Vulcans that found their emotions, no matter what the means, were treated with as much relish as a drunken Klingon, and when they let one know they were unwanted they were unwanted for their very long lives.

And she would need James, inadequate as he thought he was, to weather through that storm.

?Of course.? James said, ?Let me know when you're ready.?

?I will, sir. I will. And thank you. I value the friendship you have given me despite my flaws. But I have to keep going on duty. I will be alright. Emotions like I felt now... they only upset my stomach, or become so addictive that I can't let go. I would need to go in a rage like last time to seriously hurt me. More would kill me. I know my limits, and I can work within them. But eventually I have to go back to Vulcan and find a way.?

?Hey...? James shrugged, ?I was fucked up longer than you are. I know all about finding any port in a storm. Us broken heads... we need to stick together. I'll make sure Starfleet doesn't Section 8 you before we get you fixed. We'll find a way.?

?Thank you sir.?

T'lan regained her composure and confidence. Tall and well built even for her species, she was the same height as James, and muscled like a hardened, streamlined predator. James had to admire her strength with her vulnerability. At any moment she could feel, or get sick, even die. Yet she stayed unflappable, but changed. Notes of the emotions she denied herself before were starting to show, and like a child learning to walk she was learning to keep them at surface level, to express them properly.

She wanted to smile, but didn't want to risk herself trying. Better judgement gave way and she let herself feel happy, the smile creasing her face.

It froze James straight to the heart. She was surreal when she was happy, somehow more beautiful than her placid, frozen unemotional Vulcan default. Vulcans were beautiful and distant, but T'lan was not that.

She closed that distance quickly. She was inches from his face, almond eyes closing as her face tilted.

?Hey... you better not...?

Their lips made contact. She drew out not a lustily applied facial attack. The kiss was light and conservative, a pillowy peck that pressed light pressure on his lips with a moisture that touched and slick, cool and warm, with the tongue a tiny, momentary flick.

He was frozen up, unsure of what to do. Respond back? Try harder? He couldn't do anything but be the recipient., body pressed closely, and withdrawn. He didn't want to offend, or break away, nor did he want to be unfaithful to his mate Mika.

Yet he couldn't help but feel that this was one of the most romantic moves anyone pulled on him in his life.

And if she was trying to make it romantic moment #1 in his life, James had to admit she put a real contender when she said, ?In case I never feel this way again.?

?Jesus....? James breathed, appalled but intrigued, ?Please don't do that. If Mika finds out...?

?Mika?? T'lan questioned to the tune of her raised eyebrow, universal Vulcan for 'what the fuck', ?She is my friend too, remember? I know her as well, and in some ways better because I do not blind or delude myself... James... don't you ever see what we both try to tell you??

T'lan walked out of sickbay, and didn't provide James the answer. Left with enough mysteries to set a photon torpedo sized explosion in his head, he was left to wonder just how more fucked up his life could become.

Nightmares. Romances.

"Two sides to every?.."

Starring
Prince Thufi XXIV of Hydrax

Aboard the RHS Slarrardo at the edge of the Vered Cluster.

"Make way for His Royal highness Prince Thufi XXIV, Noble Lord of the Royal
Household??.Hero of Deep Space 5.??Victor at the Battle of
Romulus??Commander of the Royal Hydran Ship Slarrardo?..keeper of the sacred
boozles of yore??."

Thufi, Captain of Slarrardo waved his over-eager herald out of the way and
strode his purple bulk over to the bridge's primary tactical display tank.

Honors and titles were all very good when one was at court?..(2563rd in line
for the throne)??but out here on the front line a certain sense of
expediency was demanded.

Especially since things were not going according to plan.

"Tactical display." the Prince honked, clicking his beak impatiently, "Zoom
on Grid 4 of the Vered Cluster and surrounding lines of battle."

At his command, the swirling green gas of the tank coalesced into a three
dimensional glowing neon framework outlining star fields, supply routes, and
fleet dispositions.

The dancing lights cast strange shadowy spiders across the methane filled
bridge of the Slarrardo, and the assembled Fleet personnel bent closer to
attend their Prince.

The small armada was hovering quietly on the edges of the Vered Cluster,
taking advantage of the hydrogen rich dust fields surrounding the stellar
nursery.

The Slarrardo was central to the group of small fast-attack vessles that
formed the backbone of Hydran operations in this region.

Thufi was a Commodore now. Promoted to leader of the 1st Expeditionary Fleet
on the Vered Front, and in charge of all naval operations in the area.

Thanks to some clever spin-doctoring and not a little bit of out and out
deceit, the Royal Prince had managed to come out of the DS5 disaster
smelling like roses, and also had jumped over 200 slots in his road to
ascending the throne.

Now with a small armada under his command he looked to further that
ambition.

Thufi cast his trinary gaze across the assembled Hydran commanders.
Yes?.this was the grist upon which to grind out his ascendancy.

"Fleet readiness report if you please Blarpo." he said turning to the
handsome looking slug to his left. "Lets bring the others up to speed."

Blarpo Gunnt, Senior Espionage Officer, nodded slightly to his Prince, and
touching the neon tank controls spun up a technical cross-section of the
Commodore's Fleet out of the Display Fog

"Lets begin with our own forces my lord." he glorpped smoothly.
"1stExpeditionary fleet of the Hydran Throne?..charged with disruption
of enemy
forces in the Vered sector?."

Glowing script flowed across the swirling gas as he read:

1x Light Cruiser Slarrardo Flagship

2x Fast Destroyers

6x PF Torpedo Boats

And finally the Escort Carrier Florpy with its attached fighter wing.

A small force perhaps but well suited to the task at hand??

Blarpo adjusted a few more dials and a new display glowed.

"These are the latest Espionage estimates of enemy concentrations?.." he
paused, "I don't need to remind the gathered that what you see is highly
classified and improper distribution is subject to dismemberment of the
highest order."

The gathered Captains nodded solemnly. There were various degrees of
dismemberment in the Hydran criminal system.

Enemy Task force Alpha

1x Dreadnought USS Galaxy Flagship (presumed)

6-10 x Large Warp Transport ships (identities unconfirmed)

1-2 x possible small escort craft (unconfirmed)

Enemy Task Force Beta

1x Battlecruiser Presumed to be USS Zeus

1x Corvette (Identity unknown?Possibly Vigilant or Endurance)

Blarpo wiped the tank clean and spun up new figures. "Note Captains that we
have identified the Enemy as operating in two distinct Task groups. The
first?.Alpha is heading up the evacuation of civilians from the Vered
Cluster Settlements."

He tapped a glowing dial, zooming in on a large ship. "This is an image
taken from ground telescope by operatives imbedded in the Vered colonies.
This is a federation Dreadnought?..positively identified as USS Galaxy and
confirmed by independent sources."

The Espionage Officer let that name sink in. The crew of the Slarrardo under
Prince Thufi had faced the Galaxy on two separate occasions, and
spin-doctoring aside, had both times come up shorthanded.

The dreadnought was a particularly nasty thorn in their side, and a tempting
target.

"?..Heavy Phaser cannon?.. Quantum torpedo launchers and Multiphasic
Shielding," Blarpo read off the tactical details of the ship in turn.

"First launched back in the 2360's, she's been refitted with modern weaponry
and shielding, however remains a blend of scientific and combat
capabilities."

"That said?.Make no mistake blorgles," Prince Thufi interrupted "This is a
dreadnought ship of the line and outguns everything we have with us
presently?.however?.."

The Prince indicated the Vered StarCluster. "The Galaxy is a Deep Space
fighting platform and not suited to the narrow confines of the stellar
cluster??additionally?.."

The fog display slewed over to the Transport ships, "The Enemy has made the
mistake of assigning a dreadnought to mere escort duty where quicker,
lighter craft would have excelled. As long as we focus our strikes on
hitting the transports in quick hit and run operations, the Galaxy will be
too encumbered to respond effectively."

Prince Thufi eyed the young Captains of his PF Torpedo Boats. Small agile
craft with massive up-front weaponry, they were going to be key to his
plans.

"Get in?get out. Our advantage is speed and the fact that we have operatives
keeping close tabs on the enemy positions. I repeat?..Speed is our
advantage?..get bogged down in a a slugfest and its all over."

As a matter of fact every ship in Thufi's small Armada had been chosen for
speed over size. Even the Escort Carrier which wasn't expected to enter the
fight itself would prove to be faster than the big Federation ships in tight
spaces.

The assembled captains glorped their approval. Big fat slow Transports in
tight confined spaces??this was a golden opportunity.

"Before you get too excited my blorgles," Thufi clicked his beak annoyed,
"We have other issues."

Espionage Officer Blarpo continued:

"The enemy is not quite as stupid as we hoped. While the Dreadnought and
transports make a good target, there is a second flotilla of ships operating
in the area."

"Task Force Beta is centered on what we believe to be the USS Zeus?. A Fast
Battlecruiser launched out of their yards only two years ago. Nominally of
the Prometheus class, Espionage suggests she's faster and carries heavier
shields. She's a full ship of the line, not some research cruiser??.so watch
out.."

"Lastly we have rumors of one?.possibly two Corvettes operating in
conjunction with the Zeus. Well?..you all know what that means."

There was some muted unhappy blorbling around the room.

The Federation Corvettes of the Defiant class were excellent ships?.roughly
analogous to the Hydran PF's, and always meant trouble.

"We think its Vigilant?.or Endurance?.or both, Star Beast Forbid?.."

Prince Thufi sighed. "The Beta Fleet is running interference for the
evacuation force. We've already had one run in when a couple of our
destroyers and gunboats ran across the Corvette and her big sister."

A pause. "We need to be more careful in making our approach. The Galaxy is
not designed to fight in close confines, but the smaller ships are, and we
need to circumvent them before we can get at the transports."

"Make no mistake Captains?." The Prince narrowed all three eyes. "The
transports are our goal. There is honor in defeating the enemy combat ships
in battle?.trust me I'd love to pay back Galaxy?.but wars are won and lost
on logistics. Blow the enemy's ability to move supplies, and victory is
ours."

The mood on the Bridge of the Slarrardo had grown somber. This was a good
assignment. Chance for Glory, Honor, and meaningful contributions to the war
effort.

Prince Thufi had planned well.

One could only hope his run of bad luck against the Galaxy would change the
third time out.

"Questions???..good?..blorgles, dismissed back to your ships."

"She Picked Someone" (for lack of a better title)

Lieutenant Mark ? Counsellor
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton ? CMO

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Counselling Offices ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ He said pick someone, ~ Kimberly thought as she tapped the door
chime, ~ so I did. ~ The list of counsellors aboard was full of very
qualified personnel, for this particular session though she had chosen
to meet someone hopefully fairly neutral, so to speak regarding
shipboard matters, someone reasonably new. Someone not influenced
(she hoped) by the gossip that oh so often threatened to power the
starship to warp ten and beyond.

Someone who also didn't know her or Dhanishta. ~ Lieutenant Mark,
Terran, sixteen years counselling experience and one of the transfers
from the USS Miranda. ~ she recalled from the notes she had scanned
while picking someone to talk to. Also it helped that he was the same
rank as her, she always felt a little uncomfortable sitting down with
junior officers, as some of what she had to discuss was occasionally
classified above their pay grade, and senior officers had a tendency
in her experience to look down a little, wondering why someone so
young held the posts she did.

~ Not my fault I'm smart. ~ she muttered as she heard a voice from
within the office. She'd done reasonably well at the Academy, and
since then, otherwise why was she here doing the job she did, and she
was usually the first to admit there were things she didn't know.
Walking in she felt herself relax a little, counselling sessions from
either perspective were nothing new for her, having held the chief
counsellor slot on the Relentless before her post here. And she fully
appreciated the time spent in sessions like this, okay, this one
hadn't exactly been her idea but that didn't matter at the end of the
day, sit, talk and relax she decided, not about to give someone else
something to complain about.

~ Assuming he hasn't already noticed I've put this off 'way' longer
than I promised. ~ She thought as she waited.

Mark was in his office setting up his desk so he could actually find
things for a change. He placed his small cigarbox-sized humidor on
one corner opposite the computer terminal's monitor. On the other
side he placed a small statue of Lucy Van Pelt in her wooden kiosk.
The miniature sign on the front proclaimed one could get psychiatric
help for the tidy sum of five cents. "That takes care of 'that'!"
Mark said out loud.

Entering just in time to see the final rearrangement of the desktop,
Kimberly stared at the small statue on the desk for a second and
wondered briefly whether it was some sort of household deity?
Shrugging to herself slightly she dismissed the thought and turned her
attention to the Lieutenant. "Lieutenant," she greeted him simply, "I
made an appointment yesterday. I'm Doctor Burton."

Mark looked up at the pleasant looking young woman. The first thing he
noticed was the odd coloration of her eyes. It was something he was
familiar with. "Yes, yes of course!" He stood up and walked around his
desk to greet her properly. "You can call me Mark."

"Pleased to meet you Mark," she replied with a smile. His coming out
from behind the desk was for her a good sign, keeping a barrier
between you and a client was never a good thing, and for him to do
that from the start boded well.

"You're Kimberly Burton the flute playing, painting, historical
reading, Harley riding CMO of the Galaxy. What can I do for you
today?" He asked in a warm friendly fashion.

Blinking in surprise she wondered if he looked up the minutia of
everyone who walked in the door, she had scanned clients files before
most sessions, but for him to have picked up on the flute and
painting, two hobbies she hadn't touched since coming aboard, he had
done his homework. Nodding a little she smiled, "Yes to all of the
above, but not as much as used to before I came here," she admitted.
"And Kimberly is fine," she offered before he asked.

"As for today, well, Commander Elessidil has uh, 'suggested' that I
sit down and have a chat with someone." Doing just that she picked a
comfy chair and settled into it. "I'm surprised he hasn't sent you a
memo after I made the appointment actually."

Mark tilted his head curiously as he walked back to his desk. "I
haven't checked my messages yet," he said without worry, "Did you want
a drink or anything before we started talking?"

Shaking her head she declined politely, "No thank you, I'm fine."

He took a seat on the chair opposite the one Kimberly sat in. He
leaned one elbow on the arm of the chair and smiled at his new client.
"So, what's on your mind?"

Thinking carefully about just what to say Kimberly paused a moment,
though Brian had suggested/ordered her here, what she discussed was
entirely up to her. To discuss what happened in Brian's office would
by necessity bring up Dhanishta, and though she had already blurted
out a host of information about her to someone, she had no desire to
do the same again. Once was enough, and that time had been because it
needed to be done.

Now though? What was there to discuss? She could let him know all
about the debacle on New Rhea, though right now the further she got
away from that world the happier she felt. Shrugging she sighed
softly, "The Commander seemed a little worried that I might be
overreacting to certain recent events, and taking things a little too
personally."

"What things?" Mark asked unhelpfully. Then, by way of explanation
he added, "I've taken a cursory look at your file but I haven't had
time to delve into all the little details and minutia. Perhaps you
could fill me in on the ... 'recent' events. Hmm?"

Raising an eyebrow in an almost Vulcan gesture she sat and thought for
a moment, there was a lot to tell, "That, may take a while. I guess
what Commander Ellesidil was concerned about happened a little while
back. But for a short trip it's a long story."

"Feel free to make longs stories short," Mark added helpfully, "But
don't leave out the important bits."

"Okay. Well, a while back I entered my shuttle into this years great
starship race, shuttle category obviously. So me and a couple of
friends headed out while the ship was on a survey run for a couple of
weeks vacation." Getting comfortable she settled herself for a long
hour, this would take a while. "In hindsight I should have taken
three weeks off and left the ship closer to Rey, but I figured two
weeks was enough. En-route we ran into a first contact situation, so
there ended the vacation."

"Bummer," Mark commented.

"Mmmm," Kimberly agreed tactfully. "The people we encountered were
human whose ancestors were taken from Earth over a thousand years ago,
and at first everything went pretty well. We fixed their ship, got
them home and had a nice time meeting new people. There were a few
incidents though that 'kinda' fouled the first contact up."

"Really?" Mark asked prompting Kimberly to go on.

Determined not to paint the whole planet with the same attitude that
only a few had shown she shrugged, "Well, for the most part the people
were pretty nice, but there were a few though that held on to their
old laws and ways with a vengeance, and that's where the problems
started."

Mark nodded with a furrowed brow, "That's usually when the trouble starts."

Flushing with embarrassment at the thought she bit her lip for a
second before continuing, "Well, one local noble wanted to marry me,
and another local religious nut wanted to burn me at the stake for
being a witch, would have succeeded too if my friends hadn't pulled
off a timely rescue."

"Ohhh," Mark nodded as if completely understanding. "So that's what
caused the whole who-ha with the first contact situation? Sounds like
you got yourself in a real mess. Good to know you got out okay
though," the counsellor smiled warmly. "Your adventure doesn't seem
too much out of the ordinary. Things like this have happened before
in past first contacts. It's a matter of misunderstanding." He
really wanted to light up a cigar but refrained. It wouldn't look
good in front of the chief medical officer after all.

"Well, not exactly a misunderstanding, more an archaic attitude that
vanished on Earth centuries ago. Unfortunately these people also
vanished from Earth centuries ago, so I guess there's some weird
symmetry there."

"Symmetry makes the universe go 'round," Mark smiled, "So they say
anyways. I usually don't take much stock in 'what everyone else'
says." He shrugged.

"Well," sounding resigned as if she were tired of telling the story,
understandable after several hours cooped up with the Captain and an
FCO investigator, "it was just a difference of Faith. Their Faith
said to burn me at the stake, mine says live and let live basically,
though in all honesty that's not the part that really got to me. It
was unpleasant, yes, and it's gonna piss me off for some time and the
FCO aren't happy you can be sure, but as you said things like that
have happened before. What's really getting to me lately though isn't
really recent events," sounding a little frustrated now she just waved
an arm in the air, "It's this place!"

"This place?" Mark asked understandably curious, "How so? May I ask?
Surely the people you serve with on the Galaxy are much more open
minded than the people you just got done dealing with?"

"Most of them, yes," she agreed slowly, "but it's not just the open
mindedness that I'm talking about. This? this place is not at all
like I expected," she admitted with a look of confusion on her face.
"When I was assigned here I was excited, this is the USS Galaxy, an
explorer, responsible for expanding our knowledge of the universe one
step at a time. Yet when I get here it's like a lunatic asylum at
times. We've crew aboard who can terrify people just be being in the
same room as them, others who have obvious emotional issues that would
have them relieved of duty on any other posting in the fleet, and some
crew who seem to relish evading the rules and regulations at every
turn possible. It just gets so frustrating at times!" she ended
sounding irritated.

'Sounds a lot like the Miranda... and Starbase One... and every other
place I've been,' Mark thought to himself. The counsellor rubbed his
chin in thought while listened to Kimberly, fascinated with her dual
coloured eyes. He nodded when she finished. "Yeah... you get that some
days." He shifted positions in his chair to get more comfortable. "Are
there any particular people you have actual trouble with? Or are you
just speaking generally?"

"Specifically? Generally? Both!" She admitted, "though I think I've
opened my mouth enough about specifics for now," looking a little
embarrassed she shrugged, "you know the story I guess, best of
intentions, but didn't quite go as hoped or planned." Sighing softly
she sat back in her chair and stretched her legs as she stared at the
ceiling, "think I've managed to piss off the best friend I've made on
this ship by trying to help, and it doesn't look like we'll be talking
for a while." ~ If ever ~ she added silently.

Mark 'p-shahed'. "I'm sure you'll talk to her again. You both just
need some time to decompress from your stressful ordeal," the
counsellor tried to comfort her. "Just give her a few more days and
send flowers or chocolates or something."

"I, ah, don't think its stress or fall out from New Rhea that's
causing this one, it's just me opening my mouth and inserting both
feet so far they may require surgery to remove." Before he could
reply, or even raise an eyebrow she shook her head, "I broke a trust
you could say. I was worried, so I, um, dragged my friend down to see
a counsellor. Unorthodox and not exactly the way to get someone to
talk to someone, but I didn't see any other choice really. I guess
she's got every right to be pissed at me really," she decided
regretfully, and honestly.

"Oh, that's not so bad. I knew someone who once locked their
girlfriend in her quarters because he was so worried about her. Then
he had the 'nerve' to send me in to calm her down," Mark leaned over
his desk, "Can you imagine that? At least you didn't have to lock
anyone up."

~ Yet? ~ Kimberly thought wryly. "What happened with those two? The
boyfriend and the locked up girlfriend?" She asked curiously, "did
you manage to calm things down?"

"Ah well," Mark leaned back in his chair, "It all turned out all
right. The woman is well on her way to recovery and they're still
together... at least that was the last I heard from them."

"Showing that sometimes excessive strategies can work." She admitted
softly, hoping that hers would also, one day. "In the meantime
though, I wait. It's not like there isn't a shortage of things to
keep occupied with though." Thinking about recent events she frowned
for a moment and looked to Mark. "Mind if I ask your opinion on
something?"

"But of course," Mark said easily. "That's my job after all."

"Considering recent events and the escalating tension and hostilities,
do you think it's narrow-minded of someone to hold onto a pacifistic
point of view on a ship that's likely to see a great deal of combat in
the near future?" She enquired curiously.

"Well, it's certainly going to make some things difficult considering
a war just started," he replied matter-of-factly.

"What sort of things?" She asked curiously. She had a pretty fair
idea what he meant, but sometimes it helped to hear someone else say
it.

Mark blinked in disbelief. "Well, you know, wars generally have lots
of violence going on. A ship of the line isn't going to be the most
welcome place for a pacifist." It was difficult to squelch the sarcasm
the counsellor wished to speak with. Somehow he managed. "Starfleet
'does' serve as the military branch of the Federation. That might make
it difficult to hold to your pacifistic beliefs."

Nodding gently, "Agreed, and I have considered that, though Starfleet
is primarily the deep-space exploratory service of the Federation.
Our primary function is to advance our knowledge of science,
technology, and the galaxy in general. The defense of the Federation
is not our primary mandate, though is something we've been doing more
and more as the Federation expands." Holding up a hand to forestall
Mark for a moment she continued, "I know that violence is something we
live with on a day to day basis, especially on the frontier as we're
often in contact with non-Federation cultures, but Starfleet has a
significant diplomatic role as well; we represent the Federation."

"Isn't part of what we try and uphold the beliefs and views of
Federation members, and their rights to adhere to their beliefs?" She
asked simply.

"I believe Starfleet does the best it can in that regard," Mark
answered just as simply, "But in times of war, when negotiations break
down, sometimes we aren't afforded all the luxuries we're used to."
He shrugged, "I'm not saying your beliefs will be disregarded, it just
might be difficult to relate to your ship mates. For example, if
you're ever in a situation where you're being required to shoot an
enemy to save someone and you don't because of your pacifistic beliefs
there could be some animosity directed towards you from other
shipmates."

Sighing again she nodded, "Yeah, I know. And that does worry me
sometimes. I've never really been in that situation, I've been
fortunate enough to be able to avoid getting myself in a situation
where I have to make that decision. The way things are going though,
I have the feeling it won't be long."

"Everyone understands you're a doctor Kimberly," Mark spoke in a
gentle tone, "Everyone knows your job is to save lives and not cause
injury but you 'are' right. Someday you'll have to make a choice
between saving a comrade's life or letting an enemy live. I don't
envy the position you'll be in when you make the choice."

~ Gee, thanks. ~ She thought sourly. He was right, there was no
denying it, and he wasn't the first to say it either. It didn't mean
she had to like it though. "Whichever way I choose, someone is likely
to die, the only difference will be is if it by my hands or not." Not
looking too happy at the thought she shrugged, "Whichever way it goes,
expect me knocking on your door about one hour after the dust
settles." She informed him flatly.

"That's what I'm here for," Mark answered cheekily. "But on a more
serious note," his tone changed to match his words, "If an enemy dies
by some other means, with no help from you, you still did no harm and
therefore, I would say, you'd still be abiding by the Hippocratic
Oath."

Shaking her head Kimberly couldn't help but correct him, it was one of
the most common misconceptions she had come across since she had
qualified. "Actually, it's not the Hippocratic Oath I'm worried
about." She said in a weary voice, "'Primum non nocere' or 'First, do
no harm' isn't actually a part of the Hippocratic Oath, though just
about everyone thinks it is. Hippocrates did use that in his
Epidemics, but not in the Oath. No, what does stay my hand at times
is a different vow, 'An it harm none, do what ye will', the basic
tenet of my faith." She explained.

"I see," Mark replied rubbing his chin. He was familiar with the
phrase but couldn't recall, at the moment, which exact faith she was
referring to. "Well then, I don't see anything in that statement that
doesn't allow you to defend yourself. If you know for a fact that
someone intends to kill you I believe you allowed to protect yourself
in kind, correct?"

"There are, other reasons as well," she replied. For a moment she was
lost in thought, and then shook her head, "Look, let's not go there
right now, ok." Looking at a chrono nearby she stood, "I think I've
taken enough of your time today," she announced abruptly, "perhaps we
can continue this later?"

Mark smiled a satisfactory smile, "Whenever is a good time for you."

How Would You Like It?

Commander Brian Elessidil, Chief Counselor
1st Lt Branwen London, Marine Staff Psychologist
Corporal Cian?n Tierney, Combat Medic

The caressing touch of a hand on his bare back tracing the carefully etched
tattoo seemed all too real. Cian?n tossed in his bed as the dream played
itself out. Next, a gentle touch of lips to his shoulder. Finally, the
teasing path of lips around his ear. Dreaming Cian?n rolled over and gazed
into eyes that were all too familiar. The lucid dream shattered and the
marine's eyes opened wide and immediately adjusted to the darkness.

"Oh shit."

Cian?n stared at the ceiling above him. If he thought he had issues before,
they just became exponentially more complex.

Shaking off the euphoria and slight panic the Angosian rolled out of bed. He
ran his hands over his shaved head and sighed. He had an hour before his
assignment. He was to assist with evacuation of New B'Hala. He would join
Cmdr. Brian Elessidil and 1st Lt. Branwen London. That's just what he needed
? two psychologists to pick his brain apart.

The marine was briefed fairly extensively on the situation. Elessidil was
assigned to the outlying areas around the colony, and London was in charge
of evacuation of the city. It wasn't going to be easy.

Cian?n was going to join the marines, but at the last minute was assigned to
join the evacuation of the rural areas. His medical training would come in
handy. Cian?n stood in the mirror and looked at his torso. His brawn might
come in hand too. Shoot first, patch up later.

Thirty minutes later he was in a shuttle bay with his medical and combat
gear.

Branwen came in at almost the same moment, she was wearing light armor and
had her kit and weapons with her. Her long hair was captured in a ponytail
keeping it out of her face.

"Corporal." She greeted him. Of course she knew his face but she hadn't
talked to Tierney much as he was not in her platoon. "I hope you don't mind
being stuffed with the commander and me." She grinned at him as they entered
the shuttle.

Cian?n shook his head. "No ma'am, someone has to protect the nice shirts
officers wear." The only interaction the Angosian had with London was
briefly on the station when their teams cleared the path for the injured.
"So long as you don't mind being stuffed with me."

"Of course not, corporal. We all know that the NCOs do the real work. And
don't forget that I am a marine first." She chuckled at him. "What do you
think about this mission?" The marines she had talked to so far had very
varied reactions to this particular mission. The most she had ever seen so
far.

It was like a repeat of his session with the Counselor. "Not sure yet. Seems
like an easy assignment at first glance, but then you start to think about
it." Brian made him think about it. The Betazoid had that affect on him.
"What do you think?"

She turns to him after having secured her gear and finding her seat for the
flight. "Honestly? I think this is one of the most difficult missions I
have ever been on, maybe the most difficult. How would you feel, corporal,
if people came to your home telling you you have to leave your home, your
family's home?" She watched him intently, almost everybody she had talked
to so far had a different reaction to the dilemma. Yet an alarming amount
were not comfortable with what they had to do, like she wasn't comfortable
with it.

Cian?n's face was emotionless, stoic. He wanted to say: "at least they
will be able to stay with their family. Perhaps you should read the
history of Angosia or Bajor or a hundred other races. Try being ripped
not only from your home, but from your parents." But instead he
settled for, "If this is the worst thing that will be thrown at these
people some might consider them blessed. What's that saying? Home is
where the heart is."

"Some would consider that to mean that removing someone from their home is
just like removing their heart," Counselor Elessidil replied,
arriving at that moment. He continued past the two, taking the pilot's
chair. "The three of us will be doing some recon before the larger
transports follow. Seems there have been some sporadic protests in the
rural areas and they want us to assess the situation more closely and see if
we can calm some nerves a little first." Inside, he wasn't sure there was
anything they could do to help the situation, but orders were orders.
"Lieutenant," he said to Branwen as he began some some pre-flight checks, "I
know this is a bit of a detour from where you
ultimately need to be, but there is concern that the organizers behind these
protests could have connections in the heart of the colony, so it would be
to
your advantage to learn as much as you can from them if possible." He
turned to them as the shuttle door slowly closed. "Ready?"

Cian?n gave a curt nod to the Counselor while considering his words.
The marine had never been in a situation outside a counseling session
with Brian. He considered it a test of his patience to be with two
psychologists, particularly two psychologists that didn't seem to
support the assignment. Cian?n sighed softly as he sat in the conn
ready to depart. He hoped he wouldn't have to convince two people to
be on his side.

"Yes sir.' Bran said. "If you need help in the cockpit sir, I have a few
hours of flying under my belt. Not enough to fly a thing like this but
enough to help," she said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll let you know if I need any help."

To Cian?n Branwen said. "How about you? Any place you call home, or your
family?" Bran wanted to let him see the other side of the story.

"This is my home." Cian?n said definitively, referring to the Galaxy. "I
don't have any family." He didn't want to turn the discussion into a
counseling session. He no longer considered Angosia his home and his family
lived in fear of him.

"In that case I can understand it is difficult for you to imagine how these
people feel." Bran said calmly. "Nothing wrong with that, as always you
treat them with respect and kindness."

"How can anyone truthfully imagine their feelings?" Cian?n questioned.
"We've never met them. All we know is what is reported in data bytes we've
been instructed to read." The marine leaned back in his seat as the shuttle
disembarked from the Galaxy. "Some of them might be happy."

"That is the job they hired the commander and me for." Bran said. "And it
is our job to try to tell you guys what to expect. Maybe 99 percent of them
have no problem with leaving, that would be perfect. But there are going to
be people who are going to have a tough time, and who might not want to
leave. They deserve some respect and consideration, corporal, whatever your
personal views are."

Cian?n had never met a psychologist so opinionated and ready to dole out
advice. Most counselors with whom he had worked made him find the answers.
This woman was a regular Dear Abby [insert appropriate Dear Abby of the time
:)]. What surprised Cian?n most was the fact that he hadn't even given
London his personal opinion. "I'll try my best to be a respectful marine,
ma'am."

She nodded. "Sorry for preaching. I have been instructing marines about
the mission for days now." Bran smiled and relaxed a little. "Did you
volunteer for this?"

"None of us really volunteered for this," Brian said, inserting
himself into the conversation again as he monitored their trajectory
toward the planet. "But if you're asking if he's with us here of his
own volition, not entirely. I requested Corporal Tierney be assigned
to this team because I thought his medical experience could be
helpful." It was only part of the truth perhaps, but true
nonetheless. "If we're fortunate, we won't have to call on that
experience, but that may be as far as our luck takes us. I think the
level of dissatisfaction and resistance is going to be pretty high, so
we need to be prepared for that."

"Yes sir, I understand." Bran said. "And I agree with you, hopefully we will
not need his skills." But privately she doubted it. If these people loved
their land they would do anything to defend it and this mission could turn
very nasty, very quickly.

Being a combat medic Cian?n had an unusual position - not unlike London's
position - he was first and foremost a marine. There were fairly clear
expectations for a marine and his or her duties in a hostile situation.
However, he was also a physician. He specialized in emergency medicine,
particularly in the field. "I guess if you do your jobs right, I won't be
needed, sir, ma'am." Cian?n added with a devilish grin. Secretly the
Angosian felt a bit of security being with the Commander who seemed to be
able to calm his mind storm.

"Forgiveness"
1st. Branwen London
Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia

Man'darr sat next to Branwen as she rested on the biobed. They had not spoken a word since she had been healed. The doctor had sedated her in order for her head injury to healed quicker. What could he say to her? He had injured her in blind rage, and for that he hated himself. 'Perhaps it was true that he don't belong in Starfleet,' he thought, letting out a long, heavy sigh. He soon heard Branwen moan and begin to come around.

After a moment, their eyes met and at that moment, a wave of guilt washed over Man'darr as he looked away. "I...I am sorry, Branwen," he nearly whispered, looking at the deck. "I do not deserve to be your mate for what I have done. You deserve someone better."

“Maybe I am getting exactly what I deserve.” She whispered and stared at the ceiling. So ironic she had ran away from home and now she was about to marry a man who would slap her around if she did something wrong.

"No, you do not deserve what happened to you...I was wrong to lay a hand on you...I...I let my anger get out of control again. I thought I had conquered my anger...but apparently I have not....I do not even deserve to wear this uniform," he said continuing to look at the deck. A storm of emotions swirled within him--emotions of hate
for himself, sadness, guilt, emptiness, and disbelief as he fought back the tears that fought to escape his eyes.

"It's all right." She whispered. "Things like that happen. I should not have provoked you so much. I was wrong, honey. It's OK." It was hard for her to see him nearly cry.

"No, it is not alright...and things like should not ever happen, especially to someone such as you, Branwen. You deserve someone who does not have anger issues...someone who will never hurt you in your life."

"I don't mind, I am used to pain, and I don't want to argue about it now. We have fought enough today. I don't want to make you angry again. What time is it?"

"No...we need to talk about what happened. You should not have to be used to pain. We need to learn to talk to each other more calmly...that is if you still want me. If not, I understand and will not blame you for making that decision."

“Of course I still want to marry you. I love you.” She sat up and blinked a few times. Bran was still groggy. In fact I think I have to work, hon. I had the late shift today.”

"No, you should rest, Branwen. I can get someone to cover for you for today....I am glad you still want to marry me after what happened...but I do not deserve you," he said softly, still not meeting her gaze.

“No, don’t put all the blame on yourself. Maybe I should talk more.” She reached out for his hand. “It is so difficult for me.” She whispered. “So little people understand, it’s tough for me, Dar. I really DO love them still.” There were tears in her eyes now.

After a moment of silence, he slowly looked up, meeting Branwen's gaze as her hand grabbed his. "I do not want to discuss your family at the moment. We simply need to discuss us and you need to learn to talk to me more and trust me. Branwen...you mean so much to me, and I love you very much." He took a deep breath before continuing.

"I do not ever want to hurt you again....you deserve only the best in life. I will try my best to control my anger better." It still frightened him how easily he had injured Branwen.

She caressed his hand. “Talk to someone, okay? That is all I ask, hon. And maybe we can talk about my parents one day with one of my colleague’s present if you like.”

"Alright..." he said softly.

Bran blinked surprised he gave in that easily. “Thank you, hon. You are a sweetie.”

"No, I'm not...if I was, I would not have attacked and injured you." He still felt confused and lost in his emotions. Yet, Branwen's kind words did make it easier for him to deal with the emotions swirling through him at the moment.

“It’s normal for men to lose their temper with a woman. Don’t worry, although I would prefer you work on it. Next time I might hit back.” She smiled. “Can you ask the nurse for something against headaches please?”

"There will not be a next time if I can help it." Man'darr replied with a serious tone as he finally met Branwen's gaze. The pain within him was still great on wat he had done to Branwen, even if she had forgiven him. He then stood and asked a nearby nurse about Branwen's request. The nurse walked over after going to a nearby cabinet.

"Shall we go home now?" She asked sitting up on the bed. "There is so much to prepare for. The wedding, the mission."

Nodding slowly, Man'darr spoke softly. "Yes." The words 'home' suddenly meant alot to him as he would be living with Branwen from now on. He would have her support and love and he was sure he'd have the same from her.

"Thank you." She could see he was still struggling with what happened. "It's okay, honey. We will just take it easy for awhile, and try not to annoy each other." She smiled softly.

"Ok," he replied, hoping the feeling of guilt and shame would soon go away as they headed out of Sickbay.

"A True Connection"

(Set *before* "Bad Doctor")

1st Lieutenant Branwen London - SFMC Furies Psychologist
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe ? Chief Engineer

***USS Galaxy Deck 8 crew quarters***

"Hi Dhani." Branwen had hit the giant of her friends quarters, and was
glad that the engineer was home for once. "I thought I had better
come round and give you an update of my life, before you hear from
others."

Dhanishta nodded, chewing quickly as she gestured towards the couch
with her free hand, "Have a seat..." she mumbled swallowing the
remnants of a cookie, trying not to choke on it. "Want some?" she
offered up the cookie crammed plate she was holding as she wiped
crumbs from her mouth.

"Thanks." Bran took a cookie. "I had a checkup with one of the docs.
I wanted it before the wedding." She concentrated on the cookie. "It
turned out I have some internal damage inside me, makes having kids or
even sex pretty difficult. But they are flying in a surgeon to have a
look at me and they have high hopes. So nothing to worry about." She
managed a smile.

Dhanishta blinked once, then twice and on the third time she regarded
the half eaten cookie in her hand and with a longing sigh discarded it
to the pile on the plate. Dusting her hands she sat down on the
couch, curling her legs around her and stretching out her arm over the
back of the sofa as she turned to face Branwen. "If it didn't worry
you then you wouldn't need to mention it." she observed with a slight
rise of her eyebrows. Reaching out she placed her hand lightly upon
Branwens shoulder, "Tell me in full, what did the Doctor say was wrong
and why?" she requested gently squeezing Brans shoulder in support.

"I told you about my past, growing up, I thought also that the damage
my father had done had healed, you know like the broken bones. It
seems that some of the damage is more internal and did not heal.
There is scar tissue inside me, and some bones that moved or
something. I was so shocked that I didn't even here everything the
doctor said. But he is flying in a specialist to fix me. So it will
be all right." Branwen kept insisting.

Dhani nodded, "Okay.." she replied slowly, "So why are you worried?
It all sounds routine so why are you wor? ahhhhhh?" Dhani exclaimed
with understanding sitting up and leaning forward engaged, "You think
Man'darr won't want you right?" she asked. It was the only obvious
thing. Nothing that Dhani had told her previously had really sunk in.
It wasn't going to take one conversation with her to make her realize
that there were plenty more fish in the sea, that she had options and
she was a definite catch herself. Dhani shrugged inwardly.

"It's not that. After our discussion, Dar and I had a really good
talk. He really believes I'm beautiful." She smiled. "And he says
that he wants me whatever happens." Her face fell a little. "I
believe him, but it is not in his culture. And if they cannot cure
me, it's going to be very difficult for him. That's what I am worried
about, hurting him."

"Ya know Bran, since you told me about your engagement I haven't heard
you once tell me what you want out of all this. Everything so far has
been about him. And while I understand that you want to do everything
well, be it your job or training or being the best wife possible, I'm
still not hearing about your wants and your desires." Dhani told her
seriously. "If he decides that you are not the one for him based on
this then he's not worth the effort in the first place. You place too
much emphasis on tradition and culture. When I first met you, you
were the most xenophobic Starfleet officer I had ever come across,
apart for Kylar Kurran that is, though he wasn't a Starfleet officer,
and damn that man had an ego the size of a planet stuffed up his
rectum! But over the years you have really changed, you're dating a
Cappellen for crying out loud. You, Branwen? a Cappellen!" she
repeated with wide eyes nudging her friend playfully.

She turned serious again, "If he says it doesn't matter to him, well
he's not being totally truthful cause of course it's going to affect
him too, but what you need to focus on now is the treatment, and
recovery and first and foremost yourself!" Dhani said. "This will be
a test to your relationship. How will he cope, and how will you cope,
and if he stands by you and holds your hand through this then you will
know for sure that he is a decent man. If not, well? I did promise to
kick his head in, as it's you I can always upgrade to ribs, knees and
guts too?" she asked adding gentle humor to lighten Brans mood.

"I think he will stand by me. He is very gentle for a Capellan,
Dhani. I think it is because he was raised away from his own people,
on earth. He is different, and kind." She smiled. "It's just me,
I'm scared." She admitted. "I have never thought very highly of
doctors."

Dhanishta nodded gently, "Now 'that' I understand." she replied
sincerely squeezing Brans shoulder again. "If it's any help I can
come with you?" she offered.

"No, I haven't even asked Dar to come. This is something I have to
face alone. I am sure it will be all right." She managed a brave
smile. "What could go wrong? It's just the initial examination."

Dhani nodded solemnly, "Yeah, I suppose." she replied, "Though are you
sure about not asking Man'darr to go with you? Shouldn't this be
something you face together? I mean I can understand why you'd want
to be alone, it's embarrassing to have someone fuss over you, and it
can be annoying, but he wants to spend the rest of his life with you,
during that time lots of things are going to happen and you need to
know now if you can relinquish some of that control and let him
support you, and vice versa."

"No, I have been holding his hand too much lately. I would like to do
this alone. But I would like to come and see you afterwards, after
I've seen Dar of course. Doctors are a bit scary to me, so I might
need to blow of some steam amongst friends." She admitted.

Dhanishta nodded, "My door is your door." she said with a warm smile.
It only hit her after she said it that she really meant it. For a
moment she was stuck on that thought, ~since when did I become the
'friendly girlfriend' type? And since when did I have friends that I
would 'let' cry on my shoulder?~ her face scrunched up as she mulled
over the possibility that she had really mellowed out over the last
few years.

She remembered clearly the day she read Naranda Sol Roswell's transfer
note to the USS Galaxy, after the death of Ahdjiia she had made the
decision that friendships were a load that was just too hard to bear,
reading the transcripts of the latest crew member as another conflict
loomed had cemented that decision, it had given her the validation to
be a recluse, to he harsh and unwelcoming. And yet now, right here,
she was giving advice to a woman that classed her as a close friend,
one that wanted her to be a witness at her wedding ? the most
important day of her life? the warm smile transcended to a genuine
smile that crept across her lips and slowly began to spread across her
face illuminating her features.

"You look so beautiful right now." Branwen smiled and embraced her
friend. "It suits you, Dhani."

Dhanishta frowned at the sudden hug, steadying herself as Bran leaned
closer. After a second her smile returned. ~Perhaps your right.~ she
thought silently, mulling over the possibility that this time round
the friendship might last, and that her new found 'sanity' might too?

"The Odd Couple"

Ha'Mok, son of K'Gahr
Ezre Tolana

****
Gamma Vered II
The Finger Lakes
50 km west of New B'Hala

Most days, once the sun was on its way back down in the sky, Ha'Mok
was nowhere to be found around the sprawling cattle farm he oversaw.
That is, unless one knew where to look.

If there was one thing Ha'Mok enjoyed more than anything, it was
fishing. And lucky for him, if there was one thing that the Finger
Lakes west of New B'Hala were known for, it was fish. Big fish, small
fish, tasty fish, nasty fish, fish with four eyes, fish with four big
fins and four tiny legs... If one was patient enough, one might
encounter hundreds of species of aquatic animals in these clear blue
waters, most of which were damn good eating.

And luckily for the big Klingon, he preferred his meat raw. Out of
the lake and into his mouth, just like that. You couldn't get much
fresher than that.

"Ha'Mok! Son of! K'Gahr!" a squeaky, high pitched voice suddenly
cried out, piercing the peaceful quiet that pervaded the area. The
rough edges of the shouted words clearly indicated that level of
volume was near the edges of its owner's vocal range. Immediately
recognizing the voice, and the way in which he was addressed, Ha'Mok
slowly and deliberately turned to look over his shoulder, watching
with mild interest as the slight figure of Ezre Tolana crested the
hill and began to jog towards his position. A sizable rucksack was
slung across her body and it slapped against her hip as she moved, but
otherwise she carried nothing with her. "Prepare to! Meet your!
Doom!"

"Hello Ezre," he began nonchalantly as she got within earshot, before
returning his focus to his fishing rod. In his paw-like hands, the
rod looked more like a child's toy than something a grown man would
use to acquire food. "What brings you to the Finger Lakes?"

"Stupid question," the Trill girl responded, smacking her friend
playfully on the shoulder. "It's a nice day. I wanted to fish."

Ha'Mok smiled, then asked, "Where is your fishing rod?"

"Didn't you--"

"No, I did not."

"--bring your spare? Aww, rats," she finished, pouting comically.
"Well...at least I can cook what you catch."

"I prefer my meat raw, Ezre." Ha'Mok reminded her.

"I know I know. But I don't." She made a face, then turned her
attentions to her beat up bag. Inside, something clinked softly as
she shifted it on her lap and pulled open the comically large metal
clasps. "Sushi is...eww." She made another face.

Beside her, Ha'Mok shook his head slowly, his smile widening into a
grin. No wonder most everyone in New B'Hala called them the 'odd
couple'. He was one of three Klingons in the colony, and Ezre was one
of four Trills. He spent his days raising cattle in the quiet
tranquility of his farm, and when the cattle were ready, she was
responsible for butchering them. So somehow it seemed inevitable that
the soft-spoken Klingon and the tiny girl with the big knives had
become the best of friends.

"Oop, you got one," Ezre commented, lazily pointing in the general
direction of the lake. In her other hand was a small leather-wrapped
bundle roughly cylindrical in shape, which she set on the ground
beside her. "Gonna let me cook it?"

"You're not even set up to cook yet," Ha'Mok replied as he slowly
reeled in the line. "Or have you developed a technique of grilling
fish using only knives?"

"Oh, the humor, the humor, you slay me. Please." Pausing in her
unpacking, Ezre grew quiet for just a moment as she focused on where
the clear line disappeared into the lake, the tranquil water's surface
occasionally being broken by the thrashings of the fish secured to the
end of the line. When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter.
"Hey, Ha'Mok."

"Yes, Ezre?"

"What are we going to do?"

Ha'Mok paused in his halfhearted struggle with the the fish long
enough to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"About the evacuation. I mean...we're just expected to pick up and
leave? Leave all of this behind and just...go?"

Ha'Mok sighed and looked down at his hands. "I hadn't given it much
thought, Ezre," he said after several seconds. Truthfully, he hadn't,
and mostly because he had no idea where he would go after this. He'd
been essentially homeless and aimless until coming to Gamma Vered and
New B'Hala, and now he might be losing this home too, with no
prospects of where to go afterwards.

He couldn't go back to his homeworld, that was for sure. Ha'Mok
wasn't called un-Klingon just because he was soft spoken, a farmer,
and enjoyed quiet evenings at home curled up with a good book. No,
he'd gained that particular title when, at the age of fourteen, he had
refused a duel to defend the honor of his mother and his House. As
the eldest living son of a long-dead father that responsibility had
fallen on his shoulders, so when he'd refused the challenge his mother
had immediately disowned him. It hadn't taken him long to be laughed
off of Q'onoS itself, an event which had forced him to buy passage on
the first offworld ship he could find. And from there he'd worked odd
jobs on a number of ships for a few years until finally getting mixed
up in the Bajoran Resistance through a bizarre sequence of events even
he couldn't clearly remember, until finally he'd met and joined the
crew of the Tomorrow's Revenge and ultimately ended up on Gamma Vered
II.

That had been decades ago, it seemed. But since then, he'd more or
less been on a straight path, and even if he hadn't known exactly what
he was doing with his life at least he had a decent idea of where he
was going. Now, it seemed there were two paths laid out before him.
"I suppose...we can go, or we can resist," he continued, uncertainty
clear in his voice. Falling silent he once again focused on his
latest catch, a flat orangeish fish with black stripes and stringy
flesh that he knew tasted like rotting wood. Deftly removing the tiny
hook from the fish's mouth he threw it back, baited the hook once
more, then recast his line.

"I hear ya," Ezre responded, also focused on her own task. By now
she had unrolled the leather bundle and had it spread across her lap.
At least a dozen knives of all shapes and sizes were nestled in its
folds, arranged by length. She slipped one out and held it up,
examining its short, serrated blade in the light of the mid-afternoon
sun. "Go peacefully, or stay and fight."

"Aye. Stay, or go," Ha'Mok repeated. "A tough choice for us both."
Over the years they'd known each other, he'd learned that his friend
was just about as homeless as him. From what she had told him, in her
younger years she had been a star pupil, the perfect product of
Trill's rigorous symbiosis program. But neither she nor the Symbiosis
Commission had known that her assigned symbiote's hatred for and
desire to leave the planet of Trill ran as deep as it had. Within
minutes after joining she'd murdered three doctors and stolen one's
personal conveyance, using it to make a beeline for the capital city
and its spaceport. It had taken her two hours and four more dead
citizens before she'd stowed away on a Vulcan trade vessel and gotten
off planet, and still she'd completely evaded Trill authorities in the
whole bloody process. Said vessel had been en route to the Vered
Cluster, and as fate would have it, it had deposited Ezre on Gamma
Vered II.

That had been twelve solar years ago, and it had taken Ha'Mok almost
that entire time to learn that much about the girl. The rest of her
past was still a mystery to him, and to everyone else who called New
B'Hala home. Sometimes he wondered if Ezre Tolana (or Ezre Zevon, he
supposed, since that was what she had once called her symbiote) was
her real name, or if it was just an alias used to conceal herself from
anyone who might still be searching for her. Sometimes he wondered if
she was really the age she claimed to be. Sometimes he wondered if
any of what she'd told him over the years was true, or if she was just
making things up to placate or amuse him; she seemed awfully slight
and insecure to be a mass murderer, after all.

And sometimes, particularly in uncertain times like these, he wondered
what would ever happen if she was cornered. If she had to fight for
her life, or her livelihood, against seemingly unsurmountable odds,
such as what seemed to be happening to them now. Would she go
peacefully, and disappear into the system until she found a new home
or hideout? Or would she stay and fight for this little scrap of life
she had?

Ha'Mok looked back at her, and realized that she was looking at him
with the most serious expression he'd ever seen her wear. Sitting
there with her jaw set like that, eyebrows turned down in the
slightest of frowns, her normally soft brown eyes fixed into a hard
stare, and the edge of that knife gleaming in the light, Ha'Mok
realized something. Whether she'd intended it or not, he was
frightened of Ezre. Growing up in the Klingon system had taught him
his own physical strengths, and he knew he could kill such a small,
frail creature with just a single well-placed blow. But even
then...deep down, there was something inside him that feared the girl.
He feared what she could do...what she was really capable of if she
chose to show her true face to the world. Maybe the soul of a
murderer really did occupy the body of this tiny young woman. Maybe
when cornered and forced into a cage she would fillet Starfleet
officers with the same skill and zeal she used when filleting cattle
and fish.

Or maybe it was all just a figment of his occasionally overactive imagination.

Swallowing hard, Ha'Mok considered his next words. "I think...I think
we should wait and see. See what the Federation's plans are for us,
whether or not they offer resettlement options..." His voice trailed
off as he realized how badly the words were shaking as they left his
lips, and how hard his heart was thumping in his chest. When had he
become so craven? Klingon toddlers frequently displayed more backbone
than he was showing now.

But to his surprise, Ezre's expression immediately softened, the frown
giving way to a bright smile. "Okay!" she squeaked, her attentions
returning once more to her collection of knives as if the entire
unspoken exchange between them had never occurred. Replacing the one
with the serrated edge she pulled out a second knife, one with a long,
thin, fairly flexible blade, and turned it around in her hands before
setting it aside.

"You know what's best, Ha'Mok," she concluded, leaning sideways so
that her head was resting against his upper arm. She sighed happily,
wrapping her spindly arms around his thick bicep and resting her hands
in the crook of his elbow. "Catch me a good one, okay? One with the
little legs...I like those."

"Anything for you, dear Ezre; anything for you," Ha'Mok replied as
evenly as he could. His arm twitched slightly with the contact; that
part of his body was mildly ticklish, and being as tense as he was
definitely wasn't helping the situation.

Maybe he was just over imagining things. Maybe all that stuff about
murdered doctors and a psychotic symbiote had been her version of a
practical joke. Maybe she was nothing more than sweet, innocent
little Ezre Zevon (no, Ezre Tolana, he reminded himself...she hated
using the symbiote's name) and he had nothing to worry about.
Or...maybe it was all true. Maybe she was a really good actress, and
the face she showed to the world was really a cover for the terrible
monster lurking inside. There was no way to know, and so for the time
being he'd make sure to stay on her good side. That was the one way
he knew to keep himself safe and healthy, and to keep her sharp knives
out of his soft flesh.

He closed his eyes, inwardly chastising himself for being such a
coward. Some Klingon he'd turned out to be. But although he hated it
sometimes, there was no denying that part of his nature, not when he'd
been living that way for so long. He'd just have to take this
evacuation thing one step at a time, and hope the situation didn't
turn out too badly for him. "One step at a time," he murmured to
himself. "One step, one leggy fish coming right up."

(OOC: For those who care, Ezre's given name is pronounced "ezra" and
her symbiont's name rhymes with the word "seven".)

"Beloved"

Zeke Crawford, Farmer
Day Rahl, Plantation Owner

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

"COWARD!"

The blow to his face seemed louder than the scream, but Zeke Crawford
took both from his wife. Day Rahl despite coming close to full term
in her pregnancy, was a fighter and the buzzing in Zeke's ears drowned
out some of her more hurtful words... for a while. The yelling had
gone on for hours, and the dizziness brought a surreal peace for a few
seconds.

"I had no idea you lacked balls, Crawford", she yelled, packing dried
foods and supplies in a ruck-sack for the hired hands to bring into
the hills. Her husband simply looked over the fields as if she
wasn't there. " I guess what hangs between your legs is good for the
rut land little else, eh? Your home... your kids... not worth
fighting for, huh?"

"Not worth killin' for, Rahllie. This isn't Bajor, and they aren't
Cardassians."

"They want our land, Crawford. OUR LAND!" The last two words rang in
the kitchen between the two, then the silence became louder still.
She glared at the human trying to force him into action with sheer
force of will, but Zeke still looked over the fields unwilling to meet
Rahl's eyes. "This is the same as Bajor! We need to fight for what's
right! The Prophet's will..."

"Do what Rahllie?" Zeke asked calmly. "Gamma Vered II's not exactly
their favorite piece of real-estate, an' Starfleet's not exactly
moving in to set up shop. They're buggin' us out to save us, not
conquer us."

"It's the same, Crawford." Rahl's voice quivered in anger, and she
had to grasp a counter top to support both her weight and resolve.
"It's what's right - we've worked too damn hard for this station.
They didn't even ask! This-is-our-land! I won't let some bureaucrat
in the Federation hand it over because he figures some other system's
more damn important!"

Zeke finally managed a bloodshot glance at his wife. Her mouse-brown
hair had fallen over her eyes, but he knew tears welled. "It's just
land, Rahllie... just land. It's not important - we can start over
somewhere else."

When he finally saw his wife's eyes he knew he had said the wrong
words again. The tears fell, but the eyes were grey steel boring into
his soul. "Don't you say that, Crawford! Don't you DARE say that!
This is ou... my dream, my hope. It's all I ever wanted Crawford, and
it was just starting to bloom!" Her head started to shake, slowly at
first, then with more anger and confidence. "I'm not letting someone
take away my dreams without a damn fight! If you can't stomach it...
human - get out of my damn way!"

"You don't want this, hon. Really - you don't." The single tear that
fell from his eye, mingled in his thin beard hidden as quickly as it
was forgotten. "Please."

Finishing packing the rucksack, Rahl hefted it over her shoulder
almost losing her balance in the process. The counter top saved her
again, and gave her the momentum to slap away Zeke's effort at helping
her recover. "We'll be at the Winter Camp in three days. If you've
got the stones, we'll see you there." She waddled to the back
doorway, pausing at the threshold to look back at her husband. "If
you don't, get the hell off of my land."

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

The raktajino fields were painted white by hoarfrost, and Zeke's
footsteps cast a loud echoing crunch throughout the small,
snow-covered valley. He walked slowly, not into the hills but rather
to the small copse of softwood trees that marked the southern
perimeter of the Day Station Plantation. The scrub brush had grown in
over the years, and thorns tore into his arms and leggings but he
didn't notice, and was past caring. Still, after almost a decade it
took a number of side-trails before he found the flat slab of shale
that marked his destination.

Using the crowbar he had brought with him, Zeke levered the slab
inch-by-inch from over what he sought. When he caught the first
glimpse of black polyethylene he had to stop as his pulse began to
race with a pace spawned not by hard labor, but by something more
passionate and more sinister. Another hour, and the bag was free.

He didn't open it immediately, just looking at the bulky outline of
the bag and imagining what lay within it. He knew each feature
intimately - each curve, each arc... the feel of an oily sheen on the
tips of his fingers. He knew too that once open, there would be no
going back. His life, one way or another, would be forever changed -
he would become what he was before he met Day Rahl, and
Zeke-the-farmer would die, just as if someone had slit his throat.
Crawford sat on the shale slab and rocked himself gently as he weighed
the decision, feeling the cold of the dying day settle into his
joints. Finally he took a long, deep breath and tore into the black
poly, desperate to see what he had denied himself for so long.

She was as perfect as the day he had buried her, sealed in her
protective black cloak, and gleamed even in the dim winter light of
Gamma Vered II's southern hemisphere. The Gauss coilgun rifle was
pristine in condition, and her thin, long barrel felt weightless under
Zeke Crawford's calloused palm. Another hand gently caressed the
oily, shielded magnetic coils like a lover. Unrushed by the setting
sun, he bent down and picked up a second package - a powerful oil-lens
scope, and a third - a simple, but effective silencer. A
half-an-hour's worth of cleaning with a rag and some work with a
machinist's driver and the rifle was assembled.

"Hello old girl. I'm back... and I missed ya."

"Imaginary Rescue Mission"

with Cadet Artemis Bancroft
and a Special Appearance by Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin

***

The stick felt like an extension of her body as she controlled the fighter
through the middle of the asteroid field. A slight twitch on the pedals and
shift of her hand threw her below the asteroid. She thumbed the stud in the
center of the stick and red fire erupted from the phaser cannons.

A smaller piece of asteroid disintegrated before her and she burst through
the debris. Her eyes flicked to the sensors. Wing was still behind, but
the three contacts were still there as well. A flash and one disappeared
against the mass of a larger asteroid.

"Athena," said a voice in her ear, "they're closing."

"Understood," Athena responded. "Can you hit your thrusters and get ahead
of me?"

"I'll try."

"Watch out at thirty mark three then." She adjusted her own course to avoid
the big chunk of rock and metal hurtling toward them.

A flash of fire lit the inside of her cockpit. She watched as her wingmate
disappeared from the scope.

"Tigs? Tigs! Zarking hell!"

The Hydrans continued on. Athena pushed herself through the remainder of
the asteroid field. She let herself find the zone the way she'd learned
when she first expressed an interest in flying. Eyes half closed, almost
sensing. The whole zone out thing was only good when there was no
excitement around, and behind her a large number of metric tonnes were
breathing down her neck.

Her eyes snapped open and she juked the stick and slipped past an asteroid.
One of the Hydrans vanished in a cloud of debris, but the other pilot was
good.

The asteroids were thinning up ahead. It wouldn't be long and she'd be in
the open. Sapphire was being held prisoner at the installation beyond the
asteroid field and on the planet below.

"We don't leave anyone behind," the grizzled CAG had said. "We're bringing
her out of there."

The team that had gone in had been six to start, but now it was down to just
Athena. They had discovered shortly after the engagement against the
station that Sapphire had ejected at the last moment. She was picked up by
a Hydran ship shortly after the fight and they had transferred her here for
interrogation.

Athena's thoughts were interrupted as a spear of fire lanced past her
cockpit.

"I'm awake," she said to no one in particular. She watched the edge of the
field approaching.

Three.

She killed her thrusters and steadied her hand on the stick.

Two.

A glance down at the scope. There would only be one chance at this.

One.

The small fighter broke free of the asteroid belt. Just on it's tail, a
Hydran fighter followed. Athena tromped hard on the pedals and micro-jets
fired on either side of her fighter. The small craft yawed hard, and she
reversed the jets just at the right time. Momentum kept the ship rocketing
along her previous heading, but she was facing off nose-to-nose against the
Hydran. Only this guy was better than the last one she'd tried this trick
on.

The Hydran went evasive, weapons blasting bright in the eternal darkness of
space. Athena jammed down the firing stud of her own weapons and the phaser
cannons blazed. The way he moved, she couldn't get a clear shot, and he was
screwing up his own line of fire.

Athena's phaser cannons exploded through the Hydran's cockpit and crowed in
triumph. The cheer was short lived as a fire exploded in her own console.

"Oh zark!"

Alarms wailed and red lights flashed. She'd been hit. The mother zarker
had scored a hit!

Athena adjusted the yaw of her little ship again, swinging it back so she
faced along her own bearing. Outside of the asteroids now, she could see
the planet. It sort of looked bigger than she expected.

Pulling back on the stick and adjusting her forward thrust should have
slowed the ship, allowed her to swing in to land at the installation
intelligence had reported on the surface.

Should have.

The controls weren't responding. She only had yaw control, and that wasn't
going to get her safely on the ground. Instrumentation guttered, but she
could see the location of the base on the ground through the static.

With a last cough, the power died completely. She could feel the tug of
gravity, invisible fingers reaching out to wrap around her fragile little
durasteel cocoon.

Like a spark sent off an exploding console, Athena and her fighter broke
down through the layers of atmosphere. With all controls down, the heat was
unbearable. Thankfully her flight suit protected her from most of it.

The ground raced up at her and there was no doubt impact would turn her into
a little green stain on the planet's surface. Closing her eyes, she reached
down and tugged at the handle beneath the seat.

Explosive bolts fired. Athena jolted upwards.

She watched her fighter streak toward the ground. The chute billowed and
her body jerked as the wind caught. A ball of fire billowed up from the
surface.

"Game's not over yet," she told herself.

***

She came down in the middle of what looked like a forest, except they looked
like no trees she'd ever heard of. Ditching her parachute, Athena pulled
out her tricorder and phaser. A quick check of the tricorder to get her
bearings and she was off.

As expected, a patrol of Hydrans reached her before she'd even reached the
edge of the forest. They opened fire immediately.

Chunks of something organic were blown from the trunks of the trees and she
found her cover disappearing far too quick. Whatever planet this was had
lousy trees. Not wanting to die, she dialed up the power on her phaser and
opened up at the Hydrans.

The Hydrans seemed impatient as they attacked, which made it easier for
Athena to take them out. On the way to the Hydran base, she found two
similar patrols. Each patrol was tougher than the previous, but she managed
through it.

The base itself was a large facility. A few weapon mounts were placed
around the perimeter. Atop the building, a communications array pointed up
into the midnight sky.

Keeping low to the ground, she approached a door on the side of the
building. It was fortunate this facility wasn't a high security place. It
was marginally important to the Hydrans, but because of one of their pilots
was being kept here, it was a lot more important to the Federation.

Athena unzipped one of the pockets of her flight suit and pulled a strip of
what looked like chewing gum from it. She pressed the substance to the
juncture where the locking mechanism slid from the door into the wall. She
ducked back and sent a command on her tricorder. A sound somewhere between
a cough and the cracking of an egg followed and a curl of smoke rose up from
where the stick of goo had been pressed.

She pulled the door open and slipped inside, her breathing loud in the
helmet still attached to her flight suit. With tricorder and phaser held
out in front of her, Athena crept down the hallway. Following the path
pointing to the faint blip on the screen, she edged her way closer to the
rescue.

She found the door, heavy and reinforced. From her pocket, she pulled
another stick of goo. As she stepped back, she decided that it was better
to be safe than sorry and pulled out her last stick of goo.

The explosion was a little louder than the previous and the whole locking
mechanism keeping the door closed was just gone. Athena pulled the door
open and burst inside.

Sitting in the corner, legs folded against her chest, arms wrapped tight
around them. Her face had been pressed to her knees, but now it was raised
in shock. Antennae atop her head, that had been buried in the white hair
now stood upright.

Athena's heart leapt at seeing her wingmate and friend alive. "Sapphire!"

"Next time you get to be the one who gets shot down and taken prisoner," the
blue-skinned pilot said tartly.

"Shi, stay in character."

"I apologize, Artemis," Shi said, and then assumed the role of Sapphire once
more. "Athena!"

Rushing to her friend's side, Athena reached down to help her up. "Can you
walk?"

"I believe so," Sapphire answered. "They questioned me quite vigorously and
I have not had nourishment in several days."

"Let's get you out of here," Athena said. "There's a feast waiting back on
the ship for you."

Sapphire nodded. "How far to your ship?"

"A few klicks out," Athena said as she peered out into the hall. "Sort of
in a crater."

"When they brought me here, I do not recall seeing any craters on the
surface."

"Well, there's one now," Athena said sheepishly.

"You crashed your fighter?"

"Well, it was sort of shot up and didn't have any power. Seemed like a good
thing to do at the time. At least I ejected before it hit."

Sapphire sighed. "Well, that is a small consolation at least. So how do we
escape?"

"I saw a ship outside. We'll take that one."

They hurried along the corridor, though it was not long at all before the
Hydrans realized their prisoner was loose. Klaxons blared and the lighting
turned red.

Several blips appeared on Artemis' tricorder. Ready for them, she dropped
two before the third could get off a shot. It burned across her arm, but
before she could fire, Sapphire had charged forward. The Andorian pilot had
dropped into a crouch before the Hydran, antennae splayed out to the side.

She was fast as she barreled inside the Hydran's rifle. The alien took a
swing at her, but she caught his extremity and then he was flailing toward
the floor.

Athena came in close and fired the phaser point blank and the Hydran stopped
moving. Sapphire picked up a dropped weapon, and the pair of pilots trudged
off down the hall.

They found the door where Athena had entered. "Over there," she shouted.
There was one Hydran near it and Sapphire dropped him with her commandeered
weapon. There was one more inside and he came charging out at the weapons'
fire. Athena shot him once and Sapphire finished him.

"Can you fly one of these?" Athena asked.

"It cannot be terribly difficult," Sapphire stated. "We only need to
determine how to control power, pitch--"

"--roll and yaw," Athena continued. "The rest is just shethli poured over
the shaysha."

Sapphire blinked. "How-- how did you know?"

Athena blushed inside her helmet. Thankfully the darkness hid it. "I think
you said it when we first started these scenarios," she said.

A slight smile curled the Andorian woman's features. "Remain in character,
Artemis."

With a grin in response, both of them hurried into the small ship as Hydrans
began pouring from the building.

"I think they're a little upset," Athena said. "Come on, let's go get you
some dinner."

Sapphire slipped into the pilot's chair while Athena found the co-pilot's.
With a roar and a wash of fire, the Hydran shuttle jumped up into the sky
and streaked toward the stars.

The mission was a success. But, as Athena called up the fleet's position on
the Hydran instrumentation, she couldn't help thinking that the escape had
been too easy.

Way too easy.

***

Artemis and Sharzhevashi exited the holodeck together, turning down the
corridor toward the turbolifts. Glancing sidelong at her Andorian friend,
Artemis broke the silence by saying, "I've been given an assignment," she
said. "I'm going to be going with one of the teams to help in evacuations."

"That is very good," Shi said. "I believe it will be good experience.
There is still deliberation on which team I will be joining, or whether my
talents will be required for evacuation shuttlecraft."

"I'm sure whatever you do, you'll have a great time with it," Artemis said.

A twitch of an antenna and a sidelong look prefaced Shi's comment. "I am
not seeking a great time, however," she said. "I will be doing my duty as a
Starfleet officer."

"Hey, I'm the one with the Vulcan blood. You're supposed to be all fiery
tempered and stuff. Besides, you can do your duty and have a great time
doing it. What's the point of doing anything if you don't enjoy it."

"Because it needs to be done," Shi answered.

Artemis frowned and then nodded. "Good point. Well, anyway, I do hope
whatever you end up doing, that you learn something and it is a fulfilling
experience. That's what this is all about right? Bettering ourselves and
helping others in the process?"

Shi smiled, her antennae bowing. "I believe yes."

"Well, barring duty and other stuff, shall we continue our holodeck
adventure tomorrow?"

Shi nodded her assent. "Yes, unless the ecacuation mission takes priority.
If so, then we will continue as soon as we both have the available time."

"Great! I've gotta run. I have to go do some studying. Early Federation
History up to the Romulan War, and an Ops Procedures paper to write. Plus,
I have an EPS Flow Diagram I need to revise so power distribution is
optimized by twenty percent."

"Will you have time to visit the lounge this evening?" Shi asked.

"I think so," Artemis said. "After my studying, I'll have a little bit of
time."

"Notify me if you find you have time."

"I will," Artemis said. With a wave, she headed down one side of the
corridor while Shi took the other.

~Going Down?~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Thyago Carneiro
Ens. Sharzhevashi zh'Rin

***

Cutter was the first to arrive to the transporter room, the first of three
crewmen sent down to the small colony of Paliba'alulu to help them leave
their homes. There were a number of crewmen upset over their current
mission - he could hear conversations about it in his lab and in the
corridors. Their reluctance did not make much sense to him. Removal of the
colonists seemed tactically sound, from what little he knew of the current
war and troop deployments (which, admittedly, was not terribly much). Their
colonies, though they were all located within the small stellar cluster,
were too dispersed and their populations too thin to spend the resources
necessary to defend the territory. The territory was already disputed to
begin with. It made sense, strategically, to move the inhabitants and let
the other aliens, the Dreshayans, lay claim and attempt to defend the
territory themselves.

However, his fellow crewmembers seemed to care little for the logical,
strategic argument. They were distraught over the idea of removing people
from their homes, which was the point he could not understand. A house was
just a house, built of wood and metal and plastic and glass. The last three
items, at least, existed, or could be manufactured from resources that were
in nearly infinite supply in the universe. The land on which the house sat
was also in plentiful supply. The Federation was a massive territory,
extending in various degrees and differing strengths far beyond its core,
which in itself, covered a massive amount of space. He knew for a fact that
quite a large part of the core of the Federation still lay unpopulated,
uncolonized. Asteroids, moons, planets, even M-class planets, sat, waiting
for life to infest them. There was plenty of places for the colonists to
go.

And why should they resist? True, moving was always a nuisance, but it was
a short lived nuisance. And, it kept one changing. Different homes,
different environments - they kept one adapting, learning, growing. By
staying in one place, one would grow comfortable, lazy, stagnant. Stagnancy
was like death. If you stood still, then the predators would get you. That
was why his species re-evolved wings, several million years ago. His
biological subclass had almost completely lost the ability of flight,
because they were growing larger and larger, and adapting more to land.
But, his species re-evolved wings, giving them another means of movement,
another way to flee their predators and stay alive. Flight was life, the
ability to move, moving was life.

But, it was clear the groundwalkers aboard the Galaxy did not understand
that as well as he did. Nor, it seemed, did the colonists.

The transporter room doors opened and a human entered, wearing khaki cargo
pants and a long sleeve henley shirt. Not a Starfleet uniform. He skidded
to a halt and looked wide eyed at Cutter. "Whoa! Nice wings" he said with
a non-standard accent. It was very sing-song. "You're Fruna'lin!"

Cutter cocked an eyebrow and studied the human cautiously. He was always
surprised when a human could recognize his species on sight. So few could.
"Yes," he responded slowly.

"Que legal! I love your people. Are you from Kenara?" the human asked.

Now Cutter was especially surprised. "Yes."

"Oh! Nomeaso lesh Chiagua," Thyago said, pronouncing his name in Eri
kardi. He appeared to be quite pleased with himself, either at the
opportunity to show off his linguistic skills, or at his pronunciation,
Cutter was not sure. "Da nosh? Do nomeaso nosh waia?"

"Are you trying to speak Eri kardi?" Cutter asked, in Standard.

"Sem!" Thyago nodded.

"Your accent is atrocious," Cutter frowned. "Please stop."

"Oh," Thyago mumbled quietly, shrinking down like an admonished child. "My
name is Thyago," he repeated.

"You said. I'm Cutter," the avian said, adjusting his wings and
straightening his posture. "You're not in Starfleet."

"I am. I'm an engineer. Same rank as you, actually," Thyago said, stepping
up onto the transporter pad.

"You're not in uniform."

"Nah," he responded casually. "I rarely am. I don't really like dressing
like everyone else. It's kinda creepy, sacau? Also, they're kinda ugly.
And itchy. And, I don't really look good in mustard."

Cutter squinted at the human. He found him very unusual, and reminded him
somewhat of Arkedi. "Are you going down to the colony? Shouldn't you be in
uniform when representing Starfleet?"

"Why?" Thyago shrugged. "Haven't you been hearing the buzz? They're
training people to expect riots and stuff. Riots target uniforms. I don't
want to be pelted with rocks or bottles or tomatoes or small rodents or
anything, entendeu? You want to wear a uniform, you can be pelted.
Besides, casual wear is less threatening."

The doors to the transporter room whooshed open to reveal an Andorian
wearing a Starfleet uniform and the maroon division markings of command. In
truth, she was only a flight control officer, but she got to wear maroon
anyway. A tricorder sat in its holder on one hip, but she carried no other
gear.

Her white dreadlocked hair had been pulled back and bound behind her head.
Her eyes lit up when she saw Thyago, and both antennae atop her head stood a
little straighter. "Thyago, it is good to see you again." She gave a nod
to the avian. "I am Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin. I will be accompanying you
to Paliba'alulu."

"Cutter," he responded.

"Oi, Azulinha," Thyago waved. "You're not dressed in white."

Shi looked shocked and confused for a moment. "Was I supposed to wear my
dress uniform," she asked. "I do not recall the notice stating such.

"What? No. What?" Thyago said, "No, I meant, it was like a joke. I'm not
used to seeing you without that white dress on."

"When I came aboard the Galaxy, had there not been restrictions in place, I
would have burned it. Instead, I could only recycle it in the replicator.
I am happy to be rid of it."

"So, do you guys know about where we're going?" Thyago asked as Shi joined
them up on the transporter pad. "The colony is built in a region of very
high winds, shielded by cliffs. They are apparently primitive, live a
subsistence based life style and are extremely superstitious," Cutter
rattled off.

"Yeah, but do you know anything about it," Thyago repeated.

"I just said-- I do not understand," the avian frowned.

"I mean, do you guys know anything about who they are? What they believe
in? How their religion works? How important is it to them? What do they
do for fun? How do they interact with each other? What are the rules? You
know, like, the real stuff. Do you know any of that?"

Shi's left antenna shifted to indicate a negative answer. "I lacked the
time to read over the information provided on the colony. As I understand,
they resemble a blend of Earth's Polynesian cultures and some of the Native
American cultures toward the middle of Earth's Nineteenth century. They are
not unlike several cultural groupings of Andorians from my world, located
within one of the Southern Archipelagos. Except without the aquatic
ecology." "Well, isn't this unusual!" Thyago said, clapping his hands
together. "I'm the only one who did my homework!"

"Then why did you ask?" Cutter harrumphed, folding his arms across his
chest.

"Just to see," Thyago smiled. "So, if you guys are curious, as Tweetie,
here, so negatively insinuated, they're very religious. They believe in and
worship a wide variety of gods, spirits and heroes. There's way too many to
list off, and they interact in too many ways to describe, but they know them
all, and they're totally integrated into their culture. Everything they do
has meaning on some level, either references some myth, or reenacts some
myth, calls some benevolent force or wards away some malevolent force, or
something. Like, they don't say 'hello' or 'greetings' or anything. When
traders come to the colony, they say 'Oloa,' or something, which is a magic
word that calls forth the goddess of peace, or welcoming, or charity, or
something. So, sacau, you gotta be careful and not call up the devil or
anything."

"Oloa," Shi repeated, testing the word. "Do you know of any other customs
of which we should be aware? I would not wish to give offense."

He shrugged. "I don't know. They're human, sacau? So, you know, normal
human-y things are probably okay," Thyago said, then looked at the alien on
either side of him, and hissed inwardly, realizing what he said. "Sorry
guys, looks like you're out of luck."

"You will inform me when my actions and words become too alien," Shi said.
The play of her right antenna and the small quirk of her mouth were a clear
indication she was teasing. "I believe Artemis would have been better
suited to this mission, but I will endeavor to comport myself in a manner to
emphasize the Federation's goodwill and not call up a devil."

"Very well, can we go now?" Cutter grumbled.

Shi settled herself onto the transporter pad and nodded to the operator. "I
apologize, Lieutenant," she said softly as the transporter stream began the
process of disassembling their atoms one by one.

"Honourable Intentions" Part 1 of 2

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia
Marine Detachment XO

(Set *after* "A True Connection", **before** "Bad Doctor"/ "Good
Doctor"/ "And The Dam Breaketh..." / "Forgiveness" etc!)

***USS Galaxy, Marine country***

If there was one thing Dhanishta hated it was people interfering in
matters that didn't concern them. Like a certain Medical officer who
thought that she could run Dhanishtas life better than she could
herself. She had debated the actions she was about to take ten times
over. She would hate to be seen as a meddler, it would be
hypocritical of her. But Branwen didn't have any family, and she had
classed Dhanishta as her best female friend, and it was unlikely that
Victor-Von-Scary-Dude was gonna pay a visit to the groom to be, most
likely he would scare the man shitless? ~might not be such a bad
thing~ Dhani thought absently as she wandered down the corridor
reading the names on the doors.

She had never visited the offices before, having only been to selected
crew quarters and none of her friends in this neck of the woods had
offered her a tour, that would have been weird anyway, besides, they
were just as cagey about their space as they were adamant that they
were the roughest, toughest, meanest buggers on the USS Galaxy ?
perhaps a few of them should meet Victor.. or perhaps he should
transfer?

Spying the name she was looking for on a door at the end of the
corridor Dhani quickened her pace and reached out to press the chime
as she arrived.

Sitting behind his desk, Man'darr was going over several reports
regarding the Marines' combat readiness. He felt honoured to have
been promoted to XO, but the increased amount of paperwork left him
wondering if it had been worth it. The chime was a welcome break as
he looked up at the door. "Enter."

Man'darr watched the figure of the ship's CEO enter his office.
Standing he greeted her with a smile as she was one of Branwen's
friends. "Greetings. What can I do for you, Lieutenant Eshe?"

Dhanishta returned the smile, "Greetings to you too, and please, it's
Dhanishta." she corrected him, "We are friends 'n' all," she frowned
momentarily, "or friends through a friend, that makes us
acquaintances," her eyes upturned as she worked out what she was
talking about, "or some such thing. Any way? I'm comfortable with a
first name basis if you are??" she flashed a small smile only now
realising that he might find that offensive? bugger!

Man'darr studied the woman for a moment before continuing. "You are
Branwen's friend and therefore I shall likewise consider you a
friend," he replied with a slight bow of his head. Have a seat. Do
you wish for anything to drink or eat?"

"A drink would be welcome, but first," she tapped her padd, "I must
inform you that I'm here on pleasure guised as business?" she let that
hang before ordering a drink and settling in, giving him the
opportunity to reschedule for a more appropriate time.

"That is fine. I welcome the break from this dreaded paperwork. What
sort of drink would you prefer?" Added to the fact he wished to get
to know Branwen's friends better.

"I'll have a jumja tea please." Dhani replied sliding into the chair
opposite the desk. Placing her padd face down on the table she
crossed her legs and relaxed some as he brought the tea over. Nodding
with gratitude she cradled the cup in her hands a moment, letting the
sent and the steam flow over her face.

"So," Dhanishta ventured once he had reclaimed his own chair, "how
have you been?" she asked taking a polite sip of her tea.

Man'darr looked at the woman opposite of him for a moment, feeling she
had somehow had an ulterior motive...yet she had given him no reason
to think such things. "I have been busy with getting the Marines
ready for the upcoming mission as well as helping Branwen any way I
can in planning the wedding ceremony....which appears to be far more
complicated than I had anticipated."

Dhanishta chuckled softly, "You two don't do anything by halves!" she
quipped, "And your timing is terrible." she paused realising that
sounded a bit insulting, "I mean in regards to the mission," she
clarified, "I can only imagine the stress your both under trying to
get everything organised with such short notice."

Listening to the woman, Man'darr was glad she had clarified
herself...yet, his instincts were telling him that she had another
meaning for her words, but she had given him no reason to think
otherwise. "Yes, it has been stressful, but it is what Branwen
wants." Man'darr had doubted himself in marrying Branwen after he
learned she had been injured. Not because he didn't love her--he did
so very much. But rather because they both wanted to mate with one
another and they would again have to wait.

"Why so fast?" Dhani asked sipping her tea once more, watching him
carefully over the rim of her cup.

"It is not all that fast. We both love and care for one another, so I
thought the next logical choice would be to ask Branwen to be my mate
and she accepted," he replied looking at the woman across from the
desk. He would have thought Branwen would have told her friend why
they were getting married.

Dhanishta nodded slowly as she placed the cup gently in the saucer on
the desk. "I'm surprised is all," she said even slower than the
manoeuvre, "you two have only known each other for about six months,
is that right?" she asked, "How much can two people find out about
each other in that time?"

Man'darr was beginning to see where this conversation was going and he
wasn't happy one bit about it. "We know more about one another than
you believe. Do you doubt our sincerity...my honour to her?" he asked
through a clinched jaw as he continued to level his gaze at this woman
who was Branwen's friend.

Feeling his hostility Dhanishta winced and bobbed her head, "Yeah, I
kinda have to." she replied honestly.

"You have to? Perhaps you do not understand my people, Lieutenant
Eshe," he said as he stood and leaned over the desk, looking down at
the woman as he seemingly towered over her while she still sat. "A
Capellan Warrior does not lie...I do not lie. And your accusation
that my honour to Branwen is false is an insult to my people and to
me! Why do you feel you must insult me?!" he now yelled at her. A
part of him wanted to rip this...woman limb from limb...but he would
not and could not for the fact he was a Starfleet Marine Officer as
well as the woman being Branwen's friend.

Dhanishta nodded slowly and waited a beat or two before replying so he
could simmer down, "Your right, I know nothing of your culture or
traditions," she replied looking up into his eyes, "however that is
not my main concern."

Her face remained neutral, "My duty is to Branwen first, as she is my
friend, and you are not." she explained, "She has no family on this
ship, nor do I expect that she would really want them here if given
the option. Therefore it is my responsibility to judge her potential
mate to see if he is good enough for her, and if I deem he or she is
worthy, welcome them into the fold." She stood up slowly, coming to
her full height before Man'darr. In comparison she was a wafer next
to him, but the size of her body hid the talents of her mind quite
well, Lt. Jiiles having borne witness to that!

"I have known Branwen longer than you have." she told him almost
accusingly, "She has changed a lot over the last few years and she is
really starting to come into her own. She is a na?ve woman who thinks
the best of others first, despite the treatment she has suffered in
her life. Her heart is larger than the universe and it bleeds for
everyone but herself. She is 'so' self sacrificing that she boarders
on suicidal in her attempts to save everybody but herself. She is a
wonderful caring woman that deserves so much more, yet because she
thinks so little of herself she is willing to take the first person
that comes along ? it's because of that, that I challenge you. So you
can put your bruised ego back in your pocket and sit down, for I have
not come for that!" she practically ordered him, in his own office no
less!

"In addition to that," she continued raising a finger to forestall his
rage that she could see simmering behind his eyes, "It says so right
here?" she flipped over the padd on the desk that she had brought with
her and without taking her eyes off him slid it across, the required
text already highlighted, she raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to
read it.

Titled 'Terran Rituals of Engagement', the book detailed several
traditional customs one might face when involving one's self
romantically with a Human. The title of the paragraph that Dhanishta
had highlighted read; 'If you hurt her I'll break your legs!' it went
on to describe the bond that humans formed with one another, and how
such bond between friends could on occasion rival that of blood bonds.

"So, as is required of me?" Dhanishta continued in a more subdued
tone, "if you ever violate the trust she has in you, I'll do more than
break your legs, understood?" the slight tilt of her head, and her
calm tone conveyed some of the humour she found in the situation,
however while her threat stemmed from 'human custom' it still carried
weight with it. She lifted the mood with a gentle smile, indicating
that she held no malice towards him whatsoever.

Despite Ehe's order, Man'darr remained standing as he glanced at the
PADD before finally driving his fist down onto to it, creating a
shower of sparks. "I do not need some PADD about Human Mating Rituals
to tell me how I feel about Branwen! As for breaking my legs, you are
welcome to try, but I doubt you would succeed. Capellans are not as
frail as most other species." he looked at her accusingly.

"Honourable Intentions" Part 2 of 2

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia
Marine Detachment XO

***USS Galaxy, Marine country***

Despite Ehe's order, Man'darr remained standing as he glanced at the
PADD before finally driving his fist down onto to it, creating a
shower of sparks. "I do not need some PADD about Human Mating Rituals
to tell me how I feel about Branwen! As for breaking my legs, you are
welcome to try, but I doubt you would succeed. Capellans are not as
frail as most other species." he looked at her accusingly.

Dhanishta glanced down, hiding a smile of amusement as she surveyed
the debris of her data padd. For a moment she was overcome with
melancholy, that padd was one of her own. She had hunted for that
book, read it twice. Shrugging inwardly she discarded it and licked
her teeth. As her head rose she narrowed her eyes on him, letting
herself swell with borrowed anger and rage, "WELL?" she yelled, "How
do you feel about her then?" she eyeballed him.

"If I am willing to be mated to her, then my feelings should be
obvious!" he paused for a moment. This woman was beginning to cause
his old ways to return as he eyed the destroyed PADD and then back at
Lieutenant Eshe. Letting out a long, heavy sigh as he looked at Eshe,
he slowly sat down as he forced the anger from his mind. She only
cared and wanted the best for Branwen...he had to admire her for that.
"I love Branwen very much," he stated in a much calmer, peaceful
tone, as he looked up at Lieutenant Eshe.

Dhanishta nodded, the expression on her face remained the same, "I
don't doubt that for now, but what about tomorrow? Feelings change
Man'darr. People change, priorities, ideals," she tried to ignore the
fact that she was now talking about her own past relationship. She
was here for Branwen, and while she realised she was drawing on her
own experience, there wasn't really anything wrong with that, was
there? Or was she projecting her own fears onto Bran and Man'darr?
Dhanishta looked down at the padd, "Old habits die hard." she
interjected flatly raising an accusatory eyebrow at him as she
casually flicked a piece of the debris with her finger. "You love her
today, but tomorrow, next week, next month, you decide that your
career comes first, or that tradition stands in the way, or the old
classic; it's not you, it's me!" she questioned with a shrug.

Man'darr's eyes now narrowed at the woman across from him. "My
feelings for Branwen will remain the same. Will we have fights? Yes,
but what couple doesn't have fights? I made a promise to Branwen to
love her and become mated to her and that what I will do...and not a
single person will get in the way of me keeping that promise. Not
that demonic Victor, and certainly not you." Man'darr now leaned
forward with clasped hands, keeping his gaze levelled at Dhanishta.
"Now, you can either support our decision to be married or not. If
you do not, do not interfere whatsoever with the wedding or our
lives."

Dhanishta met his gaze with a steely resolve of her own, "I'd suggest
you read that book before you go ostracising your fianc?s friends."
she said giving him a look of utter contempt. Inconsequentially she
hadn't intended to give the book to him anyway, it was reference for
herself, having only recently realised the depth of her friendship
with Branwen she thought it prudent to find out what was expected of a
witness/bridesmaid/close female friend, it was a new concept for her
to be giving advice, to even be consulted on decisions of such
magnitude. The book had detailed a lot about how humans form
friendships, especially among women. It was quite interesting the
range of topics it covered, although this one it had been a little
vague as to the outcome. So she had gone in, given the 'if you hurt
her' speech, and now she was left standing before an irate
husband-to-be more than a little lost for words. It was times like
these that Dhanishta wished she had taken up improvisational drama at
the academy!

"I do not need a book to tell me how I should feel about Branwen. No
book can teach that. That comes from within." After taking a deep
breath and studying the woman for a bit, he began again. "Also, you
are the only one of Branwen's friends to approach me about being mated
to Branwen. They seem to have accepted us...yet you have not. Why?
You speak almost as if from personal experience. Do not place your
own failures onto Branwen and I."

Dhanishta gave him a ridiculous stare, "What are you, retarded or
something?!" she snapped, "When did I *ever* tell you to read that
book to validate your *feelings* for Branwen, huh?"

Anger began to swell within Man'darr but he took in a deep breath,
attempting to calm himself. "You asked of my feelings and then slid
me that PADD."

Dhani shook her head, "Oh no, no, no, noooo!" she emphasised, "you
asked me why I felt like I had to come down here and talk to you, I
told you it was because I felt obligated to as her friend, 'then' in
addition to that I also passed you a book with a quote highlighted on
'If you hurt her I'll break your legs!' ? It's the required speech
that a close friend of the bride-to-be gives the groom." she
explained, "If you had bothered to listen then you wouldn't be so
offended now." she harrumphed.

"You strut around here spouting off about 'your' culture and 'your'
traditions, did you ever think about Branwens? Or is she just
expendable to you?" She rose her hand up, palm towards him and
continued without even pausing for breath, "All I've heard about this
wedding is what you want, not what she wants. Her reason for marrying
you is so that 'you' can sleep with her, and quite frankly I think
everyone on this ship has enough personal experience to know that sex
is *NOT* the foundation of a marriage. But ya know what?" Dhani was
on a role now and not about to stop, "I gave you the benefit of the
doubt, I know that Bran has a way of saying things, and I thought that
perhaps she was just too excited and perhaps she is right, that you
were a good man, and if I got to know you then I would see that too,
but ya know what? All I see is an egotistical prick that only thinks
of himself!" Dhani shouted, spittle flying from her mouth as she
continued with her impassioned speech, "And as for her other friends,
who exactly did she invite huh? And out of all of them who are her
'friends'? Can you tell me that?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Think of myself!?" with one hand he sent his desk flying against the
opposite wall, eliminating the only obstacle between Eshe and himself.
In less than a second he was literally breathing down onto Eshe.
"Let me tell you something!" he yelled down at her. "Branwen is the
one planning this ceremony. The wedding is her culture, not mine!
Nothing in this ceremony includes anything from my culture! So tell
me how I am thinking of myself! You come here and do nothing but
insult me?!" Man'darr's fists were clinched as his fingernails dug
into his palm. "I love Branwen and this has nothing to do with sex!
If you cannot accept the fact that I love her, then you will not be
invited to the ceremony!"

Startled by the sudden display of violence and loss of self control
Dhanis opinion of Man'darr rapidly shifted from him being a selfish
egotistical prick to him being a homicidal megalomaniac, neither of
which she wanted her friend to be involved with! As she stood her
ground, raised her head to look up into his intent filled eyes, she
felt something stir within her.

Her stomach had bottomed the moment the desk had been lifted from the
floor. Her muscles had contracted, her whole body flinching as it had
crashed into the wall, yet her feet had remained firmly routed to the
floor. She imagined herself launching into him, stripping his mind of
all his sanity, sucking that rage and power up through a metaphorical
straw and letting it mingle with her own. Flashes of the fight on
Romulus with Baile whizzed through her mind. The field of dead Hydran
bodies without a mark on them to show how they died loomed up before
her and that feeling of being trapped behind frosted glass looking out
at herself as a different entity took control replayed; Baile on his
knees was replaced with Man'darr on his. Baile willing himself to
breathe as she stood before him squeezing the life from him with only
a singular thought was replaced with Man'darr fighting for breath on
his office floor. Baile shouting her name, drawing her out from
behind the window pane to retake control of her body and mind?.

Dhanishta blinked.

Her eyes darkened.

She felt herself being pushed aside, being taken over. The
malevolence within yearning to take this moment from her, to take the
life before her, to revel in the euphoric bliss that killing him would
provide.

Bailes voice cut through the white noise. She heard him as clearly as
if he were standing next to her, within her.

She blinked once more, felt Man'darr's thick moist breath on her face,
strands of her hair fluttering against her skin in its wake. Her own
hands had balled at her sides, slowly she unclenched them, drew in a
breath, pushed back, retook her mind before the other had time to
settle and slowly licked her dried out lips.

"You remind me of her father." was all she said, in a flat unemotional
voice as she stared into his eyes.

"Do not compare me with that dishonourable waste of oxygen! Should I
ever meet him, I will see to it personally that he pays dearly for
what he has done to Branwen! Now, are you done insulting me?! If
not, then I'd suggest you leave before I completely lose control!"

"Completely lose control?" Dhanishta questioned never taking her eyes
from him, "I think you lost control the instant you allowed your fist
to smash into that data padd." she was blunt her voice flat,
concealing her disgust and contempt with neutral tone. Taking a step
back Dhanishta allowed herself to make the retreat, it was obviously
something he couldn't allow himself to do. Distancing herself she
then turned from him, letting her senses free as she did so, if he was
to attack she wanted to be warned first. His surface thoughts were as
she expected, rage and anger swelled with great measure, however his
control was week. In the doorway she paused her head angled down and
to the left so she could talk over her shoulder without having to look
upon the wretch of a man, "If you hurt her, I will show you *exactly*
what loosing control means Man'darr."

She turned fully now to face him as she let out her words in a low
menacing tone, "And believe me, you wont know what hit you." her green
eyes darkened to a shade of ebony, glittering in the overhead lighting
and something else smiled with Dhanishtas face.

Man'darr simply remained quiet as he watched the woman leave his
office. He then debated mentally if he should inform Branwen of her
friend as the door to his office slid shut.

"Civil Issues" Part 1 of 2

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering Specialist

*** Engineering Department ***

Things were getting hectic around Main Engineering again. This
mission in the Gamma Vered cluster was really taking off. The only
point was that Michael had not a real good idea what it all was about.
Of course, he'd been to first Department briefing where the mission
was discussed in general but that was it. It turned out that this
mission was a 'Starfleet personnel only' party and that he was not
really invited.

Being a civilian was probably the reason that Michael was being left
out of the details. He knew that this sort of thing would happen
sometime, but still he was not happy with it. 'Illogical' a Vulcan
would say. True but, despite the fact that he knew the Vulcan
language and that his mind had been restructured/restored by a Vulcan
years back, he was no Vulcan. He was used to get the information
first hand and now he had to turn to the FNN news for that. He just
didn't see why he couldn't join the mission and help a hand like he
always had done, be it in whatever form.

He moved around the Master systems table and narrowly escaped a
collision with a crewmember who on his way out. "Sorry, I'm in a bit
of a hurry."

"Yeah, who's not these days?" came the reply.

Michael briefly looked over his shoulder as he walked on. ~ Hm,
probably having a bad day ~ he thought as he tried to find Dhani. He
spotted her standing in front of the Warp Core talking to the Duty
Officer of this shift. He waited for the conversation to end as he
leaned on one of the walls of the Chief Engineer's office.

Signing off a padd Dhani handed it back to the Duty officer with a nod
of approval and turned round, stifling a yawn as she did. It was time
for a long overdue cup of coffee. For a moment the face that appeared
before her was such a usual sight that she didn't register it was out
of place down here. With the threat of war looming non Starfleet
personal had been restricted from entering several areas of the ship.
No longer was Dhani at liberty to discuss mission specifics with her
other half, which made life all that much more complicated and
strained her maturing relationship with Michael, one that was already
strained enough.

"Hey Mikey." she greeted him smiling pleasantly, "time for coffee?"
she asked him as she walked towards the door, a cover for the fact she
had to get him out of here asap.

"I've already had my coffee. It's way passed coffee time. I'm here
for different reasons." Michael stayed put. He wasn't about to go
out of Main Engineering just yet. He spent most of his life working
in Main Engineering and now he was not allowed to set foot in here?
That was just nonsense. Since when had he become a liability?

Dhanishta shrugged, "Whatever, I want coffee. It's been a long day
and I am exhausted. I have a stint on the Bridge this afternoon and I
have a lot to take care of down here, I have to reorganize the
*entire* shift schedules for the next few weeks to accommodate the
evacuation of the colonists and prepare for counseling sessions and
mission briefings, so either come with, talk, drink coffee, or watch
me drink mine, or save it till I get home tonight. Okay?" she asked
rhetorically as she continued towards the door.

Deep down Michael felt anger bubbling but suppressed it. She had a
point. As Chief in these times she had a lot on her hands. She
hardly could satisfy everyone's wishes. But, then again, ignoring
people was not the way to go either. "Since when do you ignore
people, Dhani?" He said after he caught up with her in the hallway.
"I know you're busy. That's what you get when being Chief. But you
can't just walk away from someone because of that."

"I'm not ignoring you Michael," she replied as she walked, "I gave you
two options. Come with or wait, if I was ignoring you then I wouldn't
have given you any options to talk at all, would I?" she asked giving
him a sideways glance and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Ha ha, not funny. You know what I mean." Michael answered. "And
what about this mission? It's Starfleet personnel only. Okay, I can
understand that there are such missions. But this one? I'm
completely shut out. So, what's going on?"

"You been listening to the news?" Dhani asked, positive that he had
been. Depressing the call button for the lift she took a moment to
lean against the wall, at least on the bridge she could sit. "That's
pretty much it. Nothing as untoward as they are suggesting mind.
Though it rings of the Marquis conflict." she added personal opinion.
"We are evacuating the colonists in the Vered cluster, most of which I
expect don't want to leave. Starfleet is sending us in to head it
up." she shrugged and let her body role around the frame as the door
to the lift opened. "Ten Forward." she requested looking at Michael
to see if he was going to join her.

Michael stepped in and moved to the side of Dhani. "Yeah, I know that
the mission is about evacuating the colonists. But what I don't
understand is why civilians like me are not allowed to participate.
There's something more, isn't there?"

Dhanishta eyeballed him for a moment; what a ludicrous statement.
"Michael have you been asleep for the last two months?" she asked
staring hard at him.

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked surprised. He wasn't sure
what she was hinting at.

"There's a war going on!" she spat out ridiculously.

"Like I don't know that!" Michael snapped back. "That doesn't change
anything. I've also been there in the battle on Romulus, remember?
Back then it wasn't a problem. It was my decision. So why make such
fuss over it now!?" Michael cooled down a bit after this little
speech. "Besides, what does that got to do with the current mission?"

Dhanishta rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. Stepping out of the
lift she walked to the bar, ordered something much stronger than
coffee and then found a secluded place to sit, this was not a
conversation she really wanted everyone to overhear.

"Michael?" she began wondering how best to phrase this, "you are on
this ship as a civilian at present, and until that changes you have to
come to terms with the fact that you are no longer part of Starfleet.
That means that any missions that come up that require Starfleet
personal only excludes you, and that's not by choice ? it's by order."
She paused briefly as her drink arrived. Wrapping her hands around
the warm beverage she smiled at it longingly.

"This mission to the Vered Cluster is extremely delicate." she
continued returning her gaze to him, "We are being watched by many
eyes and if word leaks that a civilian is out there evacuating
colonists, well I'm sure that you can understand the drama that would
unfold?" she asked him, only now taking a long awaited sip of her
drink.

"Well, yeah, I admit that could become a problem." He leaned forward
and intertwined his fingers. He wasn't about to give up because she
was right about one thing. "But who said anything about me helping
with the evac? If I'm right then most of the ship's crew will have to
get down there and help, leaving only a skeleton crew here for ship
operations. So..."

Her eyebrows rose above the rim of her mug, index fingers and thumbs
lifting off the porcelain in a gesture of 'so what?' as she quaffed
her beverage.

"The way I see it is that you'll need all the help you can get.
Dhani, I can stay on board and help out in Main Engineering, like I
always do." Michael paused and looked at the woman sitting across
from him. The woman he fell in love with after so many years. "I
promise I won't hack anything, okay?" He wondered if she would catch
onto that little reference from their past.

Dhanishta snorted and double swallowed in order not to gag on her
drink. Wiping her lips hastily as she relinquished the empty mug to
the surface of the table she looked up with a smirk, "As if!" she
mocked gently, "I heard about what happened down there, you weren't
involved in no hacking!" she jested, "You got your buddy to do it for
you!" she smiled teasingly at him, "And how you paid him back for that
I *never* want to know, okay?"

TBC?

OOC: Happens a couple of hours after 'Nighttime News'

"Contingencies?"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commander Jaal Jaxom

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

"Sorry to bother you this early Captain," Jaal greeted M'Kantu once
allowed into his ready room. It was barely past breakfast time but the
Trill commander thought this was important.

Daren shook his head. "Don't worry, you're not the first. So far this
morning, I've been interrupted by two news crews, a documentary
producer, three civilian leaders, two religious ones, an admiral, and
my wife. You can guess which one of the calls I was most happy to
receive." He waved Jaal to a chair. "Have a seat."

"How well do you know Admiral Megarex?" the Trill asked.

Daren considered that. He wouldn't be asking Megarex to be an usher at
his wedding - Rewedding? Remarriage? What did one call it? - to June,
that was for certain. But that could be said about a lot of people. "I
don't kow the Admiral personally, if that's what you're asking,
Commander. Not much about him professionally, if it comes to that -
he's been careful not to make waves with any strong opinions one way
or the other about anything. Why?"

Jaxom rubbed his chin in thought then began to explain, "Midshipman
Mason called me last night. She seems to have overheard parts of a
conversation that has her concerned. When she told me about it, it
made me concerned." He went on to explain in detail the information
that Aina told him mere hours before. "It might be nothing, then
again, it might be something. Even if we do nothing now, I thought you
should know about it."

"Interesting," Daren conceded. "I wish I could say that it was
unexpected." He leaned back and thought a moment. "What do you
suggest, Commander? Waiting and watching? Something else?"

"I told Mason to keep an eye and ear out for anything else suspicious.
She'll call if anything comes up," Jaal spoke quietly as if his entire
attention was not on speaking. "I think all we can do for the moment
is watch and wait. I mean, we have no hard evidence at the moment.
Then again, if this is what's happening, what can we do about it? I
don't see us having a whole lot of choice right now."

"There are always choices, Commander. always. The trick is in learning
to recognize them." Daren thought a moment. "You're correct on one
point: we wait. The difference is what we do while we're waiting. We
may not have any evidence - but while we're waiting, there's no reason
not to gather some. I'll have Lieutenant Bental start on that
immediately." He considered Jaal. "What else is on your mind,
Commander?"

Jaal looked at his feet then looked back up at M'Kantu, "Moving the
colonists to protect them is tough enough. Now, if any of this is
true, we have to move them under false pretenses." He shook his head,
"I don't like it."

"I've never liked it, Commander. But my liking a valid order and
following it have nothing to do with each other." Daren looked at him
for a moment. "I don't expect everyone to hold the same viewpoint on
things, though. How much of a problem? Do you need to request a waiver
of objection for this mission?"

Jaal shook his head. In all the years he'd been an officer no one had
even mentioned the waiver of objection, not even during the Dominion
War. Truth be told, he was rather surprised to hear about it from
M'Kantu. "No. I understand we have to move them to save their lives.
The Hydrans will slaughter them without mercy. I just don't like lying
to them about the reason. I've gone over all the specs and
inventories. They can just about keep even with the Drayashans but
unless the colonists have unaccounted for phaser canons they won't
last a day against the Hydran forces." He shook his head again, "And
we can't tell them they're being moved as part of a 'deal' with the
Drayashans." He rolled his eyes, "It's as bad as K-M test."

"They give those tests for a reason," Daren acknowledged, "and moments
like this are why. Having dealt with them in simulation doesn't make
them any less unpleasant when they arrive, though." he shook his head.
"Right now, though, we have a real problem: who to let in on our
suspicions -since without proof, that's all they are - and who to keep
in the dark."

"I think for now keep the group as small as possible," Jaal sighed as
he thought, "First officer? Intel chief? At least until we can get
some kind of confirmation either way." He was beginning to have
flashbacks from the day the Miranda's crew, with some help from
others, took down the major leaders of Section 31. (USS Miranda,
Season 9, Episode 76, 'Into The Light') Secret organizations and their
whims be damned.

"Those two for sure," Daren nodded. "And, I think, Commander Corgan,
since his department is going to be providing security for many of the
teams. Other than that... perhaps Commander Smith if you feel hat her
knowing will help. That will make at most six of us, plus Midshipman
Mason. More than is stirctly necessary, but enough, I think, to make
plans if this gets out." He thought for a moment. "No, when this gets
out. Things like this never stay hidden away for long."

Jaal nodded in understanding, "I think the best we can do is hope it
gets out later rather than sooner. Any plans we make will need
contingencies." He shook his head yet again, "It's almost as bad as
talking about time travel when you get into all the what-ifs."

Daren nodded, thinking of the temporally-displaced individual that he'd
recently been informed was aboard Galaxy. "Not almost, Commander."

"I think what we ought to do is plan for the worst. That the rumor is
true and that the colonists find out," Jaal rubbed his chin again,
"It's the only way to cover all the bases."

"Agreed. Nothing else makes sense."

"The Finger of Suspicion Points Two Ways?" Part 1

Captain Darren M'Kantu
Chief Engineer Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe

(Set directly after "A Long Time Coming")

***USS Galaxy Bridge***

Dhanishta stared at the beige carpets as the lift rose steadily
upwards. The information she contained in her hands had damming
consequences, yet she would be remiss if she were not to report it.
She wondered briefly how this would affect Nara's relationship with
Saul. The man had secrets, that much was a given, the mere fact that
he had a telepath nulling device with him at all times was enough to
cast an unhealthy suspicion, yet due to his line of work it was not
submittal as evidence of guilt. Her gut told her not to trust him,
her head said give the guy the benefit of the doubt, yet there was
defiantly someone on this ship that was not all they appeared to be.

Hugging the padd close to her chest she thought about her own
failings, her own past that would cast endless shadows of doubt on her
own character. It was only recently that she thought she may lose the
only thing in this world that she truly cared about; it took time for
Michael to come around after Baile's untimely visit to her quarters
just a few months ago. The things she had revealed then had not been
discussed since. It appeared that Michael also liked to stick his
head in the sand. Absently she chewed on the insides of her cheeks
and then winced as the lift came to a jerky stop. As the doors opened
she cast a backwards glance, frowning at the offending lift as she
tongued the small gash in the lining of her cheek ~gonna have to get
that looked at?~ she thought glumly.

Rapping her fingers against the back of the padd she continued to the
Captains ready room, nodding to the senior bridge officers, glad that
Kimberly wasn't on duty at this hour. Depressing the chime she waited
patiently at his door, suddenly recalling the last time that she had
spoken 'one on one' with the Captain. For a man that prided himself
on keeping his distance from his crew in order, she suspected, to
retain professional distance and not to molly coddle them as other
Captains had been reported of doing, he had a compassion that most
didn't notice. It was only once that she had ever had a deep and
meaningful conversation with him, the rest of their exchanges being at
staff briefings and during mission crisis', but the man had a way with
words. She wondered for a moment how this exchange would go?

The door slid open with the same sound that all Starfleet doors had
made since Admiral Kirk was a fresh-faced plebe at the Academy - a
sound that, despite generations of engineering effort, stubbornly
refused to be eliminated.

"Come in, Lieutenant," the Captain's voice spoke up from inside as she
was opening her mouth to identify herself.

Once inside, she was struck by the fact that he looked simultaneously
tired and alive in a way that she hadn't recalled seeing him before,
as if on one hand weighed down by responsibilities and worries that
were terrifyingly heavy... and on the other hand buoyed up by some
undefined joy that lifted him up, supported him, and gave him the
strength to balance the load he bore, neutralizing it and keeping him
on an even keel.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

After regarding the Captain for a moment she felt even more
uncomfortable to bring this news to him. There were many political
conflicts growing within the Federation itself that she was sure added
weight to his broad shoulders, but to then add to that the potential
of not one, but two spies on board his very own ship? she shook the
thought from her mind and smiled politely, "Sir," she began in a
formal tone, "I have?" she paused and bit her upper lip.

Stepping forward she stood before his desk and regarded his features.
The wrinkles in his skin had increased, the worry lines around his
eyes and across his forehead had surly doubled in numbers since she
had last seen him, yet his eyes had not aged. They still contained
the youth of a teenage boy, dreams and aspirations and also a wisdom
that even his advancement in years should not permit he had. "How are
you, Sir?" she enquired sincerely.

"Tired," he admitted. "Worried, both about the mission and the war.
The usual, I suspect." He waved her to a chair. "But that's not what
you're here to talk about - unless this is about a request to transfer
to the Counselling Department?"

"I don't think they'd take me Captain." she quipped with a brief smile
as she sat down, "And while every good officer takes a moment to think
about the well being of their captain, some even go so far as to
enquire personally ? you are of course right Sir, your mental heath is
not the reason for my visit? however it will be something I
contemplate while you read this?" she said sliding the padd across the
desk.

It contained a patchy report of the skirmishes the USS Galaxy had
undergone over the last year. Detailed reports on the ships systems,
upgrades that had been made, ships blue prints, damage assessment,
repair schedules, areas of the ship that had been badly damaged as
well as details on the areas that had been mostly unaffected. Also
included was a brief of the current mission, including what appeared
to be the last name of the Chief Intelligence Officer, indicating that
he had been engaged in secret talks with the Hydrans. Out of context
it seemed nothing more than a garbled report of events, nothing
untoward. However, once the report was put into context the light
shone in an incredibly unflattering manner. However the Captain knew
nothing of the context, yet.

Daren read through the information once, and then again, more slowly,
and a third time picking out just certain points, before he spoke. "I
suppose that the first question required of me in this situation is:
'Where did you get this information?'" he asked finally.

Dhanishta nodded, "That's where I'd start too Sir," she concurred,
"however, what's more important is 'when'." she flashed him a terse
smile as she pulled the pink planner out from her pocket. "About six
months ago this landed on my desk." she informed him tossing the
fused, charred, slightly offensive smelling planner onto his desk.
"It had been confiscated from a crew member when she was placed in the
brig for insubordinate behaviour. Security was unable to open it due
to an encrypted locking mechanism, so they sent it to one of my
diagnostic technicians, and after about ten hours he passed it over to
me." she informed him flatly as she crossed her legs.

"We ran every single decryption code on file, both military and
civilian, cross referenced it with every alien species on file, we
even pulled up Voyagers logs and checked it against every species that
they came across, and we got nothing. In fact every single way we
knew, and even ones that we weren't sure of, were tried and failed.
In the end we had to basically overpower it to open it, which resulted
in garbling the information contained, as you can clearly see." she
said indicating the missing text and randomised data. "What's
important to note, along with the details there, and I'm sure you have
noticed the implication of Mr. Bental in the text," she added with a
raised eyebrow, "is that this personal organiser was confiscated
*over* six months ago, that's before the attack on Deep Space five
Sir, before this mission to the Vered cluster, before?" at his sharp
look she shut up. He wasn't a stupid man, he fully understood what
she was getting at. She nodded in reply to his silent plea adding
only, "I haven't shown this to anyone else, Sir. I thought it best to
come to you straight away."

Daren stared at the charred pink object on his desk. "Such a small
thing to make such a big problem," he observed. "Were you able to
examine the circuitry and other technology inside the organizer?" he
asked quietly. "Could you glean any information from it and
comparisons to current, similar, technology?"

"That's the thing Sir," she replied, "it's pretty standard. The
organiser is made by a firm in Europe, Earth, pretty low level, they
have been peddling these things for years. From what they told me
about their products, this is nothing special. There appears to be a
great deal of modifications made to it since purchase, an additional
memory unit, a security network and the security code itself. That is
what we had the problem with as the code does not conform to any
mathematical variables currently in use, or even in theory. In
cracking it we destroyed a lot of data, the logs continue, personal
notes about the daily activities of the owner and such. It does
appear that there are more mission reports; however they are so badly
scrambled we can't make anything of them." she informed him with a
regretful shake of her head. "The only other thing of interest to
note is that it has a negative quantum signature." she added
hopefully.

"A negative quantum signature?" he repeated. "So it currently exists
before the actual temporal point where it was created?" All those
nights spent talking with June while they were married had been good
for something besides... best not to think about that now, the
lieutenant would wonder why he was suddenly smiling inappropriately -
and the situation was much too serious for thoughts like that,
anyway..

"In a nutshell Sir," Dhani replied with a gentle nod, "which would
also explain why there are detailed accounts of events that hadn't
happened when the planner was removed from the owner."

Daren wondered, just for a moment, why Jean-Luc Picard never had days
like this. Or maybe he did, maybe Allah sent them to him... and they
slid off his Teflon-coated bare scalp to land on other people's plates
instead. Could it be that simple? He looked up at his reflection in
the blank viewscreen, then shook his head and dismissed the idea as
farcical. Besides, he looked better with hair - June had told him so.

"Who else knows?" he asked.

"Of the content on the planner?" Dhanishta questioned yet continued
without a response, "myself and two of my engineering officers that
were with me when it was opened, that being Lieutenant junior grade
Sol Roswell and Ensign Sota, I think both of them have more than
enough sense to keep quiet about it. Neither of them know about its
temporal aging though, as I purposely left that out of their briefing,
only me;
Chief Petty Officer Malloy and Commander Corgan know about that."

"Good." Daren was surprised to discover that he meant that. Or
perhaps it wasn't so surprising; considering the mess that he was
about to open up, finding *anything* good about it would be a
blessing. "Who does the planner belong to? Are they in a critical
position?" If some future historian was hanging out on his ship to
get the knowledge necessary to write their term paper he'd... he'd
probably be grateful. The other possibilities included some that were
far, far worse.

"As far as I am aware I belongs to a crewman recruit by the name of
Alison Jimsdottor," Dhanishta replied, "As to whether they are in a
critical position? honestly Sir, I think that someone who possesses
future technology, coupled with information on all of us is something
of a threat no matter what position they hold in the Fleet."

"True," Daren acknowledged, calling Allison's file up. "But a Crewman
Recruit in... Security," he read, "from the future is not quite the
same thing as, say, a Chief Engineer from the future in terms of what
they can and cannot affect aboard the ship easily."

Dhanishta frowned and stared at her Captain as if it was the first
time she had ever met him and he had salad dressing all over his face
or something. Her lip curled up into a slightly disgusted snarl.
"Sir?" she began thinking about choosing her words diplomatically, "if
this woman has knowledge of the things to come, there is a rather
large possibility that she has every access code of every crew member
on this ship, I don't mean to speak out of place Sir, but your
attitude is really rather relaxed over this. I don't think I need to
reminded you that Brianna O'Shea was a clone, no one suspected that
she was, you have evidence in your hand suggesting that there is an
infiltrator on this ship and your frankly too blas? about it."
Diplomacy left the room after her first sentence!

TBC?

"Full And Fuller?"

Jaal Jaxom
Arel Smith

****

USS Galaxy

The Mystery Matchmakers had struck again...

"This is getting old," Arel growled as she looked around the room. Not
that she minded the free meal, or the company, but these set-ups
really pissed her off. Especially because she couldn't find out who
was behind them.

Well, scratch that. She was pretty sure she knew who was behind them.
She just couldn't prove it.

Jaal shrugged, "It's not 'that' bad is it?" He slid a PADD across the
table to her. "Here's the latest form Intel about the Vered Cluster
colonies. Who's likely to resist being moved, who's likely to not
mind, plus some who are mostly undecided. I'm working with Tactical on
the likely hiding places for smuggles and criminals." He had taken to
making the time they spent at lunch useful. As long as they were
together with no interruptions, why not?

Arel nodded as she looked over the list. "At least there's more
undecided than resisting. And it's not bad at all, Jaal, I just don't
like being manipulated."

"Manipulated?" he asked sounding surprised. "You're only manipulated
if you let them get away with it, Smith. Who ever is doing this is
hoping for some results that won't happen. Until then, just roll with
it and don't worry so much. The best way to screw with them is to
do the unexpected."

Arel frowned but attacked her roll, imagining that she was ripping out
their matchmaker's guts. She felt marginally better.

Jaal glanced at her before going back to work on his PADD. "Ya know,
you keep eating like that you'll get a bellyache."

Arel grinned. "I've eaten with Klingons for years. What makes you
think my stomach is weak?"

Jaal looked up from his PADD with his head tilted a bit. "I don't
think it's weak... but it's not exactly Klingon either," he answered
with a cheeky smile. He had never actually 'seen' her stomach but Jaal
bet there was absolutely no flab there at all.

"After extended periods of Klingon cuisine, it's damn near Klingon.
Trust me. I could eat almost anything."

"Anything?" Jaal questioned with the slyest of grins on his face.

"Anything," Arel boasted.

A skeptical expression graced Jaal's features. Conversations on the
Miranda's bridge with her (former?) husband, James Mitchell, came to
mind. The man had often bragged about the stuff she ate, food and otherwise.
"Really now?" he couldn't help but tease.

Arel remained oblivious. It had been awhile since she'd gotten a
chance to brag about anything. "Have *you* ever eaten raw targ heart?"

Jaal offered a withering look in her direction. "I spent six months on
a Bird of Prey in the officer exchange program, remember? There isn't
a whole lot I *didn't* try," after a short pause he added, "Have you
ever tried Trillian six-legged mongoose? And before you ask, yes,
there's a recipe for it raw too."

The security officer rolled her eyes. "Try Bithool gagh in a whiskey sauce."

"Whiskey sauce 'and' Andorian fire peppers."

"Owon omelettes," She challenged. Kern *loved* that dish; it had
always made Arel gag.

"Barbecued Hippogriff placenta," Jaal dared.

Arel's eyes narrowed. "Rokeg bloodpie with generous amounts of clots."

"Oh please, the clots are for sissies," Jaal gave Arel a dismissive
wave, "Try it with bits of the liver, stomach, and intestine mixed in.
Now *that's* bloodpie you won't forget any time soon." He sure didn't.
He was reminded of it every day for a week after he ate it... on both
ends... but Smith didn't need to know that part.

"I have," Arel said dismissively. "You're weak if *that* gets to you."

Jaal merely rolled his eyes. She'd never find out. "Reman truffles,"
he countered.

"Thousand year old Targ livers," Arel snapped.

"Not old enough," Jaal snapped back.

"Like you would know!"

Jaal just looked at her and smiled his usual mischievous grin. "You'd
be surprised at what I know."

Arel snorted. Then smile suddenly lit her face. "We could have a contest."

Jaal looked back cynically. "Are you serious?"

Arel just looked at him.

"You're serious?" he questioned somewhat disbelieving what she was
suggesting, "You don't think we have better things to do than gorge
ourselves on other culture's alleged delicacies?"

She shrugged. "My away team isn't going anywhere for another six
hours, I've got everything else done, and you're here. So, not
really."

Jaal didn't have any pressing appointments for at least another two
hours. He couldn't believe he was going to do this. "I've got some
time. You're on!"

****
***
**
*

Arel had slid low in her chair on the theory that while slumping over
on the table would be admitting defeat, sliding down in the chair was
just giving into gravity.

"Ugh," She said. "Why did you agree to this?"

Jaal moaned wishing he could undo his pants to let his stomach expand
a bit. He really felt like puking now. "Like some other people we
know... I'm a sucker for a challenge... no matter how stupid."

She rubbed her neck so she didn't rub her stomach. "The way you threw those
eggs down was impressive. I never did care for them growing up."

A sudden wave of intense nausea swept over Jaal. Somehow, he managed
to fight it back down. There was no way in hell he'd let himself get
sick in front of Smith. "You're no slouch in the chow-down department
either ya know. The only other person I ever met that can go through
Targ-guts like that was Captain Drex."

"It's a gift," Arel sighed and then closed her eyes. She thought that
some kind of drink might make her feel better but she didn't want to
leave her chair. Thank the Gods that this all had just been replicated
food; the real stuff would have been a lot worse.

Jaal started laughing. While he was laughing he prayed he didn't let
anything come up.

She raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes closed.

"Ya know, I haven't done anything this crazy in years. Thanks." He
smiled as wide as he could considering the condition of his innards.

"Don't mention it," Arel said. Then she cracked an eye open. "You know
I won though, right?"

Jaal chuckled despite it hurting his abdomen, "Only if you don't puke
for the next twenty-four hours." His mind went on to think of the next
'challenge'. He didn't know when, but he intended to choose the terms
of the next contest.

"I never puke," Arel scoffed. Well, unless she was pregnant or had
some alien super flu but otherwise. "You, however, are looking very
green."

"You're not exactly the proper shade for a Terran either ya know,"
Jaal chided holding his sides to keep from laughing too hard. If he
did, everything would come back up.

Arel harumphed and then made another ug sound. "Well, I think I'll go
drop in on Security for a bit before we leave. Let me know if anything
comes up. Besides all that food you barely managed to get through, of
course."

"Another Former Shipmate Comes Aboard"

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom
Strategic Operations

Lt. Chris Daniels
Tactical

==Strategic Operations Office==

After spending some time in the head taking an antacid, a gas-x, and any
other stomach medicine he could think of, Jaal finally emerged feeling almost
normal. He made a mental note about never entering an eating contest again.

Commander Jaxom looked down at the shorter officer skeptically folding
his arms across his chest. "So, Daniels, explain to me why Janeen
wanted me to kick you in the dick next time I saw you."

Naturally, when Jaal first heard his sister tell him that he cringed
with sympathy as all males of any species do when hearing about trauma
to the gonads.

The question caught Lt. Daniels by surprise. He had come down here to
see the place, get to know some of the people he would be probably
coordinating with, and then all of a sudden he found himself face to
face with the seemingly pissed off brother of his long distance
girlfriend...and he was terrified by brothers. His startled look at
the question regarding his genitalia wasn't hidden at all.

"I...uh...sir...um...fuck..." The Lieutenant knew he was in the
doghouse. He had been Janeen's steady boyfriend for the better part
of two years, then he up and left Atlantis and she hadn't taken it
well.

Jaal was enjoying Chris'' fumbling. He really wasn't mad, quite the
opposite in fact. Janeen was old enough to take care of herself in a
relationship arena. There was something about seeing a young,
competent officer off their game that Jaal found amusing. He simply
stood listening with one eyebrow arched high.

"It may have something to do with the...uh, suddenness of my departure
from Atlantis." Chris looked sheepish. Yeah, he had no regrets about
his decision. But still, it hadn't been easy just telling your
girlfriend that you were going to head off to war on the other side of
the quadrant. He had subconsciously taken his left arm and placed it
in front of his crotch to guard against any sudden retribution from
the larger Trill. He looked around awkwardly, hoping that Jaal would
at least take this out of the public forum.

Figuring he'd had enough, Jaal just shrugged, "She'll get over it. So,
how long have you been aboard?" He loved keeping the youngin's off
balance.

The hand guarding his groin relaxed a bit. "I got aboard right before
the ship left for the Vered cluster...so not too long. Still trying
to get my bearings and read up these people we're about piss off.
Definitely not the same boat I was on as a kid. How about you, sir?
Sorry to hear about your ship, by the way."

"You're not the only one," Jaal replied grumpily. The Carthage was
still a sore spot even though he wouldn't admit it. Eventually he
would have to face a Board Of Inquiry into the destruction of the
vessel he commanded like all ship CO's who lost a ship. That was a day
he was not looking forward to. He chuckled at the next thought that
came to mind. "Well, Mister Daniels, between you, me, and Smith, all
we need is K'aa and we'd have a complete set or Miranda officers."

That last reference caused Chris to grimace. "K'aa's sitting in a
cryo-stasis chamber...somewhere. The inhabitants of Atlantis got him
pretty good right before I left." He kicked the floor with his boot.
After the last few months and the sketchiness that had surrounded his
relationship with his former Gorn friend and co-worker, Chris couldn't
definitively say that he was upset at what had happened to K'aa. "I
know there's a bunch more running around on Atlantis, maybe we can
swing by and pick up another one at some point." He shrugged. He
wouldn't mind that. He would get to see Janeen, and assuming she
didn't use a chainsaw to rip off and then mount his manhood on her
wall or switch teams and end up in a crazy, interspecies lesbian three
way marriage with Joli and Gwen, that was never a bad thing.

Jaal sense some trepidation from the younger man and didn't take that
part of the conversation further. Breakups were never easy, that was
something Jaal knew firsthand.

Chris really wanted to change the subject off of K'aa. "What's your
take on this mission, sir?"

"Quite frankly, it sucks," Jaal replied sitting in the chair behind
his desk and motioning for Chris to take a seat as well. "It's bad
enough moving colonists that don't want to move in the first place.
Adding in trying to convince them if they don't move the Hydrans will
slaughter them which is about a thousand times worse than what the
Drayashans can do." The Trill shook his head in disgust. "Now there's
the possibility the colonists are being moved for political reasons
and ulterior motives."

Chris sat down across from the Commander. "You'd think after the
incident with the Ba'ku out in the Briar Patch that the Federation
would have gotten out of the business of trying to relocate
settlements. My dad got a briefing on this stuff the other day and he
said the mucky mucks are being real squirrely about it." He shook his
head. "Besides, this'd be a shitty locale to mount a defense. This
is way too out on the frontier and the Triad would be better served
trying to punch a hole out by the Delmar sector where our defenses are
questionable at best." He shrugged. "But who am I to make policy.
All I know is last time we I saw something like this was when we got
whipped into the Delta Quadrant and found all those Alpha Quadrant
settlements. And I got mugged and stabbed. And we were trying to
bring them HOME...supposedly." He shook his head again. He had
gotten word that he'd be heading down planetside soon and was not
looking forward to it.

"I may not have much experience with this stuff, but this little
adventure's got bad news written all over it, and it'll only get worse
if the Triad decides to show up."

Jaal nodded sadly, "They're coming. Its only a matter of time before
they show up. They colonies have been holding their own against the
Drayashans but the Hydrans will simply wipe them out. That's why we're
moving all these people... whether they want it or not." He shook his
head, "But try convincing them."

He nodded. "Much like trying to convince Janeen that everything's
gonna be okay when you're about leave..." He smirked. "Hopefully, they
don't send out a memo asking someone to kick us in the dick."

"Heh, you can say that again," Jaal added. "Well, welcome aboard the
Galaxy. Watch out for the marine psychologist. She's nuts."

That last comment caught Chris off guard. "Oh? Duly noted. But I
guess you kinda need to be a bit on the pyscho side to even be a
Marine...let alone their shrink." He stood and extended his hand.
"Thank you for respecting my groin's sanctity, sir. I'm sure given the
current nature of the quadrant, your department and mine will be doing
quite a bit of business together over the next few months."

Jaal nodded in agreement, "I'm looking forward to it Mister Daniels."

OCC:Occurs before arrival to Clusters..........

"Rock, Paper, Tequila"

Lt. JG. Ophelia Zamora
JAG

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

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

There was a lot of things to do when retraining for a mission. The 188th's
training (understandably) had been focussed on combat. For'kel was hoping
that the new training would sink in before the mission, less he end up with
images of Starfleet Marines shooting Federation citizens.

Bursting forth into the room, Lt. Zamora stood with starch in her thong as
she stood before the man responsible for training those.......'Marines'.

"Your.....your....'men' are the most irritating, unmannered.....buttheads
that I have ever met!" She spat forcefully.

The Lieutenant was an impressive figure, so much so that at one point
For'kel wondered if he was being called in to the Commandant's office like
back at the Academy. That went out the window with the use of the term
'butthead'. "When you're available to speak in Standard, you might want to
tell me what this is about."

"When your men can remove their heads from their buttocks, let me know. I
am responsible for training certain crew of the Galaxy in legal code and
conduct. I consider myself an intelligent, well rounded woman. That being
said, I expected more out of your men other than the typical 'shoot first,
ask questions later' response."

"There's nothing typical about their 'shoot first, ask questions' later
mindset, Lieutenant. Have you seen my Marines' marksmanship ratings?" The
smirk on his face was a tell tale sign of sarcasm. "Is there a particular
complaint forthcoming?"

"Particular? I was aiming towards a general complaint. From what I've seen
today, I have every right to initiate a massive training overhaul in this
department." Zamora paused, leaning over the top of his desk, leveling her
gaze with his with no sign of a smile. "And would start with several long,
tedious, boring hours of legal lecture followed by more hours of long,
tedious, boring legal lecture....followed by....get my drift?" The single
eyebrow arched as she tucked a raven strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, but were you planning on including boring hours of legal lecture
in your training program?" She was taking this entirely too seriously as
far as he was concerned, and needed to relax. "Ever think they're doing it
to you on purpose?"

The single arched eyebrow floated from the left to the right as she stayed
solid in her position. "I know they are doing it on purpose. They are
men. Any chance they get to beat me down...they will." Ophelia hissed
before taking her hands off his desk. Turning at an angle, she bent over
with retrieving something from her briefcase. Glancing over the paperwork,
she flipped it on his desk before putting her manicured fingernail on top of
the document. "This...." Her fingernail tapped it for emphasis. "Is a
report detailing what the Marines should know concerning legalities in
certain situations. Your troops....for lack of a better word.....flunked."

Was she blind? There were a good many female Marines aboard... even if some
acted like stereotypical female Marines, which is to say like 'one of the
guys'. "Of course they flunked, they're not lawyers." For'kel looked
through the material. The vast majority of which he was familiar with, some
questions though even he would've gotten wrong. "Is this a surprise?"

"I suppose it should not be." Ophelia let forth a heavy sigh before
plopping into an empty chair. "I'm just stating....they need trained in
more than how to shoot a gun."

"They are trained in more than how to shoot, Lieutenant." For'kel relented
some on the sarcasm, folding his hands on his desk. "But the fact of the
matter is, the Marines are really only used in combat. Most of their
training 'is' combat related. We have a training regimen in place to try
and prepare them, but the transition from war fighter to peacekeeper is
'never' an easy one."

"Fork. We don't have a choice this time around. They *have* to be prepared
to act diplomatically instead of militarily. We are removing people from
the homes that colonists have lived in for years...some...their entire
lives. It's a gentle extraction....there will be enough drama as it
is....we can not afford a stray phaser beam due to one of them being
'jumpy'. They need to know how to handle themselves in a delicate
situation. That's why I'm worried....they are no where near ready mentally
for this. It could turn ugly quickly...and as their leader...you......"
She let her voice trail off.

Are well aware of what is needed and expected to execute my orders."
For'kel finished for her, giving a mildly confident smile. "Would you like
a drink or something to eat?" Now that they weren't at each other's
throats, perhaps there was room for civil discussion and planning.

'Cocky' Ophelia thought while returning the small smile. "Coffee. I
haven't had a cup in...mmmmm.....twenty minutes. And no...that's not the
reason I'm uptight."

The Stagnorian nodded, ordering a cup of coffee and a mug of chilled fruit
punch for himself. Once they appeared, he placed her cup in front of her.
"I'm listening Lieutenant. And no, for the record, I won't hold whatever
you say against you."

"I wouldn't give a shit if you did." She stated with a wink. "Now....I
need to know what your plan is if you don't mind. We've been told that the
first attempt at extraction will be the easy one. After that, resistance
will be solid. How will your troops handle that? Will they be able to
conduct themselves in a manner that will be more diplomatic than physical?"

"They will." For'kel stated surely. He was a Colonel because he discovered
the little known secret to all Marine commanders... if you give your troops
direction and trust them, they will get the job done. "Our standard
operating procedure, if that's what you're asking, will be for an advanced
team to meet with the colony leaders. Inform them of our presence on the
planet, of our mission, and try and work out an agreement with them to allow
those who want to leave, to leave first. After that we'll try
to talk the others into leaving. A Marine platoon which will be more
heavily armed will be on standby in the event force is needed, but they will
remain out of sight and out of mind until all other options are exhausted."

"It is my wish that force will not be needed. However, preliminary reports
from the Vered cluster are not promising in the least. As far as your
presence.....it is already known of...the question is when you will arrive.
This is a job where I am glad I'm not in your shoes." She quieted, taking a
sip of her coffee while staring intently at him.

"Those are often the only jobs we get." For'kel chuckled, taking a sip
from his own glass. "What suggestions do you have for improving the
training standards?"

"Other than slapping them around with a legal PADD?" She questioned before
continuing. "We will have to work together on that. I don't know much about
Marines....they don't know much about diplomacy and law. I believe some
crash training scenarios concerning what we might be up against is best for
now. Time is of the essence...and although I would prefer to train them
extensively, we will have to accept expedited training."

"That's also become something of a standard around here." The training
program he and Shaw had devised was the same damn thing, if combat
oriented. "Where should we start?"

Flipping around, she extracted another sheet from her briefcase. "I took
the liberty last evening before bed to create possible scenarios within the
parameters of what knowledge I have at this present time." Placing the
paper before him, Zamora continued. "Now...this is just a rough draft,
however from what you can see, it's not only how they react, but how they
are positioned...the body language can affect people more than the vocal
language that your troops use."

He nodded. That was something he knew... how to present oneself. "They're
taught that in basic."

"Good. I see all is not lost then." She muttered before taking a drink.

"Call me skeptical if I don't think the operational success of our mission
depends on being clean shaven and standing straight." He reclined back in
his chair some. "What can we expect in terms of governing structures?"

"Well, the success of the mission will not depend on everyone passing gas."
Ophelia retorted.

"In terms of governing structures...it depends on the individual views of
the colony leaders. The Vered cluster leader, Argrata Kaul is sitting on
the fence with her decision. That's all I know at this point."

"Do we have contact information for her?" For'kel figured there would be no
harm in introducing himself, even if it was before the mission.

"We do. However.....I wouldn't attempt to contact. She appears rather
reclusive at best. Any contact could sway her decision, causing her to
retreat to the 'other' side."

"Not contacting her could throw her off balance when we arrive, also swaying
her decision." Damnit, this is what happened when you started
over-analyzing things. "Are you familiar with the Terran game of 'rock,
paper, scissor?'"

"Of course, I'm a Spaniard.....our version is rock, paper, tequila."

For'kel smirked. "I don't drink, so the scissor will have to do. If I win,
we call. If you win, we don't. Ready?"

Ophelia rolled her eyes before presenting her fist outwards. "Let's go for
it...."

"Rock, paper, scissor says shoot!" For'kel stuck out two fingers
representing a scissor. It might have been retarded, but it was the only
way he could think of to make a decision when either alternative was equally
bad.

Her fist stayed solid as Opehlia grinned. "I win..right?"

"You won." For'kel confirmed with a nod. "The question now is, how do we
arrange things so she sides with us?"

"Eragon..." Zamora quietly stated. "He's her grandson."
*
*
For'kel blinked. That was certainly news to him. "The little boy you
rescued from Deep Space Five?"

"Yes......The one you wanted to shoot."

"I didn't 'want' to shoot him. I just didn't want him to shoot you, or me,
even more."

"I'll keep my opinions to myself on that one. Anyway..yes....he is hers.
On that note....I know as a mother that she would not want him in harm's
way. She will side with us."

For'kel toyed with his glass. "Then far be it from me to point out the
potential for associated duress."

Ophelia nodded silently, staring into the brown liquid in her mug. She
appeared lost for a moment, before snapping back to reality. "So....I
believe that's it for now. When I get more information...I'll let you
know."
*
*
"You're not going to 'keep' her child here, are you?" It was obvious the
Colonel was concerned. "Not as a 'bargaining chip', I hope."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "No."

He sighed with relief. "That's good news. I'll address the issue with
training, and hopefully next time they'll be better prepared."

"Let's hope so...Sir." She stated back to her professional demeanor as she
stood and offered him a ever so slight soft smile.

He stood up as well, a sign of respect, and walked her to the door. "Good
luck, I think we're all going to need some."

"We don't need luck...we need a miracle." Zamora stated simply.

?Shitstorm of the Valkyries?
By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: Holodeck, Civilian evacuation training.

The exercise was going so well to start.

Team's Alpha and Beta were escorting the USS Galaxy's humanitarian squads in preparation for the evacuation of the sleepy Vered Cluster hamlet Shalom. Gamma protected the outside of the hamlet in circles around their Argo All Terrain vehicle, mounting their plasma cannon and riding with rifles and tactical armour to best show off their aggressiveness. The teams inside were also festooned with rifles and body armour, giving their beetle black carapaces an evil sheen in the sunlight.

This day, black faced men with black suits came into the town of Shalom, and there would be no peace.

Orange ribbons were tied to the doors, and laced around the wrists and forearms of the populace outside. They regarded these black suited men, Starfleet soldiers ready for battle, with a mix of suspicion and fear. None of them looked welcoming when the black suited men came to town.

At their head was an especially black hearted man, a midnight phaser pistol and dark, thin rimmed glasses hiding his darting, always aware eyes. Behind those sunglasses was experience, a counter insurgency master that waited for the attack to come.

But not for his sake. For them. The people in black.

Team Alpha moved towards a group of gathering civilians in the town square, halos of autumn leaves falling and carpeting their steps. The leader of the civilians, marked with the regalia of the Jewish religion, approached Team Alpha's leader, terse and unwelcoming, not willing to budge an inch.

Team Alpha was led by Ensign So'ka, a rather unknown species but one that translated into a livings Dalsephian Kriegswalker in muscle and bone. He was head and shoulders over the civilians, and they all looked scared to even approach the Ensign. His manner of approach was equally intimidating, a no nonsense contempt for delays.

?You are all under orders from Starfleet Command, in turn from orders from the Federation Council, to evacuate the colony immediately.? So'ka boomed in his colorful rumble, ?You are to move out in one hour. Take only what is necessary, leave the rest behind. In one day, this will no longer be sovereign Federation territory and all support from the Federation will halt, and in the wake of an upcoming invasion from the Hydran it is not recommended that you stay. Come with us if you want to live.?

The leader, Commander Corgan, looked sternly at Ensign So'ka's performance. It would have worked well if you wanted to put the fear of the Federation on the civilians, but all it was doing was bristling the community into forming a larger crowd. Some were starting to chant angry slogans and show their orange colours proudly.

?We have tended these soils since this colony was established.? The mayor tried to reason, ?You cannot tell us to leave!?

?We're telling you to leave.? Ensign So'ka rebutted, ?In one day this will become Dreshayan territory. You have to leave by then.?

The mayor replied, ?So, you give our land, our home that we tended for years, over to the Dreshayans without us knowing? Before this home we have been driven out of all others! Thousands of years of exile, hardship and oppression and you say your Federation wants to do this to us again? You have some chutzpah, mister. We have been driven from our homes before. Never again! We will not leave! Make us leave!?

The crowd agitating to a tense simmer, Team Alpha made their approach. Ensign So'ka holstered his rifle, and was going for his restraints. ?If you're not going to tell these people to get on our evacuation ships we're going to have to take you all by force. Comply.?

The Jewish mayor hawkishly stared down the much bigger Ensign. ?You can try.?

Then Team Alpha moved in on the civilians, their rifles tangled as they went for more humane restraints The civilians that made the core of the protest balked and whined. One even threw a punch, but was knocked cold by a stun rod. The blow was to the head, cracking a gash that bled over the civilian's eyes and cheeks.

And that was enough to set the civilians into panic mode.

Throwing rocks and vegetables at Team Alpha, the security team found itself surrounded by an amoebic mass of people that defied the size of their small hamlet. All were chanting slogans and throwing what they could find, and the security officers, unsure about firing on the civilians, were forced to let go of their arrests and fall back.

Yet there was no place to fall back too, and a perfect trap was sprung.

Out from the forests three starlike streaks exploded in the middle of Team Alpha. Three were incinerated by the blasts alone, the others ripped by concussive and shrapnal waves that, when tearing clean through Team Alpha then rippled its aftereffects into the civilian crowds. People ran screaming as the bodies crumpled and the blood leaked onto the streets.

Ensign Paul Hanley, another of Corgan's stalwards he assigned to his own squad, saw the carnage unfold a town block away. Their rifles snapped and the team instantly dispersing into a protective, advancing wedge formation, they picked their way to the downed away team. The middle tiers of the wedge used tricorders and info-harnesses to scan the vicinity. The point of the wedge, Hanley himself, gained the information from the scans and fired into the bushes in a wide spread, approximately where the source of the blasts came. A hand signal sent two officers to investigate the source, the rest reasserting the wedge and moving to the stricken away team.

Team Beta checked the wounded and dead of Team Alpha, two soldiers on standby, the others leaning over the dead.

And rather to their surprise, all were caught flatfooted as three more starlight beams exploded in their epicenter from the opposite direction.

?COMPUTER!? Corgan barked, the command protocols to ignore his presence disengaged, ?PAUSE PROGRAM, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!?

The holodeck paused in the middle of the chaos, and James Corgan, the most menacing man in black, did appear. He walked in opposite of the frozen and fleeing hamlet civilians, a man that brought thunder and death to his enemies engaging all of his wraith to his failed security officers. He brought the wraith in his trademark way, crass, crude, crazed and with a confounding vitriol. ?Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking crutch you witless wonderfucks! What the motherfucking hell kind of shit poor fucking joke of an exercise was that? I didn't recall giving you all orders to fuck up on a colossal scale by bringing on the shitstorm of the Valkyries, did I?! DON'T FUCKING ANSWER THAT! What the fuck was going on in your heads!? SO'KA! SPEAK! TEN SECONDS!?

So'ka was obviously embarrassed and free of injury from the first bombardment of RPG 89 plasma rockets. He was picking up other fallen over officers, and tried to explain in his deep throated, jockular way. ?Sir! They were being resistant to our orders, Sir! They were not going along as planned, Sir! I felt as if I had to show some authority to get everyone in line, Sir! I didn't think they would freak out, Sir!?

?Well... they sure seemed to when you confirmed their worse fears about having to lose their homes to the Dreys!? Corgan barked, ?Why did you have to go and say a thing like that!??

?Sir...? So'ka stammered, ?Thought they should know...?

?THE ENTERPRISE...? Corgan quoted in a mock professor's tone, ?Was assigned to relocate a colony of North American Indians next to the Cardassian/Federation demilitarized zone! They were reluctant to move! And you know what nearly fucked that mission over? When some loudmouth snotnosed son of a fuck Spacecadet spilled the beans about them being forcibly removed! And naturally what did they do??

So'ka stammered, ?Ummm... sir??

Corgan shook his head, on the way picking an ensign off his feet, ?They freaked the fuck out! So you didn't think they would freak out when you fucking well let the cat out of the bag, is that it Ensign? Thought they would see it rationally and in the big picture way like the ignorant fucks at Starfleet Central??

So'ka shook his head nervously.

?Here's a secret I shouldn't have had to tell you on this day and this moment because whatever orphanage you came from was too fucking underfunded and lazy to teach you the obvious.? Corgan, inches from So'ka and though tall in his own right was dwarfed and especially slight compared to the alien, pointed two fingers millimeters from So'ka's nose, ?It goes as follows... CIVILIANS ARE REALLY FUCKING STUPID!?

He swept an arm towards the village, straw and brick houses being lit by the superheated plasma discharges, halos and bushes of red licking flame still in time, ?They only care about their land, their well being, and staying right where they are without having some swaggering twatjob fuck it up for them! They freak out at the drop of an Andorian Ranger's beret, overreact at the slightest misfortune and their collective stupidity is AMPLIFIED BY NUMBERS! You got them scared by playing the bully and the next thing you know your team is in a clusterfuck. If it wasn't for the insurgents they would have either torn your team to pieces or we would have had a fucking situation where everyone would be shot at and WE would look like assholes on the Federation Newsnet in front of a thousand fucking worlds! And would it be blamed on the stupid civilians moo-cowing their way through preprogrammed instincts to be universally useless at the worst times?! NO! It would be us for shooting and evicting people from their property!!! Use your head and treat it with a little more understanding before you shove your size fifteen boot up the mayor's ass!?

?BUT SIR!? Ensign Handley inched away from RPG 89 rockets that were all clustered and aimed towards him, caught frozen in midflight, their warheads glowing red hot in mid detonation, ?What the hell was with the sneak attack? I thought these people were supposed to be peaceful, Sir! And there was no reported enemy activity on planet! We... were caught by surprise Sir!?

Ensign So'ka, Handley and the rest of teams Alpha and Beta were all so dumbfounded by how easily they were taken that James Corgan was moved in the opposite direction of compassion (if he ever decided to travel that road). ?Just because you never heard of any enemies in the area doesn't mean you shouldn't be more fucking aware of them! This planet's about to be on the frontlines soldiers! If we aren't watching out for their elite forces trying to fuck us over on our own soil, then watch out for those who want to fuck us over for the sake of keeping their own soil! You think insurgents are made by people with nothing better to do than to fire rockets and scream uncontrollably at FNN cameras? No! They're made because we PISSED THEM OFF and tried to TAKE WHAT WAS THEIRS, which was exactly how they will see us if we push them too hard! Keep an eye out for them!?

?But sir... our scanners...?

?Are shite!? James punctuated the point with a picked up, burned out tricorder, circuitry and screen fused by plasma heat, ?Take the info from the scanners with a grain of salt! Scanners can be fooled! Scanners can be scrambled, and if you look in the bushes you will find that there is portable subspace generator giving your tricorders false data. Scanners can be fooled. YOUR EYES AND EARS CAN'T! The only way they can do that is if they kill you... WHICH THEY DID! Scanner's are a tool. Use them but don't depend on them!?

?But we couldn't leave Team Alpha to die there...?

?You rushed in like newbies to the slaughter!? Corgan snarled and spat, ?You know why? Because they KNEW you would try to save your comrades and rush in before you had a chance to properly neutralize and security the area! My god how fucking easy it is to take advantage of good old fashion Starfleet humanitarianism! Way to fucking go!?

?SIR!? Lieutenant O'Rourke raised her hand and yelled out, ?It was needlessly impossible, Sir! We were set up to fail, Sir! We did what we could! We were cautious! We were ready!?

Corgan's head swiveled like a naval turret to find his new target. ?So that's why you got so thoroughly spanked? Because it was too hard? Newsflash... OF COURSE IT WAS! This exercise was supposed to be the worse fucking day you could have on this planet outside a scorched earth bombardment! You have to be prepared for a really bad fucking day with these people! They could be peaceful. They could be hostile! You don't know. What we do know is that anything could happen and we will now, more than ever, be under the scrutiny of the fucking Federation for what we do here. We cannot afford mistakes! Now rank up! I got some rules we need to set down before we hit planetside!?

The security officers lined up for Corgan's inspection. He paced over them, his words a growl from barely contained spite, ?First of all... main protection teams will not sport battle rifles or body armour. Level 1 protections only, that's phaser pistols and standard uniforms! Only guys with armour and rifles will be on rapid response unit and will not be seen by civilians unless we head into trouble and on my orders! All weapons will be put on stun unless ordered to do otherwise by myself or your squad leaders. Be sure to show your colours too! Do not look like the NEW WORLD ORDER has just come down to implant obedience chips into their empty fucking heads! That goes for Argo teams as well! Don't try to ride into town like the fucking Desert Rats on a raid!?

?TWO!? Boomed the security chief, ?You are not to take a offensive or defensive posture with these people. Do not carry yourself like you are looking for trouble. Look like you are there to help while at the same time being aware of your surroundings. If you're not going to look like as if you are watching over them for any threats from the outside, then at least ACT LIKE IT!?

?THREE! Civilians can and will cause a shitstorm! That is a fact of life!? Corgan paced and punctuated his speech with his expressive hands and arms, ?You are to treat them with politeness and respect all the time, even if it kills you! Help them pack up and move! They already know the deadlines, just give them the means and show them the way! Don't get sucked into arguments with them. Don't give them excuses to argue or fight you! And don't give them ammunition either! That means don't talk about the Drey's. Don't talk about any rumours of them moving in or that will set off an argument! Our official position is that we are evacuating a threatened sector from an impending Hydran offensive! That's the official line! Stick to it an nothing else. All these will help minimize trouble with the civilians. Be tough but fair!?

?And finally...? James caught his breath, ?Remember this. They will be scared. They will be forcibly removed from their homes. We humans stick close to our homes and fight to the death for them! We die not for honour or glory, but for our land and our kin! That's how they will see this if the shit really hits the air dispersal unit, and the whole universe will be watching! Worse still you're dealing with a sect of humans that have been the most persecuted out of all of our race, so they know all about how unfair it is for us to do what we have to do. But remember... we are doing a job, taking our orders, nothing more. Anything beyond that... just be patient with them and don't give them an excuse to freak out. Understood you fucking maggots??

?SIR YES SIR!? The security officers answered in unison.

?GOOD! You might have actually learned something from this!? Corgan smiled with self satisfaction, ?Rules of engagement and the blooper reel for this reeking embarrassment of an exercise for the amusement of your peers are to follow. DISMISSED!?

"Known Roads"

Lieutenant Miramon Terrik
Counsellor

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

The life of a department head on the Galaxy were often like a warp travel
with the inertial dampeners malfunctioning. In the insanity of the
fast-paced routine, each officer developed their own ways of coping. For
many, it was holding on to small moments of relative serenity. For Saul it
was time spent with Nara, reading political and historic literature,
reviewing the latest report on his well-branched trade operation, and above
all that the regular lunches with Miramon.

Today, however, Saul was nothing but serene.

"What irritates me the most is that the president and the council members'
patronizing attitude. 'We'll decide what's good for you'. They didn't even
ask the colonists."

Saul was speaking in a hushed tone. Ten Forward was crowded that time of the
day, and he did not want anyone other than Miramon to overhead his disdain
of the commands the ship was issued.
"The Captain doesn't ask you whether or not you want to follow orders when
he gives them to you, Saul. The reason he gives them is because he's trained
to make the command decisions. You know that."

"'We just executed orders', said the Nazis." Saul muttered.

"...The Federation Council is just trying to protect the colonists'
interests, and we don't have time to spend weeks negotiating with them only
to come to the same conclusion. In case you hadn't noticed, there's a war
on."

Admittedly, Miramon wasn't 100% happy about the entire arrangement, either -
as a Bajoran, he was quite familiar with others dictating the lives of a
people without due consideration for their right to self-determination. But,
at the same time, he trusted the Federation to do the right thing in the
end. If Starfleet said they had to move the colonists, then that's what they
had to do. It wasn't as though they were going to pick up a group of people
who were both safe and happy on their homeworld and dump them in refugee
camp with barely a scrap of additional aid.

Besides, if he knew Saul, and he did, the complaints he was making now were
merely the latest face of a possibly unrelated problem. For all his clear
intelligence and cunning, Saul was occasionally a man who just had to vent,
and Miramon the kind of individual who had no problem with that whatsoever.
And so, once again, lunch was not the only thing on the menu. They'd get to
Saul's real problem presently. It was best just to let him exhaust himself
first.

"You're giving me your 'Counsellor glare' man - spare me." said Saul.

"I wasn't aware I could just flip a switch, Saul," Miramon observed simply,
his usual smile flickering across his face, failing to hide the slight
amount of amusement he felt.

The intelligence chief rolled his eyes in the general direction of the
cieling.

"Listen, I don't say we should give the colonists the option to transfer,
but it's just not right to force them. They're mature enough to make the
decision, and believe me that they can make it more clearly than some
politician who spends his life with his nose stuck deep into petty
politics."

"Perhaps, but you have to take into account sentimentality. Do they wish to
leave their world? No. Is it best for them to do so? Yes. If offered the
choice, what do you think their choice would be? Naturally, they would
choose to remain on their own world, and thus place themselves in danger.
You're assuming that if we offered them the choice, they would elect to
evacuate of their own accord. I'm not certain we can risk the alternative,
however."

"'We' or 'they'? Miramon, if you tried to stand in the way of anyone who
takes a risk, you'll never get out of it. Even me and you take a risk being
here on the Galaxy in the middle of this war. Why can't the colonists take a
risk? It's their choice and their problem. And besides, I don't think that
the Hydrans will stall their invasion plans by taking over the cluster; It's
just not worth it. What's going to happen is that the Dreshayans will step
in and take over the planets, and for what? For nothing."

"Ah, but we signed up to take risks, my friend. Ours is not a boring life,
but nor a safe one. At last check, these colonists did not choose to live
there in order to be put at risk because a few volatile races decide to get
all belligerent with the Federation and friends."

"They're on the border - they knew the risk."

Miramon smiled at Saul, not for the first time wondering how it was that the
human could so often be cynical and seemingly jaded by the constant life of
secrecy, subterfuge and downright subversion as an Intelligence Officer, yet
still had issues with the most basic duties required of Starfleet officers.
It was quite the contrast, and one that never ceased to amuse the Bajoran,
simply because he always liked Saul in an argumentative mood.
"Besides, your assumptions regarding what the Hydrans will do are clearly
not shared by Starfleet Intelligence, otherwise we wouldn't be doing this.
And so, for the first time in a few weeks, you're going to have to get used
to the fact that you're wrong on this one, Saul. And, when it comes down to
it, we've got orders. And I rather like my uniform, and the pips that go
with it. I don't like courts martial or superior officers shouting at me.
Put the two together and, well, we're doing this whether we like it or not."

"Perhaps. Though I bet some officers are going to 'feel sick' as soon as we
reach Vered. And please, PLEASE don't mix up Starfleet Intelligence's
assessment and political decisions. Starfleet does not decide to vacate a
planet. The government does."

Saul caught a Trill couple listenning to the conversation. A quick glare
convinced them to find a new interest in their Raktajino cups.

"I'll tell you what they should have done." Saul turned back to Miramon.
"They should have told us to evacuate the elderly and the children, and give
the rest a choice. You can write off the settlers as sentimental, but in the
end most people would value their lives of sentiment and those who don't
should be free to do so. The Federation DOES stand for freedom, freedom that
we're going to take away."

He snorted. "And I bet they cut a deal with the Dreshayans."

"Right, so we just evacuate the kids and the OAPs, and hope that the parents
and the people who are children of the elderly just understood that they
don't really need to worry about their families and can stay if they want
to. That's cold, Saul. I think the Federation Council's point is that, while
we might be moving the people from their home, at least they'll all be alive
to make a new one. A place is just a place, but it's the lives of people
that are important."

The odd thing was, from Miramon's perspective, that he half suspected that
Saul both knew the arguments that the Bajoran was putting forward, and
agreed with them, too. Okay, Saul was not known for being the most copacetic
member of the crew, and the notion that the man could do with a year or two
on Risa to chill was not a new one to him, but even so, he was almost
inclined to think that the human was arguing just for the sake of things.
Maybe he just needed to let of steam without being as overt as to let
everyone know what was really bugging him. That happened, sometimes.

"You and I think that way." Saul replied, verifying some of Miramon's
theories about him. "Other people don't. How many Bajorans DID stay on Bajor
during the occupation? It's 'just a place', isn't it Miramon?"

"To me, sure," the Bajoran noted, "But that's not going to be true of
everyone. And therein lies my point, Saul - if we gave these colonists the
choice, many of them would stay and most of the ones that did would probably
be dead inside of a month. Can you honestly say that's a satisfactory
outcome?"

"It's - their - choice. It should be given to them. I may think that it's
stupid, but what right do I have to force them?"

"I'm not forcing anybody," Miramon said, correcting his friend. "Let's face
it - the Federation Council has issued orders to evacuate the colonists, but
if they really don't want to come, I doubt we'll start breaking out the
phasers, Saul. Probably just as well, to be honest. I've seen how you
shoot."

Saul bolted up.

"I'm glad you think it's funny. I read the orders, Miramon. We were told not
to leave a single colonist behind. If they really don't want to come, we are
ordered to make them."

"I'm honestly not sure how the Council can issue those orders, Saul. I'm
fairly certain it compromises the various hundred or so directives that
discuss self-determination at length. Do you really think the Captain will
order us to start forcing the colonists to go?"
"Do you really think that when the colonists refuse to leave, we'll just say
'thank you' and turn around?"

"Of course not, but nor do I expect us to use force on our own citizenry.
How much support do you think there'd be for that on other Federation
worlds? Don't get me wrong, I think the colonists need to be moved, but I
won't condone the use of force to achieve that end. We're not the
Cardassians, and we're sure as heck not the Hydrans."

"We just help them in driving a bunch of people away from their homes." Saul
shot back. "Time will tell. Meanwhile my department is going to prepare for
violent scenarios and I hope yours will too."

The final words were said perhaps a little too loudly, or perhaps Saul
standing up drew the attention, but a hushed chatter began at the nearby
tables.

"Violence was never something our department condones, Saul," Miramon
observed solemnly, looking up at his friend. "Our job is just to pick up the
pieces, as always."

"Or to prevent things from shattering, how about that? If Elessidil didn't
tell your people to devise ways to prevent scenarios from escalating to
violence, they will. Leave being naive to Branwen London, will you?"

"I'd expect all officers to work to minimise the possibility of violence, my
friend. If it's limited merely to my department, I can see things going
wrong real fast. I guess we'll have to wait and see," Miramon noted, his
tone more conciliatory now. He really had no intention of arguing with Saul
over something that was work-related. That would just be stupid.

At that point, they had a small audience. Saul gave the crowd a final glare,
than every hint of anger or irritation vanished from his face as though
disintegrated by a powerful phaser.

"Very well Miramon - we'll see. Same time tomorrow?"

"Of course! We can combine lunch with an anger management therapy session,"
Miramon said cheerfully, with a ghost of a smile. It was always best to let
Saul walk away feeling contemplative, rather than as though they'd just
argued. That way nobody else got caught in the crossfire.

Saul reflected Miramon's smile. "Sorry man, I don't mix business and
pleasure."

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