~Storms of Hekili, Part II~

Cutter Kara'nin

Kala led him out from the large communal hall. Night had fallen. The stars were out, and Cutter could easily pick out the brightest star in the sky - the neighboring star, Gamma Vered - shimmering, though only a point in size, as bright as a full moon. The wind was howling over the opening of the gorge the village was set in, roaring by at over a hundred kilometers per hour. But, the wind that filtered down was only a steady, mild breeze.

She took his hand and stepped to a rope ladder that hung from the rock, leading up to a hut three meters above them, but Cutter pulled back, resisting the direction. "No," he said, and she looked at him curiously. "Let's fly."

She studied him for a moment, considering his request. "No," she said, giving him a pitied look, "No, let's climb."

He felt scolded, somehow, as he watch her hop onto the rope ladder and ascend like a groundwalker. Scolded, as if it were wrong for him to want to fly, wrong for wanting to because he could. He thought, for a moment, about resisting, about flying despite her, but he ended up climbing up behind her.

Slowly, she led them up towards the top of the gorge, closer and closer to the wind, up ladders after ladder, walkway after walkway, like groundwalkers. Eventually, she led them to one of the bamboo huts that hung from the cliff wall, one of the highest in the village. "This is yours?" Cutter asked.

"This is where I sleep, yes," she said. She took a roll of cloth and unfurled it onto the floor. It was thick, like a rug, and thin, only half a meter wide. "Please, sit."

Cutter watched as she moved away, and then sat on the mat with his legs folded in front of him and his wings folded behind him. She came back, carrying a large clay basin and set it down in front of him, then poured in water from a large jug. Then, she sat on his side, facing him, and began to unwrap the cloth she had wrapped around his arms earlier today.

He stared at her hands, watching them work, unsure what she was doing, but hoping it was going where he thought. She seemed to catch his uncertain glare and began to explain.

"There is a story that me and my people, here, tell. Long ago, we had the ability to converse with the gods freely, in the way that you and I are conversing now. But, we are, like birds, loud, chattering creatures. We are always talking, always wanting, always both happy and sad at the same time, never satisfied enough to sit silently. We talked so much and so loudly that Mo'e could not sleep. And not only us, but the other gods. They talk, too. You can hear Kane shouting above us, right now. Nothing Mo'e could do could shut out the noise. He hid in a cave, he stuffed his ears with wax, but nothing would silence the noise. Finally, he got so upset that he let out a scream. We do this all the time when we get angry. Scream. But, Mo'e's scream was so loud that it shook the world, and all the gods were driven deaf by it.

"No longer could we converse with them as freely as we used to. They can no longer hear us. But, it is important that we still communicate. It is important that we let the gods and others know what we wish to say. So, how can we say it if the gods cannot hear us? We paint our words on our body. We let them read us.

"But, you, Cutter," she said, having stripped him of any fabric or jewelry on his upper body, "You do not say what you mean to. You do not say what you should."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "What should I be saying that I'm not?"

She did not respond. She took a small cloth and dipped into the water basin, and then applied it to his chest, washing the paint from his body. "Kala," he asked again, but she refused to say anything more.

They sat quietly after that, Cutter lost in his introspection, Kala content to wiping the false wishes from his skin.

After a while, Cutter asked, "How do you feel about change?"

"About change?" she asked, unsure about the point of the question.

"Change," he repeated. "The importance of the past, with respect to the future. Are you afraid of it?"

"Am I afraid of change?" she said, looking at him more seriously. "No. Things change all the time. Twice a day the winds change direction."

"But, you know that will happen. That's predictable. What if you had to change something about the way you lived, that you were not expecting to do?"

"What do you wish to say?" she asked, trying to cut to the point.

"We've come to make you leave this place," he confessed. "You and everyone in this village. We are going to make you leave."

"Why?" she said, her hand dropping away from his skin.

"It isn't safe. There are creatures, Hydrans and T'Kith'Kin, who will swarm through this place. We cannot stop them, and if you stay here, they'll kill you. So, we're going to force you to leave. To save you."

"Across these plains?"

"Across this planet. Across the entire Vered cluster," Cutter said. "You will have to find a new home."

She stared at him, calmly looking into his eyes, letting his words sink in. To Cutter's surprise, she showed to strong emotion, no reaction. She wasn't putting up a fight. "If they will kill us, if the way to live is to leave this place, I will be sad, but I will leave," she said.

"Oh," Cutter said. "I thought you would be more upset."

"I only came here when I was young. I was not born here," she explained. "I am not as tied to these lands as much as I think others may be. But, this is not what upsets you."

"No."

"You do not care if our entire civilization is uprooted and destroyed," she said matter of fact.

"Not really. I believe change is good. It forces progress and improvement, recreation and redevelopment. I believe change creates life. Staying still is... Remaining the stagnant is death," he said.

"That is why you are so angry?" she asked suddenly.

That caught him off guard. "What?" he asked, pulling back.

"You desire change, yet, you stay the same?" Kala said. He tried to respond, but could do nothing but stumble and stutter. "Just because your skin no longer wears any words does not mean it cannot be read."

He stared at her, stunned. Uncertain if she was right or wrong.

"What happened?" she asked. "What is your story?"

"Um..." he began, but then paused. It was a long time before he continued. "The ship I travel on, it's called the Galaxy. I first started traveling with them nearly seven years ago. And that was fine, it was good. Two years ago, I left. I left to lead a scientific project that I helped design. But, recently, that project was destroyed and all my work was lost."

"And now you've returned to your ship. To the Galaxy."

"Yes."

"You feel you're moving backwards, rather than forwards," she said.

"Yes. No. Two years of my life was destroyed. I feel like I haven't moved at all," he said.

Kala nodded, understanding. Slowly, she stood up, and walked to the corner of the hut, to a small shelf. It was filled with a number of small objects, jars and fragments of pottery, sticks and rocks and dried plants, objects which did not seem to serve as decoration. She gathered a number of them and brought them back to where Cutter sat, and began to lay them out on the floor.

"Are you making more paint," he asked. She said yes, and began to mix ingredients, grinding them down into powder and mixing them with oil. It was an intricate process, and Cutter watched her silently throughout her work.

"Change does not always have to be into something new," she said when she finished. "It is good, on occasion, to return home. To walk back on a road you traveled, in order to take a new fork. You find, more often than not, new things you did not notice before. Buildings and rocks and trees that you once passed by, which, now that you see them, make the road new and different. You find, more often than not, that things have changed while you were gone. Trees have grown taller and stronger, children have grown older. You find, more often than not, that the place you have returned to is not the place you have left.

"Have you found this, when you returned to your ship? Have you found things to be different from when you left?"

"Yes," Cutter nodded. "The people that I left, they have moved on with their lives. The ones that I knew, many are no longer there. Those that have stayed, they've changed their lives. Most of the people there now are new, I have never known before."

"And you feel you have done nothing. Not grown. Stayed the same," she continued.

"Yes."

"Remaining stagnant is death," she said, echoing his earlier comment.

He sighed, and his breath quivered. "Yes."

She smiled at him, softly. It was a comforting smile, yes, but Cutter could not read disagreement across her lips. She held up the clay fragment on which she made the paint, a dark ochre pool. With her other hand, she dipped in a finger and began to wipe it on his chest. "What are you painting," he asked.

"A call to Maru, to leave your side, and for Hale to join it," she replied. "You may think you have not moved. That you have not changed. You may think you are dead. But, I can feel you breathe. I can feel the pounding of your heart against my finger tips. You are not dead. And that must mean that you have changed. That you have traveled some where new. Now, you must accept it."

He swallowed. "How?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Don't hide from it. Don't resist it. Embrace it. Make the lives of the people on your ship yours."

"I don't know how to do that," he said.

"Let yourself accept it," she repeated, as if that were an easy and obvious task to accomplish.

She continued to paint him, dipping her finger into the paint and slowly dragging it across his chest. Suddenly, he stopped her, holding her wrist in his hand. He leaned forward and delicately pulled her closer to him.

"No," she said simply, disrupting the kiss. She shook her head and freed her hand. He looked at her awkwardly, but she was neither disturbed or offended. As if nothing had happened, she continued to paint a prayer for life on his body.

"The Gilded Cage"

Lt. JG. Ophelia Zamora JAG

Lt. Zachary Burdick - NPC

----------------------------------------
Lt. Zachary Burdick studied himself in the length wise mirror in his room. Sighing heavily, his bright blue eyes memorized even himself at times. The road here had been a long winding one, filled with may forks among the way. If there was one thing that could be said about the diplomat, he was crafty and indeed had connections that assisted him where ever he found himself needed. Bringing his left hand up, he cautiously ran it through his thick black hair as he continued to watch his reflection.

His eyes held several private mysteries. Each one served a purpose to him as it were. He let his mind drift to Ophelia. He wondered.....wondered if she was enjoying the stale environment of the brig. Not that she deserved to be there, she did not. An innocent victim, an innocent child she was. Naive in her older age had hindered her in so many ways. Yet, as the ever so slight smile became apparent in the reflection of his pupils, his mind delighted in the simple fact that she needed him.

How sweet it was to be needed by this girl yet again. This time however, his time was free. Before it came with a price higher than that of which she paid. She was his scapegoat, yet she knew it not. She fed his desire for righteousness, however also fed the desire for destructive mannerisms. All collided within the great scheme of Burdick's higher purpose in life. Only he knew it. Only he knew the secrets that swirled around in his head. Glancing around his quarters, he felt oddly at home here on the Galaxy. For it was not his first time on board this ship, and it would not be its last.

Straightening her posture, Burdick exited her abode and headed to the brig.

Ophelia wrapped her arms around her chest in an attempt to comfort herself. One place she would never thought she would be was the other side of the containment field. It was so......indescribable. She felt shame at the same time she vowed to anyone who would listen that she was innocent. Glancing up, she bolted upwards as she viewed Burdick enter.

"Zachary....did you get a hold of....."

He raised his hand, the magnetic ring on his left finger of his right hand gleamed in the artificial light. "Yes....Fay has been informed and will meet you in San Fransisco. She asked that I accompany you when they are able to arrange transport. Which.........." It paused, giving a cursory look around the environment it just stepped into. "Will be a while obviously....."

Something about Burdick hit a cord with Zamora for some odd reason. She had seen his eyes somewhere before. The certain knowledge they held was rare, and to see them within two people was *different* to her. Shaking her head, she swallowed the thought tucking it away into an obscure abyss of her mind.

"So, what do I do until then?" Ophelia threw out the question haphazardly.

"Wait?" He chucked with his response before clearing his throat. "Sorry. Basically.....nothing."

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she sat down with the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Okay....."

TBC.................

"Initial Assessment"

Doctor Kimberly Burton
Commander Arel Smith

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy - Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Arel knocked on the door's arch. "Busy?"

Looking up at the knock Kimberly frowned slightly at the unfamiliar face before her. Noting the rank pips on the woman's collar she tried, unsuccessfully, to identify the officer before her. Giving up she stood and shook her head, "Nope, not especially, how can I help?" She enquired curiously.

"I was told you needed to work on your hand to hand combat skills," Arel replied, plopping down into the chair across from the doctor. It had been a trying mission; she thought she had earned the plop. "They are rated by Security as poor. So how about it?"

Surprised to say the least Kimberly sat and looked at her visitor. She couldn't really argue with the statement, it was probably well known that she barely scraped a pass during her last assessment, though why this woman felt she needed to take an interest was intrigued her. "Poor is probably being generous," she admitted, "I'm not very versed in hand to hand unless it's with a paramecium. Ah, mind if I ask what brings you here to discuss this Commander?"

Arel shrugged. "A lot of people without any fighting skills are getting pushed my way these days. Thought I'd save everyone a step. So when do you want to start."

Feeling the weight of inevitability settling on her shoulders Kimberly sat back in her chair and studied the Commander before her as she thought. There was something about her that set alarm bells ringing and made you think this wasn't someone you should frell with. Realistically though, she should have expected this, especially after her last recert and considering the fact a war was kicking off again. This wasn't like the last time, this time she was a senior officer and had to set an example for her staff.

Didn't mean she had to like it though.

"I'm free for the moment, and I'm sure I can set aside some time each week until the dren swamps the ventilation system completely. I should warn you though, there is a reason my hand to hand is so abysmal. One, I've never really needed it, and two, my own beliefs do stop me as well." She warned her prospective tutor.

"You're a pacifist," Arel stated. "Well, that's all well and good until the other guy comes along but okay. I can teach you how to inflict minimal damage. Never saw the use for the skill myself but I can teach you."

"You mean something like Judo?" Kimberly asked curiously, "I did do some basic Judo at the Academy, you know the standard defensive techniques they taught there."

"Something like it," Arel replied. "Probably better."

Recalling the conversation she'd had with the Master Chief Kimberly nodded unenthusiastically, "Okay. I can set some time aside today if you want to see how bad I am, then we can sort some time out once a week if that's good for you?"

"Let's see how today goes and then I'll let you know what time to set aside."

"Sounds like a plan." Checking availability of the holodecks Kimberly looked to Arel with a raised eyebrow, "Holodeck three, say two hours then."

* * * * * * * * * *

Arel frowned at the doctor. "You need a lot of work."

Sweating from her recent bout of exertions Kimberly wiped sweat from her brow before it dripped into her eyes. Her daily workouts, well most days anyway, did a good job of keeping her in shape, but the contortions she had to perform to throw some of her holo opponents around had make more than one joint and muscle group ache.

"Hey, at least you know I wasn't exaggerating earlier." She admitted as she leant against the wall. "I did warn you hand to hand wasn't my forte. Besides, how the frell d'you expect someone my size to flip a Naussican? That guy is twice my size, triple my weight and almost five times stronger than me!" She griped, looking at her last opponent who had quite easily flattened her.

"I don't," The security officer said. "At least not yet. I just wanted to see how you approached it."

'Approach it?' Kimberly muttered under her breath, 'practically face first onto the floor!' she recalled.

"How do you feel about attacking someone from behind?" Arel asked, ignoring her comments. "Without announcing yourself?"

"Honestly. Never thought about it," she admitted, "if the need is there... I guess it'd depend on the situation. But honestly, I'd rather not attack at all. Defending myself is one thing, but pre-emptively creeping up behind someone and taking the initiative..." Sighing she slid down the wall she was leaning on until she was sat on the floor then shrugged, "I dunno." She said simply.

"I don't like it myself," Arel said. "I find it dishonorable to attack an enemy without them seeing your face. Anyway, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you need to work on. Let me work up a program for you and we can begin in a few days."

Nodding Kimberly just sat there for a moment, stretching her aching muscles as she tried to recall why this had been such a good idea at the time. Standing she shrugged "I'd appreciate it, thank you Commander. I can't honestly say I'll ever use the skills, but with a war on, I don't want to give anyone an obvious reason to complain about me."

Arel smiled. "I won't complain doctor, I'll just kick your ass. And I really don't want to deal with all the bullshit that will follow so do your best, okay?"

~ Gee, thanks. ~ Kimberly mused silently. "Fair enough Commander, and thank you."

<tbc...>

~The Winter of Winters~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Thyago Carneiro
Ens. Sharzhevashi zh'Rin

Since returning to their hut, Shi had mainly been staring off into space. The failure of the mission would not look good on her record. The likelihood, after events here, of being promoted or advancing in Starfleet would be limited at best.

What could she have done differently? What words could she have used instead to make the chieftain see that their survival depended on a new place to live. Their culture would change, but they would adapt to the new land.

The sound of the flap at the front of the tent being moved aside brought her out of her thoughts. She wondered briefly if it was Thyago leaving to find more cheerful company.

"Well, well. Look who's just getting in," Thyago said suddenly. Shi turned to see Cutter stepping through the entrance way of their hut, dressed as he was last night, but with different markings painted on his body. "Looks like you had fun last night."

Cutter glared at the human out of the sides of his eyes, but he did not answer.

"So, details?" Thyago asked, as Cutter stepped up to their washing basin and reached in to splash water on his face.

"No," he said, tersely, burying his face in his wet hands. Then, "Have you talked to their leader?"

"We met with their leader," Shi began, "and explained the details of the threat. He did not believe us. I suspect he believes we are trying to trick them out of their land. He believes I lied to him."

"What did you say?"

"Exactly as the briefing information stated," Shi said, her antennae flexing defensively. "That they are in danger and would need to be relocated to a safe zone deeper within Federation space."

"You told him the Hydrans were coming?" Cutter asked. "That they would all die?"

Shi nodded, her dreadlocks falling into her eyes with the motion. "Yes, I did. They would take the land and change it to suit their own needs."

The avian straightened, and grabbed a cloth to dry his face. As he pulled it away, he said, "Did you tell them they have no choice in the matter?"

"I did not," Shi answered. "I was making an attempt to help them understand. So that they would not resent us for what we will be doing to them. I had hoped that diplomacy would have a greater chance of success than failure. I believe the cultural gap between us was too great, however, and they were not able to fully grasp the dangers they faced." "And how long were you going to wait before trying again?" he asked tersely.

"Don't get mad at her, cara," Thyago said stepping up to the conversation. "We just got back from there."

"The longer you wait, the more time you give them to cement their opinions," he explained. "The harder it will be to convince them to cooperate."

"They do not believe they are in any danger here," Shi said. "They do not understand why the Hydrans would want this place and therefore will not believe that we are telling them the truth."

"Yeah, and who can blame them, you know?" Thyago agreed, "I mean, we are out in the middle of no where. The Hydrans aren't knocking down their door or anything."

"That is not the point," the Fruna'lin said, slipping on his uniform jacket. "They are in danger. They cannot remain here. If they can't see that on their own, then we will make them see that. Where is their chief?"

"I suspect in the main square," Shi said. "I believe they are setting up for the daily market. If he is not there, he might be at his home."

Cutter nodded and raced out of the hut, following Shi's directions.

"Dude, yo, what are you gonna do?" Thyago called out, as he and Shi raced to keep up with the Fruna'lin, "You can't just, like, storm in and expect them to take you seriously, mane."

"They will take me seriously," Cutter said, his voice low and tense. "They have no choice in the matter."

"Approaching this situation with aggression is not the answer," Shi warned. It was not a statement many would have expected from an Andorian, a species known for their rather aggressive tempers. "These are sentient life forms, and they will not appreciate being forced into anything they do not believe in."

"That is not my problem," Cutter said.

As they rounded a bend of the gorge and came into what appeared to be an open square. A wide platform had been built between the three rock walls that formed a u-shaped divet in the gorge. Several low tables had been set out and were filled with wares. When the people saw the trio of Starfleet officers storm into the square, they drew back. It was obvious their intentions had become known to the colonists. None wanted anything to do with them. The motion of the crowd left a single man standing alone.

"That is their leader," Shi said. "The chief of their community." With a glance at Cutter, she felt her antennae wilt under the harsh predatory scowl of his face. He looked far more a raptor than a songbird, that was certain.

"I am Ali'i Maka," the man said, as Cutter approached. Several of the villagers they had met before formed up around their leader, including Kanunu and 'Eleu.

Even Kala stepped up. She put her hand on Cutter's shoulder. "This is not appropriate," she said.

"You have to leave," Cutter stated, ignoring the red feathered avian. "You cannot stay here. You have to leave."

"Why?" the chief asked.

Cutter glanced back at Shi and Thyago for a moment, letting them know he thought they were completely ineffective at communicating their mission. "We are at war," he explained. "We cannot defend this place. Our enemies, they will come here, they will take your lands and destroy your village and kill you. You have to leave."

"She has said this," Maka said, pointing to Sharzhevashi. "She also said that your enemy cannot live here."

Cutter looked back again. "They're methane breathers," Thyago said.

"Why do they want our village if they cannot live here?" the chief continued. "We are no threat to anyone. We keep to ourselves. They have no reason to harm us."

"That doesn't matter. They will still kill you," Cutter repeated. "They are monsters. You must leave. We will give you new lands. We will help you build a new village some place safer. You can live there."

"No."

"No?" Cutter echoed.

"Will this new place, will it be exactly like here? Will the winds blow there as they do here?" Maka asked.

"I don't know. No, we'll find someplace more hospitable. We'll find you a better place. The weather will be more reasonable, the land will be more fertile," Cutter offered.

Several of the colonists shook their heads. "We cannot leave," Kanunu said.

"We will not leave," the chief confirmed. "You will. Please, you are not welcome here anymore."

"They will kill you," Cutter said, one more time.

This caused the chief to lose his temper. "Black smoke!" he shouted. "Go!"

Cutter's upper lip curled into a snarl as he was confronted with the colonists' absolute refusal to cooperate. He glared at the chief for a long time, but the man calmly stared back, standing his ground and unphased by the avian's temper. Suddenly, Cutter reached down to his side and pulled out a small type I phaser and pointed at the
chieftain's head. Its small, round shape fit snuggly into his hand, like a stone. It was clear the natives did not know what it was, as they offered no reaction indicating they thought it was a threat. Indeed, were it a stone, by the way Cutter held it, it would not have been. But, even though the colonists did not know, Cutter knew it was threat. And so did Thyago and Shi.

"Cutter," Shi rapsed. Now her antennae were rigid both in fear and alarm. She tried to keep her voice calm, neutral. She didn't want to alarm the people into a panic, she didn't want to give them reason to believe they were in danger from Starfleet, the Federation. She went out on a limb, far out beyond any limb than ever before. Cutter was her superior officer, and addressing him as she was about to went against everything Starfleet had instilled within her over the last four years. "This isn't the way. Put that away. Please."

"Yeah, mane, you don't want to do this," Thyago added.

Cutter paid them no attention, his arm remained steady and extended. "This is a weapon," Cutter said, explaining the phaser to the colonists, "The creatures coming here, they have far more powerful weapons than this." Then, he jerked his arm rightwards, and fired the phaser out across the gorge, striking a canvas covered, bamboo framed structure hanging onto the opposite cliff wall. The beam melted through the organic matter of the clam-shaped teepee and struck the sandstone rock, causing it to erupt in a billowing flash of smoke and dust and thunder. The thick canvas cloth ignited, and a wave of flame radiated outwards over the shell. It was only a moment before the hut's anchors gave way, and it began to tumble away from the cliff wall. It was only a moment later that the people inside began to scream.

And as the shrill cries echoed across the crevasse, the people gathered around Cutter on their side of the cliff wall exploded into action. Kala cast him a quick glare, betrayal raining in her eyes, and then immediately leapt from the bamboo walkway on which they were all gathered, unfurling her red wings and diving down into the air.
Kanunu leapt after her, just as confidently, even though he had no wings to keep him aloft, diving down into the river below to save his fellow villagers.

"Christ, dude," Thyago exclaimed, jumping forward to grab Cutter, his arm or the phaser. Surprised, but expecting the attack, Cutter stumbled back from the Brazilian's tackle, but was able to shove the human off with his arms, and bash him hard with the crook of his wing. Thyago, unbalanced, fell to his side, smashing through the wooden
guard rail with a squeaking crack and a spray of splinters. Only at the last minute was he able to grab the edge of the platform and prevent himself falling down into the water.

"Thyago!" Shi cried, stretching out her arms to help, but too far away to actually reach.

Thinking the attack was over, Cutter turned, and lightning crackled through his jaw. He stumbled and fell back onto the floor, catching a glimpse of 'Eleu and his clenched fist. The young man jumped on top of him, his knees on either side of the avian's wide chest and he began to pound his fist into Cutter's face again and again. Each hit
landed with a hard, wet thwack, and cast off an arc of small, crimson droplets as the fist retracted and reloaded.

He was able to get in three hits before Cutter was able to twist his powerful wings up and knock the human away. Once free, Cutter sat up and scooted away across the platform, trying to regain a sense of his surroundings.

But it was over, then. The chief had stopped it.

He held his arms out, holding back his subjects for a long time. No one else moved, except for Shi who helped pull Thyago up and back onto solid ground. Both Cutter and 'Eleu sat on the floor, glaring at each other silently.

"Stop," the chieftain commanded, once it was no longer necessary. "Stop."

"That was nothing," Cutter spat from the ground, his lower face dripping red, "The creatures coming here, they will do that to everything. They will destroy every building in this village."

Anger burned like fire in Shi's eyes as she glared at Cutter. "He is correct in that," she said, her voice holding a growl where previously it had been like music on the wind. "But he was wrong to do as he did, wrong to endanger your people with his actions. But the Triad will do worse, the Hydrans will do worse."

"These structures, they are built from 'ohe and lole. 'Ohe and lole can be regrown, these structures can be rebuilt," the cheiftain said calmly.

Cutter sighed, frustrated. "They will kill you."

Chief Maka looked at him silently, the muscles in his face twitching with conflicted emotion. "You do not understand," he eventually said, "We cannot leave this place."

Shi looked around, beginning to sense the depth of the meanings, the resistance to go despite all the dangers. She suspected the reasons, but had to know for certain. Anger fading and the tension in her body relaxing, she stepped toward him. "Why not," she asked. "What holds you here that you would risk ceasing to exist?"

The chief looked to her, sadness darkening his expression. "Because our gods. They are here," he said. The words held power for him. He nodded firmly, resolutely. "If we leave them, then they will die. If we leave to selfishly preserve our lives, then they will cease to exist. That is why we cannot leave. That is why we will not leave."

"You're gods will follow you," Cutter said, rolling his eyes. "They will follow you to your new home."

"How can they?" Maka asked. "You would take us to some place where the winds do not blow. The winds blow because of Kane. They change twice a day because he cannot make up his mind. During the day, he pursues Hina. At night, Hau. If we leave, he will stay. The winds will continue to blow here, not where we are. Would the same animals exist in this new place?"

"No," Cutter scoffed. A different planet would obviously have a completely different ecosystem.

"If Manu were to follow us, he would leave behind his breathren? Would you have us leave behind our families? Would the stars look the same?"

"No."

"The stars live. The shapes they make, those are the bodies of our heroes. Those are the eyes of our gods. Those are jewels of Hau. We cannot take those things with us."

"Fine. Then you will make up new gods," Cutter explained.

Chief Maka's face twisted, offended. "How could we do that?" he pleaded. He paused, gathering resolution. "We cannot turn on them. I am sorry, but we will not leave them. We will not go."

"Red and the other guy were able to help the villagers you tried to kill," Thyago said suddenly, peering over the side of the large platform. "They all look okay. No thanks to you."

Cutter cast a hard glance towards the Brazilian, but quickly realized he had no right. He turned, looking away from his colleagues and away from the colonists, and sheepishly wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

"Cutter," Shi said, her voice pitched softly, intended just for his own hearing, "this is not the way. We need to find another way. We are not going to convince them of the necessity in this manner. They will resent us and we will destroy their way of life. We cannot become the enemy."

He looked up at her, thinking about her words. "No," he said suddenly, an angry spark igniting in his eyes, "We can. They will leave."

Shi cast a sharp look in Thyago's direction. There was something in Cutter's tone, something in the way he stood, that made her feel uneasy. It was a frightening look, and she could not help but feel fearful for these people. "Cutter," she began, though it was clear he could not hear her, "what are you thinking?"

Cutter climbed to his feet and approached the chief. 'Eleu hopped up, ready to strike again, but Maka held the young man at bay. "You don't want to leave? You won't leave because your gods would remain here?" Cutter said, his voice dripping cold. "That is your reason? You won't leave because of that? Fine. Then, I will take that reason away. I will leave nothing left to stay for. You won't leave because your gods would remain here? Then, I will kill your gods."

"You cannot," the chief scoffed, laughing.

"I can. I will," Cutter repeated. "I will kill your gods, and then you will have no reason to stay here."

"Cutter, you cannot do this," Shi said. "Please, think about what you are doing. This is not Starfleet's way. This is not the way the Federation operates!"

But, her words fell on deaf ears, for Cutter was already transporting back to the ship.

"Great Expectationssss"

Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, currently unassigned.
Crewman Joey Hamel, Ops
Creman Krell, Ops

Shuttlebay Three, USS Galaxy
======================

"What've you got to be bitching about?", Krell asked, easing a large pallet of emergency supplies with a hover-jack, "While the rest of us have to feed and supply thousands of freggin' refugees, you get to meet and greet the newest nob officer for the senior staff."

Joey Hamel sneered with the wisdom of one with six months experience serving the fleet. "This isn't what I signed up for. 'Explore strange, new worlds', they said. "Boldly go where no one has gone before', they said. Well, I'm pretty sure this shuttle-bay's not exactly virgin territory, and the only-place that no-one's gone before
on this nut-house is the frikking loony-bin – 'cause they let them run free on the decks, here on the Galaxy. Hell, the screwier they are, the more they promote 'em."

"The Captain's not a head-case – and move, or the grav field'll shear your toes off"."

"Uh… sorry." Hamel moved before Krell's pallet trapped him against another. "No – I guess he's not, but give him time – this lot'll drive him up the bend yet, mark my words. I wonder how the new boy'll fit in."

The bay atmospheric shield flickered as an older Type 5 entered the bay, bringing with it more perishable medical supplies and the Galaxy's newest crewman. It eased expertly on the platform, and the side door opened almost immediately. Without a word, a Tellarite ensign dashed out carrying a case bearing the crest of Starfleet's medical corps, and while the short officer seemed focused on bringing the medicines to sickbay immediately, he cast a few fearful looks back at the shuttle before boarding the turbolift.

"Friendly little bastard" Krell observed as he dropped the skid he was moving and hauled the hover jack out to load another pallet. "Who're we getting? Galaxy's top-heavy enough as it is."

"Dunno – let's…." Hamel couldn't finish his sentence as both men were thrust against the emergency supplies as Deck 11 exploded. Smaller tools clattered noisily on the deck, before the lights strobed, and faded into darkness.

"Shit! What the hell was that?"

"Damned of I know," Krell muttered as he picked himself off the floor. "I just know sure as shit we'll have to clean it up. Wait – can you hear that?"

A deep chocking rattle grew from the dark silence of the shuttle. The sound echoed in the bay, as both wide-eyed enlisted-men held their breaths. They exhaled as silence settled briefly, only hold back once more when the sound came once more, louder and more struggled.

"What the hell what *that**?"

"Dunno, but no way in hell am I going to clean-up after that!" Krell rose and made his way quickly to the turbolift, pausing only to swear at a toppled crate he tripped over.

Aloe, Joey Hamel continued to listen to the leathery, glottal rasping that droned from the shuttle. The sound came in a slow temple, interrupted with a minutes silence as the human prayed the sound would stop. Despite his fear, Hamel found himself morbidly drawn to the source of it, and slowly he approached the open hatch.

The bay had at least the glow of the Vered cluster to illuminate it, but the blackness of the shuttle was absolute, and eerie rattle seemed more sinister in the absence of light. With a flash of ingenuity Hamel filled his padd with text, which offered a soft light that brought about six-inches of illuminated security with it. He breathed deeply, then entered the hatch.

Hamel crept softly, and the faint glow of the padd shone dimly against the smooth plastics of the shuttle's auxiliary controls. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a crumpled figure on the shuttle's deck towards aft, curled with his back towards the hatch. The crewman walked gingerly towards the figure, waiting for the rattle to begin again, and reached to shake the figure's broad shoulder.

"Hey, buddy – you OK?"

A deep, scratching snort came from the figure as its head rose, and large alien eyes the color of pale gold reflected the padd's glow. Beneath, dozens of two-inch fangs gaped from a maw almost two feet wide that opened with size enough to bite the human's head off. The snort gave way to a deep, resonating growl as the hulking figure began to rise.

"Jesus!" Hamel's appeal to his god was accompanied by a flurry of movement from his feet as he dashed from the shuttle. In his panic, he forgot the one-foot drop to the shuttle-bay's deck. He fell sprawling, and turned in fear to look as the massive figure emerged from the small hatchway.

The Gorn yawned once more, and looked into the darkened bay. His large eyes were almost fully dilated, and he easily picked up the fallen form of the crewman. "Ah… we mussst be here. Finally." Another yawn and stretch, and the reptilian smacked his lips as he finished waking from his sleep.

"Crewman…" began in a deep hissing basso. "I am Commander K'aa, human", the reptilian growled as he looked at the slack-jawed, prone crewman.

"Unexpected Civility In Conversation"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
J. Andrus Suder, apc (Mek)

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

"Come in, Mr. Suder."

"Afternoon, Captain," Andrus said upon entering the room. He wasn't really looking forward to this conversation and didn't even bother to hide it. Since the run in with certain people in the Vered Cluster, not to mention his imprisonment with Victor Krieghoff, Andy had been left feeling tired and twitchy and tired some more; he was sure the conversation with M'Kantu was about to add to that.

"What can I do for you today?" Daren asked without preamble once the door to his office had closed.

"My parent's have to go on a trip," Andy told him. "They're taking her with them."

Daren looked at him for a moment, considered that, and nodded once before responding, "Excellent. That should make things much easier."

He hadn't expected that response. "Oh?"

"I was going to have June pick her up on Earth, but if your parents were planning on going off-world, then we can arrange the rendezvous there, away from unwanted observers." Daren met Suder's eyes. "Unless you think that will be a problem?

"No," Andy said slowly, wondering who this man was and what he had done with Daren M'Kantu. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"Good - your parents have done me a great favor and allowed me to impose on their hospitality longer than anyone thought to be necessary. I don't wish to cause them any more difficulty."

Andy stared in consternation. As mentally jumbled as he was, it was difficult to get a feeling for the Captain's real mood. "It hasn't been difficult. They've enjoyed having her."

That at least was true, Andy thought. His mother had called her a 'kick' and that was pretty high praise coming from J.T. Suder.

"They have business in Risa," Andy said suddenly. Surely that would bring about some reaction from the man. There was no way his parents would allow her to do anything but tan and swim but M'Kantu wouldn't know that.

"Risa?" M'Kantu thought for a moment. "Yes, that would be perfect from a logistical point of view." He favored Suder with a raised eyebrow. "That is, assuming that everyone involved keeps a, shall we say, 'low profile' until June can get there to pick her up?"

That was a bit better. "Of course."

"I'll have a few arrangements to make," M'Kantu, "and then I'll need to ask you to pass a message to your parents for me setting things up. Once all that's done, though, they'll have my thanks and the promise of assistance in the future. Within," he added, "certain limits, of course - but you, and they, are too smart to ask for something that wasn't inside the lines you know I won't cross."

"Are you feeling all right, Daren?" Andrus blurted. "My life hasn't been threatened in over five minutes. My faith in the universe is being all shot to hell."

"Would you like me to threaten you?" Daren asked. "I suppose I could reassign you to work down in Security Main, where you'd meet Lieutenant Krieghoff on a daily basis, if that would restore your sense of balance and faith?"

Andy paled. "No, that's quite unnecessary. You can go back to being chipper and I'll shut up."

Daren studied the other man for a moment. He'd read Commander Tarin's report about the incident on New B'Hala, but hadn't really considered how extreme the effects would be on Suder. "No," he said finally, "I don't think I would reassign you there. Whatever our differences in the past - and denying them would be pointless - I have no wish to torture you."

"That's nice of you," Andrus said. He still didn't trust the Captain – a lifetime of the game, of backstabs and betrayals (including the ones he had done) didn't quite allow that - but he relaxed slightly. "Although you might feel differently when you meet her. My mother has quite an extensive vocabulary."

"I think that I've been in the Fleet a little too long to be worrying about colorful language," Daren observed. "The words don't matter anyway, it's the emotional content behind them - and that which we assign to them - that matters. But then, you're in a better position than I am to know that, aren't you?"

I used to be, Andy thought.

He grinned and spread his hands in a 'what can you do' gesture. "I'll keep you updated on their status, Captain."

M'Kantu nodded. "Just so you don't go on wondering," he added quietly, "a message from her mother arrived, sent before the Battle of Romulus, through unofficial channels. So I know. June knows, because I told her and made sure she had a copy of the message. And, just to be certain that I'd covered everything, I told Admiral Murdock and showed him the message as well." Getting hand-deliveries to both of them had been enormously difficult, but once Daren understood what was at stake – and some of Suder's reactions earlier on - it was something that had to be done. "There were some raised eyebrows..." that was putting it mildly "...but it was better that way than trying to hide it. Secrets always get revealed."

"Not always," Andy said. "But more often than I would like."

"She'll be here on Galaxy, with me, for a time," Daren said after a moment. "After that... I don't know; perhaps she'll be with June for part of the time. I suspect, however, that whatever happens she'll want to stay in touch with your parents; I won't object to that. Let them know that for me, will you?"

"Of course," The Betazoid said. "They'll be pleased to know. If there's nothing else, Captain?"

"Nothing at the moment, no," Daren shook his head. "Unless you have something you need?"

"Nothing you'd agree to," he replied with a smirk.

"I Will Be Strong"

Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau

****

Earth
Tanzania
Suder Family Home

"Voice recording on."

<device beeps>

"No, you stupid device... voice only. Video recording off. It's dark in here."

<device beeps again>

"Personal Diary Entry. Stardate... I don't know. Three days after the last entry."

<frustrated sigh>

"Who made up this human system of dating, anyway? Why was it not based on something easy to understand like carbon decay, or quantum particle release, or... anything?"

<sigh>

"Everything is strange here; the clothes, the people, the food, everything. I wish I were home again sometimes, but I don't tell them that; they'd think that I was weak, and I can't be weak. Not now, not when I can't go home again."

"I don't have a home any more. That's a scary thought. Everything I know is gone. My room, my clothes, Derant, my Ristha fish, everything. I'll never sleep there again, never wear them again, never feed him again... never...."

"I can't be weak."

"They told tonight me that I'll see my father soon; that he's finally sending for me."

"I don't know how I feel about that."

"I've seen him before, of course, in pictures and holographic recordings, and through my mother's eyes in the log entries she made when they were together. But I've never really... seen him. Not in the flesh, not with my own eyes."

"I don't know much about him, either."

"He's tall; I know that from the pictures and holographic images. Mother was tall, and she looked up at him in the images of them together."

"I know that he's a diplomat, that he's helped sign treaties and contact new species. He speaks well, like the Senators that people listened to, the ones that knew how to touch people inside with words and make their listeners forget their limitations and go beyond them, carried along by the strength of those words alone. I know that from the recordings, too. The speech he made before the Battle of Romulus was brilliant. I hope that Mother heard it, before...."

"I must not be weak. Weaklings are dust beneath the feet of the strong."

"He's a warrior; I know that from the recordings I've seen of him at the Battle of Havras, the Battle of Romulus, the Battle of Deep Space 5, and more. Mother always had copies of his battles as soon as her friends in Intelligence did. But all the warriors I know are stern, relentless men, cold and distant. None of them could have made that speech before the Battle of Romulus. How can he be both? You have to be one or the other, never both."

"I know that he has another daughter, one that's dead now, and a wife that left him after the battle against the Borg at Wolf 359, but never stopped loving him; Mother's friends in Intelligence told her that too. That much I can understand, because Mother never stopped loving him either, even though she had to leave him too. That's why I exist; Mother never told me that, but I know it. She kept me in stasis all those years because she still loved him, and I'm a part of him. A gift he gave her that he didn't know existed."

"But will he want me now? Will he want that unknowing gift returned to him?"

"Stop that; I must not be weak. A warrior would not want his child to be weak. A diplomat would not suffer his child to be weak."

<sigh>

"But despite all that, despite the things I know...I don't know *him* at all."

"Will he be stern? Will he be kind? Will he be angry at me for being alive, for *being?* Will he be angry at Mother for keeping me from him all these years, and take that anger out on me?"

"Does it matter? I have no where else to go, no one else to turn to."

"Only him."

"I think I might hate him for making me feel this way. For never being there when I was young. For never knowing I existed."

"That's stupid. How could he know? Mother never told him. If I hate him, do I have to hate her, too?"

"No. Mother is dead. The Hydrans killed her. You can't hate the dead. That's why I think I hate him, really... because he's alive and she isn't."

"And because I'm weak."

"I will be strong. Never weak; the weak are ground down and made one with the dust."

"I will be my Mother's daughter. Even if he hates me, I will always be that. He can never take that from me. I will be everything she would want me to be: proud, strong, a daughter of ch'Rihan. He will not make afraid, he will not make me weak, he will not make me beg or make me forget who and what I am."

"But here, tonight, in the dark, where no one can see me... I'm scared. I'm weak."

"I'm... alone."

"I hate him for making me feel that way."

"Tomorrow, when we leave, I will be strong."

<protracted silence>

"I hope tomorrow comes soon."

"Recorder off."

~Godslayer~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Thyago Carneiro
Ens. Sharzhevashi zh'Rin

The doors to the bridge of the USS Galaxy slid open, and a tall, white-feathered Fruna'lin entered. He walked with a purpose, with a goal, and that goal was serious and its consequences grave. Indeed, it was a very malevolent goal. Some would say, even evil.

After all, he was about to destroy a pantheon of gods.

Cutter walked along the back of the bridge to the science station, which was currently manned by a small, blonde woman. "Move," he commanded. She jerked her head up, surprised and uncertain, but she knew who he was. Everyone in that department knew who he was. And, so, she did as she was commanded to. She moved.

Cutter stepped up to the station and pulled up the data from the atmospheric scans that had been automatically run when the ship first pulled into orbit. There was a huge amount of data, vast spreadsheets of numbers, which would take an army of young research assistants to plow through, had they had to do so on their own. But, Cutter only needed a very specific type of data.

Surface temperature.

The colonists of Paliba'alulu clearly believed in a vast multitude of gods. But, the one god that was most noticeable was Kane, their god of the wind.

Paliba'alulu was a very windy place. The wind there blew at an average speed of 65 kilometers per hour. During the day, the winds blew north. At night, south. The only time the winds did not blow was for brief periods in the morning and evening. The colonists, they believed that the winds were caused by Kane. The believed that Kane
was a polygamist, an adulterer. They believed that he was in love with two women, and that he could never decide which one he loved more. During the day, he loved Hina, and he rushed to her passionate embrace. The winds blew north. At night, he loved Hau, and he rushed to her inviting arms. The winds blew south. And as he was sneaking away from one woman to go visit the other, the winds were calm.

But, believing that the winds were controlled by some cuckolding deity was nonsense. Wind was what was created when a system composed of trillions of molecules was placed under unequal pressures and attempted to reach equilibrium. The atmosphere over Paliba'alulu was quite thin, and its star, quite hot. During the day, the land, made
largely of granite, would heat up under the solar rays. Granite has a lower heat capacity than water, so the land would heat up much faster than the water that filled the oceans. The warm land would, in turn, warm the air above it. Warm air expands and creates a lower pressure. Because, during the day, the air over land would be much warmer than the air over the oceans, a pressure differential would form. An
inequalibrium would form. To correct that imbalance, the colder air over the oceans would rush out to fill the vacuum created by the warmer air over land. Wind. At night, the same thing would occur, but in the opposite direction, as the land would cool much faster than the water in the ocean.

The winds on this world worked like clockwork. They were as predictable as the sunrise. In fact, they worked because of the sunrise. So, for them to stop, something major would have to gone wrong.

Once he got the data he needed and had calculated the numbers he required, Cutter left the science station and turned towards the tactical arch. "Move," he commanded once more, his voice quieter, yet more powerful than during his previous order.

But, this man was not in his department. He did not blindly obey. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Move. Out of my way," Cutter repeated, and fluffed out his wings, increasing his physical size dramatically.

"I-- No," the young human resisted. "You're not trained--"

"I am an expert in particle, plasma and laser beam physics. I can design and build a phaser from scratch. I certainly think I know how to use one."

That did not seem to be convincing enough. "But, you're not authorized--"

Cutter reached out and plucked the single pip from the ensign's collar. "I am following orders," Cutter explained. "I am your superior officer, Ensign, so now, you must follow mine. Move."

The human looked up at the avian, his brows clenched and his mouth agape. He had obviously never been so offended. But, he was issued an order, and like a good officer, he stepped aside, though remained at the edge of the console.

Cutter gave a lingering glare as he turned towards the console. He input his calculated coordinates into the targeting systems and modified the phaser for very wide field, low intensity emission and fired.

Beneath the ship, the phasers ignited and an arc of phased plasma raced out and struck the atmosphere of the planet below. Except for the faint orange glow of the phaser beam itself, there was no sign that the phasers had fired at all. Unlike normal, there were no explosions, no wild displays of energy where the beam had struck.
Instead, it slowly and gently warmed the atmosphere to the south of the colony, increasing the temperature of a hundred square miles by only a few degrees.

That was all he needed to kill a god.

Cutter turned to the ensign who watched over him angrily. "You may have your station back," the avian said, and then walked off the bridge.

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

"--not know what he is doing," Shi was saying to the chief. "I assure you that the actions he takes now are none upon which he has consulted us. If I can have a moment, perhaps I can contact our ship to--"

Shi was interrupted by blue whirr of Federation transporter technology. Cutter had returned.

"Why does the wind blow?" Cutter asked immediately, once he materialized. He was talking to Ali'i Maka, chief of the village.

"Kane is running to his lovers," the chief responded, confused.

"Have you ever known him to stop?" Cutter asked.

"The winds calm twice a day. In the morning and the eve," the chief said.

"How about now? At this time of day? Have you ever known Kane to stop now?"

Shi looked about, antennae twitching. "Cutter, what have you done?"

"Have you ever known Kane to stop at this time of the day?" Cutter asked again.

The chief looked at Shi briefly before returning his gaze to the avian and answering, "No."

"What if Kane had died? What if Kane was dead? Would there be any more winds, then?" Cutter asked, a sinister smirk creeping up the side of his mouth.

Maka narrowed his eyes, but he did not respond.

"No. The winds would stop," Cutter explained. He moved and stepped up on a small table, kicking the bowls of berries that had been sitting there onto the floor. The clay dishes tumbled and clattered against the bamboo floor, and the berries inside bounced and rolled in all directions. "If Kane were dead, the winds would stop. You will
not leave because of your gods. I said I would kill your gods. And I did. I have slit Kane's throat. He lives no more! Kane is dead! And the winds stop!"

The crowd around him stood and waited, fearing this winged creature spoke the truth. As if on cue, the howling roar that echoed down the protective gorge began to slowly die down. The soft breeze that funneled down into the crevasse slowed. And eventually it stopped.

The air was calm. The winds had stopped, and a silence washed over the village like none that ever existed before.

Kane was dead.

"How did he do that?" Thyago asked, whispering to Shi.

"I suspect he used the ship to affect the pattern of the winds," Shi whispered back. "I believe it is a somewhat common practice used when terraforming planetary bodies."

"Kane is dead," Cutter repeated, continuing his insane sermon, "And your other gods will follow. All of your gods will die. Now, you have no reason to stay here. You will leave."

At first, the reactions of the colonists appeared to be filled with confusion. None seemed to understand what was going on. But slowly, a translation of what had happened worked its way through the gathered crowed. And the confusion turned to anger.

A young man with dark skin and wild hair tried to rush forward, but was restrained. Even so, he berated Cutter in his native tongue.

The voices rose as more called out against the slaying of their god.

"Godslayer," cried out a heavily accented voice. "Evil," cried another. Grief raced through the crowd, which seemed to grow with each passing moment, ranging from anger to tears.

Several young women, eyes wet with tears, began to sing a soft, haunting song. As they sang, they reached down and tore the fabric of their skirts. Some men, joining the song in a slow, deep chant, ripped the sleeves of their tunics.

Nearby, 'Eleu comforted Nani as she too joined in the song. Together, they each tore their clothing as the others had.

The chief looked around at his people. Emotions warred on his face as he once again turned his attention to Cutter. "Godslayer," he said, picking up the title his people had thrown at Cutter, "we..."

But, he stopped at his next words, finding them very difficult to say. It was a long time before he continued. "We will go. The gods will have to understand why we have abandoned them. Perhaps they shall pass on peacefully, rather than at the hand of violence." He turned his gaze outward, up toward the sky. "Perhaps they may find us across the Vastness. We will go." He bowed his head in defeat.

Cutter clenched his jaw and nodded, a quick, shallow nod. He stepped off the table and walked to the edge of the platform, away from the crowd.

Shi moved so that she had her back to the chief, facing in the direction of Cutter. "This is wrong," she said. "What you have done to these people, regardless of how it achieves the objective of our mission, was wrong. We could have found an alternative." She lifted her eyes toward him, not even certain if he was paying her any
attention.

"If they did not leave willingly, we would have taken them by force," Cutter stated without changing his stance or even glancing at Shi. "Would that have been a better option?"

"We could have done this without shattering their mythology."

"No," Cutter said simply, leaning against the rail and looking down into the gorge below. "We couldn't. He said their gods could not follow them. How could we have changed that opinion? We couldn't. We can't. We cannot promise them a world that is identical to this one, with winds and weather patterns like this one, with identical
ecology, in a trinary star system, with identical constellations. If they left, then their mythology would be shattered anyway."

He breathed, and turned his head to look at Sharzhevashi. "It's better this way," he said. "I've saved them a crisis of faith. Where ever they go, they will make up new stories. They will develop a new mythology. And, they'll remember the one they had here, and they will continue to retell and believe in those stories. They will also tell
a new one. About the son of Hau. About the winged monster that came and slayed the old gods and took them from their home. They don't have to wonder, now, why the old gods did not follow them. They won't have to feel guilt over leaving them. I killed them. I am to blame. They'll have closure."

"But at what cost," Shi asked, her voice nearly inaudible. "It is hard to believe that just last night, this place was filled with joy, with celebration. And today?" She turned from Cutter, but paused before walking away. "I still believe this could have been accomplished without the trauma. But at least they will survive and rebuild. In a year, wherever they end up, I would like to visit. To see what has become of them." She looked around, shaking her head, and sighed. "I do not believe I would be welcome."

She sucked in a breath, let it out, and slowly walked away. She needed some time alone. Time to make peace with what they had done and to try to find the hope that the people of Paliba'alulu would thrive again upon whichever home the Federatioin found for them.

Thyago stepped up beside the avian and stood for a moment, enjoying the same view. Eventually, the Brazilian spoke, "So, Darkwing... mission accomplished?"

Cutter sighed, annoyed. "Mission accomplished," he replied flatly.

"Everyone here is gonna leave. They're all going willingly."

"Yes," Cutter agreed.

"So... satisfied?" Thyago asked, looking down at the avian, in the eye.

Cutter looked up, his face as emotionless as stone. He took a long breath before finally responding. "No," he said.

Thyago nodded in obvious agreement and twitched up his mouth. "Yeah," he said, and then his face switched to one with more sarcasm, "Good job."

Cutter watched him walk away for a moment before returning his gaze to the cliff-side village surrounding them.

Tomorrow, it would be gone.

OOC: Thanks to everyone who participated! This happens sometime after the mission, and after Fork finds out about Bery obviously.

"The Stroke of Twelve" Part One

Colonel For'kel Arvelion, SFMC Marine Detachment CO
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, Strategic Operations Officer
Lieutenant Mark, Counselor
Lieutenant JG Ophelia Zamora, JAG Officer
Midshipman Aina Mason, Communications Officer
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP, EMRT
Lieutenant Nathan Everett, Deputy CAG
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Chief Engineer
Lieutenant (Jg) Chandrakala Eshe, Engineering Officer

USS Galaxy

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

(Ten Forward)

The civilian workers of Ten Forward went all out. There was a certain pride in being on a ship and in caring for a crew full of the Federation's finest. In addition to the normal barrage of streamers, balloons and bountiful supplies of champagne, (real 'and' replicated on the Galaxy) there were ornaments and customs observed of a great many. Bolian flower arrangements, Vulcan reflection candles, Andorian ice sculptures, so on and so forth. To say the least, they'd worked very hard to provide as festive an atmosphere as possible... not exactly easy while in the midst of a war. If there was a medal for such things; it would definitely need to be awarded here.

Colonel For'kel Arvelion had arrived early... the first sign that his wife wasn't with him. It had been a 'very' sucky year, and sufficing to say he didn't much feel like celebrating. It was hard to understand the universe. He considered himself a good man, not great by any measure as he certainly had his flaws, but For'kel tried to be as good as he could. He never issued an order he wouldn't be willing to follow himself, kept all those he could in his prayers, paid his dues when he could and fought for the ideals he believed in and in doing so tried to be honorable toward brother and enemy alike. He only ever loved one woman and had done the best he could to be a father and husband with the burden of service he voluntarily bore. After nights of long, and hard, reflection he simply couldn't answer 'why' it was that the universe seemed to hate him so.

In the passing year he'd lost his best friends in Cougar, Collins, and Shaw, dealt with a rather stormy transition from commanding the 101st to the 188th, dealt with the whole Romulan battle, what he considered the 'botched' Deep Space Five operation, and now his wife and son had been put in danger's way without him... and there wasn't a damned thing he could conceivably do about it. Berilyn was still missing, and the ritual of lighting a candle in hopes she would find her way to that one small flame from among the billions of stars out there struck him as wholly and woefully inadequate. It's why he bothered coming at all; the feeling that maybe by continuing on as normal, as if she were here, it might convince whatever powers governed the universe that their efforts to break him of his commitment to her would be futile... so they might as well give her back. When you were desperate enough, you could convince yourself of almost anything.

"Where did you get 'that' on such a short notice?" the Trill was asking the human as they walked into the room.

"Oh c'mon Commander," the human replied with a large grin, "Every ship has a Fauf." Mark was, of course, referring to the Ferengi operations petty officer on the Miranda who's specialized sideline was procuring 'things' for people. "And it just so happened he had a few bottles of 'Blue' at the right price so I picked up a couple."

'Blue', naturally, was the term for contraband Romulan Ale. The high octane stuff, the real McCoy, not the watered down ale commercially sold legally all over the Federation.

"But you're only carrying one," Jaal mentioned pointing to the single bottle the counselor cradled under his arm.

"You didn't think I'd bring 'both' did you?” Mark replied with mock astonishment at the question, "Of course I had to keep one for myself."

At that time they both looked up at the same time to see the Galaxy's Marine CO. "Fork!" Jaal greeted him warmly.

For'kel raised his glass to the approaching duo. He just had a visit with the Chaplain, and after all the 'formalities' were discussed, she promised to keep in touch. In short he'd decided to delay any decision on burial or ceremony... at least until a body could be identified. In Stagnorian culture, that was a fairly common decision, it's why they took 'leave no one behind' as seriously as they did. She had pronounced that the healing process had begun... something he didn't particularly agree with or care to hear, but to her it signified he was capable of making normal decisions, acting rationally... essentially all the ingredients for 'moving on' if and when he ever became ready to do so. That was one surreal conversation, seriously you needed some highly illegal substances to even approach the way that conversation felt without experiencing it first hand.

He’d done his best to hide the fact he had shed tears while back in his quarters, and in truth it was a damned good job. One would've thought he was simply missing someone on a long trip, not someone who was, for all intensive purposes, declared lost. "Jaal, I had a feeling you'd be here.” Fork gave a weak, but friendly smile. "I
Don’t believe we've met before?" He extended his hand to Mark, honestly not remembering the man if they had.

"I'm Mark," Mark replied shaking the Stagnorian's hand, "I was on the Miranda with you and Mister Jaxom, but unfortunately, we've never had the opportunity to meet. A pleasure to be sure."

"Pleasure’s mine." For'kel gave a smile.

Zamora wondered why she desired to go to this 'thing'. Other than a few select, that she wasn't sure would even be in attendance, she knew no one. Social events such as these were supposed to make one feel fulfilled in relation to the 'social' needs of a person. Bullcrap. She thought. It was a function to see what woman drew the most attention to herself as she flaunted like a peacock in front of the male crew. The pheromones were in full swing tonight.

Stepping through the doorway, she brushed imaginary lint off of her simple black dress. It was her favorite and hung slightly off her shoulders, coming to rest right above her knees. Modest in dress when compared to others, it was the only thing that made her feel somewhat comfortable in a room full of relative strangers. Nodding slightly to Jaal and Fork, Ophelia gave a small knowing smile to Jaal before proceeding over to the table that held the drinks. She needed one.

For'kel tipped his head in reception. He'd gone to wave, but the bullet shot he'd taken still hurt like a bitch and was protesting in the same fashion at any stretching movement. Just another in a long line of reasons why he was having the month from hell. Despite the shooting pain of the botched wave, he was cogent enough to recognize the look Ophelia gave Jaal before heading for the tables. His eyes lead back to the Trill and he had to stifle a laugh when he thought what Berilyn might have asked. She most certainly would’ve pointed it out. "Jaal, I'm going to need to start a list at this rate, if you keep this up."

"What are you talking about?" the Trill asked after offering Ophelia a playful wink. "Oh don't tell me you've started believe the rumors too?"

"Berilyn is the one that hordes rumors, Jaal." The Stagnorian noticed the exchange going between the two. "I make my own observations. Besides, there's usually a hint of truth to every rumor."

Jaal just rolled his eyes, "Whatever." It would be no use in denying anything was going on between him and any other woman on the ship.

Outside in the corridor, watching some of the people walk by and entering into Ten Forward-Aina waited, trying to see everybody as they went in. She was waiting for her room-mate, Ensign Marsha Deans, to arrive. She wasn't totally convinced she wanted to go to a party, but Marsha promised that she would continually annoy Aina all night if she stayed in the quarters that they shared. It was an opportunity to look at the guys and drink.

Not things that Aina usually did for relaxation, but Marsha was persistent, and so Aina reluctantly agreed. She started to feel all the stares as she waited outside, so deciding that being in the cantina was better than being outside, she headed in. She'd have a drink or two and snack on the nibbles and if Marsha hadn’t gotten here by then... hmmmph, she would head back to her quarters - she had a communications stack to recode and test, that would be more fun.

Heading in, she looked around at all of the decorations, she looked warily at the hanging holly - someone had gotten their holidays wrong. In the time she had been on the Galaxy, besides working relationships - there wasn't that many people she knew. There was Marsha, Commander Jaxom, Valentina and Saul and that was it.

This was going to be so boring..."And where is she?" Aina mumbled to herself, wondering what was taking Marsha so long.

So heading to the drinks table, she wondered whether to order a Chocolate Passion Punch or... on seeing a number of bottles with the pink fizzy liquid in them, she decided on pouring herself a simple Trixian Bubble Juice instead.

She was lifting it to her lips as she turned around from the table, when the cup was whisked from her hand and a slim fluted glass replaced it, inside was something that looked like the bubble juice, but had a lot more alcohol in it.

"You don't want that - you want this," said a familiar voice.

"Hey, I was drinking that," whined Aina as she looked at Marsha who had a slight smile on her face.

"Yeah, that was what I was afraid of Aina - have some fun - drink the champagne," returned Marsha.

Aina frowned; she was thinking of grabbing back her drink from her room-mate, but the imagined scene of it being spilt all over her put paid to that idea. Sighing surrender, she took a sip from the champagne, there was a sharp taste of champagne and some of the bubbles tickled her nose. She wrinkled her nose in response as she looked at Marsha, "So what now?"

Marsha raised her eyebrows briefly and gave a conspiratorial half smile as she looked across the room. Aina followed her gaze, to see a guy, about Marsha's and Aina's age.

Aina rolled her eyes as she looked up at the ceiling as Marsha looked at Aina, "Have fun - I see what I’ll be doing."

Aina mumbled an "I will," as Marsha headed over to her target. Sighing, left by herself at a party that she wasn't sure she wanted to be at, she grabbed the cup with her Trixian Bubble Juice and took a sip. Comparing the two, she poured the champagne into the cup with the juice and took another sip. With a nod of satisfaction, she took a seat near to one of the large bay windows looking out into space, the stars slowly moving past the ship. Looking out over the party, she wondered what she was going to do next.

Max quietly walked up to Aina and smiled at her, vaguely remembering her from the Miranda. "Hello," he greeted, hand proffered. "Name's Max. You were on the Miranda, weren't you?"

A little surprised that someone was talking to her, Aina swapped the cup of champagne and juice in her hands and accepted Max’s hand, "Uh, yes. That's right. My name is Aina."

"Nice to meet you," Max returned, then secured his hand from the shake. "Some shindig they're throwing here. Haven't been to a decent party for quite some time."

Aina gave a nod, "No, it's not bad... Hey, weren't you the paramedic guy with... ummm... Nurse Victory, that looked after everyone on DS5?” Aina exclaimed.

"Erm, yeah," Max said, rubbing his near bald pate. "But it wasn't just us; we had a lot of help back there. And from what I hear, your ability to manipulate hardware and software was a major factor in getting us out of there. For that, I've gotta say thank you from the bottom of my heart." Max had put his arms around Aina and hugged her fiercely, a sneaky tear escaping his eye. He knew that if they had been there any longer, things could have gotten much, MUCH worse.

Not quite used to someone just hugging her in public like that, but she could feel the sincerity in Max and putting her arms around his shoulders. "That is okay, you are welcome, Max."

Just when it seemed as if the party would never get off the ground, the doors hissed open once more, and in walked Cowboy. He was clad in comfortable civilian wear, with a wide grin on his face.

He made his way through the crowd, returning various hellos with his usual smiles, grins, and winks, and shouldered his way past a slow-moving crewman to finally reach the table.

"Whew, hell of a turnout," the pilot said with a laugh as he turned his attention to For'kel, greeting the Stagnorian with a friendly grin. "Thanks fer throwin' this here shindig, Colonel,” he said as he stepped forward and extended his hand, "Ah dunno what Ah woulda done with mahself tonight otherwise."

Five or ten years ago, For’kel would've given the man a 'crazy incomprehensible guy on the street’ stare, but his grasp of slang had grown considerably in the intervening time. "You're placing the blame on the wrong man, Cowboy. It’s the good folks behind the bar you should be thanking." He offered Cowboy a hand. "Happy New Year, Lieutenant. Make any resolutions?"

Cowboy gave For'kel a smirk. "Nah, Ah never do those. Ah'm terrible at keepin' promises, 'specially ones Ah make to mahself. What about you?"

"I do my best to keep my promises." For'kel gave a blank stare before realizing Cowboy was asking about resolutions. "Plenty of time left to decide on that, haven’t picked one yet." he lied.

When no one was looking, Mark spiked the punch with the bottle of Romulan Ale he'd brought with him. Then he quickly hid the empty bottle under a nearby chair. Next, of course, he filled himself up a tall glass and proceeded in one of his favorite pastimes... mingling.

Nathan let the counselor pass and noticed Jaxom standing nearby. "Jaal!" he called out, waving at the Trill. "Good to see you again, sir. Meet any new racin' buddies?"

"Good to see you too," Jaal replied. It was always good to see a familiar face aboard a new assignment. "And no, not yet. Give me time though, I’ll get the whole crew addicted to riding."

Zamora's head rose just slightly at the sound of a twang. Shifting her eyes over to where Jaal was standing, her eyebrows slightly arched upwards as she took in the form of a tall stranger and the tall Trill. "Hmmmm. I could stand being the meat in that sandwich." she muttered before taking a sip of the newly acquired punch. Throwing caution to the wind, and shyness too for that matter, Olivia rubbed the small pendant around her neck for good luck and meandered over to the two.

"Boys...."

Jaal turned his head as he finished sipping from his drink. He smiled at Ophelia, "Miss Zamora. I trust you're having a good time this evening."

"The Stroke of Twelve” Part Two

Colonel For'kel Arvelion, SFMC Marine Detachment CO
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, Strategic Operations Officer
Lieutenant Mark, Counsellor
Lieutenant JG Ophelia Zamora, JAG Officer
Midshipman Aina Mason, Communications Officer
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP, EMRT
Lieutenant Nathan Everett, Deputy CAG
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, Chief Engineer
Lieutenant (Jg) Chandrakala Eshe, Engineering Officer

USS Galaxy

============ ========= ========= ========= =========
"I think that's my cue to exit." For'kel whispered to the flight jock he liked most after seeing the way Zamora's eyes bounced between him and Jaal, and he gave the tall New Texan a hearty Marine Corps style slap on the back. "Good hunting."

Cowboy smirked inwardly as he watched For’kel go, and took a sip of his punch before turning his attention to Ophelia. "Evenin', darlin'," he said as he gave Ophelia his most charming smile. "Ah don't believe Ah've had the pleasure. Ah’m Nathan."

Ophelia just grinned. "Charmed, I'm sure." As she smiled, her eyes darted from Nathan back to Jaal. It was discreet, but still could be labeled as a brush off in any language.

'Ouch,' the Trill thought wondering what Everett did to deserve such harsh treatment. He'd been brushed off enough times in the past to know a rough one when he saw it. He sipped his punch, which Mark finally managed to spike, and offered Nathan only a shrug. Noticing she didn’t have a drink in her hand he asked, "Uhm... Would you like something from the bar?"

Nathan's eyebrows went up a touch at the quick brush-off, and he followed Ophelia's gaze as it shifted over to Jaal. Recognizing the look, Cowboy smiled graciously and patted the Trill on his arm. "If you don't mind, Ah think Ah'll go mingle a bit," he said as he refilled his punch. "Try not to have too much fun." He smiled and nodded at Ophelia. "Ma'am."

With that, he was off, disappearing somewhere into the crowd. Nathan wasn't too concerned about being shot down; Jaal needed this more than he did.

Mark was watching from the other side of the room. From his vantage point he could see the tall Trill looking around with a measure of befuddlement on his face. He was oblivious to the reason his friends just seemed to abandon him. He flashed Jaal a quick thumbs up and went back to his conversation with the three women he'd been talking to.

Jaal suddenly found himself alone with Ophelia. He looked around the room and saw that everyone else was busy talking to someone... even Nathan and For’kel. He looked to Ophelia with a sheepish smile. "So... uhm... how ya doin'?"

"K...." She responded with lowering her head and blushing. Looking upwards, she caught his gaze and smiled timidly before taking a long draw off her drink. "Um.... wanna go somewhere more quiet?"

'Don't do it,' Jaal's brain told him. 'What would Era think?'

He looked around the room. It was true; the noise level had gone up considerably in the past few moments. There had been a shift change and many more people had arrived at the party. He looked back at Ophelia feeling his ears get warm. "Sure. Let's."

'NO!nonononoNO!' Jaal's mind screamed. 'Erastus is light years away and hasn't returned ANY calls.' he told himself. ‘Shut up.'

"Great." She spat out rather rapidly. Grabbing his hand with abandonment Ophelia practically dragged Jaal out of the room in high fashion.

For'kel made his way to the punch bowl, and after serving himself decided to head over to the 'loners' table, or at least that’s what it apparently was. He came up just in time to see one very young cadet wrapped in a vice-grip by the medic he recognized from Deep Space Five. "Damn doc, I think she's going to need to breathe at some point."

As For'kel spoke, Max was finally able to regain his composure, he let go, quickly wiping away that traitorous tear and its fanatic follower before his usual smile returned. "Sorry about that,” he got out, "It's just...never mind. Too long of a story and definitely the wrong occasion for it. You like mixed drinks?" he said, changing the subject quickly. He turned at the sound of a voice, "Colonel For’kel isn't it?"

"Colonel Arvelion if you're going to stand on formality, For'kel is my given name.” He patted the medic on his shoulder, having caught the rather... bizarre... display of emotion. Then again he’d become accustomed to operating behind enemy lines given the last few missions he'd been on. It was tough to remember that it wasn't a normal thing. "I think we've met before."

"Ben Maxwell," the Medic introduced himself, "but please call me Max. I do remember meeting you on DS5."

"I'm Aina Mason," Aina said, taking the marine’s hand.

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Aina." He placed his drink down before shaking her hand. Effectively having only one pain-free arm meant you needed to prioritize.

"Thank you Colonel,” returned Aina. Small talk, a skill that Aina had never been able to really cultivate and here right now, she could perceive that very quickly there would be an embarrassing silence, taking the first thought in her head, “The decorations look very nice - though I think someone didn't quite get the same decorations memo, though."

For'kel went to take a sip of his punch before he noticed a strange aroma... one he hadn't quite sensed before. "Punch doesn't go 'bad' does it?" Leaving the question up in the air he turned his attention back to the midshipman. "What makes you say that, afidav?"

Aina smiled, "Holly for New Year?" she pointed to a small branch of holly suspended from the ceiling near one of the booths. "Unless it's a clever and cunning plan, it's sort of out of place."

"Could be a part of another culture's celebration, perhaps? My understanding is that holly and mistletoe are common enough plants, different types expected." For'kel took a seat, figuring it best to join them.

"Well, don't look at me, Ah didn't decorate the place," drawled Cowboy as he wandered over to the group. He waved his cup of punch at them. "Y'all mind if Ah join you?"

For'kel suppressed a chuckle... it wasn't often Nathan got convinced 'he' was the third wheel. "By all means Lieutenant. Aina, Ben, this is Nathan 'Cowboy' Everett, one of the few good men in the fighter corps." The Colonel winked. He had nothing against the SFC, but there was nothing wrong with a joke. "Nathan, this is Aina Mason, and Ben Maxwell. I take it you crashed and burned?"

Nathan winced. "Yeah, she didn't even gimme a chance to get off the ground," he replied, taking a sip of his punch. "If it makes any difference, Ah went down very gracefully." He stood a little straighter, trying to look dignified.

Aina's forehead wrinkled as and her nose ridges became deeper as she listened to the newest person to come over, accent, she held out her hand, "Hi Nathan." she was starting to think she was an audio datastream stuck in a process loop, saying 'Hi' and 'Hello' so often.

Taking a sip from her glass, "With all of these introductions, maybe they should've had paper badges, you know the one's 'Hi, I'm so and so," she suggested with a slight smile.

That very thought was mirrored by the two latest arrivals as they weaved through the crowd and made their way towards the bar.

"I thought you were here for like four years or something?" the red head griped at the brunette as they passed close by Aina Mason and the gathering of people around her.

"Yeah, so?" quipped back the brunette.

"Well so far you haven't been able to identify a single person.” Red shot back disgruntled.

Having found the bar the brunette slid up onto a stool and leaned forward to order a drink. Turning back to her companion she eyed her critically, "I'm sorry Kal, just didn’t think that at this age I'd be expected to find you a date!" she replied dismissively.

"Ha-ha, very funny," the red responded with a back hand to the brunet's upper arm, "you know what I mean." she finished her eyes narrowing.

With a sigh the brunette turned round and eyed up the occupants in the room over the rim of her cocktail glass. Her dark green eyes roamed the room, studying the faces within, "I think most of this lot transferred from the Miranda." she replied after a while. "With the exception of that guy there," she informed pointing discreetly to
Cornel Arvelion, "I don't know any of the people in this room." She shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

"Oh..." the red drawled slowly, "and he would be...?" she enquired hopefully.

"Married with a child." Came the extremely blunt reply.

"Right, got ya..." red nodded turning away from the crowd and back towards the bar tender, "I'll have a Blood Wine." she requested, "Oh, and leave me the barrel!"

Nathan laughed as he reached forward and grasped the diminutive Bajoran’s hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Mason. Ah'm Nathan Everett.” He looked Aina over--cute, but too young for him.

"And if we all had nametags on, how would any of us ever start a conversation?" he asked as he sat down beside Fork. "At least this way people have somethin' to say, ‘stead of everyone just standin' around lookin' lost, right?"

"Most conversations start with 'hello'." For'kel smirked, going to take a sip of his drink before having a change of heart. "If you're looking for a conversation topic, both Miss Mason and Mister Maxwell here were on Deep Space Five as well."

Cowboy nodded. "Yeah, Ah've already met Max. He, mahself and Thyago all run into one another when the Hydrans attacked the station. Had ourselves a bit of an adventure gettin' down to the lower decks. Wasn't there somethin' 'bout jumpin' down maintenance shafts and savin' everyone from bein' spaced?" he asked Max with a grin.

"You know, Nate," Max smiled in response, "I don't think I can ever find a new definition for 'nearly' getting sucked off after that experience." It was good to see Nate again, as they got separated after the field hospital was set up. "But seriously, if it wasn’t for the quick thinking on you and Thyago's part, we'd be flotsam by now."

"C'mon, Max, don't be so modest!” Nathan protested. "We couldn’t’ve done it without you. It was a team effort. Besides, if Ah recall correctly, you were the one who pointed out which controls to hit."

"Yeah, that was nasty," commented Aina, "It was the only the smart thing the Hydrans did, rest of the time they were just stupid. Whole thing seemed dodgy, anybody think they'd want to get whipped."

For'kel didn't say anything, but the fact that even Aina could see that they had the opportunity to retake the station and let it slip between their fingers riled him up something fiercely inside. He stared at the sour smelling liquid in his cup. "I guess Starfleet is hoping that the Hydran wave will break apart when enough of the shore line has been devoured." The Stagnorian shrugged. "It seems like we're retreating at every turn... at least in the Dominion War there was a 'reason' to retreat, but here..." he shook his head in disgust. “I'm starting to hate wearing this uniform."

"In that case, Colonel, we'd all have a reason to hate this uniform. 'Fleet will do what is best for 'Fleet, as prescribed by our leadership in the Federation Council." Max took a sip of a greenish drink he had acquired.

"Me personally, I saw hit the bastards hard, so hard they’ll never forget it. Ever. But that's just me." Max felt the bile rise as he thought about retreating as well. It didn't sit well enough with him at all.

Aina nodded, "They aren't making the best of friends?"

"Who? Federation Council or the Hydrans?” Mark asked walking up arm-in-arm with two pretty petty officers. He was doing one of the things he did best. Mingle.

Aina took a sip from her drink, "Both!"

"Both?" asked Mark clearly not believing it. "Inconceivable!" It didn’t matter if it was conceivable or not, the counselor was just trying to make the conversation a little more exciting.

Aina shrugged, "Look at the way that the Vered Cluster was done and the whole reasons, the Council made no friends on that. Look at the Hydrans – they do their 'exploration' by force. They shouldn’t be allowed just to run around and kill, maim, destroy what they like - just because some prince, one millionth, two hundred and fifty thousandth and twelve from the throne thinks it's a nice idea."

Aina took a sip, "I mean that all races have the right to exist and live, but the Hydrans - my stomach just crawls."

For’kel smirked. "It's best never to underestimate your adversary, Midshipman. When you do, you risk grave tactical errors. That being said, this isn't the atmosphere for complaining about the war. There will be other times for second guessing and anger." He realized it must've sounded weird coming from him, especially given he'd essentially started the whole discussion, but since Bery wasn't around 'someone' had to do it. "Tonight, we eat, relax, and be thankful for the things in the universe that 'have' gone right."

"Hear, hear!” Mark exclaimed raising his glass. "Best speech I've heard all night!"

Nathan raised his glass in agreement and took a sip, then frowned after realizing that he'd just drank the last of its contents. He looked toward the bar, his eyes falling on the pair of Trill women sitting up there and grinned slyly.

"If y'all'll excuse me, Ah seem to be runnin' low on fuel," he said to the rest of the group, holding up his empty glass. He got up and made his way over to the bar, smiling at the Trills as he approached.

"Evenin', ladies," he greeted with a nod. He leaned an arm on the bar and flagged down one of the servers. "Ah'll have what these two're havin'," he told him. He never used to like bloodwine, but had acquired a taste for it after he’d started training with Arel.

The red head cast a quick glance towards her companion ~is he single?~ she asked her twin silently.

The brunet shrugged in reply and smiled pleasantly at the gentleman, "Not many have the stomach for Blood wine," she commented extending her hand to follow up with an introduction.

However the red intervened, spinning quickly on the bar stool she flicked her crimson hair over her shoulder and gave Nathan a coy smile, extended her right hand and swooped in before her sister had an opportunity to say anything, "Chandrakala Eshe," she said smiling brightly as she took his hand, "that's my sister Dhanishta," she added as an after thought, thumbing over her shoulder to Nishta who simply smiled briefly before turning back to nurse her drink. "And you would be?" Kala asked that smile still dancing on her lips illuminating her face with its warmth.

The pilot nodded politely to Dhanishta before focusing his attention on Kala again. "Nathan Everett," he replied simply, returning Kala's radiant smile with one of his own as he took her hand. "Nice to meet you, darlin'."

He eased himself into the bar stool next to Kala's and accepted his bloodwine with a nod of thanks to the bartender, and took a long sip of it. He raised the glass in salute to Dhani with a good-natured smirk, then smiled at Kala again. "You enjoyin’ the party so far?"

Kala cast a glance over her shoulder, "It’s not so bad," she muttered before turning back to him, "but now you've arrived I think it might just improve." she added with a broad smile as she picked up her drink and took a swig.

Behind her Dhani slipped off her stool, ~Not in my quarters!~ she told her sister sternly as she left the pair at the bar and went to find somewhere else to sit, somewhere where she couldn't see her twin throwing herself at the first bloke that came along!

"Dhanishta?" A voice called out from one of the tables. For’kel recognized her as the lady who'd stopped by to see Bery... oh crap, did she know? "Care to join us?"

RIGHT OF SPRING

OOC - This marks the start of the next mission - "Le Sacre du Printemps." The Galaxy is headed for Delta IV, and her crew should be preparing for a tough battle. We'll arrive on Monday, and then we'll discover whether there will actually be a battle or not....

The players of the captains introduced here are Chris, Chris, Omar, MJ, Michael and Alex. Feel free to contact them if you want to play an NPC on their ship.

As always, if you have any questions about plot or involvement, email us.

~Le Sacre du Printemps~
~The Rite of Spring~

"Engineering reports that installation of the new impulse engines is nearing completion," Iniara said.

Daren M'Kantu looked up from the PADD he had been reading - low-level classified agenda items from a series of strategic meetings the admiralty was holding at Starfleet command. They were at war with not one, but three powerful galactic sovereignties and their initial attacks on the Federation and her allies had been swift and effective. They crippled the Romulans before war with the Federation had ever been officially declared. Then, they had launched a three-pronged attack that resulted in the invasion and capture of Cardassia Prime and Corvallis colony, as well as the destruction of DS5 and all the ships that were harbored there. Starbases 185 and 447 had suffered through two attacks each, but miraculously, had not yet been lost, though the cost of those victories was high. Despite holding onto those two bases, the Federation had lost a number of smaller outposts along the borders. The Ferengi were being blockaded, and the significant drop in trade was causing some severe, though hopefully short-term economic difficulties in the 'northern' side of the Federation.

So, now, the admiralty was meeting to try and decide on a global strategy for winning the war. From the agenda items M'Kantu was reading, it appeared they were discussing everything from ship deployments - how many ships could they remove from the 'southern' half of the Federation, far from the frontlines, without inviting conflicts with the Gorn, the Tholians or the Tzenkethi - to rerouting supply lines, to even within-Federation propaganda campaigns, in order to entice more citizens to join the fleet.

And, amidst all these battles, and throughout all these troubles, the Galaxy had come away relatively unscathed. She had fended off the Triad from the surface of Romulus , and rescued over a thousand people from DS5 with little more than a couple scrapes and scratches. Now, after forcibly removing the colonists from an untenable position within the Vered cluster, she sat in the drydock of DS4 undergoing a complete and total replacement of her impulse engines, which had been destroyed by, of all things, a nuclear weapon. Her first major injury in the war, and the Galaxy had received it from the very people she was trying to protect.

"Time frame?" M'Kantu asked, finally responding to his executive officer's report.

"The hardware has all been loaded and set in place. Connections to the ship's power grid, fuel lines and computer control circuits are beginning now. They estimate completion within the next three hours. Then, they can begin testing and calibration, which should take anywhere between two and ten hours," the Bajoran said.

"Very good," Daren nodded. "Please ask Lieutenant Eshe to draw up a report outlining any changes from the specifications and configurations of our last engines."

"Yes, sir," Iniara said, and turned to begin typing out her message.

He returned his attention to his PADD, but before he was able to successfully refocus his thoughts, he was distracted again. "Captain, got a priority communiqué from Admiral Rodell," Aina Mason said from the back of the bridge. "There are a number of different comm streams with in it. I think it's a conference call."

Daren frowned. This was unlikely to be good news. "Very well," he said, standing, "I'll take it in my ready room."

"Yes, sir," the young cadet said and hunched down over her console.

M'Kantu walked across the bridge to the doors of his office, which opened before his presence. He had stepped halfway inside before he paused and turned, leaning out the door. "And Cadet," he added, "no eavesdropping."

Mason turned, her eyes wide as saucers, "Um, No, sir...uh yes, sir, of...of course."

Daren activated the large wall screen that adorned the side of his ready room, and the thin face of Admiral Edward Rodell appeared. He was a little older than Daren, with the face of a skull. He was balding, but slowly, and would clearly never be completely bald, with very thin, fine blonde-white hair. His cheeks were sunk in and his eyes large and round, and bulged as if they were trying to escape their sockets. And he seemed to never blink, or ever look away, which made whomever he was talking to feel very awkward. "Captain M'Kantu," the admiral greeted formally. "There is a situation developing. I have a number of other captains on the line, and I would prefer to outline the situation to all of you at once. Is that all right?"

"Of course," Daren agreed.

Suddenly, the screen split and six additional faces appeared on the screen, three on either side, flanking the image of the admiral. Some of them Daren recognized, like Rebecca Von Ernst, of the USS Zeus, who had accompanied the Galaxy on the mission to the Vered cluster and was currently docked on the other side of the station. Some of the faces were new.

"I realize some of you may not know each other," Rodell said. "Let's have a round of introductions, please, but please, make it brief. Captain M'Kantu, would you begin?"

As the admiral finished talking, his eyes bulged out even further, and he craned his neck forward, like a bird, in anticipation of Daren's self description. "Very well," Daren began, trying to ignorer the admiral's bizarre appearance, "I am Captain Daren M'Kantu, of the USS Galaxy."

The small red-headed woman looked up from chair, and from her needlepoint. "Von Ernst, Zues," she sighed, distracted.

"Commander Na'sav Lorem, USS Vigilant." The Defiant class' CO replied. The only other one on the screen he was personally familiar with at all was Von Ernst, though M'Kantu's reputation did precede him.

"Captain Thelor th'Idrani, USS Tornado." Thelor was an older Andorian who wasn't familiar with many of these people. The Tornado had been attached to the 7th fleet for the past few years out on the border with the Gorn. Only now was she being brought into the war.

"Captain Airik, USS Amaranthine," the Ba'ku said. At 223 and the first of his kind in Starfleet, the baby faced commanding officer listened intently. Next to the larger vessels his seemed to pale in comparison. However, the Nova was adept at missions theirs were not. The Nova could easily enter atmosphere, land, and adapt to water and other planetary conditions. Finally, the Nova ship had experimental slipstream drive giving it the ability to travel transwarp. He looked to his Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Loras Rose who was seated next to him and monitoring closely.

"Captain Bruno Ascencion, USS Jacmel," the olive skinned well groomed human greeted with a light Latin accent. His Nebula-Class Ship has had rough time, not being able to keep any first officers for more than 6 moths at the latest. They either died from various causes, or transferred off because of the hard edged style of their CO. Ascencion liked to think he ran a tight ship, and was a stickler for regulations. If someone couldn't cut it on his ship, he bounced them right out. He didn't know M'Kantu but only what he's heard from other officers.

"Amelse Brodey, Atlas," a stout Scotswoman responded curtly from one of the screen's corners, the R in her surname rolling mellifluously. From the image on Daren's screen, it was obvious that she had been summoned to this ad hoc meeting hastily--her fiery red hair was slightly askew in an impromptu bun and the four golden pips on her duty shirt awkwardly set. "Now, woul' someon'na tell me why in Heav'n we'uv been roosted out'ta bed at we'en the mahrn'n?"

Obviously, she wasn't too happy, either.

"Yes, good, thank you," Rodell said immediately after the last captain had introduced herself. "Now, if I may, here is the situation. We have detected a fleet of Hydran ships moving across the border. They intercepted and engaged the USS Amarillo, and we have since lost contact. We assume she has been destroyed. Currently, they are moving towards the Federation member planet Delta. We fear they are attempting an invasion.

"You seven are the closest battle-ready ships we have. You are to depart your current locations immediately and rendezvous at Delta IV, and organize yourselves in defense of that system. Captain M'Kantu, you will lead the task force."

"Yes, sir," Daren replied. With Allah's favor, this command would be successful at a smaller price than his previous task force command at the Battle of Romulus.

"Admiral, do we have any intelligence concerning the size and disposition of this fleet?" Na'sav had hoped that the Amarillo had somehow survived, at least long enough to take some detailed sensor sweeps which might be of use to them.

"That remains unclear. Based on the subspace waves they're creating, we estimate anywhere between twenty and thirty ships. When they intercepted the USS Amarillo, they threw up jamming interference preventing her from relaying to us a more accurate assessment," Rodell answered, blinking only once.

"Seven ships against thirty?" Daren observed, suppressing a wince. Long odds, even with Allah's favor.

Rodell squeezed his lips together and craned out his head before nodding thoughtfully. "I understand this is not an optimal situation, but we cannot leave nearly 4 billion Deltans undefended. There are several additional ships that are en route, including the Typhon, the Strife, the Rimsky-Korsakov and the Queen Anne's Revenge, but they will not reach Delta by the time the Hydrans do. It is our hope that the seven of you, plus the planetary defenses currently in place will be able to occupy the Hydrans long enough for reinforcements to arrive."

"How long do we have and how long must we hold?" Thelor asked.

"The Hydran fleet will arrive at Delta possibly as soon as forty-eight hours. Reinforcements will arrive possibly as soon as one-hundred-fifteen hours," Rodell answered.

"Begg'n th' Admiral's pard'n, but are ye outta yer mind!--?" Brodey practically leapt at Rodell through the commlink. "My Atlas is a tough li'l ship, no doubt, an' me crew is th' best o' the fleet--pard'n the pres'nt comp'ny, o'course--but e'en sev'n well-armed battlecruisers agai'n an armada o' Hydran dreadnough's is guaranteed suicide!"

Daren watched as the admiral frowned and craned his neck towards the corner of the screen, as he glared at Captain Brodey.

"Again, I understand this is not an optimal situation, but it is the best we can do. Most of our forces are deployed elsewhere, unfortunately leaving a hole near the Sheliak Corporate. We were not aware the Hydrans were planning on or able to slip through this hole. They have caught us off guard."

"They seem to be experts at doing that." Na'sav muttered, out of a begrudging respect for the capabilities their adversaries have shown more than actual 'hate'. That didn't mean that he was going to be any less hesitant in killing them, though. 7 against 30 might not have been 'optimal' odds, but he agreed that some kind of defense needed to be made, particularly of a Federation 'home world'.

"Can we expect any assistance from the Deltan Defense Forces," Ascencion asked. He didn't like the odds that were laid out in front of them.

"Yes, as I said, it is hoped that the seven of you, plus the planetary defenses currently in place, will be able to occupy the Hydrans," Rodell said, not an ounce of scolding in his voice. It remained light and chipper, as if he were addressing a classroom of children. "The moons of Delta IV are equipped with veteron arrays used for controlling asteroids and comets within the system, though, as you well know, modern shield technology is capable of defending against veteron beams. The arrays have some ability to handle phased nadion particles, however."

The admiral quickly glanced at all the captains lined up on his screen and began to nod, with full body rocking motions, slow and exaggerated, like how a giraffe would nod. "Well, if there are no other questions, I suggest you all make way towards Delta IV as soon as possible. You have, at most, two days. Good luck, and god speed," he said, and then his skull-like face winked out, as did the faces of the six other captains.

Daren M'Kantu sat back on the edge of his desk and took a long, deep breath, considering the fate that lay ahead of him.

After a few moments of gathering his resolve, he stood and walked back out onto the bridge.

"One Cup of Coffee"

Lt Chris Daniels, ACTO
======================

It was no secret to those who knew him that Chris Daniels was still very much enamored with his long distance girlfriend Janeen Jaxom.

Which was why, at the current point in time, even he was perplexed at how he had ended up here...

On the holodeck, his own personal program of Risa's Rodona Beach running, in little more than his swim trunks, locked in the embrace of a beautiful young woman...

That most definitely was NOT Janeen Jaxom.

All because of one stupid cup of coffee...

***
2 Days earlier
Tactical Offices

The sting of having to relocate those settlers had finally passed in the melee of hustling back to the wounded Galaxy after she had been hit with a nuke. Chris and Artim had never gotten the chance to get the answers as to why evidence of Dreshayan stuff was laying around the colony.

All that was old news now, as the ship sat in drydock. It was time to move on.

Down in Tactical land, Chris was getting spun up on being back in the admin side of the world. He was the new Assistant Tactical Chief, which meant he needed to get spun up on not only the equipment, but the crew as well. And when he wasn't supervising the installation of a new set of targeting sensors pilfered straight from the Pathfinder class, he was reading personnel files.

Which is where the cup of coffee came in.

Chris hated admin work. Necessary, yes...but he was still young, and got more out of action than he did out of paperwork. On the Miranda, he had developed a nasty tendency of falling asleep from admin work, a problem that he had self-prescribed liberal amounts of coffee for. It was a nasty addiction that he had carried to this day.

He was on his third cup for the day, and he would probably need more given the stack of PADDs staring at him on his desk.

Thankfully, it was relatively quiet in the offices. Most of the more senior types were taking some time to themselves, allowing the younger officers to get accustomed to leadership. Needless to say, there were a lot of zit-faced young ensigns trying to navigate their way around the tactical arch the past week. Chris, being only a few short years removed from this state, felt compelled to help the kids get through the embarrassment.

As he struggled through the personal interests of one Petty Officer 2nd Class Borovich, he leisurely reached for his latest cup of replicated Dunkin Donuts French Vanilla Iced coffee, extra cream and sugar. He sat half cocked in his chair, his black/gray top slung on his seat back, and his red sleeves pulled up high around his elbows.

Unfortunately, the angle had altered his normal habit pattern, and instead of deftly sweeping up the large cup, he whacked it with his wrist.

Which is where the problems began.

Chris typically kept a pretty spartan desk. The most prominent thing was a holo-picture he had of Janeen, smiling in her trademark clamdigger pants and tank top. It was a picture he had kept with him everywhere. And now, with the distance, it kept him sane.

Unfortunately, the base of the holo-projector was not coffee-proof. Despite all the advances of the 24th century, a solution to the problem of electronics and liquids combined still was in flux. And thus, Janeen's image flickered once and then disappeared.

The results of this coffee disaster were a minute long release of curses and frustration on Daniels' part. This caught the attention of several of the youngsters in their cubicles. One of them being a red haired female Ensign who happened to be on the way to Chris' desk to ask a question. She hesitated as Chris cursed everything and everyone from Fred the Donut Man to President Bacco. A year behind Daniels at the Academy, she knew him by reputation only...brilliant tactician, prolific partier, womanizer...and drop dead gorgeous.

Once the very un-Christian diatribe had calmed down, she poked her head around the wall of his desk.

"Excuse me, Lt. You have a minute?"

Chris took a deep breath and turned around. He had managed to clean most of the mess up. He half expected this chick to look like most of the tactical trolls he had run into over the years...But Damn, she was fine!

He stood up a bit taller. "What do you need, Ensign..."

"McCaren, sir. I just had a question about linking the new sensors to the firing relays."

Chris nodded. "Take a seat."

McCaren did, promptly noting there was no picture of a female on his desk. That was a good sign.

***
1 day ago
Bridge, Gamma Shift

The bridge was quiet at this time of night and Chris took this as the perfect opportunity to train his younglings. While they may not have appreciated the extended duty day, he didn't really care. They had to learn how to fight this ship eventually.

"So what about when we get engaged by two independent targets on different sides of the ship, but can only bring one phaser bank to bear?" Ensign Deler asked.

"Simple Dellar, just because the computer automatically synchs most of the power to one of the emitters, we can override that so we can use two emitters on one bank to hit different targets."

Chris moved his fingers over the controls. It was a basic question, but better he learn now than in the heat of battle.

Then Stacey--McCaren--spoke up. "Lt, how would you handle a situation where you're backed up against a planet and have something like a wedge bearing down on you with limited fire support available from other ships.

Chris smiled. This girl was smart.

He went on to answer their questions for the next two hours. They were an educated group...just needed some more experience. At the end, he just sighed.

"OK guys, that's it for today. Good work, and keep asking questions. That's how you're gonna learn in this game. Dismissed."

"Hey, Lieutant." This time it was Ensign Davis. "We're all going to have a few drinks tomorrow night at the bar. We thought you'd like to join us for something like this, only a little less formal."

Chris thought about it. They were a good group, and he hadn't had a beer in awhile. What could it hurt?

That was mistake number 2.

***
Current Day

Chris walked into the bar and looked for his group of kids. He was dressed casually, a pair of jeans and a red baseball shirt with blue sleeves. They were equally as relaxed.

One of the other Ensigns handed him a beer--real alcohol, a nice touch.

It became apparent quickly what the kids had asked him here for...they wanted to know what "real war" was like. It was a topic Chris was not thrilled to talk about on a personal level, but he swallowed his apprehension and gave them the grim, honest truth.

"War sucks guys. There's nothing good about it. People die, property is destroyed, and lives are forever changed because of these facts. As the ship's gunners, you are the ones who will be the enactors of this death and destruction. You are going to do irreparable damage to someone you'll never meet. You will be responsible for killing someone, trust me. And it isn't going to be a good feeling. You're going to feel the sting of losing friends and coworkers and wonder why you weren't taken with them, and wonder if it is luck or a curse. You're going to feel the adrenaline rush of battle and hate yourself after for wanting to feel it again. There's no glory in war, fellas. Unfortunately, it’s a part of our world. So there you have it. If you can't handle it, I suggest you transfer to the Medical Corps. Now, who needs another drink?"

He stopped and looked around at the group, now slackjawed. He smiled inside. He had gotten his point across. They weren't supposed to enjoy fighting. So naive. They had been too young for Romulus. They were in for a shock.

Soon thereafter, the beer kicked in and the conversation started to get lighter. Laughs were exchanged, stories told, and a good time was had by the kids with their boss for awhile. Then they started to leave, and in a short span of time, it was just Chris and Stacey left at the bar.

Somewhat drunk, Chris eyed Stacey's outfit. A black top with white pants and sandals. She was rather stunning.

"So you'd mean all that stuff you said about war?"

Chris took a long pull off his beer. "Yup."

"So how do you get through it?"

He stared off towards the stars at that question. "Well, I have nightmares, sit on a holobeach, talk to a shrink...have lots of sex...well, used to." And all of a sudden, Chris realized he had just opened Pandora's Box.

Stacey smirked. "That easy, eh?"

Chris laughed. "You'll be surprised at what a good screw can do for your mental state." Was he really talking like this?

"Do you think I'll be able to handle it?" She asked, all seriousness in her eyes.

Chris looked her straight in the eye, feeling the alcohol course through his liver. "You're a smart kid Stacey. Damn smart. When the shit starts flying, just stick to what you know. I can't say for sure, cuz everyone reacts different, but I think you'll be fine."

She nodded. "And if I'm not? Can I have that beach of yours?"

Chris smirked. Sure it seemed wrong, but after all, he had found out that Janeen had screwed around with Joli, that crazy Orion doc, while they had been dating. Showing the girl his beach program couldn't be that bad, right? "Wanna see it now?"

And that was mistake number 3.

***

And that was how Chris Daniels found himself making out with a girl he had known for 2 days.

And just as she reached to untie his swimsuit, he sobered up, and it hit him.

~WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?????!?!?~

TBC?

"Underway"

With

Captain Bruno Ascencion
Commanding Officer, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Commander Wilbert Folsom
Executive Officer, USS Jacmel (NPC)

***Bridge, USS Jacmel***

The six-foot-two Master and Commander of the USS Jacmel strode out of his ready room, none to pleased with the mission impossible he and his crew had been handed. His XO, Wilbert Folsom, immediately stood up, and stepped down from the Captain's Chair to make way. The last refit saw a few modifications personally requested by Captain Ascencion, which included raising the Captain's Chair sixteen centimeters higher than the original designs for the Nebula-Class Starship called for.

"Status," Ascencion requested.

"Currently cruising at Warp 3, enroute to Starbase 22 as ordered, sir," replied Cmdr. Folsom.

It can never be something simple with Command, can it, fumed Ascencion. It would be cutting it really close to get to their intended destination from where they were now.

"Come about to course 288 mark 4, maximum warp."

Several heads turned at that, most notably that of Wilbert Folsom.

"Sir?" he inquired, clearly puzzled as to why the sudden change in course in the other direction...and at top speed.

"New instructions from Command, XO," explained the Captain, trying to be patient. "We're heading to Delta IV to meet up with a task force for an imminent incursion. Our tasking is to deter said incursion utilizing any means necessary."

Realization dawned in the eyes and face of the XO. "The Triad, sir?"

"Correct, XO." Ascencion straightened up in his chair and tapped a control for the 1MC shipwide address.

=/\=This is the Captain. All hands, rig for battlestations, Red Alert. I repeat, all hands rig for battlestations, Red Alert. This is not a drill. This is the Captain speaking.=/\=

Immediately, the XO tapped a control on his own seat to access the 1MC.

=/\=All hands, rig for battlestations, Red Alert. I repeat, all hands rig for battle stations, Red Alert. This is not a drill. This is the XO speaking.=/\=

On the USS Jacmel, Captain Ascencion maintained a tradition of the XO echoing his orders just as the warriors of Earth's 20th-21st Century submarine forces did. He felt it encouraged a sense of leadership cohesion at the top, and left no room for error in following orders. It's worked for him in the twelve years he's commanded that ship, and it will continue to work for him for as long as he sat in the chair.

"XO," Ascencion directed, "I want all department heads in the conference room in one hour with readiness reports. We are now running on a two shift rotation. Alpha and Gamma shifts are to run concurrent, as Beta and Delta shifts will report in as procedure dictates. I also want battle drills run randomly and efficiency reports on my desk within thirty minutes of their completion. Make it happen."

With that, Captain Ascencion stood up and returned to his ready room, while Folsom retook the seat and began issuing orders throughout the ship, each department reporting in reply.

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

If there were a casual observer in a particular place in space, they would have seen a sudden appearance of a Nebula-Class Starship. They would have seen it turn almost on its axis, and then stretch back into nothingness as it reentered warp space.

"Back to Sickbay"

(OOC - Obviously set tail end of 'Orange Tide')

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer - USS Galaxy
Colonel For'kel Arvelion - SFMC Commanding Officer
188th Starfleet Marines Detachment

= = = = = = = = = = (Sickbay)

After a thorough, exhaustive search of the Vered worlds, their surrounding systems, and any other possible locations where the missing squad might be found, there was a great deal of potential evidence, but nothing concrete prima facia. The data warfare types would need to work with some science staff before they would have any final determination on the utility of the information gathered... so in other words it would be a while yet before any leads could be followed, if there were leads to be followed to begin with.

Fork had thought about heading to his quarters for some much needed rest. He was exhausted... incredibly exhausted, and the wounded arm had a shooting, burning pain coursing through it as if it were a warp nacelle channelling plasma through coils. Might be difficult to visualize, but put simply it hurt like hell. Knocking himself out for a few hours just to avoid the sensation didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Then he remembered that he'd sort of ditched the doctor to go off on his little 'jaunt', and muttering something under his breath realized he sort of had to head back... even if it undoubtedly meant a long and descriptive tirade regarding the purposes of medical direction. 'You're not a doctor!' or 'What were you thinking?!’... questions he rarely had a satisfactory answer for. C'est la vi...

He treaded into sickbay more like a puppy cautious of the retribution to be distributed at the end of a rolled up newspaper than the iconic 'fearless hero' that the Marines generally speaking liked to portray themselves as.

Still surrounded by the aftermath of the explosion in shuttlebay two Kimberly saw the Marine Colonel walk in the door and immediately turned in his direction. She had initially had a 'very' long list of things to say to him, the least of which was 'permanent physical impairment'. With the majority of the radiation cases dealt with the remaining injuries were physical trauma, ironically taking longer to treat than the radiation damage, a reversal of how things used to be.

Pausing before him she looked Arvelion up and down and frowned, then nodded to a nearby, and vacant, biobed. "Have a seat Colonel," she offered in a deceptively mild tone. With everything else that was going on she could check him for any resultant damage and let him return to his quarters, for now. His regen therapy would have to wait until things here had gotten a little less busy.

Hmmm, she seemed far more receptive than he initially thought. Maybe badgering the plethora of patients that had undoubtedly crossed her path following the apparent attack on the ship had tired her out? He could hope so! He walked over to the bed and sat on it with some difficulty. Without the adrenaline rush of a mission, pain was much more palpable.

"So Colonel," she started, still in the same tone, "mind telling me where you vanished to without so much as a note?"

"I left a note!" He told the principal... err... doctor. "I was needed planet side."

"Planetside?" Sounding a little more irate now she flipped open her tricorder and scanned him. "So what was so important that one of the 'many' officers and experienced NCO's you command couldn't deal with it. I know there were a lot of angry colonists, but it's not like a full blown war was going on." Picking up a hypo she slapped in a vial and injected him carefully with a small dose of Aerosal for his obvious discomfort.

"Captain Maivia and Lieutenant London are missing in action." He cut her off in an attempt to explain. "So are the two Marines that were with them. They failed to report in on any channel, they weren't at the rendezvous point, and they didn't make it to the landing zone." After a deep breath he opted to go on the offensive, becoming indignant out of a combination of exhaustion and concern for what happened. "So you'll have to forgive me, doctor, if I didn't think a wounded arm was sufficient cause not to go."

Nodding she granted him that point, "I know, I've kept up to date," she added quietly, "I noticed they were MIA while I was scanning the lists to see who was still missing. After the explosion in shuttle bay two we have several other crew who have yet to be found, in their case though I doubt we ever will." Tapping a requisition into the bed controls she heard a nearby replicator hum in response. "Even so," she added as she stepped over to pick up what she had ordered, "you could have simply tapped your comm badge, you never know, I might have agreed, might have been able to give you something to help prevent any further damage."

"Sound discipline, doctor." For'kel tried to explain though he had no idea if the doctor would get, or even appreciate, the response. "Standard operating procedures prevent unnecessary communications during combat conditions, and regardless what you might have heard we 'were' under combat conditions down there." He sighed, the raising tone in his voice involuntary to say the least... besides there really wasn't any reason to be upset with her. "I'm sorry doctor. You should know I had a medic at hand the entire time, I was as careful as the situation would allow."

Deciding to let the point drop for now, she could argue that he could have contacted her 'before' he left the ship, but to keep the argument going was unnecessary right now. But she would be keeping an eye on the Marines. If their CO set this sort of example the whole bunch of jarheads might see things the same way as well. Returning to his side she held up what she had replicated. "One arm brace and one sling. Until your regen therapy is scheduled and complete you'll wear this. No excuses, no exceptions. And once the regen is done you'll only take it off once our resident physical therapist is satisfied. Clear."

"Crystal." The Colonel knew when he was receiving orders. "And if I can't, I'll let you know in advance."

"Do," she ordered as she helped him into the support. "Because if you don't I'd like you to keep three little words in mind. 'Permanent. Physical. Impairment.'" Emphasising each word as she tightened the brace and put the sling on. "Be good, do as you're told and you should have this off in a week, two at the most. Try and do to much and it 'will' take longer."

"As I said, I will do my best. They don't fight the war on my schedule, doctor." It was increasingly difficult to believe this was the same sweet, mild-mannered woman he'd come across immediately following 'the incident'. Then a random thought entered his mind. "Are 'you' okay, afidav?"

"I'm fine," she replied a little curtly. "Just a little busy, which never puts me in a good mood, and one reason why I don't like to see someone risking adding to my work load." Adding the last as she settled his arm in the sling she nodded. "There, done, now I'll have appointments for regen and therapy set up, be back here tomorrow afternoon and we'll get this fixed up properly."

He gave a nod, figuring it best not to say anything other than. "Tomorrow it is, good night."

"Good night Colonel."

<end>

"Unexpected Transfer" (Occurs after 'Orange Tide' in Transit)

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Katara Elarin - Assistant Chief Medical Officer

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy - Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"So what do we know about her?" Kimberly asked with an audible sigh, looking at the transfer form that Arrietty had passed to her.

"There wasn't anything on the paperwork I'm afraid boss." Arrietty replied with a shrug, "I asked the computer but all I got was an abbreviated service record. I've sent a request, but well you know bureaucracy, it hasn't got here yet." She apologised.

"Typical." Kimberly muttered as she read the brief amount of data on the form. The brief note from Rear Admiral Ghee P'Trell, the Chief Of Starfleet Medical had been annoyingly brief... <Pursuant to your recent vacancy and request for suitable applicants for the position of Assistant Chief Medical Officer, the following officer has recently requested transfer from her current duty station and is eminently qualified to fill the position. Yours...> ~ Blah blah blah! ~ she thought as the skimmed the platitudes that followed. Some aide somewhere had neglected to add the personnel file though, so she had little to go on, save a name and a list of duty stations and absolutely no personal information whatsoever. Not even a 504 medical form.

"Ah well, when does she get here?" Looking up at Arrietty she raised an eyebrow, "Hopefully 'after' the paperwork?"

"According to the computer, she's already aboard, I've paged her, maybe she'll have her file with her." The nurse suggested hopefully.

"Fine, as soon as she gets here send her in, let's see what she's like." Kimberly decided, no sense in arguing with an Admiral.

"Gotcha boss." Arrietty nodded as she left.

Katara, having left Jaal, got acquainted with her quarters and found a message already waiting for her from the medical team, thought her next trip should be to the sickbay. After all, she was a little in the dark about her posting here, everything seemed to have come through at once. She'd changed out of her regular clothes and into her class 'A' duty uniform, she wanted make a good impression after all.

She looked at the two PADDs in her hand, one was her transfer orders and the other containing her service record. She was looking for a Doctor Kimberly Burton. She found the sickbay and the door dutifully hissed apart, the smell of antiseptic hitting her almost instantly, yes... it was good to be home.

She walked up to, what she assumed to be one of the nursing staff. "Excuse me? I'm Doctor Elarin, I believe I was paged?"

Arrietty had blinked in surprise as the Cardassian in a Starfleet uniform had entered, then mentally shrugged, if a Gorn, a Ferengi and a Klingon could wear the uniform then a Cardassian was just as entitled, she was only surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Smiling as the Lieutenant introduced herself she nodded, "Yes Sir," she replied, deciding to be formal for now until she got to know her. "Doctor Burton is in her office," indicating the room in question.

"Thank you, but there's no need for the 'Sir'; doctor will be fine." Katara smiled and then headed towards the room that the nurse had indicated.

Watching her new ACMO head for Kimberlys office Arrietty turned to a console and opened a comm line to Starfleet Medical to request Elarins file directly. Not that she was paranoid or anything, but her curiosity was getting the better of her now.

Katara entered the office and straightened, clasping her hands behind her back and standing attentively. The ships CMO was making a few notes on a PADD and hadn't looked up yet. "Doctor Burton? Doctor Elarin reporting as requested."

Looking up Kimberly found herself staring into the face of one of the last species she had expected to walk in wearing medical blue. Staring for a second at the familiar grey skin tone and the distinctive forehead ridge she found herself remembering the last Cardassian she had looked up at, and an involuntary shudder ran down her spine for a split second at the memory.

Shoving the thought to the back of her mind she slid her PADD aside also and sat up. "Doctor, thanks for coming down so quickly," she greeted her new ACMO. Standing she extended her hand and smiled, wanting to start their working relationship off on a good foot. "Welcome to the Galaxy, I'm sorry I wasn't around to greet you when you came aboard, but your paperwork hasn't all arrived yet, in fact I was only told by Starfleet Medical you were arriving a little earlier." She apologised.

Katara smiled. "Please, call me Katara. I appreciate that this has come on you suddenly. It's been quite rapid for me too." She gestured to the chair. "May I?"

"By all means, and I'm Kimberly." She offered. Deactivating the holopictures that lined the wall the soft sound of the crystal music of Thera faded as she sat back down and watched as Katara sat. There was something unsettling about being this close to a Cardassian again even after all the years that had passed.

Katara took a seat and handed the two PADDs to Kimberly. "Here are my transfer orders and service history. Admiral P'Trell thought I should bring them directly as the Galaxy was in hostile territory and she didn't want the contents of my, or any other personnel, being intercepted. Personally I think they're worrying over nothing, but they have rank so..."

"Thank you." She said simply as she accepted the PADDs and scanned the two devices for a moment, logging the files as she did and requesting a confirmation as well. As she read she found her eyes drifting occasionally to the service record image at the top of the file occasionally, and the grey reptilian features there.

After a moment she looked up and put a smile on her face, "Well, the paperwork, now it's here, looks in order and your file has some interesting notes on it. I'll have to spend a little time studying it thoroughly though. Do you have any idea why the Admiral recommended you for this post?" she asked, very curious as to the answer.

"Well I requested transfer from my previous assignment and, given my experience as a combat medic, the powers that be at SFM thought that I would be best suited to work on a ship that was at the front line of the current hostilities with the Triad. I have experience in emergency field surgery, combat trauma medicine and extraction of wounded under fire and from within occupied strongholds." She looked around the office. "There were other reasons for my initial requesting of a transfer but they are mere speculation on my part."

"Speculation?" Kimberly queried, curious despite herself. "In what way?" she asked.

"Well I can't really go into too much detail but suffice to say there was an... 'incident' in the bowels of Atlantis and then a great many of those involved were suddenly recommended for transfer, I suspect from a higher level than Commodore Meir. I saw that Lieutenants West and Daniels were aboard... I'm not paranoid but I think they want as few people around who might ask... inconvenient questions." Katara shrugged. "As I say, however, that's pure speculation on my part."

"What sort of 'incident'?" Atlantis was an oddity, she remembered the reports that had surfaced after the Miranda had initially discovered it, and one report in particular about a genetic transformation of the Chief of Security. An incident there could mean just about anything.

"Unknown in nature. A series of, for want of a better word, entities which appeared to inhabit the lower reaches of the station. Upon investigation these broke to the surface and several crew members were injured, some severely. After containment a contingent from SFI and the science core arrived and several of us suddenly found ourselves needed elsewhere. Like I say, I'm not paranoid but when things like this go hand in hand it's hard not to see a connection." She didn't need to go into details that several of those self same crew were now stationed here, two of them part of her team from the depths. She was keen to catch up with one in particular as the last time she had seen him he had been clinically dead.

Nodding Kimberly wondered at what else happened on that vast station. Deciding to leave that alone for now she contemplated her new ACMO. "Tell me about yourself then?" She asked suddenly, "If we're going to be working together I'd like to know a little about you."

Katara blew out a breath. "Where should I start? I was born on Earth after my parents left Cardassia, they could see how the occupation would eventually end up and how it was destroying the Cardassia they knew. My brother, my older brother, stayed behind. He was in the fleet, a fighter pilot actually. Anyway, I grew up on Earth, quite a few stares I can tell you, Cardassia and Bajor never really came into common knowledge until the occupation finished and the Federation stepped in to manage DS9. By then I was eighteen and enrolling at Starfleet academy, along with some Bajoran and all manner of other people who were quickly becoming aware of Cardassians."

"How did you get on at the Academy? Most people are fairly tolerant of differences there, any difficulties?"

"I struggled on regardless. I had good grades from the Europa Science Institute, where I was before the academy, and studied medicine in addition to my officer training. That's why I went straight into an internship at Starfleet medical after my graduation and got my MD in '74."

~ '74. ~ Remembering that from her file she sighed to herself, it was a little strange being CMO and yet many of her staff had several years either as a Doctor or in the Fleet over her. "Yes, your file has notes from your tutors and previous postings on it, I'll review them later. How about the future, where do you see yourself going?"

"Well I don't see myself advancing too far in the immediate future, in the grand scheme of things I'm fairly new to senior staff positions. I see myself in more of backup role for you...as it should be." She paused. "In the grand scheme of things, who knows? Maybe a CMO position somewhere, maybe back to Starfleet Medical as an instructor, maybe command school or back to the rangers? Who knows? I've always been a sort of live in the now kind of person, but you're right, one should always keep an eye on the future."

"It can be a good idea to have some idea of where you want to go or what you want to be doing, it's better than bouncing around and ending up somewhere you don't really want to be. Give it some thought." Kimberly suggested.

"I will, in time." Katara replied, for the moment though she was happy enough to just get to know the place.

"Anyway, the paperwork looks okay, I'll have confirmation through soon," ~ I hope! ~ "In the meantime I'll show you around and introduce you to the department." She offered, "unless you have any questions?"

"Shall we walk and talk?" Katara suggested. "I think much better on my feet."

Standing Kimberly nodded, "Sounds good, let's give you the ten cent tour and get you settled in. Welcome aboard the Galaxy."

<end>

"Who are you?"

Lieutenant (J.G.) Victor Krieghoff - Security Officer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy - Security Department ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Listening to the quiet sounds of the turbolift as it dropped down to deck thirty nine Kimberly stared at the doors, lost in thought as she considered what she was about to do. Recent conversations and events hadn't exactly made her change her point of view but that had, finally, brought her to the conclusion that certain things needed to be laid to rest. Or at least brought out into the open.

Stepping off the lift she walked unhesitatingly into the security offices and looked around, catching the eye of a passing ensign she cleared her throat. "Is Lieutenant Krieghoff about?" She asked. He was here somewhere as the computer had told her so, exactly where in security though?

"Yes Sir, he's here. Shall I ask him if he's free?" the young Grazerite offered.

"Please. Thank you." Kimberly replied with a nod. Stepping to one side she waited patiently, doing her best to control the butterflies that were fluttering in her stomach. It wasn't just that creepy feeling that most people seemed to get around him that bothered her, there was something else, and it was both that had brought her down here.

After a moment, the ensign returned. "He's in his office, Doctor. It's the one right over there," she pointed. "He's signing some reports for the Armoury, but he should be done in a minute." She paused, and then asked, "Can I get you something? Coffee? Fruit Juice? It helps some of us to have something to drink when we're talking to him - that way, we can focus on holding the beverage still enough so that the surface isn't shaking to take our minds off... you know."

Having met the Lieutenant a couple of times she was aware of the effect he had on people, it was the other thing that had prompted her visit down here, but to get a heads up and tips from his own staff?

~ This is gonna be fun! ~ She decided sourly. "Thank you, but no, I'll be fine." She decided, nodding her thanks to the ensign she headed for Krieghoff's office. Tapping on the door frame she looked inside, "Lieutenant, do you have a moment?" she asked politely seeing him sat there engrossed in paperwork.

The office was pleasant, more so than Kimberly might have expected. There were several plants, a few pictures of alien landscapes and individuals she assumed were family members - although two, oddly, appeared to be Andorians - on the wall, and a framed mosaic made from a multitude of geometrically-shaped stones in at least a dozen shades of green on the wall opposite his desk by the door where he'd see it every time he looked up.

Victor paused long enough to look up at her - he did indeed, she noticed, look at the mosaic first - and nodded, "Just a minute, Doctor." He finished checking the Armoury reports, frowned at three items and made notes next to them. If the Armourers wanted to try and get something by him that was fine - he couldn't say that he wouldn't and hadn't tried things like that before - but they needed to hide their requests a little better before he could maintain a degree of plausible deniability. Finished, he signed off on the reports and buzzed for the Armoury representative chatting about clothes to one of the other young ratings outside.

After a moment, the perky young blonde crewman popped in, smiled at him, and took the reports. "Everything okay?"

"Tell them to try harder on lines 74, 167, and 5599, would you?" Victor asked with a shake of his head. "Everything else is good, though."

"Zarky!" the crewman replied with a snap of her gum. "None of those are mine. Thanks!" She smiled again, nodded to Kimberly, and did an about face that seemed more akin to a dance move than an Academy-trained precision step, and was gone.

"Now," Victor rose, "what can I do for you, Doctor? I don't think I'm overdue for any checkups."

Grateful for the appearance of the young crewmember, it had given her something other than Victor to focus on in the office, and time to relax. Returning her gaze to him she put a smile on her face and shook her head. "No, nothing overdue Mr Krieghoff, I just wondered if you had a moment, I wanted to have a chat with you about a couple of things."

In Victor's experience, having a physician say that they just wanted to chat wasn't something to instil confidence. He waved a hand to one of the office's chairs. "All right, Doctor, I've got some time right now." His lung, he decided. It was about the damn illegally-modified lung that Attendant K'vala had arranged to be implanted after she stabbed him through the old one in a misunderstanding of Shakespearean proportions. Starfleet must have finally decided to have the thing cut out of him.

"Well, firstly, I think I owe you an apology." She admitted frankly.

Victor thought that he'd likely feel a need to apologize to someone if he were about to cut out a perfectly - even a too perfectly – functioning internal organ from them. Well, outside of a fight, anyway. "I don't think that's necessary, Doctor. You're just doing your job, that's all."

Blinking in surprise for a second Kimberly thought about that and then shook her head again. "No," she admitted as she sank slowly into a chair, "if I was just doing my job then I wouldn't have let my personal feelings interfere. When we last spoke I did, and I've avoided you since then. That's my fault and so I thought I should come by and explain."

"When you last spoke to me..." Victor repeated. "So this isn't about the lung and a decision to cut it out?"

"Uh, no. I'm still awaiting a decision on that," she admitted. The legal decision process on that one she assumed was still ongoing, and she had no desire to cut someone open unless there was a damn good reason to do so.

"Well, that's good to know - I'm actually starting to get used to it, and I'd hate to lose it at this point, legal or not." He shook his head. "Now if the Attendant would just send a message back confirming that I knew nothing about the installation, JAG would be happy and we could let issue drop." He picked up a coffee cup with 'SFMC,' 'Gunny Goldstein's Use Only,' and 'This Means YOU, Maggot!' stencilled on the side and took a sip. "Frankly, with the list of issues I have, it would be nice to watch one of them go away."

"That I can understand. If I do hear anything I can assure you you'll be the first person I speak to. No, what I came to apologise about was my conduct when you came by to discuss your lung." Pausing a moment she briefly regretted not taking the ensign's suggestion to have a drink handy, having something to focus on other than his eyes might have made this easier.

Continuing she let the words simply flow out, wanting to say what was on her mind. "When you came into sickbay I left the room," she reminded him, "and to be honest it was only partly because of this 'effect' you have on people. Something I'd like to discuss later. But mainly... you reminded me, vaguely, of someone I knew. And to be honest it's someone I'd hoped not to see again. When you walked in I guess with everything going on at the time I saw him, not you. Hence my reaction and my attitude after. I should have done this a long time ago though, so I'm here now to apologise."

Being mistaken for someone else seemed an odd reason for someone offering an apology for reacting poorly to him. Of course, Victor reflected, having someone offer to apologize for reacting to him poorly in the first place was rare enough that he probably didn't have a good statistical sample to judge by. "That's all right, Doctor," he offered, setting the coffee down. "There's really no need, on my side at least, for you to apologize. It isn't as if I'm not used to people reacting poorly to me, after all, no matter what the reason. I stopped taking offence at it about the time I was ten."

"Even so, I am the CMO of this ship, and I should've thought first. But thank you," she said sincerely, starting to feel a little more comfortable, if only about the topic of conversation. "While we're on the subject though, would you mind if I ask you something?"

"Feel free."

"Ever since I came aboard I've been made aware, one way or another, of this effect that you seem to have on people, especially telepaths. And when we left the ship last year on a runabout it was obvious that everyone could feel something." Sounding a little hesitant about broaching what could be a personal topic she continued none the less. "There's little in your file about this, and I was wondering, if it's not to personal a question, what... causes it?" She ended curiously.

Well, that was easy enough, Victor thought. "I have no idea." Which was strictly true, if not entirely accurate.

Raising an eyebrow Kimberly was unable to keep a surprised tone out of her voice. "None?"

"Mechanically, no, I have no idea of how it works," Victor clarified. "Metaphorically, I think I understand why, but that's not the same thing." He shrugged. "I can offer you the metaphoric explanation for it if you like, that seems to be enough for many people, or any number of anecdotes, but the literal, mechanical cause is, as of the last time I consented to testing, undetermined. Frankly, based on the tests they did at the Academy, it's easier to tell you what it isn't than what it is: it isn't pheromones; it isn't an active telepathic or empathic broadcast of a conscious or unconscious nature; it isn't a quantum-level resonance of some sort; it isn't some sort of sub-vocal cue in my voice; and it isn't an active attempt on my part to be 'menacing.' It also," he added, "isn't something that I can turn off; it's always there, always pushing at people. I've learned to wear a mask over the years, to 'dial it down' as it were - I'm not certain you could be in the room with me if I wasn't doing that right now - but it can't be turned off."

"Curious." Kimberly muttered. Another time and place she might have asked to follow up on that one, whatever caused this was intriguing. "And this has been with you since you were young?"

"Anecdote time," Victor warned. "The short answer is 'yes.' Literally, apparently, since I was born. My mother is a physician, and she has a story about all the other infants in the newborn ward beginning to cry and scream hysterically as soon as I was brought into the ward, and continuing to do so without stopping for hours until I was removed - whereupon they all stopped within seconds." He took another drink of his coffee. "For whatever reason, children have always seemed especially susceptible to my presence - that's why I true to avoid the school and other gatherings where they'll be present."

Thinking for a moment Kimberly reviewed what she had read about him, and what he had told her. She had looked him up to see if he was related to Russo in any way, and had been relieved he wasn't, the slight similarities were apparently random chance, not genetic. Of everything else though, the more she heard, the more confused and curious she got. After the silence had stretched for several seconds she nodded. "Thank you again, I cannot say I understand in any way, but then if you don't know then I'm not even going to hazard a guess. But thank you for indulging my curiosity. There is one last thing though - and this is something some of the older hands in sickbay have told me. That when you go on away missions you order people 'not to die'," she said with a raised eyebrow, "and that once you came to sickbay to see someone who was badly wounded and gave her your permission? Mind if I ask what that's about?"

He'd supposed that someone would have asked about that sooner, but given the size of his file, this was likely just now surfacing. "Actually, Doctor," Victor replied quietly, his manner shifting slightly, since at least part of this topic was something he still wished he'd been able to prevent. "What I do when in charge of security for away missions is refuse to give my team mates permission to die - not quite the same thing. As for the other, that's incorrect; I never came to Sickbay to do that. What I did was request that medical personnel hold a combadge up to the ear of a member of Security who had been mortally wounded so that I could give her permission to die." He sipped at his coffee again. "She was pregnant, you see, and hadn't told me before we were leaving on the mission. After she was wounded, and it was determined that she couldn't be saved, I reiterated my refusal of permission to die until she'd been transported to an aid station and her child had been successfully transferred to an artificial stasis womb."

"Do you think that by simply refusing your team mates permission that they actually cannot die until you allow it?" Her voice was neutral, neither sarcastic nor accusing, simply querying.

"Do I believe that I have that power?" he repeated back to her. "That's a good question, Doctor. And since answering it in any number of ways will result in my visiting the Counselling staff even more often, I think I'll decline to answer it; respectfully, of course. I will say this, though: whether you regard it as a quaint superstition, a shipboard tradition, or some bizarre talent, in my time aboard Galaxy, no one that I've refused permission to die has done so until that permission was granted."

Nodding she agreed, he was right; any direct answer to that question would inevitably raise more. "I've known stranger traditions and superstitions Mr Krieghoff; let's just hope yours continues as it's been going." Looking into his eyes again she found herself grateful she had taken the time finally to do this. That shiver still ran up her spine when she looked into his eyes, but the feeling of fear and loathing that accompanied his face had diminished, this wasn't the man she feared.

"I certainly intend for it to," he agreed. "Is there anything else that I can do for you this morning?"

"Thank you for your time, and patience," Kimberly said gratefully, "and if you like I can query the decision regarding your lung? See if I can get an answer out of them for you?"

"No trouble at all, Doctor. I rarely get a chance to talk to anyone from Medical unless I'm a patient, or visiting someone who is. And... yes, yes I would appreciate that. I've done everything that I can to resolve the issue, but I'm trapped in limbo without Attendant K'vala's confirmation of my story."

"I'll chase it up later then, when I get a reply I'll let you know. It's... been nice talking to you Mr Krieghoff," she admitted with a slight smile.

Victor smiled. "Any conversation that doesn't end in a gunshot or someone's screaming retreat is a good one for me, Doctor. Since neither of those are happening..."

Raising an eyebrow at that one she paused a second, a little unsure how best to reply. He wasn't at all what she had feared, so she let her smile grow a little and simply nodded. "I'll be in touch." She promised.

"Have a pleasant day, Doctor," he nodded as she departed.

<end...>

"The Interrogation of Man'darr begins"

Gral'meshketh Grek'kr (Mike)
Qasar'Mev Qolthra (Meike)
Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia

It was late at night when the guards opened the cell door of the Capellan. His wrist shackles had been left locked together. The Capellan slept on the floor as cell beds were too small. Upon hearing the heavy door slide open, Man'darr jerked awake, forcing his body to respond as the guards tossed an oxygen mask at the Capellan.

"Put this on!"

Man'darr coughed as the methane atmosphere in the corridor began to fill his cell. He immediately placed the mask on, which covered his nose and mouth only. Two guards walked in with three more remaining outside the small cell. The guards placed the restraining strap of the mask around Man'darr's head and a blindfold was then tied tightly around his eyes. The guards then nudged Man'darr up and out of the cell as they began their walk down the corridor several feet until they finally came to their destination. The heavy door parted ways as they nudged Man'darr into the dimly-lit interrogation chamber. Waiting inside was a female Hydran officer.

"Capellan." She said in a strangely warm voice. "I have been looking forward to this moment. They tell me your kind are extremely hard to break. I have been waiting for years to find out myself." The male guards shackled him to the wall. Qolthra was not a fool; she was not going to take any risks with him.

The guards quickly shackled Man'darr to the wall with his arms out to the sides and raised slightly and removed the blindfold. The shackles could be raised and lowered. Man'darr watched the female Hydran approach him as the guards also placed heavy titanium shackles on Man'darr's ankles.

"Tell me, Captain, what makes you afraid? What will make you beg for mercy, make you beg me to kill you and end it all. Is it any thing I can do to you, or may be your woman?"

Man'darr struggled against the strong bonds that restrained him. "I will not beg for you! And leave Lieutenant London alone!"

"You think we will leave her alone? Do you think we are naive, Capellan. We have just found out that she was ours once before, this time she is not going to escape. Our doctors are so going to enjoy working with her. And maybe they will even leave something for you to play with later, if you behave."

Man'darr grew angry at the female hydran as his muscles bulged, fighting against the titanium restraints that held him in place. "If she is harmed, I will kill you!"

Qolthra laughed. "Idle threats, my good man. Of course your little woman is being harmed. The doctors are very interested in continuing to take her apart."

"I said to leave her alone!" Man'darr's muscles seemed to almost wanting to break through his dirty and torn uniform. Stopped only by the specially designed restraints.

Moments later a television screen popped on. There was no sound but the pictures were clear. It was the interrogation of Lt. London and Cpl Beckett.

The images saddened and angered Man'darr...and yet he felt helpless to see Branwen and another female, whom he recognized as Corporal Beckett be interrogated. Yet, his mind also told him that Branwen and Beckett were Marines. "What do you want, hydran?" Man'darr asked angrily.

"To hear you beg." She said while she readied her tools her back to him.

"I will not beg for you or for anyone, hydran," Man'darr spoke as he stared at the female hydran.

"Qoltrha! I thought I told you not to start with this one until I arrived!" The displeased hissing of the male Hydran could be heard long before he entered the room. It was easy to tell by the way the guards parted and the ornateness of his uniform that he was clearly in charge.

"It was too much fun winding him up and getting him ready." She grinned. "He should be easy pray."

"Well, no matter. At least the interesting part hadn't begun. I'm curious though, you're going at this the old fashioned way? Why not use the collar on him?" The last part of the male Hydran's statement was clearly not the curious question it was phrased as. It sounded more like an order. A moment later he turned to the shackled Capellan and started studying him. After a moment he said, “So you're the one that's going to make my life interesting for the next few days. And it will only be that long at the most I assure you. Few manage to get past their second session before I have them eating out of my hand like my pet Gelkash. And allow me to introduce myself Capellan. I am Grek'lr, the Overseer of this facility.

"I do not care who you are, Hydran," Man'darr replied, glaring at Grek'lr.

Grek'lr returned the Capellan's glare by levelling all three eyestalks in a perfect horizontal row right at him before delivering a swift but powerful kick straight to the Capellan's groin.

"You should care Capellan. The more you anger me the more you will suffer and the more your woman will suffer! Cooperate and you might well live. Qolthra! The collar if you would!"

Man'darr did the best he could to keep from howling in pain as the hydran's foot connected with his groin and took in deep breaths.

By now Qoltrha came back carrying one of the collars. “I thought you wanted to present for this, my lord." She said smiling. “And you should know that his weakness lies in his mate. Whom we also hold." She stroked the collar. "Do you want to do the honours, my lord or shall I?"

"I'd very much like to collar this one personally." Grek'lr got an evil look in his eye as he took the heavy silver coloured collar from Qoltrha's hands and walked over to the shackled Capellan. He laid a finger across what looked like a control panel and the collar slid open. As he placed it around Man'darr's neck he said. "I find these devices to be most useful in keeping people in their place. You'll find it has many...useful features. And please don't try to remove it." As he finished he placed his finger back over the control panel and the collar slid shut and energized itself. A split second later Man'darr could feel something shoot into his neck.

Man'darr grimaced slightly as the collar was activated and feeling something enter his neck. He soon began to feel weaker.. almost as if his muscles wouldn't exert themselves. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Grek'lr let loose what amounted to a belly laugh for a Hydran at this. "You really think you have the right to ask that. Just wait, it gets much better." A moment later the collar whirred to life again and Man'darr could feel something burrowing into the back of his neck like a small metallic spider. He then turned back to his counterpart and spoke as he settled into a chair in the corner.

"Qolthra, he's all yours. And please don't feel the need to be delicate because I am here."

"Thank you, my lord." She gave a small bow towards her superior then turned back to her subject. "You cannot resist us anymore, capellan." She explained. "Because you simply will not have the strength anymore. We will control your body from now on." She chuckled.

"You will not control me," Man'darr said angrily as he fought to keep his strength up.
"Dear boy, I am already controlling you." She laughed. "You are a pushover, you capellan wimp." Qolthra teased him. "Such a disappointment you are."

Man'darr growled lowly as he tried to force his muscles to push against the shackles but only felt weaker. He then surrendered himself to whatever awaited him as he knew there would be no way to escape in his weakened state. He despised the thought but he was truly at this female Hydran's mercy.

"Giving up already?" She asked sweetly. "So you have no problem with us having some fun with your woman? Such a coward you are, all capellans are." She had done her cultural studies.

"I said leave Lieutenant London alone! Do what you wish to me but I will not give out any information nor beg!"

"No." She grinned at her chief. "IF you don't tell us what you know we might have to do very nasty things to her. Very painful, now I might talk to me colleague's to go gently on her if you cooperate or I could tell them not to spare her at all. Your choice, my dear man."

Man'darr didn't want to see Branwen hurt, yet the warrior side of him knew Branwen was a Marine, a fighter, and she knew the risks. He knew that she would not want him to divulge any information. "I will give you nothing, you pathetic hydran!" he yelled as he again struggled against the restraints, which held him firm, especially in his weakened state as he saw the woman approach a nearby tray.

Grek'lr chuckled a bit as he stood up. "Well then Capellan, we'll just have to persuade you some more." The male Hydran shot another swift kick at Man'darr's groin and then motioned for Qolthra to step outside with him for a moment. Once they were outside he said softly, "Work him over a bit more then take him back to his cell. See that he doesn't get any restful sleep and that he's out of that pathetic starfleet uniform. I want him back tomorrow but this time he will see first hand what we'll do to his woman. I'm going to go see to her now."

"Don't worry about it. I love playing with sleep deprivation. I've never done it to a capellan before. I'm going to document if it takes him longer to succumb." Both seemed very happy with their new crop of playthings. "Don't hurt the female too much yet, sir. It will be too much fun to do it tomorrow."

OOC: Assume this takes place right before Ophelia gets put in the bring…also, for more information see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iron_Chef_America

"Allez Cuisine!"

The Contestants:
Jaal Jaxom
Arel Smith

The Judges:
Benedict "Max" Maxwell
Greg Ward
Lt. jg Ophelia Zamora

Your Host:
Senior Chief Petty Officer Arthur Choke

****

Arel laughed. "You want to what?"

One little known fact about Jaal Jaxom was he could cook. He could cook 'well' even. Chalk it up to being a bachelor that doesn't want to live on frozen dinners and replicated food, whatever, the fact was he was no stranger in a kitchen.

"Well, we had an eating contest," Jaal explained, one that she won... barely won that is... "In keeping with the food theme I think we ought to have a cooking contest next." And not to mention the Trill had a score to settle considering he lost the previous contest between the two.

She looked sceptical. Arel was an excellent cook by Klingon standards - Kern had a passion for Klingon food so she had had to be - but by others standards ... well, that was why they had replicator technology.

But she'd never admit that. "What are the rules?"

Jaal hadn't thought about rules. His mind quickly raced through available options. "How about these:" he counted them off on his fingers, "There's one main ingredient that we don't know until we start. We have one hour to prepare four dishes with the 'secret' ingredient. No replicators allowed. We'll sucker some of the other crew to taste everything and they choose a winner." Satisfied with what he'd chosen he smiled knowing Arel wouldn't refuse a challenge.

He watched her expectantly.

"Agreed," She said.

***The Secret Ingredient***

"What the fuck is that?" Arel growled as she pointed at the things in front of her.

"I'm not sure myself," Jaal moved his face closer and took a tentative sniff. It didn't smell 'bad' and would probably smell better cooked.

The security officer poked at it with her finger. She was pretty sure she was going to lose this battle and badly. But Klingons never admitted defeat.

Jaal was rubbing his hands together as he thought. He knew he could find some recipes for whatever *it* was.

He still couldn't believe he was going through with this.

The wardroom manager of the USS Galaxy approached them both. Arthur Choke was an old crusty sort who had probably been in Starfleet for most of his natural life. There were a couple like him on every ship. Older, gray haired, highly experienced people who managed to live through all the adventures, terrors, and missions a ship of the line can find itself in... AND live to tell about it despite their lower ranking, anonymous status. "I can't believe you folks are doing this... but whatever." He looked in the tank and frowned. He shook his head at the two contestants and with all the flourish of a gameshow host bellowed, "The secret ingredient IS! ..."

Dramatic pause here... "TERRAN SQUID!"

Arel scowled at it.

Jaal smiled while nodding his head and placing his hands on his hips showing off his freshly replicated apron with the Trill saying 'Baci il cuoco' emblazoned on the front. This was going to be good.

It was known on his home world as 'Cosa fornita di gambe otto'. This was going to be a piece of … cake.

"And now!" Choke continued raising his hand high in the air, "Allez Cuisine!" he hollered as he brought his arm down in a chopping motion.

Jaal and Arel looked at the senior chief petty officers with confused looks.

Arty Choke rolled his eyes and told them, "That's French for 'Go And Cook!"

==Cooking!==

"People are starving here," Max complained. "These Chefs plan on feeding us soon?" He looked around for a response. Not getting any, he pouted and agreed with his now rumbling stomach. "I hope it's at least a decent Calimari, or something. People shouldn't cook with squid unless they know what they're doing."

Greg leaned back in his seat and smirked, "Yes, nothing can beat a good calimari but don't forget that you can also use squid in a Orecchiette with lemony grilled squid, arugula and chickpeas or a seafood risotto." the half-trill marine said smiling.

"Oh, you are so not helping there, Greg," Max scowled in response. His stomach agreed by hurling a couple of obscenities in its still undeciphered language. "But that does sound absolutely delish... although I would go with a more Cajun flavouring." Then a very large smile crossed Max's caramel features. "Squid Gumbo, with a side of dirty rice and maybe some Alaskan shrimp thrown in there."

Ophelia made her entrance, shooting a smile at Jaal and a quick nod to the other judges. "Spanish flair. The best." Was all she offered vocally before sitting down between the two men.

Greg stood up and waited for Ophelia to sit before he sat down himself once more.

*****

Arel thought about trying to cook the ... thing but she had never really paid attention to her aunt's lessons on how to cook things though Leah had never had a fondness for sea creatures anyway. So she decided to stick to her Klingon roots and keep it raw, using a bloodwine sauce that she had created as a teenager to cope with the
charred rock of targ that her grandfather enjoyed. The only problem now was how to serve it.

After some debate, she left the suckers on the tentacles on.

Jaal quietly and quickly worked on his dishes barely paying Arel or the judges any mind.

He started out with an appetizer of breaded, deep fried calamari served with a spicy cocktail sauce. Next up was a squid salad with lettuce, cucumbers, and cherry tomatoes. A simple vinaigrette dressing topped it off.

Arel didn't have a great sense of aesthetics - 'pretty' was about all she could muster when forced to comment on something's beauty - so she shrugged and cut the tentacles into several pieces and threw them on a plate.

By now Jaal was preparing a Galanga Squid Soup. Into the stock pot went some fresh Thai galanga, 2 stalks lemon grass, 3 cups rich coconut milk, 3 cups water, 8 medium-size prawns, 1/2 tsp. salt, squid, mussels, 1/2 tsp. baking soda, a dungeness crab (uncooked), large sea scallops, 1 small onion, red jalapeno peppers, 4 fresh
kaffir lime leaves, thinly slivered, 2 cups fresh sliced mushrooms, juice of 2 limes, a few other herbs and spices and last, but not least, a handful of cilantro leaves or short sprigs. He put the lid on that after giving it a healthy stir and set to working on another dish.

Arel snuck a peak at what Jaxom was doing and scowled further. They'd never said anything about cooking for a whole damn army. She looked back at her dish which she knew, while edible, was not very impressive. She crossed her arms and glared at it and then decided to add a sprig of garnish.

*****

"Hmm, I don't know what young Miss Smith is doing but it does look somewhat delicious from my vantage point. What do you think Mister Maxwell?" Greg said with a somewhat raised eyebrow before turning to look at his fellow judge.

"I think I'll have to lean more towards Mr. Jaxom's preparation there," Max replied. "It has a lot more detail, and there are a lot of ingredients being thrown in that would add to the overall taste and texture. But I suppose the final product will tell, hmm?"

*****

With the soup simmering, Jaal began work on the main course. He really wanted to marinate some squid but didn't have the time. Thirty minutes had already gone by, they were half way done. He 'had' to get the main dish done and soon.

Arel was pretty much done.

In the next twenty-five minutes Jaal cut squid bodies crosswise into rings a few millimetres thick. In a skillet he heated 1 tsp oil over medium-high heat. Cooked the mushrooms and onions until they were soft. Then he stirred in tomatoes, olives, and oregano and cooked for one minute longer and removed the pan from heat. To finished he stirred in lemon juice, olive oil, and garlic.

In another skillet he heated remaining 1 tsp oil over high heat. Cooked the squid until it was done but still tender. Next, he transferred that to a serving dish and poured the contents of the other pan on top of squid. It was simply garnished with fresh parsley.

The Trill badly wanted to complete a fifth dish, but alas, time had run out.

Arel looked over at him. "There's a slight thing as overkill, ya know?"

Jaal hazarded a glance in his competition's direction. With a most mischievous grin he told her, "No such thing here Smith… but at least I'm not trying to make squid ice cream."

Zamora kept her gaze steady, watching Jaal's butt intently. A little too intently it appeared to some.

Of course, Max had to be the one to speak up. "Got something in your eye, Lieutenant? Or more accurately, has something caught your eye?"

Ophelia shot her fellow judge a look of pure innocence. "I can admire more than just the food Sir."

Greg leaned back and let a smirk cross his features, before taking a better look at Ophelia himself for a quick second before turning back to the contestants before anyone could notice… or he hoped.

*****

At last, Jaal had all his dishes plated and displayed for inspection. There was one of each dish for everyone present. He had just finished wiping a stray smudge of sauce from a plate when he finally looked up to see what Arel had done. He knew he had this won hands down.

Shaking his head, Max leaned over to Greg and said, "I haven't seen a slaughter like this since the English Soccer team Arsenal beat Manchester City like they stole something. Whaddya think?"

Zamora watched silently, observing with her senses before her taste.

Jaal stood back with his arms folded across his chest and admired his handiwork. Anjoli would be proud as well since they'd often cooked meals for each other back on the Miranda. He idly wondered what his emerald friend was up to. "Whenever you folks are ready to taste... just give the word."

*****

==Tasting!==

While Max would have loved to just dive into the food, he remembered that this was a tasting to determine who cooked the better dish. He decided to taste Arel's just to get it out of the way. He was also mindful of the way she kept glaring at him as he prepared to take a bite, so he put on his best "How You Doin'" smile and placed the
morsel into his mouth (after a healthy drenching in the Klingon Bloodwine sauce).

Initially his nose crinkled at the taste of raw squid, but quickly realized that he actually liked it. Turning to Greg he said, "Let it never be said that simple is a bad thing. This actually tastes good. I may have to program this into my replicator when I'm feeling for sushi. The key is definitely the Bloodwine sauce."

"Esto chupa." Zamora muttered before falsely offering a smile and a mmmmmm through clenched teeth. Clearing her throat and taking a long drink of water, she looked up at Arel before speaking softly. "It's.....unique."

"I don't need kind words. If you want to stroke someone's ego, stroke his," Arel jerked a thumb towards Jaal. Then she grinned. "Or stroke something else."

Jaal chuckled lightly, "I don't need anything stroked either."

"Okay look. Just because I'm a Miss July doesn't automatically make me more concerned with 'stroking' more so than the average.............." Her mouth clamped shut as a slight blush rose to her cheeks. "Let's continue... shall we?"

"Um, yeah lemme try some of that," Max indicated towards one of the dishes Jaal had prepared. He wondered how the Commander's dishes would compare. Looks aren't everything, after all.

Jaal placed a small plate of the appetizer he prepared. The deep fried calamari was served with a small bowl of marinara sauce for dipping. "Enjoy," he told the judges with a smile while he started getting the salad course ready.

Greg's face broke into a smile as he bit into the first piece of the calamari that was placed before him. "Well done, my young friend, and the spices are done quite well also. You must tell me how you did it sometime Jaal." the half-trill said as he picked up his water glass and offered a salute to the full Trill.

Max tasted the Calamari and was very impressed with the cacophony of flavours that travelled his taste buds. "This...is...scrumtious!" he exclaimed.

"I'm glad you like it," Jaal replied while ladling out small bowls of Galanga Squid Soup, even one for Arel to try. "And now for the next course. Enjoy."

When it comes to food, Max can be a greedy bastard, but for now, he reigned himself in. He gingerly tasted the soup, and while he did like it, in the spirit of the competition had one issue.

"While the soup is indeed quite flavourful," Max proclaimed, "I do find that it is rather rich...a little too rich." With his judgement passed, he proceeded to make the bowl of soup disappear in the transporter room he kept in his belly.

Ultimately, after Max had tasted everything (in some cases twice), he was ready to render a verdict.

"Commander Jaxom," he announced with the flair of an announcer, "I'll have to say that you have definitely earned my vote, despite some issues I found with your cooking. As I've said, the soup was a bit too rich in texture and composition. Also, the fried calamari was a bit over cooked, which I didn't realize until a bit later.

"Commander Smith, you almost had me, honestly. The sheer simplicity of one dish can do more to woo the taste bud than a plethora of platters. The problem here is that while I enjoyed what you had prepared, there wasn't enough to compete with the dishes your opponent was able to prepare to perfection." With that, Max looked to Greg and Ophelia for their take on the food.

==Judgement==

After every dish had been tasted, picked apart, ridiculed, complimented, it was time for the judges to fill out their scorecards. Points were awarded in three categories: taste, appearance, and originality.

When all the preparations and dishes, and tastes were discussed among the judges they set work. It only took a few minutes. Senior Chief Petty Officer Choke collected the cards and added up the points from each judge awarding them to each cook accordingly.

Arty Choke stood between Jaal and Arel facing the judges and the small contingent of observers that had gathered since the contest started.

Again, in gameshow host like manner, Arthur announced, "And! The Winner is!"

After the appropriate dramatic pause he continued, "Jaal!"

"Those Pesky Command Relays"

Ensign Alexandra Lee
Engineer

Cmdr Jaal Jaxom
Strategic Operations

Alex walked the corridor, carrying her engineering kit in her left hand. With the other, she brushed aside a loose bang behind her ear with her hair, which was pulled back per regulations. Most of the engineering crew had been busy working around the clock to get even the most simple of systems online such as replicators. She was just such a call. Her body ached from having crawl through the endless miles of Jeffries Tubes on the ship and this call would be the last one on her list for today. She came to the door of the person who had reported the problem, spotting the name Commander Jaal Jaxom on the door. She then reached to the side and pressed the chime.

The door slid open to reveal the tall Trill covering his nose with his hand. Seeing the engineer's uniform he quickly waved her in. "THANK GOODNESS you're here!"

He took a few steps into the main living area of his cabin, "I don't know what hell that is but it's coming from the environmental vents! I can't get close enough to check it out without wanting to puke!"

Alex grinned slightly before she broke out her tricorder and began to scan the air. "Hmmmm...looks like there’s a computer glitch that is venting air from the Waste Recycler into your quarters. I believe I can have it fixed in a few minutes, commander," she closed the tricorder and headed for a nearby Relay Hatch.

Jaal removed his hand from over his mouth and nose only long enough to offer thanks again and to ask, "Any idea what went wrong?" Admittedly, he was wondering about the possibility of a practical joke being played on him. There were some people from the Miranda aboard and he wouldn't put it past them to try something.

Removing the panel of the Relay Hatch, Alex shook her head. "With the recent damage sustained to the Galaxy, every little thing seems to be going wrong. Engineering has been busy fixing replicators and shower systems. Alex did her best to not breathe in too much of the air as she broke out her tricorder and scanned the relay. She would definitely need a shower after this call. "I think I've found the problem, sir," she said, closing the tricorder and opening her engineering kit. "It appears to be a faulty Command relay in your quarter's environmental system." She turned and smiled at the commander. "I'll have it fixed in no time, sir."

"I'llm akes ryoo et a edal oris," Jaal told her without removing his hand from his face this time.

"Sir?" she looked at him confused and with a slight grin. Except for the hand over the mouth, the commander wasn't a bad looking sort. She then pushed that thought far from her mind.

Some other mumbled word came from Jaal before he moved his hand again. "Isaidyou'llgetamedalforthis," he spoke quickly then recovering his hand and nose yet again, "Ow ooyou stand th'ell?"

Alex smiled. "I'm just doing my job, a medal isn't required. Its my job to stand the smell, sir. Its definitely repulsive but I just try not to breathe too much." She then turned back and focused on the command relay, ignoring the fact that her stomach began to felt strange. No doubt due to the smell, as she worked on removing the faulty relay circuit.

She did have a nice smile, the Trill mused to himself, "Still, I appreciate the quick response." He moved his hand so she could see he was smiling too.

Alex turned and smiled. "You're welcome, sir. Thankfully this is my last one for today." Turning back to the controls, she finally removed the circuit and tossed it into her engineering kit and tapped her commbadge. =/\=Ensign Lee to Engineering. I need one Environmental Command Relay transported to my location.=/\=

=/\=Acknowledged.=/\=

In a swirl of blue light, a new relay circuit appeared. Alex grabbed the circuit and placed it into the correct port and secured it. Almost immediately the smell began to dissipate. "That seems to be it, sir.

Anything else you need from me?" she asked as she closed her engineering kit and stood to face the commander.

A number of appropriate 'and' inappropriate things floated, unbidden, through the Trill's mind. He answered with a pleasant expression on his face now that the reeking odour was gone, "I don't think so... but if anything else happens I'll be sure to call you."

Alex smiled, despite her tiredness. The commander was definitely much more handsome with the hand gone from his mouth. "I'm just a call away, sir." She couldn't wait to go back to her quarters and relax.

"That's great," Jaal told her. Then he suddenly thought of something, "If you don't mind, can I see that component you replaced?"

"Of course, sir," Alex replied taking the useless circuit out and handed it to the commander.

Jaal examined the command relay carefully turning it over and over in his hands. "Did you notice any evidence of the possibility this things was tampered with? I've been known to have a few practical jokes played on me from time to time and, if that's the case, I'll need to know who to take revenge on."

Alex smiled again. "As badly as that circuit is damaged, there’s no telling. The only way to access that circuit is from inside these quarters. Though I'd admit that if it was a prank, it was a shitty one, sir. No pun intended," she finished as a slight blush came to her cheeks.

He knew there was no way anyone but the Captain could get into his quarters (barring security or medical emergencies that is). The forty-two character fractal-encrypted access code would take too long for a prank like this.

Jaal watched her face redden. She was even cuter now. He made mental note to himself about her while placing the burned out relay back into her hand. "Thanks again for all the help."

"Joining the Fray"

Captain Airik (NPC played by Alex)
Commanding Officer, USS Amaranthine

Lieutenant Commander [Sir] Loras Rose (played by Oded)
Executive Officer, USS Amaranthine

Lieutenant jg Jason Sawyer (NPC)
Chief Engineer, USS Amaranthine

Ensigns 1-1 and 1-0 (NPCs)
Quantum Mechanics, USS Amaranthine

ON:

The screen went blank. The Amaranthine had her orders and the crew would be apprehensive. "What do you think?" Airik asked his first officer.

Sir Loras fondled his beard.

"If the Hydrans desire to slay many a Deltan, we won't be able to stop them. We'll stall them, and rally the Deltans to protect themselves. Even they won't offer their throat to the butcher like cattle."

Loras' real answer was clear from his words. Of course they were not going to leave four billion citizens of the Federation to the mercy of the Hydrans.

The Ba'ku Commanding Officer sighed softly. "We aren't a battleship, but we'll do everything we can." Airik looked at the replica of the Nova class starship hanging on his Ready Room wall. The Amaranthine was named after a mythical everlasting blossom. It connoted eternal beauty and unfading, never ending. Airik wondered if they would tempt that.

Standing, Airik and Loras returned to the bridge. Airik was an informal captain and thus protocols of announcement were abandoned. His XO, he suspected, wasn't too happy about this fact. He quietly moved to the command chair and sat.

=/\= "Bridge to Engineering, Lieutenant Sawyer prepare to bring the quantum slipstream drive online." =/\=

Several hands stopped moving across their consoles and heads rose on the bridge. The slipstream drive had been tested and worked for short bursts, sending the Amaranthine through space at 1.6 million times the speed of light.

The technology was experimental in Starfleet. It wasn't considered stable transport as it required precise deflector dish configuration. The Amaranthine had a weapon to compensate – two Bynar quantum mechanics who directly interfaced with the deflector array.

After a pause the Chief Engineer responded.

=/\= "Yes Captain." =/\=

"Helm, set course for Delta IV." Airik commanded. As he spoke 1-1 and 1-0 entered the bridge and stood next to the engineering console. They turned momentarily to the Captain and gave him a nod. The Captain smiled.

"Red alert," Airik said. "All hands to battle stations. Prepare for slipstream." The pacifist didn't anticipate ever making the call to battle, but he was prepared.

=/\= "We're ready on your command Captain." =/\=

Sawyer piped from engineering.

"Activate the drive."

The slipstream was a narrowly-focused, directed warp field that was initiated by manipulating the fabric of the space-time continuum at the quantum level. The Amaranthine initiated a quantum field through the deflector dish which generated shifts in the local space curvature.

In front of the Nova class ship a subspace tunnel was created.

A confident smirk surfaced on Loras' face. "Let's ride." He murmured.

"Enter the tunnel." Airik commanded.

The ship moved forward, forces inside the tunnel propelling it at seemingly impossible speed.

In order to maintain the slipstream the Bynar experts constantly modified the quantum field with its deflector dish and adjusted its phase variances to compensate and maintain the warp field.

What seemed like an eternity was only five minutes. "Status?"

=/\= "Propulsion module holding." =/\= Two voices replied in unison.

"Initiate collapsing phase variance." Airik ordered.

Almost instantaneously the almost mechanical minds of the Bynars interfaced with the computer. Moments later the Amaranthine found itself floating in space near Delta IV.

Airik calmly set out his next volley of orders. "Continue red alert status. Prepare to divert all auxiliary power to weapons systems. Contact the Deltan Defense Forces and begin a search of the perimeter, using short- and long-range sensors. Keep an eye out for any Hydran ships. Alert me in the event another Starfleet vessel arrives. Send a message to Captain M'Kantu of the Galaxy of our status."

Without requiring a direct order from the Ba'ku, Sir Loras bolted upwards and strode to the back of the bridge, his mere presence worked magic on the junior officers manning the consoles.

Airik opened ship wide communications.

=/\= "Attention all crew. We've been reassigned to stop the aggressive stance the Hydran fleet has taken against the people of the Federation. We will be joined by other battle ready ships in the area and the Deltan Defense Forces led by the USS Galaxy. Prepare yourself, as I know you will, to enter battle." =/\=

"Wretch"

Hate, to Wretch, was more nourishing than the thin, fungi-baste paste the Hydran guards loosely called 'food'. Hate was the sweet ecstasy that numbed the pain of beating, the chattering laughter of the guards when they pulled his oxygen mask from his face, and starved him of air. It fed him when he was starving, and slaked his thirst when he was denied water,

He had no understanding of the Hydran language, and 'Wretch' was how the guards addressed him, so he assumed that was his name. He remembered none other, and his captors had no other reason to call him anything else. He had no idea how long he had been there, and saw no sun or moon to gauge the passing of time. The guards looked alike, so he measured time by meals; he had fed three short of a hundred, and judging from his weight loss in recent memory, and the infrequency of food in the prison, he had been there for a long, long time.

The hated however, could not stifle his curiosity, and drank deeply of what little he could see of the world outside his cell. It was both curious… and disturbing. There were other prisoners of many other races paraded past him, each brought to the interrogation cell at the end of the corridor. Each had a scream even more unique as the Hydran inquisitors worked heir trade. Many of the prisoners never returned to their cell, and it was after such interrogations that Wretch was thankful they fed their prisoners fungi in stead of meat.

The new batch introduced a mere day ago drew his attention immediately. They seemed more determined than the others, and more eager to resist. One in particular, a very large, copper-skinned human, walked with a determination that almost defied his shackles. Once again, the screams were unique to the man, but no answers seemed to have been given and the large man was dragged back to his cell. As the prisoner passed by, he could see the expression in the bog prisoners' eyes, and fell the expression through the steel doors.

It was hatred, and Wretch managed a dry, cracked laugh behind his oxygen mask in satisfaction that despite the weeds of pain and fear a deep, intense hate for the Hydrans had blossomed so well in these fetid, fertile fields.

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